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caesium-55 · 2 months

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—seven days. [ iii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: hi hello welcome to part three. i flunked the quiz. lemme know what you think. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED. this chapter kinda sux. can't believe i went through a breakup just last week and i still cant write decent post-breakup scenes.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab hope i didn't forget anyone.

masterlist.

you: *sent a link*

him: ?

him: what's this

you: benefits of crying

you: read it it's enlightening

him: some people do not cry over a breakup you know and that is totally okay

you: why crying helps.

you: 1. tears release toxins, stress hormones to be specific. it is good to let all the bad energy out.

you: 2. it aids sleep. no need for further explanation.

you: 3. crying releases oxytocin and endorphins. i know you don't know what an oxytocin or an endorphin is but they're happy chemicals.

you: 4. crying helps you receive the support you need from the people around you. EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY is okay, max. stop treating it like an STD.

him: it feels like an std

you: pussy

you: emotional vulnerability is a thing and it's normal so stop trying to be a big strong man when you're barely holding it together.

you: you may look fine now but i know you

him: please stop

you: no

you: 5. crying has a self soothing effect. very nice actually. it activates the rest and digest system.

him: what even is that

you: the parasympathetic nervous system

him: ??

you: this is why you shouldn't have dropped out of high school

you: education is important yknow

you: youre already lacking in three forms of intelligence, academic, emotional n social intelligence

him: fuck you im smart

you: fuck you 2 and yeah you're smart but only in geography

you: you probably can't do your taxes

him: im dutch so the company's account department do it for me by default

him: the american system is just weird

you: cant argue w/ u there

you: also, 6. crying helps restore emotional balance

you: see? you need that

you: yknow now that i think abt it you should consider seeking therapy

him: what makes you think i’m not in therapy right now

you: well have you considered getting MORE therapy?

You stand in front of the body mirror, holding the Red Bull polo shirt against your body to see how it looks on you for one last time. On your right sleeve, the word MANAGER is written in bold, white text. Because that was what you were. Just a manager.

In another universe this is not the shirt that you’d be wearing. The MANAGER would have been ENGINEER. In another another universe where your family has been well-off enough to continuously send you to karting school and you would have been the one driving the fucking car by now.

You know, if Max has even tried talking to Horner and suggested that you should be moved into the engineering team, then you wouldn't be stuck wearing this god-awful polo that burned your skin every time you wore it for work. Everybody reduced you as Max’s American manager and because you are American, most of them kind of just assumed that you're dumb, you know?

Does the world even know how smart you are? That you graduated top of your class, got the best thesis award, and that you had finished your masters just this year? Did they even know that a Japanese car company wanted you on their research team? That a NASCAR team wanted you on board as one of their engineers? Does Max even know?

Fuck no. He only knows that you're the best at ironing clothes and organizing his Google calendar and memorizing his entire coffee order by heart. He knew you're good at extinguishing kitchen fires and kicking ass in YSL Opyum heels. You doubt he knows that you can do Calculus in your sleep.

You can take it if the world puts you down for your appearance. But if the world puts you down because of your intellect? That's a different story. You'll take any insult to the face but not to your intelligence.

You have four days left in Monaco so you have begun packing already. You're right, everything did fit into three suitcases. Also, you haven't told Max yet. For some reason, you’re too anxious. Which is shocking to say the least because you never ever gets anxious when it came to Max Verstappen. You wouldn't have lasted this long working alongside Max if you were a pussy.

Max Max Max Super Max Max—

“[Name] here. Need anythin’, champ?”

Hearing a sob on the other end of the line immediately activates your fight or flight response. Your eyes widen and you toss the Red Bull shirt aside. Your legs leads you to the nearly empty shoe rack stationed beside the front door, grabbing the pair of shoes at the very top of the tiny shelf and throwing them on.

“I’m comin’ there. Hang on, Max. You wait for me, okay?”

He doesn't answer, just continuing to sob and the sound absolutely breaks your heart.

You run to his penthouse at a speed that will even put the RB19 to shame. Not even bothering to knock, you barge in and yell his name in the empty halls of his penthouse. You search in the kitchen. He's not there. The living room. Not there either. The room where his simulations are. Not there. You run to his bedroom upstairs.

The door is locked. Dammit. Panic overflooded your system.

“Max, sweetheart, you there?”

No answer, but you can hear a faint sound behind the door if you press your ear against the wood. Firefighter training covered how to open a fucking door when it was locked so this once again becomes a situation where you're grateful that you did that tiring and borderline suicidal volunteer work.

Max keeps a fire extinguisher inside his penthouse as per your advice. There is one stationed in almost every room inside his house. You knew there is one inside his room and another one just at the end of the hallway. You make a quick run for it and once you have the extinguisher in your hands, you run back to his door.

“Step away from the door!” you instructed while your mind mentally calculates your payment plan as you hit the door knob with so much force, the walls tremble at your strength. You're functioning on pure adrenaline. Your instincts only yell one thing and that is: go to Max. No one and nothing in this world will keep you from him. It isn't long until his bedroom door broke down. With one last final kick, it crumbles down from its hinges and you forcefully pry it open and sprint inside.

Max tucks himself in the tiny space in the corner of his huge bedroom, his knees shoved up to his chest. A 181-cm tall man trying to make himself as small as possible.

This is it. This is the bottled-up emotions he's been storing since Abu Dhabi. You cannot say you have not anticipated this. Max is bound to explode sooner or later.

Panic attacks have made a home in Max’s body since he was a child. That's what one gets when they’re parented by someone like Jos Verstappen. He killed Max’s soul and made the boy a machine and for what? To shape a child into a man, a racer that he wanted to be but failed to become at the cost of Max's mental health and childhood.

When Max looks up with that heartbreaking look on his face, you almost crumble. Almost, because you cannot crumble. Not when Max needs you.

Sometimes, you forget what it took for Max to become the champion that he is today. A childhood sacrificed for his dominance on the tracks. A whole lot of hatred from the people to become a WDC. And now, a love lost for his third consecutive championship.

“You came,” his voice cracks towards the end.

Your eyes soften, “You called, Max. Course I’ll come.”

You barely brace yourself for the impact that is Max’s body wrapping around yours in a tight hug. The man have literally launch himself from the floor to you at sixth gear speed. You stumble backwards slightly, holding his bed for support so the both of you won't fall down.

“Max—”

“No,” he whispers and his grip on your tightens as if he's afraid that you’ll slip away if he even tried to give your lungs space to breathe. “Don't speak. Stay.”

What Max wanted, what Max would get. So you shut your mouth, shuffle slightly so he'll be in a more comfortable position and allow him take whatever he wants from you. This will be the last chance he’ll ever do it anyway because in four days time, you’re flying to Texas.

You stay for what is probably hours in that position. Crumbled together on the floor, leaning against the side of Max’s king-sized bed. Your shirt is completely damp from his tears but you cannot even bring yourself to care about it.

“Your shoes…” It's the first time Max has spoken since the start of his meltdown.

“Hm?” you turn your head and your nose nuzzles against his hair, making you scrunch it up a little. His hair is tickling your nostrils. If you lean a little forward, your lips will meet the skin of his temple.

“They’re mismatched.”

Brows furrowed, your eyes move to your feet and see that Max is right. Your shoes are indeed mismatched. On your left is one of your Adidas slides and the other is your slip-on Skechers. You ran from one building to another in mismatched shoes. Fucking embarassing.

“Ignore them.”

Silence.

“You good now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” you say. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

You hear Max let out a shaky breath, “Just stay for a while. Don't leave me alone.”

“Okay.”

Eventually, you manage to talk Max out of the hug. You're beginning to feel claustrophobic but you do not want to say it out right so you try to negotiate instead. That's how you and Max found yourselves inside his kitchen again. You're trying to replicate your Abuela's cheesecake, which she was known for back in Austin, and Max is…well, he's Max and he’s trying to be helpful in any way he can. If it's some other day, you'd have shoved him out of the way because you prefer working alone in the kitchen. Having eyes on you gives you anxiety. But given today’s circumstances, you do not have the heart to make Max leave so you task him with doing the little stuff like mixing things and throwing shit to the trash can nearby. And he does so splendidly.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“For what, baby?” You internally wince at your own slip of the tongue. Damn that habit of yours of calling people with affectionate call signs. Thankfully, Max seems to have not noticed it.

“For coming here.”

You shrug.

“I only did what you did for me in 2021.”

Again, your breakup with Leo was bad bad. You spent a month crying for a love lost and Max was there for you. For the most part, at least. You want him to focus on winning and winning alone that you pushed him away a lot of times but you appreciated how he was more obedient to your commands, that he held his tongue so he wouldn't piss you off even though he was not liking your words, and that he was considerate of you.

“I hope you won't go into fights though,” you chuckle. “Like I did after my breakup.”

He smiles, shaking his head lightly and you know he's recalling the memory. 2021 is a hilarious year for you, the Red Bull manager. You went viral after getting into a cat fight with a girl and a whole fist fight with her boyfriend.

You and Leo called it quits a week before Monaco and even though it had been four races since then, your heart was still in a quite fragile state at that specific race weekend. One minor inconvenience was enough to ignite a wild blaze of fire within you and nobody could extinguish the flames.

After Silverstone FP1, you were leading Max to the cool down room to brief him with Horner’s relayed instructions and someone had thrown a glass bottle towards the both of you while walking. Originally, Max was the main target of the bottle but you happened to have moved towards the line of trajectory and the bottle landed on your temple, hard enough that you stumbled upon impact.

