#i experimented a lot on the shading on this one boys

[jaratedeguadalupe]

monster energy boyfriends

#this sponsor is brought to you by monster energy drink (real) #petition to change dukexiety to monster energy boyfriends /j #remember my matching monster energy hoodie post from a while back #can't believe our boys got sponsored by their favorite energy drink brand #this is a dream come true #i experimented a lot on the shading on this one boys #i never really draw eyelashes either #hope y'all like it lmao #thank you good brush #yes thats what its called #you were a trooper and carried me through this entire illustration #ts remus #remus sanders #virgil sanders #ts virgil #dukexiety #monster energy boyfriends #sanders sides

[percysaysstuff]

RUI THAT OUTFIT IS NOT SAFE FOR SPACE EXPLORATION!!

#rui kamishiro #kamishiro rui #project sekai #pjsk #prsk #hiii guys I'm back with rui art #again #I experimented with the colors and shading lots on this one #excuse the mess pretty please!! #this is one of my favorite rui outfits he's such a pretty boy #my princess #percyfish art

[foxy-eva]

Love Potion

Summary: Spencer learns that alcohol makes his girlfriend very affectionate (and maybe a little too honest) 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: (16+ for sexual content) drinking alcohol (Reader is tipsy), love confession, suggestiveness, heavy kissing, mild embarrassment

Word count: 1.2k

Masterlist

Spencer thought he knew what would be expecting him when he agreed to pick you up from girl's night. He was wrong. 

He should have known by your barely decipherable text message that you might have had a little too much fun tonight. What really gave it away though was your high-pitch scream once you saw your gorgeous boyfriend enter the bar you texted him from earlier. 

"Spencer!!" You yelled while reaching out your arms for him. "I missed you!"

You almost knocked him over once he was within reach which prompted your friends to break out in a fit of laughter. 

"Hi pretty girl," Spencer chuckled. "Having fun?"

You pressed a quick peck on his lips and giggled, "Yeah, now that you're here!" 

"I thought you wanted me to drive you home?" 

"Exactly," you agreed. "That's where the fun part starts."

A very obvious rosy shade spread over Spencer's cheeks while your all female audience began making raunchy comments. Before you had a chance to explain to them in detail what you wanted to happen once you got home, your boyfriend was quick to place his arm around your waist to lead you to his car. 

"You're so beautiful, do you know that?" You slurred while Spencer made sure you were buckled up in the passenger seat. 

"You tell me quite frequently, actually."

"Because it's true! Derek is so right for calling you pretty boy. You're the prettiest of aaall the boys in the world." 

Spencer smiled at you before he started the car. "Yeah? Well, just for the record, I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

His words made you needy for more than just sweet talk. 

“Take me home before I start taking my clothes off right here,” you cooed. 

Spencer took his eyes off the road to look at you for a moment. A not-so-innocent smirk was spread over your cheeks and you noticed the rosy color on his face turning a shade darker. 

“You're going to be the end of me,” Spencer groaned.

A few suggestive comments from you later your flustered boyfriend turned into the parking lot at your apartment. You were barely inside your apartment when you swung your arms around his neck to find his mouth in a hasty kiss. Both of you almost tumbled over but Spencer managed to keep you upright with his arms around your waist. 

The taste of ethanol on your tongue was almost as intoxicating as your actions and Spencer had trouble not to give into your pleas right then and there in your hallway. It was obvious that he tried to hold back but his body gave away how much he enjoyed your enthusiasm.  

“Slow down,” he breathed against your lips, “You’re drunk.” 

“I’m just a little tipsy,” you reassured him as you pressed your body against his. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Spencer answered you with some curse words that you had never heard from him before. The pace of your actions were too much for him to grasp and suddenly he wasn’t sure if you were the only inebriated one there. Like a besotted fool he followed you to the couch where you climbed into his lap like a queen sitting down on a throne. 

“What are you doing to me?” He purred as you kissed down his neck.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you can figure it out,” you snickered before biting down on his pulse point. 

You felt his throat vibrate against your lips as a deep groan fell from his mouth. It wasn’t the first time you got to experience him that way but you were aware that the alcohol in your bloodstream made you more affectionate than usual. 

It also made your tongue loose but you realized that too late. 

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered when your lips brushed over his ear. 

“Wh… What?”

His response wasn’t what you expected. You sat up straight to be able to look into his eyes. The gold of his irises radiated a warmth unlike anything you had ever experienced. It took you a moment to find your words again. 

“I know we’ve only been dating for a few weeks and that I haven’t said it before, but it’s true!” You began rambling in a way you usually expected from Spencer. Your lips found his in another, more chaste kiss before you repeated, “I love you.” 

It was as if Spencer had forgotten how to form words. He just stared at you with wide eyes and the sweetest smile forming on his face. 

After a few moments of silence you wondered, “Are you not gonna say it?” 

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you when I can be sure you’ll remember it the next morning.” 

That was enough for you for now. You got up from your boyfriend’s lap to lead him into your bedroom. He followed without hesitation, already suspecting that whatever you had in mind wouldn’t actually be happening. 

And he was right. The moment you lay down in your bed with Spencer’s arms securely wrapped around you, you dozed off. He gently kissed your cheek before placing the blanket over your body. 

“Goodnight, sleepy girl.”

When you woke up the next morning it took just a few seconds for you to realize that you had enough alcohol to spill the truth but not enough to forget about it. It didn’t surprise you that you didn’t find Spencer sleeping beside you, certain that you must have scared him off after your cocktails had somehow turned into love potions. 

The morning shower helped to clear your head but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The longer you thought about it, the more embarrassed you got about not keeping your mouth in control after just a little bit of liquid courage. 

It took you by surprise to find your boyfriend sitting on your couch when you stumbled out of the bedroom. 

“You’re still here!” You squeaked and he began chuckling. 

“Where else would I be?” 

You sat down beside him and took the coffee mug out of his hand to take a sip. 

He leaned towards you to place a soft kiss on your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

You felt your face heat up when you thought about what you said last night. “Mortified.”

The amusement in his voice wasn’t lost on you when he nonchalantly asked, “And why is that?” 

You placed the coffee mug on the table to bury your face in your hands, whining, “You know why!”

Spencer placed his hands on yours to move them away from your face while he chuckled, “Oh you mean the fact that you told me you’re hopelessly in love with me?” 

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t use those exact words!”

He kept teasing you as he pulled you into his arms, “Are you questioning my eidetic memory?”

“If your memory is so perfect, you should remember what you told me then,” you reminded him before his mouth met yours. 

“I do remember,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“Yeah?” You breathed between kisses. 

He pulled back to lock eyes with you. His hand gently brushed over your cheek before he finally whispered, “I love you, too.” 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @melifluorei-d @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @castiels-majestic-wings @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @velvetthunder93 @cncoxlifeline @saturnstringz @missabsey @spencerslove @guacam011y @whoopdy-doo @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @enamoradax @hales-17 @loaksulluyswife @ecneremili @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr @purpledsky @super-nerd22

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff

[notherpuppet]

I know they’re probably not going to go into this (which i understand, there’s only so much time in an episode and they’re telling a different story) but I think about Al’s background a LOT. Get ready if ur in the mood for a read.

To be a mixed Black person in America is a…bizarre experience. You come to realize that due to the coincidence of your genetic makeup, white folks may divulge information that they keep so closely guarded from the ears of “more obvious-looking” black folks. Im gonna bring it back to Alastor, but lemme give some personal context. I’m mixed with Filipino, so I’m pretty obviously not white, yet my ambiguous ethnic makeup in a predominantly white suburbia seemed to make white peers and people feel much more at ease in relaying their criticisms or prejudices of black people to me. I would hear someone feel comfy enough to spew vitriolic racist shit with me, then toe the line like a circus acrobat when around someone a few shades darker in skin tone and a few coils curlier in hair texture. It was constantly infuriating and holding my tongue was a practice to both investigate someone’s true nature and preserve my own safety. I did abandon that method of navigating life in America, and experienced the switch-up white folks made when I started ‘broadcasting’ my blackness. (E.G. beyonce pre vs. post Lemonade). The criticisms and prejudice confessions just came less often, til I saw them being caged up completely after white peers experienced backlash from me. After they realized “OH this bitch is a n*****!?”

Now this is from someone who is brown, but i also wanna talk about my white-passing cousin with a similar racial makeup as Al, who is from the south and oh BOY. (Let’s call him J for this post’s purposes). J’s navigation though simple daily life is such a constant contradictory experience, of which he is still working through in therapy. I think of one moment when he was manager at retail gig and his boss told him that whenever a Black customer enters, it’s policy to give them “exceptionally attentive customer service”. Essentially, “follow that n***** around”. This is just one modern incident of when J would hear the quiet part out loud, despite his Blackness, because his appearance was white enough to make white folks drop their guard. Eventually, my cousin and I took to the same direction where we used our advantage of disarming white folks against them when the time came. We would keep note and record of racism and unlock a sort of “this you?” when the opportunity to expose that person’s true nature came. It’s pretty vengeful thinking ngl, but it is really REALLY hard to resist exposing an asshole rather than attempting to teach an asshole to change their ways. Especially given that such an attempt is an ARDUOUS uphill battle. The experience of KNOWING the truth about what someone thinks of your people, and being opened to opportunities and information that you would not have access to if the chance of your genetics was only slightly different is bIZARRE, horrific, and fuel for constant inner turmoil. (It sucks y’all)

Now back to Alastor; to have been a mixed person in the Deep South in 1930s America—it’s not too difficult for me to imagine how traumatic and convoluted that experience must have been. Especially when legally and socially, things were so much more Black and White. And when you’re on the line in between that, when society does not prepare a place for your existence, it can be SO isolating. You may consider the absurdity of such an arbitrary method of determining class, status, and/or caste much earlier in life than peers, which only further isolates you. You hold a resentment of society now that you know exactly how the other side is operating to ensure your oppression.

And then I think of Al’s weird ass moral code. How he arrived in Hell and (according to Mimzy) began killing overlords with reckless abandon. This is someone who likely had to develop the cunning to navigate 1930s Deep South America as a mixed, murdering, psychopath without getting caught by authorities who are already gunning for you. And now he is in Hell where the rules of society have gone up in smoke and he can fully embrace his rage, resentment, and vengeance. A desire to burn down the powerful people of the world can be accommodated and ANY previous inhibitions can finally be released. The morality of rising above someone by cutting them down (instead of developing emotional/spiritual healing) has become the easier and satisfying option. Finally the opportunity to show the power-secure villains of the world how easily you can tear them down when nothing is holding you back any longer.

TLDR; The trauma of racism in America is pretty sufficient cannon fodder for a severe psychotic break, the development of socially debilitating behaviors and isolation, and a quest for profound vengeance. So maybe that can explain some of the enigma that is Alastor.

And this is just ONE facet of Al. I didn’t even get to bring up the isolation that comes with being an aroace nonbeliever in the 1930s Deep South. Like FUCK. I’m a mixed, aroace nonbeliever from a modern day conservative town and yall….what a weird experience for sure lol but anyway lemme get back to my life. Whole point of this was—-WHAT AN INTERESTING FUCKEN CHARACTER TO THINK ABOUT

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel spoilers #it’s an alastor analysis yalllll #character analysis gives my media and art engagement brain the wiggles #also I hate racism!!!! :)

[peachsayshi]

I have an a request!!! What about boy dad gojo taking care of his son while his s/o is sick? Maybe he takes him to work and face time her with his son when he has a break or between classes?? And his son misses her a lot cause it’s his first time seeing her sick🥹

➳  minors / ageless / blank blogs dni   ➳  tags: fluff; dad gojo and son reader

"mama! wanna talk to mama!"

"easy, tiger," satoru consoles, using his long arm to pull the phone away from his son's grabbing fingers.

"dada, wanna talk to mama!" his son insists, inching his body forward which prompts satoru to adjust his legs so his boy doesn't climb off his thighs. using his other hand, the sorcerer lightly runs his fingers through his child's soft locks to calm down his excitement while and in the meantime taps away at the screen to video call you.

"there you go," he whispers as he brings the phone to his son's line of sight, his heart swelling when you finally answer the call.

"hi," you croak softly, your voice thick and hoarse while you rub your tired eyes. "what time is it?"

"it's lunch-"

"mama!" your son interrupts, his small hands curling over satoru's fingers as he holds both sides of the screen. "mama, miss you!"

"hey, cutie", you reply with a tiny smile, but satoru can see the exhaustion weighing heavy on your face. "miss you soo much,"

you've been sick for the last four days. a terrible cold that's kept you bedridden. satoru and your son have been isolating to make sure that they don't catch what you have, but your boys have been wallowing without you around. your son has been extra needy and keeps bringing up his "mama" every chance he can get. satoru is in the same position as well, hating that he can't cuddle up to you in the middle of the night, or that he can't wake up to your good morning kisses.

"mama sick," your son says with a furrow of his brows, moving his hand over the screen like he's trying to touch your face. "mama get better ok?"

he's still learning his words, trying to form whatever sentences he can with the vocabulary that he has.

you nod your head, "yeah, baby, I'll be better soon,"

your son smiles at the camera, his eyes twinkling with delight. "kisses!" he announces, before leaning forward and pressing his lips onto the phone screen.

you blow him back three kisses in return.

at this point satoru can't help but feel a little left out, so he arches forward to rest his chin on his son's shoulder, the two of them now centering the screen.

it's wild seeing them both together because they really do look like twins. your son's hair stands as a harsh contrast because it is identical to yours, but his eyes are a blend of your love. there's an icy blue that pierces through his natural color on the left side, a unique trait that distinguishes him entirely.

"can I get some kisses too?" satoru pouts at the camera, and your son obliges but placing one kiss on his cheek.

satoru can't help but grin, "thanks, rugrat, but I was hoping the kisses would come from your mama..."

"but mama sick," your son answers nonchalantly, twisting his body slightly so he was turning toward's his father's instead.

"she just blew you some kisses," he answers back with a raised brow. "I can't get any?"

your son blatantly shakes his head no.

satoru deadpans at the phone screen, and you have to use the blanket to cover your amused grin but you clear your throat as a cough escapes you, and satoru can't help but wince.