You barely heard Max’s shocked gasp and shout of panic over the sound of glass shattering on your foot because the only thing you could register was the terrifying feeling of a thick liquid trickling down the side of your face and you didn't even need to see it to know it was blood.

The only thing you saw was red and it was on fucking sight.

Fucking Hamilton fan. Fucking Hamilton. He’s in Max’s way. He’s in your way. He’s the wall that was dividing you from your dream position in the engineering team.

You shoved the iPad you were holding to Max’s hands and marched down to the woman wearing the Merc #44 merch, swiftly jumping over the barricade and grabbing her by the collar of her pristine white Versace top.

The events that followed were too fast. You grabbed her collar. She pulled your hair. You also pulled her hair. Someone pulled her away from you. You tried to grab her, clawing her bare arms with your manicured nails. She screamed. You screamed back. You pulled out some curse words in Spanish as well because cursing her in one language alone is not enough. Her boyfriend appeared. A quick punch to your cheek. You fell to the ground.

The world stood still. There was a sting on your palm because your skin got torn from the hard surface of the concrete ground. You let a bloodcurdling war cry and your Dad would definitely be disappointed at you for using the boxing techniques he taught you for self defense purposes only to fight a guy two times your size.

Everything was a bigger blur from there. But you did remember the sensation of Max’s strong arms around you, stopping you from lunging forward again. He was saying sweet words to your ear to calm you down but your brain failed to intercept them so you could hear the words, could hear his voice, but not understand any of it. You remember Christian Horner's disappointed face that haunted you even two years later. You remembered feeling so terrified as you sat outside Christian Horner’s office waiting for the final verdict while he and Max and a few of the Red Bull higher-ups argued about your future with the team. You remembered hearing Max’s loud snarl on the other side of the mahogany door: “Did you see her face?! There was blood everywhere! On her nose, on her mouth, on the fucking side of her head!” You remembered the girl taking the case to court. You remembered fearing that you’d be sent to jail. You remembered that she lost the case because it was ruled as self defense and your injuries were grave. You remembered discovering that it was Max who used all his power and got the best lawyer to fight your case. You remembered the atmosphere in the Red Bull garage shifting when you entered it a few weeks later and everyone stared the bandages and bruises. Everyone thought one thing: of course, it would also take a monster to manage a monster like Max Verstappen. You remembered Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion, apologizing personally for the fight caused by his own fan. He didn't need to but he was so sincere with it that you cried when he handed you the apology flowers. God, how could you even hate this man? Your anger towards him was misplaced.

You’d been living with the guilt ever since, that you were horrifyingly violent for a day, that you were capable of killing for a day. And it could happen again. One day. God, you hoped you wouldn't have to see that day. You knew all your coworkers have been careful with angering you ever since. They're terrified of you even. Max should be, too. But then again, why would he when he already saw the horrors done by his father’s hands ever since he was a child? He was used to it.

“I won't,” he says, smiling at you. “I wouldn't want to add anymore problems for you to clean up.”

But you will not be the one cleaning it up because you resigned. You didn’t tell that to him though. Not right now. He just had a meltdown over Kelly leaving him and the news of his manager leaving him too will destroy him.

The cheesecake is a little burnt when you take it out of the oven but it actually adds more flavor to it so yeah, that's a win.

“We should drink,” you suggest.

“It’s mid-afternoon.”

“We drank at mid-afternoon yesterday,” you give him a blank stare. “With Alex and Charles, remember?”

He doesn't say anything as you make your way to his fridge and pull out two bottles of beer. Max has champagne stored somewhere but you have enough of those expensive champagnes. You need beer. Beer is good. Beer is nice. You're a beer type of person and it is time Max becomes one, too.

“I’m no scientist,” you begin, biting off the beer’s bottle cap. “But according to chemistry, alcohol is solution.”

Well, technically, edible alcohol or ethanol is not a mixture. Rather, it's a pure substance that happens to be a liquid at room temperature and typical atmospheric pressure. Pure ethanol is not a solution. Hard spirits though? That's a solution.

Beer is not a hard spirit. It's more of a fermented drink. But Max doesn't know that, though, so you don't bother explaining the science behind it.

Somewhere down the road, the two of you move to his living room. You use the Youtube app in his TV to search karaoke video and have the bestest time of your lives. You're screaming along some Daddy Yankee and El Alfa songs and Max doesn't know how to speak Spanish so he’s just vibing to it.

At 5 PM, you pull out Max’s expensive vodka bottle. Now this is the real shit. The ten bottles of beer? Those are just pregame. Max is already drunk with just those because he’s a pussy but you’re no pussy, so the only right answer is vodka! Viva la vodka or whatever.

Your throat gets tired of singing and Max gets tired from dancing, too, so you both decide to just go entertain yourselves in other ways. First, you introduced Max to beer-pong. He loses, of course. He sucks at everything not racing. Then, the two of you move onto chess. Max gives up mid-game. He cannot understand the rules. Then, lastly, you move to the billiard table Max owned. He only used it when the other guys are over and you do not even know why he bought it when he sucked at playing billiards.

“You know what Kelly said the morning before the race?” Max suddenly says and you look up at him, brow raising slightly. He’s drunk; his skin is flushed and he is all giggly and smile-y as he sits on the billiard table’s side rail and using the billiard stick as some sort of support stand to keep him from falling. You hope he won't accidentally poke himself. You're no better, too. Ten beer bottles and a few glasses of vodka. But you’re not as drunk as Max, and you still have a straight vision and you can still sink the colored balls into the pockets of the billiard table.

“Hm?”

“That it was unfair for her.”

You raise a questioning brow, “Why?”

“I bought shoes and they don't fit her.”

You blink. He laughs at himself as if he has uttered the funniest joke in the world.

“Three years of relationship gone because of a single pair of shoes,” he continues. “She wanted those shoes, too.”

Kelly….what the fuck?

“But that's okay. She….She made me open my eyes, you know? She made me realize what I truly love.”

“Racing.” It's not even a question. It's the truth.

Max stares at you, long and hard, and you look away first because you fear that if you allow yourself to stare too long, you’ll drown in those beautiful blues. This is enough heartache for the day. No need to add more.

“Hey [Name],” he begins. “If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?”

#manager!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #formula one #fanfic #angst #mv1 #mv33 x reader #mv33

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nogodsnomorales · 11 months

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Know that I am going to get pretty serious here, as this post is about Punkflower. I am going to talk about the age situation, the blatant racism ABOUT this ship, and to also talk about the ship itself*. There is also some talk about the shippers/non-shippers + Punkflower antis in general.

[*nothing negative! just like.. discussing it as a whole, because everybody needs to be aware of some important things. the shippers, non-shippers/people on neutral ground, AND the haters/antis.]

There is a BIG wall of text incoming, but all of it is organized to its very best at what I could do!! I first wrote this in docs, I did my best to make it not a whole chaotic mess to read through. It's a big post, but there's a lot of spacing and some text is coloured, so it will be very easy to read.

This is a very detailed and THROUGH post, so it is slightly recommended to read on computer for the best viewing experience.

[It's not needed as you can still just read on your phone/etc, I do want you lovely people to have the best viewing experience possible.]

There will be an expand button, so I will not clog your feed and the tags.

TDLR;

Dear punkflower shippers,

your prayers have been ANSWERED. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT SHIPPING PUNKFLOWER NOW 🙏

punkflower shippers, do not live in fear no more, for I am here now.

Sincerely,

tumblr user: godunforgiving

Edited Note (06/21); FYI, I am muting this! Read the edit change log at the end of this post for more information. If you have any concerns or inquiries regarding this post, do not hesitate and feel free to DM me!

punkflower talk/analysis(?) + talking about Hobie’s age

This entire post is a discussion of various things, of my own thoughts and opinions! Some of the talk is about the posts + comments I have seen other people say about this ship [mainly questioning and worried ones.] All of the pieces of information that I knew were scattered, so I wanted to gather all of what I could find, and put it in a singular post for those still worrying.

[Also where others can actually just refer to this post and just read thru here first, instead of having to spend a lot of time going through the Punkflower tag to desperately find info!]

I would have gotten this finished and posted days ago, but you know, usual IRL things slowed me down, and I had to spend my day in the ER yesterday, lol.. I’m okay as of now! Just have to take it easy, but I really did want to finish writing my ass off with this post, since I know it’s important to me and for many others out there.

Take your time to read through this, and please absolutely feel free to add any of your input/extra knowledge/anything that I should add onto this post. DMs can be the best, or just through the comments can suffice, because I can and will edit anything into this post [that is accurate aka there is backed up evidence/sources to go along with it.] If you do want to see something added here, just tell me and I'll see if I can manage!

I genuinely hope that this post can be helpful to you, as it will be helpful for me!

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Please know that; I will directly quote from many people, as all of them will be credited properly by being mentioned down below and leaving their username (that is linked back) with their respective quotes, because their own pieces of text really helped build this post! I cannot thank each person enough.

Do not be a piece of shit and go after or ‘witch hunt’ any of them. Respect their own privacy and being.

users mentioned (IOOA): @comfortingnightmare, @luvvnobo, @ghostspider-isms, @saltylemonade13, @artisan-is-bored, @bellamer, @uglynavel, @peachypea0ny (fyi, site is not allowing me to tag), @crownecromancer, @raspberryjars, @spideyzpoolsp, @hamiltonforpowerpoint

[If you are one of the mentioned people, and you want yourself to be removed or become anonymous, please let me know ASAP!]