"how are you feeling? is the medicine helping at all?" he adds.

"yeah, it is. I'm feeling much better today actually."

"there's a pot of soup in the fridge " he continues, his cheeks tinting a slight shade of pink. "I made it last night"

satoru toiling away in the kitchen is a rare sight. the man grew up spoiled, and rarely ever had to take care of himself. you're the only person who knows that the first time he ever touched a stove was in his late teens, with shoko and suguru assisting in teaching him. he doesn't experiment much, but he was able to perfect a handful of recipes over time.

your eyes widen, glisten with absolute love. "thanks, handsome. I'll be sure to heat some up..."

"just want to see you back on your feet, angel," satoru murmurs, and presses his cheek against' the plush surface of his son's. "you've got us pining over here, isn't that right?"

your son nods his head, bringing one hand to hold his father's jaw. "sick bad, want mama t'get better now..." he acknowledges.

(meanwhile, you sneakily take a screenshot of the two of them in frame)

requests are open for dad gojo.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff

[stxneflxwers]

stormfront.

⋯⁂ Summary: watching storms from the safety of your own home can be relaxing, but getting stuck in one when in the middle of nowhere doesn’t have many benefits… but with him, he has that chance to make it worthwhile…or worthless.

⋯⁂ a/n: ty to my bbg for providing this idea. it was very fun to write! enjoy!

⋯⁂ w.c: 411 (albedo). 500 (neuvillette). 618 (freminet). 559 (cyno).

⋯⁂ characters: albedo. neuvillette. freminet. cyno. gn reader.

⋯⁂ cw: storms: snowstorm (albedo), thunderstorm (neuvillette, freminet), sandstorm (cyno.) forced close proximity (all). pre-relationship (all). hurt/comfort (neuvillette + freminet). reader is an adventurer, reader gets injured (neuvillette). confessions, one forehead kiss, hugging (freminet). cyno + reader are coworkers. puns, kissing (cyno).

Albedo

⋯⁂ Snowstorms are something Albedo has long since adjusted to. Hiking Dragonspine often forces you to always be on your toes—lest you get caught up in an avalanche or snowstorm. Like right now! Thankfully, before anything worse could happen, he pulled you right into a small cave.

⋯⁂ But now… Your face is burning with embarrassment and anxiety with how close he's forced to stand next to you. Yet his face is only written with concern for your safety. And a light shade of curiosity.

⋯⁂ "Are you alright?" He asks with a soft murmur, your name sounds so sweet on his tongue.

"Uhm, uh— mhm!" You would nod if there was enough space, but there's so little of it that you might knock your head into his. "Super great, Bedo." You mutter bashfully, eyes darting away as you nibble on your bottom lip.

He notices this quicker than you like, and even brings it to light, "Are you sure? You look very nervous." He points out, completely oblivious.

"Ah, Bedo…" You laugh awkwardly.

"Yes?" He queries, enraptured by your bashful state.

"Are all boys this dumb…?" You whisper to yourself.

He hears that but says nothing. Instead, he ponders upon it, wondering what it could mean… Is he as dumb as you think he is? Hardly. He knows for a fact that he's…not dumb, at the very least. So, what is he missing? Socializing is very tough for him, but you normally don't pose much of a threat or trouble. So, this behavior is all very…new.

⋯⁂ He tests out a new…"experiment", his head suddenly landing on your shoulder as if he feels tired. You gasp, your face growing even hotter, leagues more than before. You give him a stiff pat on the back.

"A-Are you tired?" You mutter, voice now smaller.

"A bit." He tries to lie through his teeth. It works, somehow.

"Alright, well…" You sputter, "…I can't help with that, sorry." You quickly give in.

"All is well." He sighs, finding your shoulder a rather comfortable place to be. So, he doesn't even think about moving.

Soon enough, you relax—your shoulder that acts as Albedo's pillow eases up, becoming more comfortable and softer. While you keep an eye on the snowstorm that rages on next to you, he rests a little… He can't help but be lulled into dreamland by your warmth and softness.

…He's going to have to run extra tests on this at a later time.

Neuvillette

⋯⁂ Today has been a rough day for you both. It feels like it's one thing after another in quick succession—much quicker than for either of your or his comfort. But he seems a lot more adjusted to it than you… Keyword: seems. In actuality, he doesn't let you know how the wear and tear on his heart is ripping him apart bit by bit.

⋯⁂ You had specifically requested his help with some…"negotiations." After much convincing, he caved in. Even at first, he didn't want to keep saying no to your begging face. Now? He's relieved he gave in to your pleas for help, or else you might be worse for wear right now.

⋯⁂ Snug in his arms, your weak and cold body shivers in his grasp while he charges through the powerful storm. For once, he wonders if the storm is his own doing or not this time. It most likely is—only causing him to feel even more regret for not being there for you in time. When he saw you on your side curled up on the ground, after getting knocked down by the enemy while he was distracted by the other… That's when the storm began to brew.

⋯⁂ He then finally finds a small cave, right as thunder cracks and lightning strikes all around. On a split-second decision, he tucks you and himself away in the rather cramped opening. Right now, it's better than risking getting struck by lightning.

⋯⁂ His grasp on you tightens a little bit as he whispers an apology, cooing your name sweetly as if you had just died. You weren't dead, for the record. Cold, wet, weak; sure, but not dead. And you weren't dying any time soon, either…

When you finally wake up, you're immediately met with the sad lilac eyes that belong to him. You let out a soft, "Huh…?" in response to his depressed figure.

"Neuvi…" He'll never get tired of hearing that cute little nickname you gave him so long ago, "Wh-what's wrong…?" You sputter out, voice as weak as the rest of your body.

"Nothing." He says a little too firmly. You don't fall for his poor attempt at a facade.

"There's something wrong, silly…" You mutter, barely managing to shift your body enough to rest fully against his chest. "You can tell me, y'know…?" You sigh when your cheek meets his surprisingly warm chest.

"I…" He starts, eyes laden with the fatigue from his own heavy thoughts. "I should've been there for you sooner…" He confesses, his body drooping in response, but never once does he let up on holding you tighter than before. "I know how fragile humans are… What if you—"

"No what ifs, silly Neuvi. I'm here now, aren't I? All thanks to you." You smile, like the solitary sun in his dark, cloudy mind. "…Be kinder to yourself." You allow your eyes to flutter shut, curling up against him for more warmth.

And when he smiles back, the rain begins to finally lighten.

Freminet

⋯⁂ Today was meant to be such a sunny day—no rain, no thunder, and surely no lightning. That's what Freminet read in the forecast this morning, at least. Low chance of precipitation, decent humidity, and sunny skies with little to no clouds… Good weather all around. He didn't always trust the weather forecast and today has only solidified the idea that he should never trust it.

⋯⁂ The thunderstorm chases you both out of the scenic waters of Fontaine—the sky now painted with dark clouds and heavy rain. You both know better than to swim out in the lake when there's lightning. Who knows what could happen if you stick around…

⋯⁂ He sighs, standing at the shore of the lake—his frustrated tears threatening to spill and mix with the rain that dribbles down his freckled face. He calls out, "Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry!" He pleas, knowing that it's all fruitless only serves to make him even more upset. Sure, he's all grown up now, but he can't help but cling to that remaining shred of hope.

⋯⁂ You're the one who has to drag him away from the shores, your hands tight around his shoulders as you both charge away. Spotting a small opening in a cliff, you pull him into it and grant him a warm embrace. You rub his back—squeezing him as well to help him come back down to earth. In the past, you noticed that having some pressure on his body helps his emotional spikes settle down.

⋯⁂ He sighs, his body drooping, relaxing from your snug hold. His own hands wander, sliding up your back and clutching the back of your shirt. His forehead finds a comfortable spot on your shoulder, allowing himself to finish crying from the frustrating event.

"I'm sorry… The weather isn't always this bad, I swear…" He mutters to you.

"It's okay, Freminet, you can't predict the weather every time, you know?" You smile serenely, even if he can't see it. But, he can feel it—he can see that sweet grin in his head. It brings him so much relief that he feels a little sleepy.

"A-Alright… Let's…let's try again some other time…?" He sputters out, finally lifting his head to look at you in the eyes—a gesture he still struggles with. His eyes dart away at first before he manages to force himself to lock gazes with you.

"I'd be more than happy to." You nod, giving him a brief squeeze that makes him squeak. You giggle, "So cute—"

"I love you."

He blurts this out, his mouth hanging agape for a solid moment or two as if he hasn't realized what he just said. When it dawns on him, he blushes furiously and his hands fly to his face, covering his burning cheeks.

You break out into a fit of giggles. His heart sinks. Are you laughing at him? He wonders how pathetic he is to you for saying something so nonsensical—even if it's true.

"I love you too, Fremi." You grin, your own cheeks heating up several degrees higher. You press a sweet, chaste kiss against his forehead, the only accessible place on his face right now. "My cute little dove…" You coo, pulling his hands away to get a better look at his flustered expression.

His eyes are shut tight and his lips thinner from his even tighter frown. When he registers your reciprocation, he gasps. His eyes fly wide open and his mouth parts slightly.

"I… I…" He mutters, unable to look away from you.

"Shhh… It's okay…" You pull him into another hug, keeping him warm.

He is so loved and cared for. And one day you hope he can see that, too.

Cyno

⋯⁂ You're coworkers, very close ones. Yes, this means you—on occasion—go do your duties together. This, sometimes, can be downright insufferable. You love the weirdo, you really do. But either he's taking things too seriously or too lightly… You swear his brain has no gauge—it's a pendulum instead.

⋯⁂ Today was more frustrating than usual, though. Your shared target consistently gets away from both of you—dragging out this mission a lot longer than it needs to be. Cyno hasn't talked much, either. You repeatedly wonder if he's starting to hate you—or maybe he's as frustrated as you are. But, then again, what if he's frustrated with you in particular? You're not sure how well you’re doing your job right now. These thoughts flood your mind again and again.

⋯⁂ At some point, you get thrown into the desert landscape alongside the General. The fresh footsteps led here, so now where's the culprit? There's no sight of the criminal anywhere—making Cyno hiss under his breath. He says you two should search a little further, you comply with a quiet nod.

⋯⁂ Even after much searching, you feel inclined to give in for the day. But, you know Cyno, he never gives in to crime no matter what. He's stubborn as a mule with…just about everything he does. Bad jokes included. Then, with no warning, he grabs your hand and storms away into a small cave. Right as you enter, you see a sandstorm kick up right outside. You groan.

⋯⁂ "Sorry, I haven't been my best today…" You sigh, eyes laden with self-disappointment as you lean back against the stony wall.

"No worries." He assures you, and he doesn't even sound remotely irritated, either. "It is Windsday after all." He says, his face as serious as his rather monotone voice.

"What does Wednesday have to do with anything…?" You ask, sparing him a confused look that has your mouth parting a little.

"Oh, you don't get it." He blinks, shrugging, "A sandstorm's favorite day is Windsday. Wednesday. Windsday." He clarifies with the utter lack of expression.

"…" You stay silent for a moment before pinching the bridge of your nose and groaning. "Thank you, Cyno, very funny." You smile at him, it's the best you can give him right now. It is a funny joke, but you're so frustrated with yourself and the world right now that it hardly means anything.

"I agree." He nods; you can see a twinkle of pride in his red eyes, "I will tell more to pass the time." He affirms, already dead-set on entertaining you.

"Oh boy…" You whisper to yourself, but let him have his way anyway.

You smile with every passing joke he comes up with—you're not sure where he's pulling most of these from, but he's a little too good at it…

As the storm rages on and he's told probably a hundred jokes by now, you throw your hands up in the air at the peak of your frustration. You grab his face and smash your lips against his, causing him to gasp and his eyes to blow wide. You let go of him, a proud smirk on your face.

"Want to know how flowers kiss?" You grin, "With their tulips!" You answer before he can even register the kiss.

When he does, he lets out the loudest, ugliest laugh you've ever seen from him.

#🌠— my works #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #neuvillette x reader #freminet x reader #cyno x reader #💕— multi #💕— cyno #💕— freminet #💕— neuvillette #🌠— fluff #🌠— hurt/comfort

[hchano]

my second contribution to the binary stars zine.

sadly the fic, WHICH IS RLY GOOD, never got posted [long story, not mine to tell ;u;] but this was a telepath!keith/blind!shiro AU. basically keith is a captured BoM, and is sent to the arena in chains to be executed by a beast, but then a blind galra is thrown in to the arena was well, with a weapon. keith is able to convince him they can work together and using his telepathic link, shiro is able to defeat the beast.

afterward, they are thrown together more often in the arena and over time keith learns shiro is actually a human who has been experimented on and altered heavily. he also ends up teaching him about galra culture and how to navigate some of the wierd shit galra go thru [since shiro is experiencing a lot of galra instincts lol].

meanwhile the BoM are working on freeing keith, but keith will not leave without shiro :')

so in this scene, we have keith tracing coordinates on shiro's back, in hopes that he will be able to use them to escape. i do hope viper posts this fic one day but if not, just know it was rly good and liek the perfect slowburn.

extras under the cut!

so as i keep saying this was a rly good fic. i had like 5 diff scenes i rly wanted to draw but i realized i was NOT going to be able to fit any of them into only 3 pages lol… that didn't stop me from TRYING more than once tho…

attempt #1, 3 pics:

this scene is them bathing [PLATONICALLY] after a round in the arena. keith is lamenting about shiro geting hurt due to keith's reckless fighitng style leaking into shiro thru the mind meld, and thinks about how shiro still moves like he has his human body too, which shiro picks up on thanks to the mind link [which is something of a habit at this point lol]. shiro is angsting about the fact he actually dosen't know the extent of what has been done to him thanks to the injury that blinded him, and after asking to see how he looked as a human, keith ends up reassuring him that he's still a cutie lol.

the page with the dialogue only is when i realized there was no way i was fitting that scene into 3 pages lol.

attempt #2:

this scene is basically near the start to the fic. keith is brought in to the arena and chained to a pylon. he hears a bunch of rly loud monster noises and pounding at the door across the arena and is like, wow i am actually fucked 8D then shiro is brought in and thrown to the ground, along with a weapon. keith watches him try to feel around for the weapon and realizes he's blind, then calls out to him. shiro immediately goes into attack mode but keith is able to convince him that they can be allies, and briefly explains he's a telepath before melding their minds so that shiro can see through his eyes, and after a bit of clumsiness they are able to beat the beast this way :D

my designs for the boys. i have unclothed versions too that show off all their markings and scars but i feel like that would get the post flagged so these will have to do lol. i did post them on twitter tho, if you wanna bother looking there. also yes, this design is rly similar to the other contribution i did for this zine, which is because i rly like the idea of keith having these specific markings LOL. this is p much my official go to glara!keith design.

just two lil chibi guys

i actually finished this with shading, but for the life of me cannot find it, so old phone pic it is. this is post-fic, after shiro joins the bom. [so uh not so shocking spoiler, they both survive and escape lol]

#myart #art backlog #myart:vld #voltron #sheith #keith #shiro #galra!keith #galra!shiro #kinda lol #telepath!keith #blind!shiro #i still love this story so damn much #i might have to go grab my zine to reread it after this lol;;; #also i actually don't think i ever posted this cos i was waiting to see if my friend felt up to posting her fic #so uhh yay 'new' art

[vienssunshine]

GUAAA you’re the best maki writer on this app istg /&;&;@/@/@-“&/ could you please write smth nsfw where the fem reader like gets jealous of yuuta cause she thinks something is going on between them?

She likes a boy but I'm not a boy

pairing: Maki Zenin x fem!reader sfw: love confession word count: 1.5k author's note: thanks for the ask! not smut but def jealousy! enjoy! description: it's hard to find out maki and yuta have a thing, maybe a conversation with her could clear some things up

“Last lap!” Yuji calls out, his breath labored despite being far ahead of anyone else circling the track. It’s been twenty minutes of this drill—sprinting until you can’t feel your legs anymore—and with the sun beating down on you, it’s utterly grueling.

You were psyched to have the earlier training sessions this week along with Nobara, Panda, and Yuji, because, though getting up before sunrise is a challenge in itself, it tends to be cooler in the morning. With summer approaching quickly, having the afternoon sessions like Maki, Yuta, Inumaki, and Megumi do is a near death sentence.

However, this morning is uncharacteristically hot. The sun has only been up for the past hour, but its rays are blinding and oppressive. With no shade offered by Jujutsu High’s training facilities, all one can do is suffer until practice is over.

You cross the line and stumble off the field, making your way to the bleachers to lean back on the metal that’s too warm to cool your overheating body.

“I thought that would never end,” Yuji sighs, draping the shirt he had taken off over his forehead and pouring water onto it.

You reach for your water bottle, taking in the cool liquid in clumsy swallows before saying, “I don’t think I’ll be able to get back up.”

“Same here,” Nobara says, lying like a starfish on the grass in front of you. She glances at her watch and groans, “Only thirteen more minutes ‘til we go again.”

Panda sits up, somehow full of energy—you suspect he’s been using gorilla mode to make the drill easier—and says, “That should be enough for some of my favorite kind of break-time talk!”

Yuuji pulls his t-shirt off of his face, “Is it–”

“Sexy talk!” Panda exclaims.

“Gross,” Nobara says, throwing her empty water bottle at him.

“Not gross,” Panda counters, deflecting the bottle. “A necessary bonding experience for those on a team. Haven’t you ever heard of locker room talk?”

“I think that’s different,” you say.

“Yeah,” Nobara agrees, glowering.

“I’ll start,” Panda says, “Yuji, who do you think would make the best couple in Jujutsu High?”

Yuji crosses his legs and strokes his chin. “Umm…I don’t know…”

Nobara eyes him. “Spit it out.”

“Thought you didn’t like this kind of talk?” you say.

Nobara folds her arms, “Doesn’t mean he should take forever to answer.”

“Come on, Yuji!” Panda says, clapping his paws together.

Yuji sits back on his hands, “Maybe…Yuta and Maki?”

You furrow your brow. That’s a strange pairing.

“Great choice!” Panda says, looking smug, “I would agree.”

“What? Totally wrong!” Nobara objects, offended by the idea, “Maki isn’t interested in anyone, she doesn’t have time to be in a relationship.”

This isn’t making any sense. You sit up so you can face them. “Are you guys being serious?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yuji says, puzzled, “I thought they were kind of a thing?”

“Definitely,” Panda says, “I’ve always known.”

You pull your legs into your chest and rest your chin on your knee. This is not what you expected, or understood to be what was going on.

You’ve known Maki for a while, and she’s always been very friendly to you, well, as friendly as Maki can be. But still, she pays you extra attention, noticing the little differences in your appearance—like if you changed your hair or wore a new outfit—and following it up with a compliment that feels strangely intimate. She tends to touch you a lot as well, opting to brush by you rather than go around, or have her hand graze your forearm as she laughs at one of your not-funny jokes. So you’ve been thinking that maybe, after all this time, she might see you how you see her. But this conversation is making you wonder if it’s all in your head.

“Well, I guess if it had to be someone,” Nobara concedes.

“Just admit it, they’re made for each other,” Panda says dreamily.

You huff. Yuta and Maki are definitely close, but made for each other? What makes him so great? Just because he’s a special grade doesn’t mean he’s equipped to handle someone like Maki—he always looks like he’s two seconds away from crying. If what they’re saying is true, if they’re actually together…you’re not sure what you’ll do, but just thinking about it is heating your blood.

The conversation devolves into discussing what everyone’s type is, but you tune it out, instead searching your memory for the signs of Yuta and Maki’s special connection. You're not sure how you could've missed it if it was so obvious to everyone else.

The rest of training is easier now that you’re pissed off. Your form is sloppier as you run around the track, feet hitting the ground in hard, careless pounds, but you’re going much faster than you were; there’s less of a gap between you and Yuji.

You’re still angry when you shower, change your clothes, put on shoes, and go to class for the rest of the day. It’s good that Yuta and Maki are in the afternoon sessions of training, you’re not sure you’d be able to stay composed with how you’re feeling right now.

The day cools as the sun goes down and, after trying and failing to talk your feelings out to one of your stuffed animals, you resort to finding a late night snack in hopes of soothing your inner turmoil.

Only, when you get to the communal kitchen, there’s a light on, and under it, sitting at the table, is Maki watching something on her phone.

She looks up when you walk in. “Hey,” she says, an interesting smirk on her face.

“Hey,” you respond, passing by and heading to the cabinet to grab some chips. You debate going back to your room—you’re not sure if hanging out with her tonight is a good idea—but the urge to stay wins, so you sit down in the chair next to her and open the bag.

Maki puts her phone down and rests her elbows on the table, clasping her fingers together and tilting her head as she says, “I heard you were talking about me today.”

Looking straight ahead, you say, “Did you?”, and put a chip in your mouth and chew. “Maybe you should tell Yuta about it.”

There’s that attitude you were worried about slipping out. You don’t want to give her a hard time, you’re just frustrated, because Yuta? Over you? Really? But then she laughs, and despite everything, it’s immensely gratifying.

“Yeah, you guys were saying we’re a thing or something,” Maki says, expression calming into a soft yet devious smile.

She’s baiting you, though you don’t know why. Her golden gaze is as heavy and intense as the sun this morning as she searches your face for any reaction. It’s peculiar behavior if she likes someone else—unless you’re misinterpreting again.

You’re as casual as can be when you ask, “Aren’t you guys a thing?”

Maki responds matter-of-factually, “Yeah, we are.”

You cough, nearly choking on your chip. That confirms it, confirms everything you were worried about. Maki likes someone else. A boy. Your mind spins, trying to make sense of the situation. Panda and Yuji had a better read on the situation than you? You had just imagined the tension with Maki? The one thing you can conclude is that you were totally wrong.

Maki hands you her glass of water, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you force out, taking a sip. “That’s great,” you say, “For you and Yuta.”

She laughs again. “Don’t ever become an actress.”

You break out into a stupid smile, “I’m serious.” Putting the chips down, you try to recover. Obviously this is terrible news, but you still have to be a good friend. “Really, that’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“Stop,” she says, waving her hand, “We aren’t really.”

“Uh…what?”

“We aren’t really a thing,” she says, her hand landing on your forearm like it always does. Only, this time, it stays there. “I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

She moves her thumb along your skin, and though her strokes are gentle, the sensation is electric. No doubt she’s noticed how your arm has lit up in goosebumps.

“Why?” you ask, your voice quieter than it was, anticipatory. You don't want to be wrong again.

She speaks slowly, her gaze holding steady. “Because, I don’t want to be a thing with Yuta”—her fingers give your arm a squeeze—“I want something with you.”

It doesn’t register at first, the words not sinking in, rather just sitting there, utterly impactful. Her amber eyes watch yours as you tell it to yourself again: Maki doesn’t want Yuta, she wants you.

Your friend, who for months you’ve longed for, dreamed of, desired, Maki, she likes you back.

There’s no room for air in your body, not with the surge of excitement pushing up through your chest. Everyone else—Panda, Yuji, Nobara—they didn't know what they were talking about. Maki wants you.

Your hand lands on hers without consulting your head first. Then you’re leaning forward, leaning closer to her, and you echo the sentiment, whispering you’ve much you’ve wanted this. She smiles before your lips meet; the kiss was mutually long-awaited.

And so, in the dimly lit kitchen, a secret romance was born. Would the others get it right this time?

#maki zenin x you #maki zenin x reader #maki zenin #maki zenin fluff #zenin maki #maki x you #maki x reader #maki

[stealingyourbones]

Hi! So I was into DP years ago, then earlier this year got into Batfam fics, then saw my first DC x DP crossover and just 💥

So now I’m on a new obsession that has me reading every one of your prompts and any stories that come from it and I just had this one flood my brain:

Presumed Alien Danny

So for [insert reason here] Danny has to flea Amity and the living world to stay in the Zone. He’s injured, and therefore forced to use the Fenton Specter Speeder, and flies it into the portal. Only, whether due to a malfunction, Clockwork, or something else, instead of the Ghost Zone, the Speeder gets spat out of a portal in the DC universe.

So, on the other side, the Watchtower gives an alert that an unknown energy is spiking nearby, and then a spaceship/pod looking thing comes flying out of a flash of green. It’s spinning out of control, and headed for a desert on Earth. A team is dispatched, I’m thinking Superman (alien), Green Lantern (alien law enforcement) and Batman (obvious. Kid bait).

So they get there within moments of the crash, find the thing totaled, Superman hears a strange, humming/thrumming accompanied by groans, and he cracks what’s left of it open to see this green-eyed, white-haired kid with very bad injuries and green blood covering what looks like it could have been some kind of space suit. He grabs the kid, gets him out, and Lantern makes a shield that contains the massive explosion that leaves the ship/pod nothing but charred bits lying scattered across the sand.

They get the clearly alien child to the watchtower for medical help, and though they heal very quickly they still need a lot of stitches, mainly because the first set melted and they had to use ones designed for metas with corrosive abilities.

Then, a day or so later, still healing but not in danger, the kid wakes up, stares wide-eyed at the people around him, and exclaims something I a strange language.

Yeah, definitely alien.

Danny wakes up, sees a bunch of weird, costumed people all around him, and tries to ask what the heck is going on. They all stare in confusion. One guys, who’s glowing green but a different shade, had a ring that starts speaking in a different language.

So, I figure, in an alternate dimension, the English language developed differently, so Danny’s English and the DCU’s English aren’t the same. Hence more Misunderstandings.

Also, if Connor is in this, it’s not until after Danny’s been found. 😎

So Danny gets introduced via the Green Guys magic translating ring, finds out they think he’s an alien, thinks he’s still in his world, where the Anti-Ecto Acts are a thing, and goes with it. They introduce him to the younger hero’s his age, and once he’s better they set him up in their base to live, since obviously he can’t stay on the watchtower or blend in. A few weeks in is enough for Danny to get confused by all the differences and look into it, and realize he’s in a new dimension. But he’s already knee-deep in this, so he just doesn’t ever mention it, and just refers to his ‘home planet’ as Amity.

Meanwhile, the alien kid, Danny, seems to be adjusting well, if a bit confused by the strangest things at times. The planet he mentioned as home was listed by the Lantern Corps as one destroyed by a black hole a few days before Danny’s pod showed up, so they avoid asking about the clearly painful and traumatizing experience. Superman, upon learning about the boys skill set, takes him under his wing.

TLDR-

Through a series of misunderstandings and coincidences Danny is premised to be an alien child by the Justice League and taken in as Superman’s apprentice/son. He does not correct this assumption, either ever or until he is outed by something/one else.

homie I am in love with this idea. Presumed Alien Danny makes me so happy.

I will like to add: The not-quite-english that Danny is speaking is akin to old English.

#Presumed Alien Danny #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc comics #writing prompts #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #bones replies #norasalina

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

the crowleying of your mascot's hair.

Good morning maggots, as I write this it is 11:53 pm on the uh, asmi10kpocalypse/10khaos (both stunning names, whichever of you came up with them please walk on stage and take a goddamn bow) and I have awoken from deep slumber.

The Good News: My hair is dyed! The Bad News: It was torture that I nearly fainted from!

Okay well uh, we know what I'm best at, and it's summaries of chaos. So without further ado (much ado about nothing ahahah everything is a 10k reference now), here we go:

It starts, as it will end, in my room in front of the laptop screen.

Now, as you know, I said I would dye my hair after I scarfed down my lunch. I do that and I also take a nap because fuck yeah, sleep.

I check tumblr one last time, grab my phone without charging it, tell my mum I'm dyeing my hair, and begin the walk to the salon.

On my phone is Arthur, @howmanyholesinswisscheese, who as a cishet deadbeat dad of a lot of us, is the worst person to ask for hair advice, but I do it anyway. I need a reference photo for a haircut.

Arthur helpfully scours the internet and comes up with options that include: Gay, hot history teacher, Joe Locke but something's off about it, same as above but different slightly and I can't place it, top 20 haircuts for crazy people, top 100 teen boy haircuts for teens, mullet slash hot history teacher, Hozier, why does the teen boy have a beard, Aussie AFL player, and Chris Hemsworth.