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Notes:

If you are colourblind (some of the text is coloured fyi! colours used are blue, pink, and purple), or have difficulty reading text due to it being too small, or can't read the font, etc, please let me know! I can give you a google docs link of this entire post that is best suited for your needs. No, you will not be a burden to me. Your needs are very important, and I will want to assist with the best that I can do with that!

I, godunforgiving, am on a mix of a positive + neutral ground on the topic of shipping Punkflower. I absolutely adore the comic!Punkflower, and I am fond of ATSV!Punkflower with the way I view it. Reason why I said neutral, know that I am not against the ships by any means!! But I guess why I say that is because there wasn’t a lot of canon media to consume [ATSV!Punkflower], and I want more [Also note that I have NOT seen the movie yet.] I don’t usually ‘do’ shipping when it comes to various franchises, I guess it’s mainly just not my thing? But I do know that I’ve come to like Punkflower.

I do not ‘do’ discourses, nor do I intend to actively join them! This is my first time doing something like this / this being my first ‘discourse’, yet I hope for it to be my last. I made this post with the pure intention to help the Punkflower shippers. Do know that!! I know that many people do not like the topic of discourses, but this one and the problems I’ve seen revolving around Punkflower, I just have to say something. Bc idk if anybody else is going to [with the way I did this post], considering the mess that occurred days ago, but someone has to and has to do it properly.

I am autistic, so I may process words + information differently, or even ‘incorrectly’. So if a sentence doesn’t make sense, due to perhaps my misuse of grammar, etc, please do not hesitate to ask/reach out, and I can do my best to re-explain it to you.

Negative comments [and comments directly to this post where the person is actually spreading misinfo], will be deleted. Know that if you decide that you disagree with this post, then okay! I am not bothering you, just as I hope that you will revert to ignoring me, instead of hating on me. Please have the common decency to just be kind or even don’t say anything at all, and carry on with your day.

If you have any concerns regarding this post, do not hesitate to reach out to me.

this post was originally inspired by a friend, then originally created for @feuille-morte, but it is finished for the rest of the punkflower fans, ily all. take care of yourselves!! anything for these cute silly little guys ok (and the entire punkflower nation)

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let’s get started with an introduction.

“what is Punkflower?”

Punkflower is a slash [aka queer] relationship between two black male teenagers, Hobie Brown and Miles Morales. Usually, it is perceived a romantic relationship, as some other people only see the pairing as a platonic duo and such. I do not know more forms of Punkflower, but I will use the 'main' two forms in this post. Comic![SG!]Punkflower [SG is Spider-Geddon, a comic series first released on Sept 2018], and Across the Spider-Verse aka ATSV!Punkflower.

Think of it as the same ships with the same characters, but in different fonts.

Comic!SG!Punkflower has existed for nearly 5 years now, likely first existing sometime in late 2018 to early-mid 2019. Both Miles and Hobie are very close in age in the comics, at around 16 to 17 years old. Away from Spider-Geddon(?), but still on the topic of comics, Hobie is still 16-17 in the comics.

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“people are saying Punkflower is a problematic ship!”

The main [and probably only] source of this misinformation, is from a clip that was cropped to be posted with the intention of spreading heavy misinformation (We will get into that next.) So, as far as I am aware, and know; Punkflower antis are throwing around p/do allegations, because they hate the ship and they are outraged with people enjoying it. This hate is clearly rooted with racism, and homophobia. So, no, Punkflower is not a minor x adult ship!

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“the interview talk, what happened, and what is actually real?”

If you’ve watched the interview, you can easily see that they were talking about the brainstorming process of developing Hobie's early ideas for his character. A director mentioned that in the early concept stage, Hobie was originally going to be 19-20 [This wasn’t even our Hobie, but Prowler Hobie.]

A person cut a very small clip of the mentioned interview, and uploaded it, a clip that was EXTREMELY out of context.

The uploader cut out the part explaining that Hobie’s ‘original’ age had changed as his character was being developed.

So from this, and no context given, a lot of people were instantly quick to hate; since it was on purpose to make the entire ship, AND those who enjoyed the ship, look extremely bad. What happened was not okay, yet this disgusting behaviour is at an attempt to be justified [and those people are trying to justify literal racism and homophobia.]

“19-20 thing that the directors mentioned were Hobie’s early designs ideas but those eventually changed as his character changed. Even one of the directors said its up to interpretation plus even his VA was all hinty towards Gwen and hobie so honestly its up to you what his age is" - comfortingnightmare

As soon as the clip came out, I had started to see a number of people saying that, apparently, Hobie looked like he was in his 20s to his 30s** (while also throwing subtle/discreet hits towards the Punkflower ship), but this was after the clip came out.

**Literally saw someone on Tumblr say that he looked like 28, and trying to shut down the idea of Hobie being a teenager. Like be completely serious with me right now..

Things don’t quite add up here. This was because of WHAT Hobie only looked like, and now it just has to be racially motivated, as there are no solid explanations or reasonings for their behaviour and disgust. Those people just look bad [as they should.]

So, no, Hobie is not 19-20. Another director had confirmed that Hobie’s age is UP TO INTERPRETATION.

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[TLDR; The interview got taken completely out of context from a clip that made people start throwing SERIOUS accusations left and right.. Since more people actually later found out that the clip was taken out of context [instead of doing research], the situation died down, but people are walking on eggshells now. The haters were being desperate likely because Punkflower is a black queer/mlm relationship, since there is no solid explanation for this hating.]

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“So.. what can we interpret Hobie’s age as?”

That is where I come in! I have many reasons that can help you decide what Hobie's age is to you. And those many reasons are speculated on Hobie's age being 16-17, as many users already guess that Hobie's age is equivalent to a teenager's age. I also believe this idea, as there are many things that already support this thought process.

[But if you like.. (god, I hope nobody does) go through this list and conclude that Hobie is 18+ and continue to ship that Hobie and 15 yr old Miles (or any of the minors).. GTFOH.]

1. Hobie Brown in other media (I’m talking about the comics for instance) is commonly shown for Hobie to be a teenager at either 16 or 17 years old.

“Hobie is in fact labeled as ‘badmouthed teenager’ since 2014 and is 16-17 in the comics and that just because he doesnt have a confirmed/canonical age in ATSV, hes still in the age range of a teenager (16-18)" - luvvnobo

2. Topic of the spider-bite.

ATSV!Hobie is likely to be 16-17 years old (18 at the latest), meaning that he would have been bit at the ages of 13-15. So IF Hobie was bit 3 years ago / at 14 years old, then he would be 16-17.

Realistically, this really could have happened, considering Hobie’s living conditions! [aka what led to Hobie getting bit by a radioactive spider in the comics.] If he indeed gets bit at 14 years old (like how Miles and Gwen got bit at that age for example), then either 16 or 17 yrs old.

Again, with how he lived; if he got bit at 13 = 15-16 years old in crrnt events of ATSV. [If you don’t know of Hobie’s conditions, in the comics I’m pretty sure he, like, basically lived on the streets as a homeless teenager]

“During the "Spider-Verse" storyline, the Earth-138 version of Spider-Man is revealed to be Hobart Brown, originally operating as Spider-Punk. He is a homeless teenager who was transformed by a spider that was irradiated as part of President Norman Osborn's toxic waste dumping.” - Spider-Punk: Wikipedia

The topic of the bite / needing to know if Hobie was (x) age when he got bit, isn’t very serious, as he is already grouped with 3 kids.

3. It would be unlikely (and also weird) for a four man crew to be 3/4 teenagers and 1 adult;

WHILE ALSO implying that the mentioned ‘adult’ and one of the mentioned teenagers could’ve had something going on. [Even if nothing really happened (keyword = implying), and how Pavitr treated it in that way, implies that Hobie isn’t that much older than the three.] [I would have kept this reason combined with the Spider bite topic aka reason No.2, since it’s actually referenced off of pastelnightgale’s post, just that this paragraph alone is solid enough as a separate reason.]

4. Hobie’s mannerisms.

Note, I haven’t seen the movie, but I have seen many clips. From those clips, he’s definitely a teenager at least, it made me feel like Hobie was 16 or 17 years old. I’ve asked two of my brothers; they said that he definitely was their age [both being 17.]

“my two cents on the age debate is like. hobie doesn’t have the vibes of an adult even if his age is up to “interpretation”. like i’m eighteen and bro has definitely gotta be younger than that. he makes my “stupid younger sibling” sense go haywire." - ghostspider-isms

5. If you look up “how old is hobie brown”

You will already see many people speculating that Hobie is likely to be around the same age range as Miles and Gwen [if not a bit older.]

Again, Hobie is already 16-17 years old in the comics.

“in the spiderverse, we have seen that it is common for most spiders (gwen and miles specifically) to get bitten around 14. hobie states he’s been spider-man for three years, meaning he’s most likely 16-17." - artisan-is-bored

6. “Like if Hobie is really 19+ then why is it only a problem with Punkflower?? Wouldn’t the whole love triangle thing be a problem????" - saltylemonade13

Yes. It would be a SERIOUS problem. It also would make the other ships [Chaipunk, others with minors in them] very problematic and illegal ships. But Hobie isn't 18+.

7. Ageing down process happening to various characters in Spider Verse, and Hobie non affected?

If Gwen and the other spiders are aged down in Spiderverse, then it doesn’t make sense that Hobie was not aged down like the others.