His words, not mine. Does anyone want to check in on Arthur's history teacher because I am getting very concerned for that man.

So I pick a haircut and land up at the salon. Arthur also tells me my hair is wild and I have needed a haircut for too long. Thanks dad.

The hairdressers are not pleased when I point to the red shade and tell them to bleach and dye my entire hair.

They inform me it will look like shit.

They keep asking if I'm sure. I say, with increasing annoyance, that yes I am.

Arthur is in the phone enabling me, yelling that I need to do it for crowley and "THEY DON'T GET TO TELL YOU WHAT TO DO"

The hairdressers then say they're out of red hair dye, I can either do a magenta or come back the next day.

Arthur tells me to leave and go to another salon.

So I do, and I wind up at the salon right next door (Arthur and I cheer for capitalism), an extremely seedy looking place with a poorly painted stairwell that could well be haunted.

I tell the hairdressers there what I want, and they also argue with me about how it will fade, look like shit, etc etc.

Arthur says "THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT, THEY'RE JUST HAIRDRESSERS"

He tells me that if Crowley can keep the Bentley together through hellfire through sheer will, I can do the same for my hair.

Finally, they huddle in front of a laptop, muttering, and agree to take me on.

I am then also hair-shamed by the stylist, who tells me in no uncertain terms that if I don't cut my hair as soon as it grows out even slightly, it looks "kharab", which is Hindi for... 'substandard, inferior, bad, shoddy, deficient'. Thanks, mate.

The haircut is done. What follows then is on of the top five most excruciatingly painful experiences of my life.

No, I'm serious. The bleaching and dyeing. It was. Fuck.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

JUST THE MEMORY HURTS

OKAY NEXT PART OF THE SAGA I WILL REBLOG THIS IT IS GETTING TOO LONG

IF YOU WANT THE HAIR REVEAL THEN YOU WILL HAVE TO SIT THROUGH THIS LIKE I DID, I'M AFRAID

#good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #good omens #asmi #maggots #crowley #crowley hair #asmi10kpocalypse #10khaos

[barry-j-blupjeans]

TAZ 2023 Fic Recs

It is that time of year again! Unfortunately, I don't have as many as last year, mainly because work and Life have been a lot this year. But I am very, very glad to share the fics I have loved this year and I'm looking forward to any other recs!

A Candlenights Barold by @sgrumby - or honestly, all three of the Reaper Squad Candlenights fics! Based off that one liveshow where Merle became Santa Clause. Now it is the job of Barry, Lup, and Kravitz to deliver presents to children every Candlenights! This one is based off A Christmas Carol and is not only hilarious but also super in character.

The Best Version Possible by @thedaisiestdaisy - Taako's experience with past romances, his current one with Kravitz, as well as the aftermath of Story and Song. This is a beautiful, meaningful fic that hits me in the feels every time I read it. It's such a deep, refreshing dive into Taako's character.

a monster might begin to worry by @anistarrose - In short, a Barry-kills-Governer-Kalen AU. In long: Such a good fucking fic. Rose's character voices are top notch and she's so incredibly good at playing with emotions and building up scenes. It's a god-tier Magnus fic, with some fun Magnus-Kravitz interactions and some wonderful hurt/comfort.

Also by Rose and very worth reading:

fill up your lungs, feel better - Barry spies on the BOBs corporate excursion and realizes his family still cares, even if they don't truly know him.

to eat from a poisoned plate - Barry leaves notes in Taako's cookbook.

somewhere over the rainbow (bluebirds fly) - Maureen and Lucretia fall in love. Then, Maureen and Lucretia fall out of love.

midlife crises, laboratory niceties - Barry bulldozes his way into being on the Starblaster crew. Davenport is very concerned <3

colors of space and time - Taako and Lup's relationship with their hair.

Rode Hard And Put Away Wet by @holdmecloser-gandydancer - Band AU!! My beloved!! Lup, Johann, and Kravitz are in a band and it gets. Tough. To put it lightly. Whenever Lup discovers Kravitz and Taako are hooking up. This is a WONDERFUL and super funny fic, that also has it's moments of deep reflections and a lil angst! Plus, Blupjeans! We love that!

Astrology for Horse Jugglers by @noodyl-blasstal - Kravitz and Taako meet at a wedding. This goes badly for everyone except them. This fic is pure chaos and I adore it so, so much.

We Got Boned! - Another one by Noodyl! Barry and Lup write a book for payback, kinda. This one is such a fun, weird turn of events. I cannot describe my love for it.

Revenge Plus One by @ceilingfan5 - Kravitz is invited by his ex (Edward) to go on a cruise. A cruise that will host Edward's wedding. And, to add insult to injury, Edward (rightly) assumes that Kravitz will have no one to bring along. So Kravitz does the responsible adult thing: Invite the gorgeous man who sells bagels in the work cafeteria (Taako) on the cruise with him. There is fake dating! There is tension! There is romance! I love this fic so much, I want to eat it.

a lesson in boy math - Also by Larissa! Speed-dating, Taakitz style. Both Taako and Kravitz are the best shade of weird in this <3

fashion statement by @journalofimprobablethings - Taako takes Lup's robe when he finds her and the umbrella. Lucretia deals with that. This fic? Destroyed me. And I loved it. It's pretty full of angst but the good kind, y'know?? I'm in love.

That's all I got this year!! I hope you all enjoy these fics as much as I did! They're all incredible and I love seeing all the different ideas and takes everyone has :O

#taz #taz balance #the adventure zone #fic recs #i am speaking

[onmyyan]

Caspian NSFW ABC'S

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Three words, attentive, bubbly, and clingy, he needs that skin-to-skin contact immediately, no matter what, Cas checks in with you after he manages to get enough air in his lungs, gets you whatever you need faster than the request can leave your lips.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his eyes, the reason being one day you told him just how pretty you found them, Since then he can't help but see the beauty in himself, and his favorite of yours? Asking Caspian to choose a favorite body part is impossible, but, he'd always be a special kind of weak to your smile.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Need I remind you of the MASSIVE breeding kink this mf has?? Good because I will. He's happy to cum anywhere you'd let him but deep inside will always be his favorite.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has on several occasions cum into your food, it scratches this, hidden, primal need to have some part of him with you at all times, and he deep down liked that you were none the wiser.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Caspian has had a few relationships before and it's in his nature to please, he is a munch your honor, that is to say, while he hasn't been in a lot of relationships, he's always been a pleaser and learned to read his partners quite well.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

So our boy loves to be as close to you as possible right? and there's something about having your soft thighs tightly locked around his waist in missionary, with those nails clawing into his back pressing him even further into you, yanking at his hair as if holding on for dear life, it makes his eyes roll back.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Depends on your mood really, he follows your lead. If you're giggly and playful? He matches the energy, not in the mood for games? Bet. He can read you like he has a pamphlet

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Light grooming doesn't really care much, darker shade of his red hair, although he started growing out his happy trail when he saw how you reacted to it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very very romantic, mood lighting, and music if you're into it, Ol' house-husband over here makes it feels as meaningful and special as the first time, everytime. Worships every inch of your body, constantly praises you in the most meaningful ways.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You'd think with how often you two screwed he'd be satiated but nah he's a fiend who jerks off to your selfies while you're away and humps your pillow.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Huge size kink, Overstimulation, Feeder Kink

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anyplace no one will see you, his blood pressure spikes at the mere idea of a mf seeing you come undone.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

BABES WHAT DOESN'T- but fr you doing something as mundane as reading a book or one of your hobbies he finds absolutely marvelous, one second he's admiring the way your skin looks in the light of the warm day, the next thing he knows he's kissing up your legs because he's so overwhelmed by his love for you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Can't degrade you, Nope. Sorry. He just can't be mean to his baby!!! It's not happening.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Certified MUNCH, If he had a beard it be red if you pick up what I'm putting down lmao. He'd rather go down on you but he's not gonna say no if you offer, just know he will get impatient and flip your positions eventually, too addicted to the taste to be patient.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes to take his time with you no matter what, but in terms of pacing, by the time he finally sinks inside, his mind has turned off any other function than to please, meaning if you twitch a little more when he rolls his hips slower? He's doing it. If you go all starry-eyed when he fucks into you like a jackrabbit? Then he's shaking the headboard.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If the area is secure enough he'll do it, although he'll always prefer getting to take his time with you. His stamina is monstrous so he's ready to go when you are lmao

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's game to experiment if that's something you need but he is also a creature of habit.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Minimum of two rounds, max four, but they last hours, he wants to soak in every moment with you so if he can he's gonna take his time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't use toys himself, but he does get a evil lil kick outta using yours on you, making you squirm and buck against him, type to fuck you and use your vibrator on your clit at the same time, after all, if it made you squeak like that how could he not use the tools to his full advantage?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He's a little bit of a tease in the build up to sex, very touchy and lots of heavy stares, the way he looks at you is impossible to ignore and always manages to light that familiar fire in your tummy, during the actual act he's far too into giving you EXACTLY what you want and need to deny you even for a few teasing moments.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Very loud, lots of deep, choppy moans, he's whining out all his appreciations and praises, your name is all he can say sometimes, physically unable to do anything but fuck into you as deep as he could.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Secretly has this fantasy of you getting his name tatted and the image of cumming all over that permanent mark has made him cum in his boxers before.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7.5 and thick, and between you and me his tip is dummy sensitive

This mf YEARNS, he craves you, always, constantly, he'd be happy just existing in your space but you bless him by loving him, and all he wants to do is show you how much he appreciates all you do for him, this devotion comes out in many ways but the main is fuckin till the room stank 💀🤚🏼

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while, despite having just cum so hard he saw white for a moment, his heart pounds too hard to rest, he's giddy, buzzing in his place, arms wrapped around you like a second skin, he'll only fall asleep after he gets in a good hour of watching you sleep ofc.

#yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #delmont brothers #caspian delmont #yandere #caspian delmomt x reader #yandere oc caspian #caspian x reader

[sukirichi]

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 | 𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀 𝐙𝐄𝐍’𝐈𝐍

— in which naoya zen’in feels an unfamiliar emotion when someone else looks at his wife and has to deal with it through other methods.

cw. smut, minors dni. dilf! naoya. possessive! naoya. breeding kink. face fucking. orgasm denial. pussy eating. rough sex. creampie. aftercare and fluff in the end bcos we love dilf! naoya

note. thank you for @starryshinigami45 for commissioning me! i enjoyed writing the fic a lot and this fueled my naoya brainrot again <33

It’s not always that your husband, Naoya Zen’in, can personally attend his son’s annual parent-teacher meeting. As the clan leader and a special grade one sorcerer, he has other, more pressing matters to attend on. His son understands this, and you never complained. Not once have you questioned his absence either in the knowledge Naoya rarely got any proper rest with how demanding his duty as a sorcerer is, but today would be different.

Your son, Naori, is already six and in first grade. Six years of his lovely son being here in this world and this would be his first parent-teacher meeting. And as the head representative of the mighty Zen’in Clan, Naoya showed up dressed to the nines in a custom-tailored suit, genuine Italian Ferragamo leather shoes, and dark shades resting atop his nose. He is every bit the image of a man who had it all in the palm of his hands. The man who fathers wished to be in their prime, the man that wives shamelessly stared at as he brushed his hair back—you could tell pride swelled his magnanimous ego.

After all, he was no stranger to his beauty.

Pampered at such a young age and trained diligently to whatever ‘perfection’ meant as an image to the Zen’in Clan, Naoya exudes elegance with every step. He emits jealousy from everybody he walks past—unsuspecting that he, too, would be subjected to such a vile, green emotion he wishes he would never experience. At a meeting, no less.

As soon as the parent-teacher meeting finished, the kids scrambled everywhere to play. Chaos would have erupted into the room if their watchful parents weren’t surveying their other move. Thankfully, Naori has always been behaved and was content quietly playing with his cars while he rested against his father’s leg, leaving you to discuss to Mr. Sato about Nari’s condition in school.

You would have loved to watch the cute father and son duo more if the teacher hadn’t hovered in front of you already.

“Your son is doing extremely well in school. He’s such a bright, young boy,” Mr. Sato compliments, clearly basking in the attention you direct towards him.

Mr. Sato... for simpler terms, never bothers to hide how he fancies you. Ever since the first day when you took Naori to school and he laid eyes on you, a day wouldn’t pass where he didn’t strike a conversation with you. And you, deferential as ever, have no valid reason to ignore him when he always makes your son the topic before it revolves back to you—and the constant curiosity on where your infamous husband is.

Although Naoya knew better you looked at no one else but him, and you were simply ridiculously polite to a fault, you could hear him scoff from the background.

Your husband’s hot stare burned holes at the back of your head.

“Oh, thank you. I’m glad to hear my son is doing well.”

“Well, I can see where his brilliance comes from. He has such a beautiful and attentive mother supporting him,” the man’s eyes darken in approval, tongue darting out to lick at his lips. “It’s always nice seeing you here, Mrs. Zen’in.”

“Mr. Zen’in is here, too,” a smooth, velvety voice cuts through the air. Naoya’s agile movements cut through the air until your husband stands next to you, his strong cologne washing over your senses like a comforting blanket despite his menacing stare. The man, who he soon learns is his son’s homeroom teacher, wears the look of horror. His gaze zeroes in the possessive hand resting at the small of your back. You’re unbothered by this, simply leaning into your husband’s familiar warmth that your scent nearly calms him down. Just by a little bit. He’ll try to act more civil for yours and your son’s sake. “Sato-sensei, was it?”

“Y-Yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I...I didn’t think you’d ever come, you were always missing out on your son’s special events.”

“Naoya, this is Naori’s homeroom teacher. He’s been wanting to meet you for a while now.”

A handsome smile tugs his lips into a more genuine one at the sound of your voice. Sending you a soft glance, Naoya’s arm snakes around your waist and squeezes there. A blatant show of reminding this teacher that you were Naoya’s wife—not anyone else’s woman.

“I see. Now that I’ve met you, Sato-sensei, I’ll be switching my son to a different class. I don’t want him under the supervision of a man who doesn’t know that married women are not available for his taking. How unprofessional,” he snickers, tipping his head in the direction of the door before calling out for his son. “Let us go.”

Quickly saying goodbye to his friends, little Naori bounces up to his father’s leg and asks to be carried. Normally, Naoya wouldn’t have carried him. He thinks Naori should be a big boy by now, but deep down, he feels uneasy at the thought his son was growing up too fast and immediately bundled the boy in his arms.

“Daddy, is it true? Are you moving Naori to a different class?”

Brushing his son’s hair back, he nods. “Yes. Daddy wants the best teacher for you, and Sato-sensei isn’t good enough. Don’t worry, though, I’m sure you’ll make friends easily at your new class.”

“But Daddy...” pouting, Naori’s cheek rests on Naoya’s chest as he fights back tears. “I’m already happy with my classmates. ‘Don’t wanna go.”

Before he could open his mouth to speak, a gentle hand caressed his arm. You sit next to him and flutter your eyelashes prettily—perfectly aware that Naoya is much weaker than he let on. Sure, he thinks of himself highly, but he is too madly in love with you far more than he believes he was capable of. Sometimes he even thinks you must have put a curse on him for him to be this weak for a woman’s pleading gaze (his words, not yours.)

You just need to work your charm.

“Naoya, darling, can we at least talk about this? You can’t move Naori from a different class just like that. You have to consider his feelings, too. You know our son has a hard time adjusting to different environments and it’s already the middle of the school year.”

However, no matter how putty he is—no matter how much he was at the absolute mercy of your hands—he will never show you that. He is Naoya Zen’in. Strong, dominant, and a powerful man who doesn’t bow to anyone. The most he could do is hear you out to keep his facade, when in reality, Naoya is rather compliant to your requests. Even more so with Naori’s pleas, but the little boy never asks for much.  

“Are you trying to change my mind so you can keep visiting that teacher?”

“What?” you frown, wondering what made him come to that conclusion when your shoulders sag at the realization. Your husband is jealous. It should’ve been obvious, but to be accused of such has you crossing your arms against your chest. “Is this what this is about?”

Naoya gives you a firm look. “We’ll talk later when we get home.”

The slight arch of his brow tells you otherwise. Not much words are spoken when you arrive home, little Naori swept away by the nannies upon seeing the sour expression on Naoya’s face, the deep scowl on his lips—lips that were now latched at the column of your neck as he rudely shoves you against a wall. His hand acts as cushion so you wouldn’t be hurt, and your breaths come out laboured. Whines of his name as you tug at his hair echo in the deadly silent Zen’in Estate who left you both at their own devices.

“You’re being such a brat, you know that?”

“Whatever do you mean by that?” you tease, only to have your smirk ripped away when Naoya unclasps your bra with one hand. Dress now ripped and the remains shoved under your tits. Tipping your head back, you let your husband ravage you as he pleases—smooth hands tweaking your erect nipples until you keen, his hot tongue dancing with yours in a fast, intense rhythm you knew he likes. His erection grazing at your thigh was proof of this.

You pull away from him as you breathe hard. “N-Not here, love, in the bedroom. People could see—”

Your words fall into deaf ears. “Let them see. Let them know you’re mine.”

“I already am yours—” Naoya presses a palm against your mouth. His eyes warned you to be quiet, meaning you were only allowed to moan, beg, call out for his name—anything else and you would be severely punished. Whether that means being on your knees until your jaw aches or your merciless husband pleasuring you into overstimulation, you’ve learned your lesson enough to know keeping these pretty lips shut was the best decision.

“See?” he smirks, “Not so hard to just stand there and be good, little slut, right?”

You nod, never once breaking eye contact as he pushes a finger in your mouth. Tongue greedily lapping at another digit. Eyes rolling at the back of your head as the remnants of your houndstooth Balmain dress are shredded. It’s a beautiful dress, too—one of your favourites—but you couldn’t care about the price when Naoya was leaving kisses everywhere. From your jaw, to your collar, the sides of your breasts, and your hips. His hands followed not long afterwards, squeezing the flesh of your ass when you felt teeth graze at your skin.

“I should mark you up,” he whispers breathily, slowly dropping down to his knees. His breath begins to hover at your pussy covered in lace. “Then I’ll make you strut around everywhere with these hickeys in sight—that should tell people you’re mine, yeah?”

“N-Naoya, don’t, please, we have dinner with your family too—”

He pushes a prodding finger against your walls, warm lips sucking on your pelvic bone. “Shh,” your husband coos like he isn’t knuckle deep into you right now. Your hands clutch at his hair being the only leverage you have for standing upright, legs shaking and a fist balled against your lips to keep the lewd sounds in. Heavens forbid anybody walk in on you right now.

“Just let me make you feel good, love. I’d fill you up so nice and get you pregnant again, hm? How’s that sound? You’d make a happy daddy of two, beautiful children.”

You could barely think straight.

Your legs spread apart by themselves as your knees grow weaker by each minute. Meanwhile, your husband stares at you innocently from below—grinning the lower his lips travels and tongue peeking out to experimentally lick at your clit. One flick of his tongue, and you’re done for.

Adding another finger, Naoya curls them in and out of you. His fingers are longer and thicker than yours that he reaches places in you that only he could find. He’s memorized your body enough to know which spot to press harder on, which pace you like—which is always hard and fast before he scissors you in a sensual manner. When your chest falls forward and droplets of sweat fall on his hand, Naoya pumps in faster out of you. The pornographic sounds of slick dripping all over his hand are like music to your ears. His loud, greedy slurping like he’s a starved man desperate for pussy twists your insides for an impending orgasm.

You squeezed tight around him, calling out his name, begging for a release.

And just as you’re about to cum, your husband pulls his fingers out. Leaving you shaking by yourself as your fully-dressed husband stands back to his full height, his face drenched into your juices stretching into a grin.

“I... Naoya, why...?”

You couldn’t even form coherent sentences anymore.

“What?” licking off his fingers one by one, he chuckles. “Did you think I would let you cum that easily? After you flirted with that man? Who knows what could’ve happened if I wasn’t there. the way he looked at you was shameless.”

“I don’t even like him, Naoya. You’re my husband, and...and—”

“And?”

He knows where this is going. You’re always like this—riling him up like you’re begging to be punished and teased to countless failed orgasms. It isn’t his fault anymore if you cry while you lay on his lap, his large hands leaving marks on your ass because you just wouldn’t behave. Naoya is an impatient man, and you are cunning to always push his buttons but you were all bark, no bite. The moment he has his fingers, tongue, or his fat cock shoved in you in whatever hole he likes, you lose all will to fight back.

Go ahead, his smile taunts you, tell me what you want. Sometimes, if he feels generous enough, he might just grant whatever his pretty wife wishes for.

“And... you’re the only one I want.”

Looping his damp fingers around his tie, you watch as your husband stretches the muscles of his neck and throws his tie to the ground. “What exactly do you want from me, hm?” His belt follows next. Breathing hard, you lean against the wall to brace yourself while Naoya cups his hardness through his pants. It pokes against the fabric like a third leg. Inviting you to touch it, to touch him, to envelope his cock in the warmth of your mouth or the softness of your walls while he fuckes you into tomorrow. “You want this, wife? Want my cock? Tell me, because you’re drooling right in front of me and I need you to speak up with your big girl words.”

“Yes, please.”

“Yes, please, what?”

“Yes, Daddy. I want your cock so bad.”

“Good,” he pulled out his cock from its confines. Despite being married for years, you are still be in awe at his sheer length and size—the thickness enough for it to hurt if you weren’t prepped enough, and long enough that the tip of his cock kisses your most intimate parts and makes love to you in ways the wind was knocked out of your lungs. “Get on your knees, then. Say sorry that you made me jealous. I bet that you were even doing it for purpose to get my attention, yeah?”

Denying his allegations, you scramble to your knees obediently. Humiliation washing over you as your husband snickers above you, using his hand to tap his cock and spread the pre-cum all over your face.

“Wanna write my name on this pretty face,” he muses out loud. A sadistic grin etched onto his face. “I’ll fuck your mouth so hard it will only remember how to scream my name.”

If there is one thing you love and hate at the same time about Naoya, it’s how he stops at nothing when he decides on a goal. So if he says he would fuck your mouth that hard, you need to prepare yourself for his virility.

Bracing yourself as you breathe through your nose and nails digging into his thigh, his cock pushed through your lips. A stain of red tattooed all over his base. Your eyes shut itself from the oncoming tears. His hands cradle the back of your skull as his knees bend, cock hitting the back of your throat and his groans resonating loud against the empty hall.

Naoya is so hell bent on proving his point that he keeps going even as you make gagging noises around him, your juices dripping onto the floor the more you witness the beauty of the man before you. How you are the one giving him so much pleasure his perfectly styled hair falls out of place. Lips curled into a sneer and his balls slapping harshly against your chin.

Never mind that you can barely breathe when your husband’s seconds away from reaching seventh heaven.

“Say you’re sorry. Say it.”

“Nghhr- suh-ree—”

“Ah, fuck!” Naoya pulls his cock out. Your hands immediately caress your neck, feeling it grow sore by the next minute that you fail to notice how your husband has grabbed you by the waist, pushing you down to a nearby table before pulling your ass close to his cock.

“Oh, yeah, just like that...”

Naoya slips inside easily thanks to your previous almost orgasm. He fucks hard into you that your arms damp with sweat keeps sliding across the table, uncaring that your nails left scratches across the surface. Naoya only cares about how you wiggle your ass to meet him thrust by thrust.

Whipping your head to stare at him with lidded eyes, Naoya’s movements grow hastier by the second, and how could he not? You look like a hot mess. Mouth hanging open and garbled moans falling from your lips because you couldn’t speak anymore from how good it felt, how thick his cock filled you up and your nipples achingly hard when your upper body drags along.

“F-Fuck, I’m going to make you pregnant again,” he claws against your hips, “Want you to give me another kid so bad. Your belly so swollen—you’ll be such a pretty mommy, hm? What do you think?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Can’t even speak right anymore?”

A harsh slap meets your booty.

Crying out, your tears form a small puddle on the table as Naoya chuckles breathlessly behind you. He sets a relentless pace until you turn limp before him, fucked out to a state where all you could focus on is the cock pounding in and out of you until a familiar coil tightens in your belly.

Reaching for the arms behind you, you whimper out his name—a sign you’re cumming and need his kisses. Albeit rolling his eyes like he hates it, your husband leans down and meets you for a sloppy open-mouthed kiss. It’s more tongue and teeth than lips actually moving against each other—Naoya groaning deep into his chest as he, too, grows dangerously close.

You can’t stop moaning about how good it feels. Asking him to go harder, faster, to cum inside you and make you a mommy.

Your promise of making him a daddy once again is all it took for Naoya to cum.

Teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his groans, your husband squeezed your ass. His thick, warm cum spilling inside you. Loads and spurts of it flow out even as he refuses to pull out. He stays there until his cock slowly softens—the kisses he spreads on your shoulder and hair just as tender before he replaces his cock with two fingers.

“Naoya, no more—”

“Just making sure it takes,” he reassures, massaging the sore flesh of your abused hips. Once satisfied, your husband runs a bath with you and takes your face into his hands, foreheads pressed against each other. “Was I too rough on you, love? I’ll give you a full body massage afterwards...”

“It’s okay. I enjoyed it, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Hmm,” pecking your lips, Naoya releases a low chuckle. “I’m sorry I got jealous and took it out on you. I know you were loyal and would never do that. I was just... well, I love you so much. Hate it when someone else looks at you.”

You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway. “Oh, please. You just wanted a reason to fuck me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Maybe I did,” eyes glinting with mischief, your husband turns off the shower running and runs his soapy hands all over your body. The tension in the room spiking once more as he brushes his nose against your neck. “Perhaps...one more round to make sure I really become a daddy again?”

#naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin smut #naoya zen'in smut #naoya x reader smut #naoya zen'in x reader smut #naoya zenin x reader smut #naoya zen'in x you #zenin naoya x reader #naoya x you #naoya x you smut #naoya zenin x you smut #naoya zen'in x you smut #naoya zenin x fem! reader #naoya zen'in x fem reader smut #naoya zenin x fem reader smut #suki [ commissions ] #not sfw #🖤.after dark

[kelcemenow]

Drive Me Crazy - Chapter 2.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1661

Warnings Strong language, but not much and a wee bit of flirting.

Huge thank you to the Anon who sent this in! They had such amazing words to say about my writing which I massively appreciate and then to top it off, had an incredible request for me! I only have experience with mechanics in the UK, so I've tried my best with this one! "I just recently got interested in Travis K. X reader stories and wanted to let you know, I read all of yours as quickly as I could. They are so well done and I couldn’t help but laugh/giggle and feel through each word you typed out. You’re doing amazing and I’m so glad to have stumbled onto your page. If you have any space for a request, I’d be curious about what Trav would think about having a military (like fighter pilot) or engineer or mechanic girlfriend. I see a lot of stories with him paired with models/singers/social media individuals (which are phenomenal!) but just wondering how he would be with a more tomboy like girlfriend!"

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

The dialling tone rang loudly in your ear for a few seconds as you wedged the office phone between your head and left shoulder. You typed up a couple of notes on the computer when the other end of the line picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it that Mr Kelce? It's Y/N from KC Auto repairs." You said, checking your notes.

A deep voice laughed, "Hey, yeah it's Travis. You can call me Travis."

"Oh, okay Travis. I had a look at your car and there is a problem with your combustion chamber. You see, vehicles need the right amount of air and fuel to mix and then-"

"Woah woah, you lost me at combustion." Travis said, "Just tell me, is the car a goner?"

You giggled, "No, you just need new spark plugs. It's around $250 including labour."

You could hear him sigh down the line, "Oh! That's fine then, do what you need to do."

"Okay, sure thing. I'll be finished with it by 4pm. Are you able to come and collect around then?"

There was a short silence, "I've got a crazy day. I got a couple of things to figure out first, I don't know if I'll be around."

You checked your schedule in the large leather bound diary in front of you, "Well, I'll be in the shop late working on some other cars, so if you drop by anytime before 7, I should still be here."