8. Hobie literally hangs out around teenagers.

If an adult is constantly hanging out with other children, then that obviously would be the first problem. I wouldn’t really need to keep talking any more about this one. Because if a 19-20 year old was spending a majority of his time around young teenagers, ages ranging 15 through 17, and not really with anybody else his age or above, then yes, that’s already weird.

“it’s also implied that miles is jealous of gwen and hobie. why would the directors make a key plot point of the story be that hobie is a grown ass man hanging out with a bunch of teenagers? and that he might have a thing with one of them???" - artisan-is-bored

9. Genetics do not matter within age.

This is one of my most common quotes by now. Hobie is indeed very tall at almost 6 ft, yes. No, it does not mean that he is above 18+ years old. Hobie can be over 6 ft tall and still be 16-17 years old.

I have seen so many teenagers at drastically different heights, but still be the same age. Many of them being over 6 ft [180 cm], and still being in my age range, and having met a 5’10” 8th grader [aka 13 yrs old] years ago. Both of my previously-mentioned brothers are 6 ft and over 6 ft, yet they are only 17.

“people can look one age and be another." - artisan-is-bored

“hobie’s description as a character. hobie is a foul mouthed TEENAGER. that has been his description for the past five years." - artisan-is-bored

10. “how do i tell them Punkflower has been a thing since 2018 or 2019 and they have interacted in the comics (they are close in age)" - luvvnobo

11. “He has to be an adult, because he goes to pubs!!” Let’s be absolutely HONEST here.

“dude is BFF’s with the Riri of his universe, she can probably whip up a fake ID in no time and even if Riri isn’t in the Spiderverse, he still gets around and knows people. he’s definitely cool with someone who makes fake ID’s." - bellamer

What bellamer said. To add onto this, a pub is different from a BAR as well.

If you look up “what is a pub vs bar” your first result will be this.

To also add, all bars in England aren’t considered pubs.

“If you’re 16 or under, you may be able to go to a pub (or premises primarily used to sell alcohol) if you’re accompanied by an adult. However, this isn’t always the case. It can also depend on the specific conditions for that premises. It’s illegal to give alcohol to children under 5." From the official GOV of the UK website

But literally, let’s be honest here, Hobie would already know at least one person who will help him get in a pub, if he cannot do so himself. If Hobie is constantly going to pubs, then that does not mean he is getting drinks 24/7 when he is there, unless stated otherwise. Pubs focus on serving food and to give drinks [upon request] to go along with the meal.

Before 1995, children under the age of 14 were NOT allowed in pubs in England and Wales. And Hobie is definitely by no means 14. He is likely 16, or 17. He can already drink, with adult supervision, at 16 in pubs. But we know that Hobie is no law-abiding Spider-man.

12. “Hobie wouldn’t be able to own his own place!”

“it’s a key part of hobie’s comic backstory that he used to be homeless. once again, the breaking the law point still stands. wouldn’t be surprised if hobie bought an apartment with a fake ID, was squatting, or was staying in some sort equivalent of the community center that he used as his main group’s operation headquarters in the comics.” - artisan-is-bored

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

I do not think that another director/anybody who worked on the movie will come out and say that Hobie is actually 18+ at this point. I CAN be wrong in the future, but right now, he is not, and there are my reasons for why I strongly agree with the idea of Hobie being a teenager.

ALTHOUGH, even IF a director comes out and says that ATSV!Hobie is actually 18+, obviously all of the ATSV!ships with him and the other minors should STOP RIGHT NOW. But as of now [06/13/23 (when I first wrote this)], and from what we already know, I do not see anything wrong with ATSV!Punkflower and my views.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

The racism revolving Punkflower is disgusting.

I’ve seen a lot of people bashing Punkflower when the whole misinfo-hobie-being-19/20-situation occurred, but ONLY with Punkflower [from what I’ve seen.] I didn’t see any of this happening to the other ships that Hobie is in / shipped with Gwen, and Pavitr.

I have not seen any, quite literally nobody, complaining about any other ship that isn’t Punkflower, and it’s insanely overwhelming and confusing?? People don’t complain when it comes to Hobie x Gwen, but if it’s with two queer black boys? Huge problem all of a sudden.

“Love how when it was Hobie and Gwen no one batted an eye but as soon as people started shipping two black males together all of a sudden everyone’s disgusted and outraged” - uglynavel

“none of y’all had a problem w gwen and hobie, but when hobie started getting shipped with miles and pav? y’all got pissed. get your racist and homophobic head out of your ass. even if hobie IS an adult in the movie, that still doesn’t mean that shipping him with miles in the comics suddenly isn’t valid. newsflash, gwen is MUCH OLDER than hobie in his universe.” - artisan-is-bored

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Other quotes, that I wanted to point out, but I didn’t sort them into a spot;

“There are a lot more weird problems in the ATSV fandom, yet people are worried about Flowerpunk and whether Hobie is of age, or not. Those problems are full on grown ass people sexualizing Miles, Gwen, and likely more. There’s already stuff about Peter B. and Miles ship, and THAT is an active problem on hand. More people need to worry about all of that instead of a guy who has an up-to-interpretation age (but is strongly, likely, a 16-17 year old if not an adult.)” - peachypea0ny

“I can’t even enjoy comic versions of punkflower without me being called a pedo or having multiple fucking comments telling me over and over that punkflower is a proship.” - uglynavel

“I’m sorry it’s just really not fucking fair what In THE ACTUAL MOVIE it can imply something between Gwen and Hobie but the SECOND people started shipping two black boys together then it became a huge fucking problem, here’s the thing if Hobie is actually older and they never say that in the movie but imply something to the audience that him and a sixteen year old girl could possibly have something between them THEN THATS GROSS I DONT CARE HOW GOOD THE MOVIE IS! But Hobie is always, in other crossovers and his comics he is around 16, he has met Miles before in canon the ship’s not new, it was just small.” - crownecromancer (Edited to make sense, by me, godunforgiving.)

“punkflower is originally a comic ship, its been around for ages before atsv, its normal for shippers to crossover into different areas where the same characters are. he doesnt have an age on his wiki and why would he be said to have a love triangle with gwen if he WAS 19/20, idk why ppl have such a problem with punkflower but not with hobie and gwen??” - raspberryjars

“this is what happens when you believe in misinformation on the internet. no, there is no age gap, because hobie does not even have a canon age. if you watch the interview, instead of 10 seconds of it, he says it was early concepts of hobie. another director has confirmed his age is up to interpretation.. so. yall rlly need to stop with this, its weird asl. this whole thing was rooted in racism and homophobia, stop spreading misinformation I BEG.” - spideyzpoolsp

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Another disclaimer/notice;

PLEASE, PLEASE STOP BELIEVING IN EVERYTHING THAT YOU SEE!! EVEN IN TIKTOK OR TUMBLR!

IF it’s a piece of information that could be misinformation revolving around Punkflower or Hobie Brown, or anything, DO find out if it is real or fake asap!

I’m using a method that I remember from my elementary school that was constantly talked about [can’t believe I’d bring it up in a post about a ship years later], however it really does pay out and work anywhere else tbh. The “Stop, Think, Act method”.

STOP = Pause, if it distresses you; then take a breath to calm down, avoid doing anything on impulse aka don't do anything without thinking carefully beforehand.

THINK = Instead of the “what is the problem, what are the options, best path forward?” in the method itself, we will reuse this but change stuff up that can apply directly to this post. So after stopping and calming down, we will think carefully and review what we already KNOW. If it’s where the piece of information is easily seen/known as misinfo, then you are good. If the piece of misinfo is affecting something that we already know, then we move onto the next step.

ACT = “Proceed with the best option. Act carefully, and revise if needed.” The best option forward from thinking, is to do research, and make sure that it is actually real, and not misinformation with lies laced within. IF it is indeed misinformation, then it is the best to alert others, with proof.

If you are thinking “But why even mention that method??” The best example to use this method is with the age discourse blowup. A LOT of people believed in the misinformation very, very fast. What should’ve happened is that the mentioned method should’ve occurred early, to help prevent most of the freak out and its damages. But many users may not have thought of that, or even know the method, so it is okay. At least it calmed down a lot as of now, just that people are now likely afraid.

[Note; I am NOT blaming anybody!! I also freaked out a bit too, but I stuck to what I already knew, until I found more information. At first I heard “Hobie is 19-20!!!!” I figured that it must’ve been misinfo through what I already knew, because adding all of what I knew and this uproar of info, it just didn’t add up from what I alrd knew. but I still researched and did my homework!! Just that more people should naturally second-guess things that they are suspicious of and also be aware of that method and to apply it online, as it is already useful in real life!]

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Wrapping this post up, finally.

It’s sad to see different Punkflower fans fight each other. But it’s also outrageous and annoying to see the plat!Punkflower shippers, who see Miles and Hobie strictly in a brotherly relationship, to throw the term ‘!ncest / pseudo-!ncest’ against the romantical Punkflower shippers.. Like holy shit, that doesn’t make you any better. Can people, please, stop throwing serious accusations against other people so nonchalantly?

These accusations are SO serious and life changing, even if it's pointed at the wrong person. But people are just too ignorant to realize that unfortunately.

“You see him (Hobie) as 19/20 who’s a big brother to the other spiders? Cool! You see him as 16/17 rebel teen amazing!” - hamiltonforpowerpoint

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

End post.

Reblogs, likes, and comments of your own opinions of this post are so welcome!