"Awesome, I'll stop by!"

"Great, catch you later." You placed the phone back onto the receiver and quickly jotted down in your diary details to remind yourself to replace Travis' spark plugs.

The office door opened and the noises of the shop floor grew increased for a second before they were muffled again as the door closed.

"Hey sport." You felt your Dad's hands on your shoulders, "Your headache gone yet?"

"Not really. I already got two cars to finish up, a service and now these new spark plugs for do for that GMC." You pointed your pen in the direction of Travis' car as you began to write out a worksheet.

Your Dad leant down across your shoulder, "I could do the GMC for you?"

"Dad no, Dr Martin said you had to take it easy." You covered the worksheet with your hand.

He swiped your hand away, "Oh come on, I'm fine! It's spark plugs."

You laughed until you noticed that his face had quickly changed when he caught sight of the sheet, "What's wrong?"

His once rosy cheeked complexion was now a ghostly shade of white, "Travis Kelce...you have Travis Kelce's car here?"

"Yeah, why?"

His eyes widened as he looked towards the shop floor, "His car is in my shop? The GMC, that's Travis Kelce's car?"

Your eyebrows lowered in confusion, "Yeah, he dropped it off this morning?"

"Oh man! Y/N, you gotta let me do it! The boys at the fishing lake aren't gonna believe this!"

"What is going on? Who is this guy?" Your voice was beginning to heighten in pitch.

Your Dad lifted his sweatshirt up to reveal a bright red jersey with the number 87 emblazoned on the front, "Travis Kelce is one of the greatest tight ends the Chiefs have ever seen!"

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your diary for the day.

"Which you would know if you ever watched football with me!" He poked you in the arm with his finger.

You tore off the worksheet from the pad, "If I give you this, will you stop shouting and making my headache worse?"

You Dad carefully took the paper from your hands and gently kissed the top of your head before dancing his way out of the office and onto the shop floor, Travis' GMC waiting in the corner of the garage.

______________________________________________________________

Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, you noted that it was 6.25pm. All of your colleagues had already left for the day, leaving you in the shop by yourself. You preferred working alone but your Dad's business had built up a good reputation in the city for being the best repair shop and it was always busy.

When you were younger, you had always preferred fixing your Barbie's houses to make them better as apposed to playing with the dolls themselves. As a teenager you could always be found in the workshop tinkering with tools and learning everything you could from your Dad. You started helping him in his shop during the summer and when you left school, he took you on and gave you a job. You saved every penny you could and when your Dad needed to take a step back from work, you bought into the business, running it alongside him.

You gazed up at the underside of the Ford that was lifted above you, squinting as the night drew in. The crackled radio played in the background and as you hummed along to yourself, the faint sound of footsteps seemed to blend into the music.

"Um...hello?"

You turned your head towards the direction of the deep voice, a silhouette standing in the doorway of the shop.

You squinted further, trying to make out any defining features but to no avail. "Karl, if this is you trying to scare the shit out of me, you gotta try harder than that." You shook your head and dropped your wrench down onto the floor, the sound of the metal hitting the cement loudly echoing in the vast room.

The figure stepped further forwards, his hands held up, "I'm sorry...it's Travis. I'm just here to pick up my car?"

You felt your cheeks flush red, "Travis? I am so sorry, that was really unprofessional of me."

"Hey, it's all good! Don't worry, I probably shouldn't have lingered in the doorway watching you."

Your mouth twisted to the side, "You were watching me?"

His eyes grew bigger, "Not in a creepy way. But now I've said that it wasn't in a creepy way, it sounds like it was in a creepy way."

You wiped your hands on your towel, smiling slightly as you listened to him struggle.

"I was just...impressed. Like I said earlier, I have no clue when it comes to shit like this." He looked around the room at the various tools and parts that were dotted around.

You slowly nodded your head, "Well, thanks...I guess?"

Travis scratched the back of his head and looked down at his feet, a clear indication that he was nervous. You took the opportunity to really look at him. He was wearing bright white trainers, dark wash jeans and a Louis Vuitton jacket with a white shirt underneath. He was so pristine and you were quite concerned that he wouldn't make it out of the shop without a smudge of oil on him.

"So, my car?"

You looked towards it, digging the keys from one of your many pockets, a couple of bolts coming out with them, "Uh yeah, my Dad took great pride in fixing your car. He's a big fan."

"Oh yeah? Well please, tell your Dad I said thanks!" He smiled before looking around again, "You on your own?"

You sighed, "Yeah, I got a few things to clear up on these babies and then I'll be done."

He unlocked his car and opened the door, pausing for a second before he turned back to you, "Wanna go for a drink?"

Your heart stopped for a beat or two and your chest tightened, a feeling you weren't used to. Men didn't usually ask you out, especially not at work. You didn't exactly make an effort to only be covered in grease all day and everyone knew that your Dad wouldn't be far away, meaning most potential dates kept you very much at an arms length. But here he was, an exception.

"I've still got some work to do." You looked down at your current appearance, "And I might not be down with the latest trends, but I'm pretty sure no one will let me in anywhere looking like this."

Travis smiled coyly, "So, is that a no?"

You winced at his hidden hurt, guessing he wasn't used to women turning him down, "Thanks...but no." Digging into your pocket, you retrieved his invoice, black fingerprints smudged across the paper.

As he reached to take the invoice, his large hand covered yours and you subconsciously held your breath, a fast heat rising to your face.

"No sweat, I might see you around anyway?" He jumped into his car, turning the engine on, "I'll wire you the money for the spark...things."

You nodded in acknowledgement, watching as he pulled away carefully out of the garage and into the night. You unclenched your shoulders and laughed to yourself, turning your attention back to the Ford.

______________________________________________________________

"A package? Who from?" You questioned.

Jordan shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. I didn't open it."

"We never get packages."

You became slightly distracted as Jordan tugged at the bottom hem of his hoodie and pulled it up and over his head, his shirt lifting up slightly to reveal a peek at his toned abs. He threw the garment onto the floor beside him and gazed at you.

"Y/N?"

You blinked, "Uh...I'll go and have a look now."

You furrowed your brows, making your way towards the office and shaking your head on the way, exacerbated at yourself.

On the desk was a small brown package with no indication of who it was from. You ripped open the paper and carefully pulled out the framed photograph. It was a picture of Travis midgame, the ball safely clutched in his gloved hands and speeding towards the end zone. He had signed the corner of the photograph. You turned the frame over to see some slightly messy handwriting on the back.

"For your Dad."

You smiled at his kind gesture.

"Let me know when you want to go for that drink."

______________________________________________________________

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[thanotaphobia]

STAR-CROSSED LOVER BOYS.

purgatory is going to destroy me

crossposted to ao3

⋆

“There you are.”

Missa yelps, his whole body flinching– the ax in his hand drops to the ground with a thud. For a second he thinks about running, but then the words register, and the voice, and he whirls around.

“Philza,” he says, a mixture of delight and anxiety thrumming through him. “How did you–”

“Your guys’ base is not hard to find,” Phil says, hands in his pockets as he surveys the area around them with a critical eye. Missa wonders if he's trying to hide the blood underneath his nails. “You should probably move underground.”

“Maybe,” Missa says. “What’s up? Need something?” He’s a little wary– people have been killing, he knows that very well. He trusts Phil, but still. He’s seen the chat messages. 

“Not really,” Phil says. “Most of my team is out and around I got bored. Wanna walk?”

“Walk where?” Missa looks around the wasteland they’re calling home for now.

“I dunno. Somewhere?” Phil smiles at him and Missa smiles back, unsure.

“This feels like a trap,” he says.

Missa kicks his ax to the side where it will be safe and taking Phil’s hand when it’s offered. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I would never,” Phil promises, and they start walking together. “Ye of little faith, man.”

“Everything’s just gone crazy,” Missa says with a laugh, swinging their hands between them. The camp turns to beach turns to forest, both of them relishing in the shade of the trees as they amble along. “I hope we get to go home soon. I miss it.”

“I hope they leave our houses alone,” Phil nods. “Something weird is going on, and I don’t trust it. Yesterday was nuts but I feel clearer today. My head. Less tired.”

“Same,” Missa nods. “I kept getting killed and the respawn was awful.” He’s not exaggerating– something about the respawn on this island is different, lingering in his limbs and sending pins and needles up his body every time he wakes up. The pain echoes, and he knows he’s not the only one because Phil just nods, mouth set in a firm line.

“It’s probably on purpose,” he says. “To mess with us. I think a lot of things are. It’s definitely getting to some of the others.”

“Not you?” Missa asks, pausing mid step to look at Phil. “Are you alright?” He reaches out, takes Phil’s other hand. Phil smiles at him and gives his fingers a warm squeeze, and Missa giggles softly.

“No dreams, at least,” Phil tells him. 

“I’m glad,” Missa says earnestly. He’s glad to hear Phil’s doing okay– as okay as he can be, but like he said, purgatory is getting to some of the others. Missa knows what he means. He’s seen the looks in some of their eyes, the way people are quicker to snap. With Phil, it seems impossible that it could happen, but he’s heard shouting across the hills and felt the blade of a sword too many times now to deny it. 

“I think they want an excuse to go a little crazy,” Phil tells him and Missa laughs again. “Like, this is some fucked up social experiment and we all just went yeah, sure, why not?”

“You guys were so weird,” Missa says and Phil laughs with him now, both of them giggling. “Like, man, we were just trying to do stuff and failing and you guys were shouting in the distance–”

Both of them are laughing together now, and Missa basks in it. He missed Phil, so fucking much. He’s nervous here, but happy too, happy Phil is with him and smiling. Phil looks at him and opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something back, then pauses. Lets go of one of Missa’s hands and turns slightly, peering out into the trees. Missa makes a face at him, looking out in the same direction, but then Phil is nudging him backward and behind one of the bigger trees with wide eyes and a small smile still on his face.

“What?” Missa asks, dropping his voice into a whisper. “Philza, what–”

“Shh.” Phil presses him up against the tree and Missa lets him, lets the hand clamp over his mouth as Phil looks over his shoulder. This is ridiculous, Missa thinks to himself, and he can’t help the giggling bubbling up within him. His laughter is stifled thanks to Phil’s hand, and Phil is also still grinning, biting his lip as they stand there in the shade. It takes a second for Missa to register what Phil heard– footsteps in the leaves, voices. Fit, by the sound of it, and Etoiles. Now Missa gets it; those two have been on more than a few killing sprees, and who knows what’d they say if they came upon Phil and Missa out here. Missa holds his breath, staring hard in the direction of the sound, and while Phil seems insistent they stay quiet he doesn’t seem too frightened. After a few moments the sounds of their footsteps fade, and Missa is left staring down at Phil instead, who slowly pulls his hand away from Missa’s mouth.

Once he thinks it’s safe, Missa whispers, “So are you and– you know. Are you?”

“Etoiles?” Phil asks, and Missa blinks, then shakes his head. “Oh, Fit? Nah, it’s just fun. He’s gone fucking bonkers since we’ve gotten here, though.”

“I think we all have,” Missa says, giggling nervously. 

“Did it make you jealous? Before?” 

“No,” Missa says, and he’s honest about it. He also… kinda gets it. You just have to look at Fit to understand, honestly. “You come back to me anyway.”

Phil looks at him then, the smile dropping from his lips. He stares, something open and honest and brutal on his face at Missa, as though he’s just had a realization. Missa’s about to open his mouth and ask what it is, what’s the matter– but before he can, Phil surges up onto his feet and pushes his mask away from his face, kissing him harshly on the mouth as he slings an arm around Missa’s shoulders.

They’ve kissed before, but never like this. It’s always been on hands and shoulders and foreheads, soft intimate presses of closed mouths as reassurance and comfort. This is more. This is open lips, warm mouth, noses pressed uncomfortably together. This feels like desperation mixed with anguish, and Phil presses Missa harder against the trunk of the tree and Missa grabs at his waist with both hands and kisses back.

“I wish we were on the same team,” Phil tells him, pulling back a half inch and leaving Missa gasping for air. He feels like he’s on fire, all of Phil’s wild nature igniting him at once, leaving him to boil over. Red and blue– Missa feels the distance now more than anything. 

“We could make our own team,” Missa says, dragging him closer, trying to drown himself in Phil. “Maybe.”

Phil doesn’t bother responding to him; just kisses him again. Missa is going crazy, he thinks. Maybe it’s the place– purgatory sending them all spiraling into their own little wells of madness. There’s something about Philza here that makes this feel dangerous, like at any moment someone might pop around the corner of a tree and yell GOTCHA at the two of them. It’s– well, they’re husbands, everyone had pretty much assumed they were doing this anyway, but something about that thought makes Missa squirm a little, which makes Phil press him harder into the tree, which makes Missa duck his head and kiss him back even more. 

They do that for a while, kissing back and forth until Missa’s lips feel swollen and tender. At some point his knees go out, and they both sink to the forest floor. Phil’s in his lap, Missa can’t feel his toes or his lips, and yet he still wants more, somehow.

“Man,” Phil says between kisses, words punctuated by his face against Missa’s. “What the fuck did they put in the water?”

“I like it,” Missa says. He feels loopy, out of it. Maybe there was something in the water. Nothing feels real. He never wants it to end.

Phil laughs at him, pulling back from the kissing to grin at Missa lazily, nonchalant, like they do this every damn day. If Missa wasn’t already on the ground, he thinks he’d collapse. Phil tucks his warm nose into the crook of his neck and they sit there. The sticks and leaves press uncomfortably into Missa’s back and ass, but he doesn’t care. Phil is heavy on his lap, arms tight around his shoulders, and Missa holds him like he wants to every day. 

Selfishly, Missa thinks maybe purgatory is a good thing. Ignoring the death, and the dehydration, and the sun and the apples and the betrayals– he at least gets this out of it. He’s a selfish man. He’ll admit that much.

“Do you think we’ll get the eggs back?” Phil asks quietly. Missa plays with the loose strands of his hand, twirling them in between his fingers, alternating between that and running his hand down the long line of Phil’s spine. Tracing the bumps of his bound wings beneath his jacket.