Again, ily all and take care of yourselves!!

and again, if anything you think that should be added onto the post, let me know! have a great day everybody

A friend asked what’s up with the discourse, asked me to make a post, after hours of research - I absolutely fucking DELIVERED. Love you guys.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Edit #1 (06/15); had to reformat some things since it just looked broken to me! Using the editor on mobile is a PAIN.. 0/10.

Edit #2 (06/16); an edit update! I rewrote some things (to hope to make the post sound more better), added some stuff in the notes section and some throughout the post itself, updated the crediting so the quotes used are credited and linked back to hell!!!! bc crediting others is awesome! and the post is also def over 4.2k words lol

Edit #3 (06/17); An anon told me that I was “misusing” the 'proship' term, so I edited the post. Proshitters can go to hell for all I care. To clarify, I am talking about problematic shippers. Edit #4 (06/19); oh my god 600+ notes?? i hope all of you are having an EXCELLENT month okay.. i love you guys <3 /plat

Edit #5 (06/21); I am muting this! I saw some people reply to this post, but I just do not have the ability to respond to them (Selective mutism), I did write “drafts” to them, but I do not feel like polishing it and responding. Just busy with other things, honestly! I may end up responding some time later, so yeah. If you have any concerns or inquiries regarding this post, do not hesitate and feel free to DM me!

Every once a few weeks I may check up on this post as well, until I stop altogether.

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relaxxattack · 10 months

Text

ok yeah lots of memes about how the shitty new UI is literally a direct carbon copy of twitter and we hate it because of that, yea yea

here’s some actual/extra reasons why the UI itself is shitty beyond the fact that it’s stolen from twitter (in just my personal opinion)

it’s claustrophobic as hell. the old UI felt breathable, felt like you could scroll and actually look at your posts, and now there’s enough shit going on on one page that it actually gives me a headache. (i’ve heard other people say this as well, so maybe it’s not just me that’s overstimulated by all the fucking noise on the dash?)

the ‘dash sorting’ (for you / your tags / what you missed) is way too high up the page now and appears crowded against the top where things like the bookmarks bar are on most browsers. not that anything in this new UI isn’t crowded.

i’ve seen it mentioned plenty already, but there’s quite a lot of unnecessary duplication-- as in, the same buttons that exist in the new left navigation panel show up on the right in blog view, which is just completely annoying and unneeded clutter.

the fact that post interaction options are all on the right side of the posts, but dashboard navigation is now all pushed to the far left of display, is extremely annoying. i’m right-handed, so it’s extra annoying for me to have to constantly go all the way over there. maybe that’s easier for left-handed people, but if the case was supporting diversity, why not just put an option in dashboard preferences to switch the side of ALL the controls? because the post interactions are still on the right.

while we’re on the subject-- tumblr’s original design was actually MUCH more intuitive and easy to navigate. the reason for this is that everything you needed to click was in one small area. you scroll up and down the dash, move slightly up to navigate (home/asks/notifications) and slightly down to the side to interact with a post (reblog/reply). extremely simple, easy to use, even ‘lazy + addicting’, which is what all social media studio exes are supposed to want right now. changing the ui to actually be more work and more frustrating to navigate seems completely opposed to what their obvious business strategy should be.

tumblr’s original design was also much more breathable, with the small icons in the corner looking organized and not taking up much space, and lots of room for the posts themselves to be the main attraction.

there’s the fact that copying someone else’s brand entirely actually just puts you in a bigger, wider pool with much more competition, and makes you much more likely to immediately fall short of that and go bankrupt.

tumblr's original purpose was to be geared toward blogs, and these updates, along with the writing on the wall about blog themes being completely phased out soon, is completely against the original purpose. although sometimes website purposes change for the better, so take that as you will.

and finally the obvious point that you can tell from all the memes: this change is almost universally hated by the core tumblr userbase-- aka the site’s loyal consumers for years and years. driving out their main demographic seems like a very obvious, very quick way to lose a lot of fucking money. they also did this “carbon copy of twitter” update literally just a week after sitewide protest about the idea of this site being anything like twitter, so it feels like a massive Fuck You to literally all of the users. tumblr is rapidly approaching their trust thermocline, and show no sign of slowing down.

these are just my opinions about the ui, and i’m only one person. so feel free to add on other design flaws you think people should be aware of or able to mention! i will probably also be submitting this post as feedback to staff, and will be taking their surveys when i can as well.

#tumblr

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intersectionalpraxis · 4 months

Note

To everyone asking why you tag Palestine posts as feminism, let's talk about:

The 300% increase in miscarriages in Gaza

https://jezebel.com/miscarriages-in-gaza-have-increased-300-under-israeli-1851168680

Girls having to use tent scraps in place of period products

https://news.sky.com/story/women-and-girls-in-gaza-using-scraps-of-tent-material-in-place-of-period-products-13053083?dcmp=snt-sf-twitter

The NYT trying to frame female IOF playing murderers as girl power

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/19/world/middleeast/israel-gaza-women-soldiers.html

And this is just the tip of the iceberg. Two of these articles are from today, the other is a couple days old.

I cannot emphasize enough how we need to keep talking about why this IS a feminist issue in so many ways -and I appreciate this -thank you for sending me this. I have spoken about this a lot on my page, and whenever anyone asks me I link them to some of the posts I have made or make direct references to these issues and more. It's definitely the tip of the iceberg, absolutely. What is happening to Palestinian people -and disproportionately Palestinian women and children is beyond horrendous. I also have yet to hear anything from all the major organizations I emailed about the lack of period care in Gaza. It's deplorable.

Here are some of the posts I made previously on this, with links to organizations that people can connect with to demand better access to period care for those who need it in Gaza, and also one of the organizations supporting right now:

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 7 days

Note

🎉 Congrats on the 1k followers! 🎉

For a possible fic promt:

D, 🎸, 🤣🥵, 🎀

Thank you so much, here's some horny crack for you! 🥰🥳

A little tied up

Rated: E

Words: 995

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Established relationship; Awkward sexual situations; Idiots in love; Very slight knife kink

Eddie thought he knew what pain was.

Being chomped on by a flock of feral demon bats while fully conscious is an experience he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. And trust him, he has a lot of enemies, what with half the town still convinced he’s a devil-worshiping, cheerleader-murdering psychopath.

Eddie also thought he knew humiliation.

Hell, he needed help peeing in those first few weeks in the hospital. His dick has been touched by more people than he is comfortable admitting - and isn’t that something for a chronically bitchless, triple-senior D&D nerd?

Point is, if anyone had asked before today, Eddie would’ve boldly claimed there was nothing in the pain and humiliation department strong enough to make him even bat an eyelash.

Turns out he was wrong.

“Fuuuck,” he whines, hands white-knuckling the bedsheets. His head, heavy from craning his neck, thuds back into the pillow. “What the hell is taking so long? Take it off, take it off, take it-”

“I’m trying, okay?” Steve snaps. He has stopped laughing, which … okay, Eddie appreciates he’s taking this seriously, but he absolutely does not like that brow furrow. That's Steve Harrington's trademark ‘we're royally fucked but I'm gonna keep it together to not freak anyone out’ brow furrow. “The damn knot won't come loose.”

He tugs at said knot as if to demonstrate, and Eddie almost jerks off the bed as a jolt of pain zaps from the base of his cock all the way up his spine.

“Jesus fuck, be careful!” he barks, but Steve stays unimpressed.

“Hold still,” he scolds, voice deep and stern. One large hand grips Eddie’s knee and pushes his thighs further apart. It's very close to how Eddie envisioned this going, and his cock gives a treacherous little twitch. “Don't know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“I told you,” Eddie hisses through another bout of pain. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I wanted to do something special for our anniversary.”

Steve gives him a look.

“So you put a bow around your dick.”

Eddie can practically feel himself blushing, but he’s okay with that. Any blood that’s not in his tortured dick is good blood.

Steve is still staring at him like he’s wondering if the bat rabies did fuck with his head after all. Eddie slaps his hands in front of his face and groans.

“I thought it would be fun,” he whines.

It was fun, at first. Steve’s dumb, surprised face when he entered the bedroom to find Eddie clad in nothing but the ribbon adorning his cock in a snug little bow. The way Steve’s pupils blew wide and fuzzy, the punched-out little growl as he crashed their lips together. The way he all but threw Eddie down onto the bed, smothering him with his own body, cock already hard and straining against the confines of his jeans.

It was fun, and fantastic, and so, so, very hot.

Until it wasn’t.

Because, see, Eddie is a moron. A moron who didn’t account for the fact that the male sexual organ tends to swell when aroused, turning a ribbon that sat nice and snug two minutes ago into a hellish torture device - shiny satin clenching like a vice around his sensitive base. He can feel his heartbeat throb in his tip. He thinks there’s some pubes caught under the knot. Jesus.

When he peers out from between his fingers, Steve is still looking at him with that exasperated expression.

“Okay,” Eddie relents. “I admit it wasn’t my best plan. Now … Any ideas on how to get us out of this mess?”

“Us?” The corners of Steve’s mouth twitch. “I’m not the one who’s strangulating their own dick, dude.”

Eddie groans. “Stevie, please! I’m scared it’ll fall off if we wait any longer, I’m not even kidding. You don’t want my dick to fall off, do you?”

Steve actually has the decency to look mildly panicked.

“No! No, of course not. I just dunno what to-”

He trails off and pinches his nose, lips moving in silent thought. Then, he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like fuck this and jumps off the bed. Eddie gawks at him as he starts rummaging through his clothes.

“What are you-” he starts to say, but then the light catches on the item Steve has just pulled from his pocket, and the words wheeze to a stop.

Steve flicks open his pocket knife, kneeling back on the bed. His face is stony with determination.

“It's no use,” he says. “I'm gonna cut it off.”

“The fuck?” Eddie squawks, skittering backwards on his ass until the headboard stops him. “You're not cutting off my dick!”

Steve stares at him.

Eddie stares back.

“Oooh,” he breathes. “You mean the bow.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “No shit, genius,” he teases, but his voice is fond. “Why would I cut off your dick? I still need it. Now stop squirming.”

It's weirdly thrilling, the cold bite of the blade sliding between his skin and the ribbon. Eddie swallows past the bundle of nerves in his throat and forces himself to stay very still.

There's a tug, and a sharp flash of pain as the ribbon pulls taut, and then-

“Gotcha,” Steve cheers, dangling the ribbon in the air like some kind of prize.

Eddie sags back into the sheets. “Fuck, finally.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, chucking the bow and the knife aside so that he can bracket Eddie with his arms and lean in for a kiss. “What do we learn from this? No more ribbons.”

One of his hands slips between them, starting to pump Eddie’s still sensitive cock with gentle pressure.

“No more ribbons,” Eddie agrees around a moan. “But we may have to talk about the knife again.”

And if Steve’s grip gets a little more harsh at that, his kisses a little more hungry? Well, it looks like they'll have some fun after all.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hype's 1k follower ficlets

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ageless-aislynn · 2 months

Text

Title: “15 Minutes” (10/15) Author: @ageless-aislynn Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: As you heal, you're not alone. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating: T (PG13) Length: 2,604 (this chapter, 24,863 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N: Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Apologies for the break we took for a few weeks here. 😳This chapter turned out a little longer than I expected, (please enter "that's what she said" joke of your choice here), so I hope that makes up a bit for the delay. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger @mysardencut @laurenstacy610 @sporadicbelievernightmare @ultrablackwidower @bxmxtx @jellotherelol @mirandastuckinthe80s

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Pressure on your chest brought you startling awake, flinging your left arm up as if to try and break free of a restraint. White hot pain burst from your shoulder down your bicep like a cord of fire trying to amputate your arm. You gave a strangled cry, managing to sit up and clutch at the various points of hurt as the agony gradually faded.

Out of the darkness, a now-familiar woman's voice said your rank and last name. "Are you all right? Do you need me to dispatch medical assistance?"

"No," you quickly said, automatically straightening your sleep-rumpled shirt. "I moved my arm wrong. Thanks, though."

"Of course," she returned, her tone kind.

"Are you, um, monitoring me?"

"Just for sounds of distress or pain. John was adamant that your privacy be respected as much as possible."

That made you smile slightly under the cover of the lack of light. "I hope they've given you something else to do other than to listen for me to say ouch."

"Not to worry, I keep busy."

You nodded even though she couldn't see it. Or maybe she could? Was she holed up in some ONI office, watching you with thermal signatures or some other sort of tech? "I appreciate it, Ms. Classified. Though I believe you gave me your name, didn't you? I'm sorry, I can't remember what it was."

"You were a little busy at the time," she demurred. "It's Cortana but I rather like 'Ms. Classified,' I have to say. It's like a nickname between friends, isn't it?"

"It is," you said. "And please feel free to use my first name. No need for friends to stand on formality."

"Thank you," she said and, after a slight pause, added your name as if it were an honor to do so.

Was she a Spartan, perhaps? Something about her careful manner reminded you of how John sometimes reacted to interpersonal things as if he hadn't ever dealt with them before and wanted desperately to be right in his response.

You wasn't sure if you should ask and while you were still wondering, she said goodbye with a sound like pixels vanishing, though there had been no hologram of her to see this time.

Your day was a lot more mundane after that. PT came by as Dr. Savannah had said they would, and you dutifully did the exercises with minimal grumbling and complaining. The ancient saying about medics being terrible patients was still said for a reason, after all, but you didn't want to be One Of Those if you could help it.

The therapist had brought you breakfast from the mess for after your session: the cold cereal MRE, typically called mush rarely edible, along with plain black coffee. She also told you that the next session would be tomorrow instead of later today, due to a scheduling conflict.

So that left you with a whole lot of day and very little to fill it.

You were scrolling through your padd, looking through old documents and messages, intending to clean up and organize things but, more often than not, ended up reminiscing on the past, on friends once part of your every day life now long gone, either transferred away or worse.

You discovered a folder full of sketches of various Mjolnir designs you'd done back before you'd decided for certain to begin training to be a Brokkr tech. Your interest in the Spartans and their armor had been a mere hobby, then.

You were far from a gifted artist but trying to capture the different iterations, the bulkier but classic shapes of the Mark V, the more streamlined Mark VI, had made for fun practice. You'd also tried out a few ideas of your own, such as "floating" pieces of armor to try and better protect the Spartans' joints without sacrificing mobility. The final image, though, had been a purely fanciful one: a fusion of Mjolnir and medieval, a literal Spartan in shining armor.

You couldn't help but chuckle. There was no number on the chest plate but it was clearly Master Chief to anybody who was familiar with his armor configuration. The patterning on his visor had a texture reminiscent of a knight's helm and the flare of his shield had a shape like the plume of a feather at the crest of his head. One arm was extended but incomplete: you hadn't decided whether to give him a BR or DMR or go for something like a broadsword or lance. Then you'd simply never come back to finish it and it had been forgotten in your drafts for all this time.

Tapping a fingertip contemplatively against your lip, you thought for a moment, then impulsively picked up your stylus and began to draw.

Gentle fingertips brushed against your hair and you woke to find John next to the bed.

"Sorry to bother you," he murmured, "but you looked uncomfortable."

The moment he said that, your neck began protesting the odd angle your head had slumped into.

"Well, that was a bad idea," you said plaintively, straightening up very slowly. Your entire body ached like you'd been moonlighting as a punching bag. Your padd slipped off your lap to the mattress, then bounced towards the edge, and John easily caught it on the fly.

You suddenly remembered what had been on it. The screen was dark but all it would take was a brush of a finger to activate it again and he'd see--

"What's this?" he said, orientating the padd right side up.

"That's... my poor attempt at artistry," you said, feeling heat blooming up your neck. You resisted the urge to snatch it from his hand and throw it to the floor yourself.

"It's not poor," he countered, studying it even more intently. "Not at all. I like it a lot, especially the detail here."

He tapped the image and the SPNKr rocket launcher you'd placed casually in the Spartan's hand, resting on the armored shoulder, expanded to better reveal the intricate filigree you'd spent a considerable amount of time adding to the large missile chamber.

"I mean, it's not practical, of course," you mumbled but his sincere appreciation lessened your embarrassment. "I wanted a medieval feel to a modern weapon."

"Do you have others?" he asked, handing the padd back to you.

You appreciated that he didn't just start flipping through the images. You swiped back to show him your other Mjolnir studies.

The very corner of his mouth twitched. "These are all mine, aren't they?"

"Hm, I suppose they are," you said in mock surprise. "It looks like I've had a favorite Spartan for a while now."

"Good," he said decisively, then glanced at you with a soft smile. "Could I send a copy of this to R&D?"

"Which one?" you asked, alarmed.

"The floating armor," he said, the smile growing a bit.

"Yeah, if you want," you said and forwarded the study to him. "I doubt I've thought of anything they haven't by now but I guess you never know."

"And could I have a copy of the other one, just for me?"

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed.

You switched back to the medieval drawing, adding your signature with a flourish in the corner before forwarding that one as well.

The door chimed and he went to open it as if it were expected.

"Master Chief, sir!" the young private said, making a motion no doubt intended to be a salute that he couldn't complete because of the large and apparently heavy covered tray he was carrying.

"At ease," he said, taking the tray from him.

The private snapped a salute as crisp as if he were in the presence of Lord Hood himself, then kept standing in the open doorway, staring rather starstruck.

"Thank you, you're dismissed," John told him.

"If you or the Hero of the Pit need anything, let me know, sir," the marine said earnestly before backing away.

Once the door closed, you said, "That really is a terrible nickname."

"The Covenant call me 'Demon,'" John said, bringing the tray to the bed and setting it on the foot.

"'Demon' is badass," you countered. "Mine sounds like I fell in a hole and somehow managed to crawl back out."

"Crawling out of that hole wasn't a given," he said, "and you made sure nobody else was in there with you."

He lifted the cover on the tray, revealing two sizzling plates of food. The smell that hit you was divine.

Your voice dropped an entire octave. "Is that eggplant parmigiana?"

"I... think so? It's whatever was being served in the Spartan mess for lunch." His expression darkened. "You were supposed to get breakfast from there, too, but there was apparently some sort of mix-up. It's been dealt with."

You felt momentarily sorry for whoever had been on the receiving end of being dealt with. "I can't eat Spartan portions."

"You actually can because it so happens that I can calculate how many calories a Brokkr mechanic-slash-medic needs in order to heal properly." He held that with a serious expression for a moment, then winked. "And I also asked Dr. Savannah about it. She said, and I quote, 'Tell her it's fine to live a little.'"

"Oh, well, if it's doctor's orders..." you trailed off with a grin.

He left to get a small table and chair for himself since there was only the one lap tray and you took the opportunity to hit the head, thinking you'd be settled back in before he returned. As it turned out, you either greatly underestimated how far he had to go to find what he was looking for or, more likely, had greatly overestimated how quickly you could move.