“I don’t know,” Missa says honestly. 

“It feels like a trick,” Phil says, turning his head. Missa can’t see his face, but Phil’s gaze is directed outwards, towards where Missa knows the sea is. “All of this.”

“Yeah.” Missa can at least agree with that. It does feel like a trick. It makes him uncomfortable. “I’m still useless here, though.”

“Are you kidding me?” Phil turns his head to look up at Missa now, eyebrows furrowed. “Dude, you and your team have been doing better than us. That’s crazy.”

“Still,” Missa says. “It’s mostly Bad Boy Halo.”

“Bruh, BBH is just cracked. Don’t base your worth off of him.” Phil snuggles closer into Missa’s chest, and on impulse Missa leans down. Phil tips his head up and kisses him back with gentle care, and Missa’s heart rate soars. 

“I love you,” Missa says into the kiss.

“I know,” Phil murmurs back into his lips. Missa snorts.

“You nerdy motherfuck,” he says, and Phil laughs, kissing Missa again, and again. “Star Wars?”

“Would you rather me just say it back?” Phil asks, and Missa stops, lips hovering a breath above Phil’s. For a moment neither of them move, and then Missa draws away, inhaling slightly.

“Would it be hard for you to?” he asks. Phil looks at him, eyes suddenly guarded, and then away. The uncomfortable shift makes Missa feel as though a bucket of cold water has been doused on him, trickling down his spine.

“If I say it, it makes shit real,” Phil says.

“And?” Missa demands. “Is me being real a bad thing?”

“No, no, I just–” Phil’s face contorts. “Missa, if it’s real, it means losing you becomes real too.”

“So you just avoid it,” Missa says, and slowly, things click into place. And it doesn’t make sense even then, it just makes him feel… angry. He hasn’t ever felt angry at Phil before, but here they are. His hands tighten around Phil, fingers catching in the rough cloth of his jacket. “Don’t you ever think it’s real for me?”

“I know it’s real for you,” Phil says, and he sounds more cautious now, like he’s seen Missa’s anger. “Missa–”

“No, no no no, Philza,” Missa says, and now he draws his hands back and away, staring at Phil’s conflicted face. “You can’t handle it, sure that’s fine, yeah. But that’s just not fair.”

Phil’s eyes flash. “You can’t force me to say shit.”

“And I’m not!” Missa scowls a little. “I’m just thinking, if I’m such a coward and I’m able to face the fact I love you and you can’t, what does that say about you–”

“Wow.” Phil pushes up and off him, untangling their limbs messily and staggering back onto his feet. Missa hurries to stand up, brushing off his knees as he does and leaning against the tree for support. “Wow, low fucking blow.”

“Says the one who won’t even say he loves me back,” Missa says, and it’s weird how the affection he’d been feeling only seconds ago can fade into animosity so quickly. Maybe Phil was right. Maybe it’s this place. “We split on to teams and yet you only come find me when you, what? Want comfort? Want a kiss?”

“Maybe I just like hanging out with you,” Phil says.

“I wouldn’t know, you never fucking say it,” Missa snaps.

Phil glares at him, raising a hand and wiping the back of it against his lips. Missa drags his skeleton mask back over his face. “Maybe it’s a good thing we’re on separate teams,” Phil says, voice cold. “You always needed your space.”

“Now who’s throwing low blows?” Missa says. The mask serves a few purposes– to match Phil’s energy for one, and two, to hide the way his eyes start to well up with tears. He’s always been a crybaby, but this hurts. It really, truly hurts. At least when they start to stream down his cheeks, they’re hidden behind the comfort of his mask. “Maybe you don’t love me. Maybe that’s why you won’t say it. Just break my heart already, get it over with.”

“Break your heart?” Phil laughs, shifting his stance to something more solid, feet spread apart in the leaves and hands balled into fists at his sides. Missa catches the warning before the actual fire gets spit– the words like venom lashing out across the forest. “Like you broke Chayanne’s?”

Missa can barely see when his hands hit Phil’s shoulders, shoving him backwards on uneven footsteps. “Get away,” he says, then he’s shouting, “Get away, get away, get away from me!”

The heartbreak, it turns out, is very much real in this place. Purgatory, the place between worlds, an eternal waiting room. There’s no going forward here, not unless you play the right cards. Missa’s face feels red and hot and he says nothing as Phil turns on his heel and walks away, not even bothering to look back. He waits until he’s sure Phil’s gone before he crumples to the ground and cries, whimpering into his hands like a baby because he’s gone and ruined everything now, hasn’t he?

But there is an itch at the back of his brain.

Maybe you did the right thing, the itch tells him, gentle hands on his shoulders and fingers petting through his hair. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re on separate teams, after all, and it couldn’t work. Stay away for the next few weeks, give each other space. Run away and let it all smooth over– he’ll forgive you, after all. He always has.

Missa wipes his eyes dry. Gets to his feet again, and looks in the direction Phil left. Maybe his subconscious is right. Maybe it’s just a waiting game. They can be angry at each other here, fight here, kill here, and when they get back to the island it can all go back to normal.

It’s just the stress, Missa tells himself, thinking of their son as he turns back towards the blue team base camp. There are things to do now, fights to be won, challenges to work on. He can think about Phil later. A small fight between couples never killed anyone.

…Right?

#qsmp #qsmp shipping #pissa #q!philza #q!missa #they kiss guys #wee oo wee oo #my writing

[heliads]

Hi I was wondering if i could request for Peter Hayes where they have a rivalry going on even though she’s super sweet and one day he gets doused with that memory erasing gas and she volunteers to look after him for the time being and while he has no memory he’s just really nice to her and confused and they fall in love with each other. And one day he somehow randomly gets his memories back but he pretends he doesn’t because he’s afraid she’ll leave him until he accidentally slips up and he has to confess that he’s in love with her and was afraid she’d leave him if he had his memory back and went back to his normal self please and thank you :)

ooh it has been WAYY too long since i wrote for divergent!! let's go

'missing link' - peter hayes

masterlist

The boy knows it shouldn’t be like this.

He feels– strange. Not right. It takes him a moment to realize that might have to do with the fact that he’s crumpled on the ground, and another moment to discover with startling unease that he does not remember ever falling. Nor does he remember what room he’s in, how he got there, or anything else for that matter. Where there should be memories, there is just a blank gray wash in his head, a slate wiped clean of countless experiences.

It should terrify him, the boy thinks, but for some reason, he isn’t reacting to it as he should. Never mind the fact that the boy is not aware enough of who he is to know how he should or should not react to things; finding oneself in a strange place with no memories is grounds for panic, regardless of who he was before all this. A strange calm persists over his mind nonetheless; it’s unnatural, like he’s been sedated or something. You know what that’s like, a voice whispers in the back of his brain. Who the hell is he to be familiar with such a thing?

Before the boy can make a decision as to what he should do, the sound of running footsteps right outside the door jolts him back to reality. Seconds later, a trio of people all dressed in varying shades of black skid into the room. They stare at him. The boy stares back at them. They all seem equally confused as to what is going on, which is weird because as far as the boy is concerned, he’s the only one with gaps in his memory. Surely someone here should have a clue.

One of the three newcomers steps forward, a girl with mousy brown hair. Her black t-shirt has a low neck which reveals a tattoo of three birds against her collarbone. “Peter, what the hell have you done now?”

The boy glances behind him, but there’s no one else in the room, so he assumes Peter is supposed to be him. “What?”

Bird Tattoo looks confusedly at her two friends. For some reason, the expression feels familiar. Maybe this girl spends a lot of her time unaware of her surroundings. It’s probably annoyed him in the past. “We heard a loud noise and wanted to see what was going on. Of course you’re here, that explains things. What did you do?”

“There was a noise?” Peter asks. He doesn’t remember hearing anything like that, but that’s hardly new to him by now.

Immediately, he knows it’s the wrong question. The confusion in the trio’s expressions shifts to genuine alarm. A new girl starts talking, shorter than the rest but by no means less unhappy with him. “Yeah, it was super loud. There’s no way you missed it.”

“Oh,” he says, because they seem to expect him to answer.

Short Girl furrows her brow. “Did something happen? You seem weirdly quiet.”

Peter peers up at her. “Why would you say that? Do I know you?”

Short Girl’s face flashes with anger, but when it becomes clear that Peter isn’t just messing around, her jaw drops. “Oh, no. I think he got into the memory gas.”

The third member of their trio has been silent this whole time, but the final man sucks in a low breath now. “That’s bad. That’s really bad.”

“Memory gas?” Peter prods hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Quiet Guy says, “I see one of the canisters has been tampered with. Your memory has been erased. It’ll probably come back later, but for now, you won’t remember who you are. Or any of the rest of your memories, for that matter.”

Peter stares at him. “Why the fuck would memory gas just be lying around where someone can stumble upon it? What kind of place do you guys live in?”

“You live here too,” Bird Tattoo interjects, “And besides, it isn’t just lying around. This room was locked, I think you broke in. This whole sector is off limits.”

“Then why are you here?” Peter points out.

The trio exchange glances again. “We have to do something about him,” Bird Tattoo says at last.

“Kill him?” Short Girl asks hopefully.

“I would prefer not that,” Peter interjects, earning him three identical glares.

Quiet Guy tilts his head to the side, thinking. “Stick him with someone else. Give him to Y/N. She knows him better than all of us, she’ll figure out something to do to get his memories back.”

Short Girl scoffs. “Yeah, she knows him because he hates her the most. I’m not so sure that’s the best plan.”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Quiet Guy asks, and when both girls are silent, he takes that as his answer. “Alright, we’re taking him to Y/N. End of discussion.”

He offers a hand to Peter, who accepts the offer of help, although this only seems to make the three strangers more unsettled. Evidently, whoever Peter normally is with his memories intact, he doesn’t trust a lot of people. Given how shifty these three are, though, maybe that’s for the best. He follows the trio through strange, dark hallways and up flights of stairs until they’re in a long corridor lined with doors. Living quarters, his mind tells him, although he has no idea where that information came from.

Quiet Guy picks a door and knocks. A few moments later, a girl appears. “Hey, Four,” she says casually, “What can I do for you?”

Quiet Guy– Four, what a weird name– grimaces at her words. “We need you to babysit someone for us.”

“Hey,” Peter protests from the back of their little group.

The sound of his voice calls Y/N’s attention to him, and immediately her expression changes. Whatever friendly demeanor she had worn before is gone now, locked up behind a wall of unreadable blankness. “What’s going on here?”

Bird Tattoo glances behind her in the hallway, even though there’s no one there. “Can we come in?”

Y/N nods, holding open the door for them all to file into her apartment. Maybe he’s just overthinking, but Peter swears she looks at him the longest as he passes. The moment in which their eyes meet feels like it spans several years instead of just one second, but then she blinks and looks away to lock the door behind them and he’s lost his anchor, spinning out into a great sea of mystery once more.

Only once the door is locked and they’ve all moved comfortably away from hearing range of anyone still out in the hallway does Y/N return to them, arms folded across her chest, and ask, “What have you guys done?”

Bird Tattoo shoots a shifty look Peter’s way before speaking. “We found Peter down in some back hall. We think there was an incident with some memory gas. He has no idea who he is.”

Y/N’s jaw drops. “He doesn’t remember anything? Tris, tell me you at least took him to the med wing to get checked out.”

Tris shakes her head imperceptibly. “If anyone knew, they wouldn’t just ask Peter why we were down there, they’d ask us, too. It’s a restricted section.”

Y/N’s lips purse. “So you’re saving yourselves? Awfully brave, you guys. True Dauntless material.”

All three of them look guilty at that, which makes Peter decide immediately that he likes this Y/N girl quite a bit. Four speaks up at last. “He won’t be seriously harmed, I’ve seen this stuff used before. It’ll probably take a few days to a week before he regains all of his memories, but he won’t suffer any brain damage.”

Peter stares at him incredulously. “There was a chance I could have brain damage and you didn’t tell me? I’ll kick your ass the second I remember how.”

Y/N presses a hand to her lips to hide a smile. “That’s enough of that. Tris, Christina, Four, I’ll figure out what to do. You guys can go back to whatever breaking and entering you were doing before this.”

Short Girl, who must be Christina, places a grateful hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Thank you so much, honestly. We owe you for this.”

“You really do,” Y/N reminds her, and escorts the three of them to the door. 

Once it’s just Peter and Y/N in the room, silence descends upon them both. Peter isn’t sure if he should be speaking or not; he doesn’t remember enough about himself to know if he’s a talker, so he waits to say anything until Y/N walks back to him. 

She glances over him for a second, then sighs. “I’m going to do a medical check. I can’t believe none of them bothered to do one. I think Four was right, you’re not injured, but it can’t hurt. Do you remember how you were exposed to the memory gas?”

“No idea,” Peter says truthfully. “All I know is that I woke up on the ground with no idea who I was.”

She stares at him for a moment, then nods slowly. “You really are different, aren’t you?”

Peter cocks his head to the side, confused. “What do you mean?”

She laughs, although it’s not a happy sound. “The Peter I know would never admit a weakness so freely. You’d answer that question by threatening to stab me. Certainly not with the truth.”

Peter wrinkles his brow. “I sound like an asshole.”

This time, Y/N’s laugh is more genuine. “You kind of are, but we all let it slide. You’re one of the best fighters Dauntless has. If you talked as much as you do without any skill, we’d beat you up for it, but you can back up your sarcasm. Doesn’t mean we don’t try to fight you anyway.”

Peter watches as she retrieves a medical kit from a cabinet, then has them both sit down opposite each other so she can shine a light near his eyes and see how his pupils respond. “What kind of place do we live in if we fight each other all the time? Is this a military base or something?” Peter asks. 

They’re close enough that their knees are touching, which is a strange thing for him to notice, but he gets the feeling that his brain is used to looking for small things like this when it comes to her. His mind automatically focuses on the soft pressure of her hand against his temple like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

“Something like that,” Y/N answers. “Our city is divided into factions. You’re in Dauntless. We’re the brave ones, the fighters. We keep everyone else safe, but mainly we just try to prove ourselves to each other over and over again.”

There’s a bit of resentment in her tone, which Peter latches on to immediately. “Do we prove ourselves to each other?”

She huffs out a quiet laugh. “Constantly. In order to make it into the faction, you have to go through initiation, which is intense. We were always the top two, always switching off for the top slot. Four led our initiation, he said he’d never seen two people so close. We graduated last year, but you’ve never let go of our rivalry.”

“But you have?” Peter asks.

She shrugs, clicking off the flashlight and returning it to the med kit. “I don’t really care. I’ll fight you when you challenge me, but it doesn’t matter like it did in initiation anymore. You’re no longer an enemy. You seem to think differently, but that’s just my opinion.”

“Do we not see each other anymore? I thought we would have been friends. Isn’t that why the Stiff brought me here?”

Y/N arches a brow. “Interesting nickname to use. I thought you didn’t remember who they were?”

Peter pauses, frowning. “I don’t. It just came out, I guess. What does it mean?”

“It refers to Tris’ home faction, Abnegation,” Y/N responds at last. “You often tease her about it.”

Judging by the sour note in her voice, Y/N isn’t a fan of that. Peter makes a mental note to not do that again. He hadn’t meant to, really, it had just slipped out. Probably like muscle memory or something. What Y/N had said about their rivalry sounds familiar, just like the stuff about Dauntless. It’s like everything he knows is being held behind a massive wall. Peter can catch glimpses of it through chinks in the foundation, but he cannot see it all. Not yet.

Y/N stands up, looking away from him. “You should get some rest. I don’t know if you know the way back to your quarters or where you put your key, so you can crash on my couch if you want.”

Peter frowns. “Is sleep recommended after being subjected to memory gas?”

“Yeah,” Y/N comments wryly, “but mainly, it’s the middle of the night.”

She pulls the shades away from her window to prove her point. Peter glimpses a dark midnight sky outside before the blinds fall against the glass again. Strange, he’d had no idea it was nighttime. The dark halls of Dauntless made it impossible to judge the time of day.

“Sorry for keeping you up,” he says.

Y/N’s expression softens when he apologizes. Again, he gets the feeling it’s not something the other him did all that often. “You didn’t know,” she says at last, and disappears into a room that must be her bedroom. As the door shuts behind her, it occurs to Peter that she never answered his question, the one about if they were friends or not. He doesn’t think so, not based on her description of their rivalry, but wouldn’t she have just said that they didn’t hang out, then?

Peter feels so keyed up after the memory incident that he’s certain he won’t be able to sleep, but he’s hardly closed his eyes before unconsciousness pulls him under. He dreams of dimly lit hallways and large rooms with high ceilings. There’s a girl there too, she’s laughing with friends. Peter wants to be in that circle, making her smile like she is right now, but he somehow knows deep in his gut that she won’t want him there, so instead he asks her to fight, or he says something cruel as he passes. It isn’t right, but it keeps her looking at him, and a curl of something hot up his spine tells him that’s worth it anyway.

The wrongness of it torments him all night. When he wakes up, the brief ghost of her hands floats before his eyes, but it vanishes in moments, and a matter of minutes later Peter finds that he cannot remember a single thing he dreamt of all night. For some reason, this absence hurts him more even than the greater loss of everything else he knew.

Peter had hoped that his memories would return when he woke up, but this is not the case. He tells Y/N as much when she appears out of her bedroom, but she just shrugs and tells him that memory loss patients usually take longer to remember everything. He’ll probably start recalling bits and pieces, but nothing major, not yet.

They decide to leave the room and go to Peter’s place so he can grab some clean clothes. Hopefully, the familiar place will jog his memory, but seeing as it took like an hour for Peter to remember that he put his door key in his back pocket, the odds are slim.

They walk together down the halls, Y/N murmuring the names of people they pass under her breath if he’s supposed to know them. It’s going great until they round a corner and find themselves face to face with a tall, imposing man who makes Y/N’s face slacken with panic immediately.

The man stops when he sees the two of them. “Peter, Y/N. Good to see you two up so early this morning, there’s lots to be done. Peter, were you going to check out the security division today? They say they’ve fixed their camera issue, but I’m not too sure I trust them to do it properly.”

Y/N’s back is perfectly straight, and the only sign that she’s uneasy is the slight widening of her eyes when the man asks them a question. Peter keeps his expression neutral, and an answer appears on his tongue before he even thinks about it. “Not today. I think I’m actually going to shadow Y/N, I want to see the new trainees for myself. The cameras should be fine to delay a little, Max, I supervised their installation just a few weeks ago.”

Y/N blinks in surprise. She’s not the only one confused by Peter’s quick response, he has no idea where that came from, but the man– Max– seems to accept it, so that’s all he can ask for. They part ways soon enough, and once Max is out of earshot, Y/N turns to Peter.

“What was that about? Since when do you remember his name? Or my job?”

“I don’t,” he argues, “It just came out, I don’t know. What do you do with the trainees?”

“I lead initiation. Took over after Eric Coulter decided to switch careers to pursue faction leadership in earnest. I met Tris and Christina because they’re our year, but Four and I teach the trainees together, which is probably why he suggested coming to me instead of anyone else.”

For some reason, hearing this sends a sour spike of resentment through Peter’s gut. “So Four is the reason he sent me to you? Not the two of us?”

“Who knows why Four does anything?” Y/N grumbles. “Could have been anything.”

It’s not really the answer he wants, but he’ll let it go for the time being. “Wait, when do you have to lead the trainees? Are you late?”

She shakes her head as they continue walking. “Four takes them in the early morning, I join them later in the day. I’ll probably head over in an hour or so, but I want to get your quarters sorted out first.”

They reach Peter’s apartment soon enough, but it doesn’t trigger any cascade of memories. He just stands there in the central room and the first thought that comes to his head is, it feels empty. Y/N’s place had seemed more alive, but maybe that’s because she was there. 

“Can I stay at your place?” Peter asks suddenly, “I don’t know if something will happen and I don’t want to be taken by surprise.”

Y/N’s brow furrows, but she nods. “Sure, no problem. Just until you get your memories back.”

“Of course,” Peter agrees, but he swears that it feels like a lie as he says it.

After changing clothes and grabbing some stuff to take back to Y/N’s, they head back again. The journey is easier this time, Peter feels less lost. He remembers the turns and doors of the Dauntless complex faster than he had before. Maybe Four is right and everything will come back over time, but progress is slow going at the moment, and he can’t help but wish it would be faster.

Soon enough, Y/N’s leading him out again, this time to head to initiation. Peter mainly just lurks in the back of the room, pretending to be observing the students as Y/N leads them through some sparring drills. Four is there too, and they exchange some silent glares before Y/N comes back to Peter and he pretends like nothing had been the matter at all.

They walk together, taking a slow lap around the training room. Every now and then, Y/N will call out advice to a pair or shout at someone to stop messing around. Once they complete a circuit, she pauses for a moment, watching the two initiates who were scheduled to fight first in the ring. They both seem evenly matched, and if Peter were to wager a guess he’d say that they’re probably among the top few trainees in the rankings.

Glancing back at Y/N, he notices that her eyes have gained a far-away look. “What’s on your mind?” He asks softly.

She shakes her head slowly, a half-smile rising to her lips. “Nothing. They just remind me of us.”

As Peter watches, one of the initiates manages to throw the other to the ground and pin them there. They count to five, and then the other initiate taps the mat to yield. The winning trainee releases their opponent, and they both crawl off to their respective groups.

Peter cocks his head to the side. “Did we ever let each other go so easily after a fight?” He has faint memories of punching someone until they stopped moving, of pleas for surrender being ignored. Peter has the faint and nauseating idea that he might be a terrible person. No wonder Y/N had looked upon watching over him as a burden. No wonder they all did.

“Never,” she whispers back. “Neither of us walked away unless we were both bloody.”

“That’s because you were the only one who was willing to go all the way,” Peter argues, although strangely enough he doesn’t feel like he’s the one saying it. Instead, past him is reaching through his mouth to speak it, totally ignoring whatever Peter’s plan is now.

Y/N looks at him, startled, but whatever memory Peter had briefly encountered is gone, and he stays silent. She does too, and when they leave training that day, Peter cannot be sure if the outing was good for either of them.

Peter crashes on her sofa again that night. He’s not entirely sure that he really needs to stay there, but the thought of leaving her to go back to his empty apartment is immediately shut down by his brain, so he decides against it. He has another dream of something, something important, but again, he does not recall it when he wakes. His cheeks are wet when he opens his eyes, but he doesn’t remember crying. There is a lot that he does not remember.

It’s still early when Peter wakes, so he has time to pull himself together and get changed before Y/N comes out of her room. Once she’s up, she makes breakfast for them both, and they stay out on her pathetic excuse for a balcony while they eat. It’s really no more than a glorified fire escape, but there’s enough room for them both, so it’s good enough for now. They’re leaning against the wall of the building. Their shoulders touch listlessly. It nearly destroys him.

The days repeat like skipped tracks on a broken record. They wake, they stay together, they sleep. Y/N relaxes around him more and more; it kills him that he is someone she would have to fear, but he’s getting the feeling that there is no one to blame for that but himself. Peter remembers a little more every day, but not enough.

And then one morning they’re both up at the same time, and the windows have been flung into let in the warm, rosy light of dawn. Y/N is laughing at something he said, and it occurs to Peter that this is perfect. That she is perfect. That maybe he doesn’t ever want his memories to return, because when that happens he’ll have to go away, and Peter doesn’t want this to end, not ever.

Perhaps his mind has a sick sense of humor, because it’s only when Peter discovers that he doesn’t want his memories that they finally break down the wall and surge back into his mind. He almost doubles over from the force of them, a million words and pictures swarming his head. His name is Peter Hayes. He was born in Candor but chose Dauntless in his Ceremony. He’s one of the best they have, on a fast track to being a faction leader. Everyone here is terrified of him, and those that aren’t afraid hate him more than they hate the devil or death itself.

There is only one person who does not check those boxes, and that is Y/N. Peter knew it from the very first day, and when he couldn’t make her fear him, he started up the rivalry, but even that wouldn’t make her hate him. He could never make her break, but he tried. It twists his stomach to think of how he tried. At the end, she was the one who won, and he left initiation realizing that he would never be able to let her go until the day he died. 

He attempted to forget her, but nothing worked. He even got a job far away from initiation when he heard she would be a training leader because he had to cut her out of his head in every way that he could. The scalpel is bloody, but the obsession is rooted deep, it keeps growing back. One night he realized that he loved her, and that was the point of no return.

Peter Hayes does not fall in love. He is cruel and calculating. That’s why Dauntless needs him like a shattered bone needs to destroy every bit of muscle and sinew around it. Peter knew that he had to fix his heart before it fell even further, so he slipped out to the sectors of Dauntless where no one was supposed to go except the faction leaders. He knew how to cover his tracks, he’d tampered with the cameras ages ago when they were set up and he could freeze the live footage whenever he wanted. No one would have been there. No one would have known.

No one would have seen him when he slipped inside. Peter knows Dauntless got a shipment of memory gas a couple of days ago. He knew where to find it, and he knew that only a little bit would be enough to make him forget that his feelings for Y/N had ever existed. All it would take was one breath of the stuff, and then it would be over.

It hadn’t been that easy, though. The canisters were unwieldy and difficult to operate. There had been a problem with opening them; Peter had unscrewed the valve more than he’d thought and it had all come out at once. He remembers barely being able to close it in time, and then the effects of the gas had pulled him over and he’d crumpled to the ground, knocking over a few boxes while he was at it. The sound had alerted the other intruders in the area, namely Tris, Christina, and Four, and then he had lost the last of his memories and woke up with no idea who he was.

The reality of it all makes his mind reel. Peter had known it all this time, but it had been kept secret from him by his own mind. He has always loved her, and the truth of it was more than he could handle. He’d tried to separate himself from Y/N by using the memory gas, but that had just flung him more decisively in her path.

He straightens up slowly. Peter isn’t sure how long it had taken for his memories to return, but it must have shown in his appearance, because Y/N is starting to look at him strangely. “Everything alright, Peter?”

She’s asking about him. She genuinely cares about how he’s doing. This never would have happened before. It won’t happen again if she thinks that he’s back to whoever he was before the memory loss. Peter has to cover his tracks perfectly, then, and what that requires is a perfect lie. Fortunately for him, he’s got more than enough experience in that field.

“Yeah,” he says smoothly, “Just swallowed water the wrong way. I love nearly suffocating to start off my mornings.”

He expects her to laugh as he says it, like she usually would, but instead her eyes narrow. “You’re lying.”

Peter stares at her. “No, I’m not. In what world was that a lie?”

“In your world,” she argues. “It was too easy. You never admit things about yourself that freely. You can lie perfectly, but you don’t know how to be honest. It unsettles you. Now, tell me. What happened?”

Peter stares at her, and she meets his gaze steadily. This is it, then. This is the end. She won’t want to be around him anymore, not once she knows that the burden of watching over him is no longer her responsibility. “I remembered,” he whispers at last, “I remembered everything.”

Her eyes widen. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Peter confirms. “Every time I hurt you. Every time you tried to be kind to me and I shut it down.” His voice cracks on the last syllable. “Why’d you let them stick me with you if I was this terrible to you all this time? I have been awful to everyone around me.”

“But you weren’t,” Y/N says quietly. “Not to me. Not now. You’ve been nice this whole time. I thought that would stop when you got your memories back, but it didn’t.”

A brief pain flashes across her eyes, and then she clears her throat, studiously looking away. “I suppose you’ll want to leave now. Do you know why you lost your memories, or was that just an accident?”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Peter tells her on impulse. “I wanted to forget that– That I loved you, Y/N. I knew it and it nearly killed me, knowing you’d never feel the same way. I tried to make myself forget it so I wouldn’t have to hurt like that anymore.”

Y/N’s gaze snaps back to him. Her eyes are wide, and when Peter slowly walks closer to her, he thinks they’re both waiting for something, some great sign that what they’re doing is right. When he kisses her, he knows it’s right. He knows that it’s all he’s ever wanted. As it was at the start, so it will be at the end:  the two of them until forever.

requested by @tianna8320, i hope you enjoy!

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