Your left arm wanted to draw up to your torso from the way your damaged shoulder muscle was currently being foreshortened. Raising it even close to 45 degrees made it feel like it was being ripped off of your body. You took a couple of deep breaths, forcing it straight down to your side, and gritted your teeth though the pain as you returned to the main room.

John had already finished setting up the portable table and turned, his expression going almost comically aghast. "Should I call somebody? What can I do? I can carry you or--"

"No, it's fine," you told him. "I just have to work through it."

He hovered next to you as you made the few, torturous step back to the bed, his worry a palpable thing. Your bad knee buckled and he caught your arm -- fortunately, the right one -- to keep you from going down. His fingers hit a bruise hidden under your sleeve but you managed to not react.

The stricken look he gave you meant he'd seen the reaction anyway.

"There we go," you said, trying to sound breezy but the result was more winded than anything as you propped up against the headboard. "I'm ready for lunch. Are you? Lunch sounds great right about now."

He seemed at a loss as to what to do. You gingerly reached out and wrapped your fingers around his.

"I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm healing on schedule and it could've been much worse."

He nodded shortly, very, very carefully folding his other hand over yours. With a brief glance away, he nodded a final time as if agreeing to something you couldn't hear and then exhaled purposefully, affecting a lighter tone. "Well, let's see how that eggplant parmigiana is, then, hm?"

Even though physical therapy wasn't scheduled again until tomorrow, you went ahead and did the exercises anyway. Not only did it give you something to do after John left, but you were even more inspired to try to regain your strength as soon as possible.

Since you were alone, you felt free to swear your way more and more creatively through the entire session and only after the fact did you worry that maybe you had accidentally taught Cortana some new words and phrases.

Nah, you thought. Surely, she's not stuck sitting at some console all day and night, listening for me to need something, right?

You almost asked it out loud, just to see if she was listening, but decided against it. You didn't want to imagine she'd been instructed to keep her earpiece in to monitor you even when she took a meal or bathroom break. Or that maybe she never even actually got to go off-duty at all. It hadn't escaped your attention that John apparently didn't trust anybody else to provide your erstwhile overwatch.

You ate your dinner when it arrived, a very delicious chicken gumbo, then turned in early, since sleep was also an important factor in healing.

But your sleep was restless, the aches in your body keeping you from getting comfortable, and then when you did doze off, your mind kept taking you back to those moments when you were trapped. A couple of times, you found yourself jolting awake, John's name on your lips. You wondered if he was on base, asleep in the Spartan quarters. You'd assumed he would come back if he were here but you hadn't actually asked him to. It was his room, though, so wouldn't he...?

Try to get some sleep, that's the best thing right now. You'll feel stronger tomorrow, you silently instructed yourself, trying to find a comfortable position.

The next time you woke, your heart was thundering in your ears and you made a small panicked noise.

The lights abruptly came up to a quarter and you looked around wildly.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

John sat up from where he was stretched out over on the couch and you instinctively reached for him. He was there almost as if appearing by magic, letting you grip his hand as he leaned over you.

You were tangled in the covers and struggled to free yourself. He carefully extricated you with his free hand.

"Were you having a nightmare?" he asked and you nodded.

"I- I didn't know you were here," you said, stumbling over the words. "Why are you on the couch? You could share. I'd- I'd like you to."

He got that slightly stricken look again. "I'm heavy. I'll hurt you by moving around. I can't... I can't cause you more pain. I'm right here, though."

You understood what he meant but it still stung a bit like rejection. You normally would've let him go, would've tried to accept it gracefully, but the phantom weight on your chest changed the words on your tongue.

Your voice emerged small and compressed. "I need you, John."

The words clearly hit him like a plasma bolt to the chest and his fingers closed gently around yours.

"All right," he finally said. "I'll be careful."

It took a few minutes but eventually you were in his arms, turned on your right side with your injured left arm resting on his chest, your head tucked into the curve of his neck. All of the movement did hurt but you absolutely didn't care; all that was important was that he was here, you could hear his heart beneath your ear, could feel his warmth seeping into all of your pains and soothing them.

"Thank you," you murmured into the softness of his shirt.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, kissing the top of your head and lightly brushing his fingers across the hand you had on his sternum.

You were almost asleep when you thought, but weren't completely sure, that he also quietly said, "I need you, too."

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#master chief x reader #x reader #john-117 x reader #aislynn's fics #aislynn's fic #ageless aislynn #fic: 15 minutes #series: how to date a spartan without even trying

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thisbisexualbrainrot · 8 months

Text

I Know Places We Can Hide

Rating: E

Summary: Aziraphale sneaks out of Heaven to visit Crowley. This fic is my version of a third season!

Tags: Post Season 2 Finale. Canon Compliant. Aziraphale POV. M/M. Sexual but plot driven.

Author Notes: NOW ON AO3! I just want more fic from Azi's perspective so I did it myself. Partly based on this post by @sensitivesiren cause I thought it was a great theory. Full first chapter is under the cut! :)

“Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I know places we can hide.”

-Taylor Swift

—

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Earth, that is. He wasn't supposed to be on Earth. And certainly was not supposed to be visiting a certain demon who, for all he knew, did not ever want to see him again.

The Supreme Archangel took a breath to steady himself, absentmindedly pulling on the stiff collar of his pressed, white suit that he knew he could not show his face in. A hint of a buzzing sensation in his fingers and he was back in his familiar earthly attire.

It's a small miracle, they won't notice…I hope Aziraphale bit his lip and wondered if he was pushing his luck too far this time. He had slipped out after his weekly management meeting, when the weight of the discussion had been overwhelming to no one else but him. He didn’t understand how they could talk about such things, their eyes dull with apathy, like they were discussing budgeting and not the destruction of the human race.

These last few months had been a torment. He knew Crowley was right, he was not like the other angels. He didn't care about war or great plans. Well, he did care in the sense that he didn't understand why the earth needed to be destroyed at all. If I'm the one in charge, I can make a difference. Some difference he’d made, indeed. In the months he’d been in heaven, the only difference he’d made was restructuring the scrivener recording schedules due to Muriels absence. In all other regards, he had found the job to be lacking in the “making decisions for heaven” department. It was more of a mouthpiece role, mimicking whatever The Metatron told him to command of the lower angels. He realized rather quickly that he had been manipulated. That heaven had offered him the job to get him away from Earth. Away from Crowley. Away from actually making a difference.

So, his wary eyes scanning the room near the elevator, he hastened his steps toward it and made his escape.

–

“Nope, not doing this.”

Crowley shot up from the bench like it was made of holy water. “I have absolutely nothing to say to you, Angel.” He turned to leave Saint James park, but not before throwing a spiteful “You can go ahead and change your clothes back. I know that's not what you're wearing up there.”

Aziraphale breathed out sharply through his nose. Of course, Crowley was going to be difficult. He’d hurt him, he knew that but he had hoped the demon would at least be a little pleased to see him.

“I changed for my own comfort, if you must know.” Not a complete lie. “Crowley, we need to talk. I-I’m terribly regretful of how we left things and-” “You need my help.” He interrupted, “That's why you’re here, right?” Aziraphale said nothing. He understood he had hurt him but the demon had hurt him as well. And it wasn’t fair that he was being so cruel. Crowley clearly noted the silence and snarked, “Well, unfortunately for you, I'm out of the business of helping angels.”

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale said softly, “I- if you would just hear me out.” The angel felt a pang of fear, pursing his lips and hoping that he would at least be allowed to explain himself. He couldn’t read Crowley's expression since he wasn’t facing him but his shoulders looked… tense. He finally heard Crowley mutter through gritted teeth, “Fine.”

“Oh, thank you.” He could feel a slight warmth of relief sing through his bones. “You see, I made a terrible mistake and The Meta-” He stopped himself, this should be discussed more privately. He stumbled over his words, “That is, Could I-...would you be willing to come back to the bookshop with me?” It was the first place he could think of but not the most ideal place either, he realized.

Crowley paused and Azirphale hoped he hadn’t ruined his chance. “We can meet at my place.”

“Oh you're um- you have a new one now?” Crowley seemingly ignored the question. He took out a slip of paper that looked like a receipt, scrawled an address on it and handed it to him, still not turning fully to meet the Angel's eyes. “Meet you there.” And with that, Crowley quickly shoved his slender hands into his tight pockets and walked away.

Aziraphale watched Crowley leave, the slip of paper still clutched between his fingers. Hearing the anger in his voice made the angel wince. Oh how I've made a mess of things.

He still stopped by the bookshop briefly to check on it. Muriel was delighted to tell him all about their interactions with the humans and how they had read almost every book in the shop already. He smiled kindly to them, his mind distracted by the events in the park. He did not mention any of it to the young scrivener. He gave them a quick farewell, thanked them for watching over things and exited the shop. Anxiety pooled in the pit of his stomach. Right, the address. He pulled it out of his pocket.

How would he ever explain all of this? Where would he start? Had heaven realized he was gone? What if they found him? He glanced around anxiously and waited for a feeling of Michael or Uriel appearing but saw no none. He wanted to stop and see Maggie and Nina but couldn't risk any more time. He would have to catch up with them later.

He glanced back down at the sheet of paper and could make out the address even with Crowley's terrible handwriting. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. It turns out, the flat was just a few blocks away. Maybe Crowley didn’t truly hate him after all.

The doorbell rang, a hollow chime echoing through the flat. Aziraphale waited not so patiently for the black door to swing open, yellow eyes finally meeting his gaze.

“I knew they would be purple.” Crowley mumbled with what sounded like annoyance to his voice.

His eyes. He had forgotten. “Oh- I would love to do away with them, however, I can't seem to change them.” He fiddled with his ring and gave Crowley a half hearted, nervous smile. Crowley smirked, “I know the feeling.”

He stepped aside, a gesture that pulled Aziraphale in and he was hit with the familiar comforting scent of amber and brimstone. I know what you smell like he remembered the demon telling him once, and well…likewise. The door shut behind him and Crowley headed over to a bar counter, pulling two wine glasses from a rack and pouring each of them a glass. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was cozy despite being mostly decorated in sleek black furnishings. Crowley handed him the glass and Aziraphale managed to say thank you with a steady voice. He was incredibly nervous. “So?” Crowley cleared his throat, knocking Aziraphale’s racing mind back into the room. “Are you going to explain what the purpose of this holy appearance is?” He settled in a large armchair, swinging one leg over the other. He leveled his gaze on Aziraphale, taking a sip of his wine.

Aziraphale felt the panic that had been swelling inside of him threaten to bubble over. He had no idea where to begin, just as he had feared. He ran his finger nervously over the rim of his glass. Staring down at it, he centered himself and pulled together what he needed to say, or at least it was a start.

He admitted quietly, “I've made a terrible mess of things. I should have never taken the job.”

Crowley was silent. Aziraphale continued after a pause, his eyes still downward. “It appears The Metatron’s intentions were to separate us. I have been all but useless as a leader, I'm afraid. They don't actually let me decide anything. Not anything of real importance. And, worst of all, they plan to initiate the Second Coming in a matter of months? Years? I'm not entirely sure but it will be soon.”

Crowley let out a frustrated sounding sigh, shaking his head, “So that is why you’re here, to get my help then? Cause if that’s all you want you can shove o-”

“No.” Aziraphale looked up then, and he hoped Crowley could see the pain in his eyes as he confessed, “I am here to apologize and beg for your forgiveness.” Silence. A long awkward pause. Aziraphale didn't know what to say next, so he waited.

“Well then Angel, go on.” Crowley gestured his glass toward him. “Beg.”

Aziraphale huffed, “If you are going to make a mockery of it, I’ll just as soon leave.”

Crowley looked amused, “Oh come on, you really can't expect that I wouldn't give you a hard time. With you rejecting me and all, it's only fair.”

“I would appreciate you taking this seriously.” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. If Crowley was going to make his feelings a joke, then he wasn't going to even bother trying to mend this- this…

“Oh I am,” Crowley’s tone shifted, “and you better start talking, Angel.”

“Fine.” Aziraphale straightened, setting his untouched glass on a nearby table. He looked at Crowley, “You were right.” “I want the dance.”

“No.” Bastard.

“Then apology not accepted” Crowley took another swig of his wine. It was almost like he was having fun with this. Looking Aziraphale up and down he remarked flatly, “You’ve lost weight. No crepes in heaven, I suppose.”

Aziraphale felt his frustration growing, “Crowley, will you please focus on what I am trying to say?”

“So far, I haven't really heard you say anything.” Crowley shot back, his eyes were dark and angry.

Aziraphale had enough. He moved toward Crowley’s seat, kneeling in front of him firmly but gently. He locked their eyes together, hoping that Crowley wouldn't see how scared he was and mistake it for something else.

“Then I will say it now.” Aziraphale’s voice wavered but he pushed on, “I have never regretted something more, in six thousand years. For choosing to leave you. The truth is…” He swallowed nervously, “I love you Crowley, no matter what you are. I will always love you the same.” He took a breath, “A-And you owe me nothing in return, except I would prefer for you to still consider me a friend. You don't have to kiss me, if it's not genuine.” If Crowley would agree to still be his friend, that would be enough. He didn't want Crowley to feel forced to love him the way he wanted. That would not do. And he couldn’t bear to hear Crowley speak to him with such disdain and anger any longer, even if some of it was deserved. He had placed his hands on the demon’s knees sometime during this admission, the warmth of Crowley's legs sending a jolt of adrenaline down to his gut. Now, it seems, he was unable to remove them. He was frozen in place, his eyes following Crowley’s expression. The demon said nothing, at first. Aziraphale watched as he slowly set his wine glass down,

“You think it wasn't genuine then.” Not a question.

Aziraphale looked back at him with slight confusion. “You- you surely know how I feel about you, Crowley. Certainly your kiss was a cruel temptation, was it not? A last effort to try to change my mind? I-I forgave you for it but it did hurt, you see, so I was angry and I-...I am..”

“ARGH!” Crowley stood up, pushing past Aziraphale and spinning around to face him. “Did you really not hear a word I said?!”

Aziraphale, startled by the sudden movement and aggression, stood and turned to face Crowley with confusion now etched into his features. “I-I was listening. You didn't want to come with me, you didn't want to be an angel with me, you- you said you didn't need heav- “

“Argh, not that part Aziraphale!” Crowley rarely said his full name anymore. He loved how it sounded rolling off the demon's tongue. Very distracting.

“What part then?” Aziraphale asked quietly. He had clearly been wrong about the kiss, but that meant- he felt his heart beat faster in his chest.

“I refuse to believe you dont know.” Crowley’s expression hardened, but tears welled in his eyes. He didn't have his sunglasses to hide them and Aziraphale could see then that the anger and disdain for him was actually just…heartbreak.

Crowley was heartbroken. Oh. OH.

He had been wrong in Crowley's intentions for the kiss.

Crowley had been trying to tell him his feelings the last time they saw each other. Aziraphale had just not been listening properly, or at least not been really hearing him properly. The kiss was a last ditch attempt, but it was to show Aziraphale how he felt. What they could be if he did stay. We could have been us.

“Oh I…Crowley.” He stepped closer instinctively, reaching his arm out to grasp Crowley's hand. He thought for a moment Crowley would pull away, but he didn’t. “I've been such a complete fool. Please forgive me.” Crowley cursed quietly as a tear slipped down his cheek, looking away. Aziraphale pulled them closer then, his free hand reaching up to turn Crowley’s face back to him and wipe the tear away. His hand remained, gently rubbing his thumb on the demon’s cheekbone. Aziraphale’s heart could not have been beating louder in his ears as Crowley leaned in until their foreheads were resting on each other. A breath of silence and then quietly he heard,

“I’ve missed you, Angel.”

“And I you, my dear. Desperately.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and brushed his nose against Crowley’s, cautiously. Slowly. With his eyes shut, the sensation of the demon’s breath was so close. His warm face was so unbearably close and the Angel pushed in further until his lips were barely caressing the demons, testing his boundaries.

Testing to see if Crowley would push him away.

He didn’t.

Aziraphales heart fluttered as Crowley wrapped his hand around the Angel’s neck, his fingers curling into the nape of the white curls and pushed in to deepen the kiss. It felt like fire. Warm, crackling and intense. Nothing like before, no feeling of humiliation or pain. Aziraphale sunk into it, letting out a small moan as Crowley licked against his lips. Crowley must have taken the moan as an invitation. He began to push off Aziraphale’s jacket and it fell to the floor.

Aziraphale pulled back slightly, “Crowley, I- shouldn't we talk about this?”

“I think we’ve done enough talking, don't you? Always talking, us.”

Crowley moved back in to claim the angel's mouth once more and Aziraphale agreed, they could talk after. After they- oh mother in heaven, has Crowley always smelled this incredible? He breathed in deeply, pushing his tongue in and getting a satisfying groan in return. He wanted all of him then. Wanted to touch every unholy inch of him. He felt Crowley start to push him backward and clung to him as they toppled onto a black velvet couch. He felt the weight of Crowley's hips as he settled onto his lap, one leg resting on either side as he straddled over him and cupped his jaw, kissing him feverishly. Aziraphale used one hand to pull the demon closer to him. The other gripped Crowley's neck, fingers gliding into perfectly soft red hair. He felt Crowley slip off his shoes and he did the same, all while not breaking their joined mouths even for a moment. Crowley chuckled affectionately as he broke their lips apart, “You sure you’re alright with this, Angel?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Aziraphale chided, “I have been around just as long as you. I know perfectly well what this is.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel's neck, “but have you ever...” he waved his hands and the rest trailed off. Implied. “I haven't had the desire until now.”

“Oh is that so?” Crowley teased, “Well well, Supreme Archangel...”

Aziraphale blushed hotly and sputtered “Well I- I wouldn't say I didn't have the desire till now but I just- oh you know what I mean you impertinent demon!” Crowley rolled his hips then, and Aziraphale forgot to keep scolding him.

“S’what I’m good at after all” he whispered, his breath hot in Aziraphale’s ear, “flustering you”.

He then watched the demon's eyes go wide as he grasped Crowley's thighs and flipped them over on the couch. The angel was now resting on top, his legs splitting Crowley's apart. Aziraphale began running his nose along Crowley’s neck, his voice a bit deeper than usual. “You know my dear, I think you underestimate just how adept I am at flustering you as well.” He then pressed a number of light kisses along Crowley’s long neck, and was quite pleased when he heard a low growl. He had never felt quite like this. There was an unleashing of desire at seeing Crowley laid out so desperate for him. He nuzzled lovingly against Crowley's mouth, his eyes half lidded, as he asked “Where is your bed?” Crowley swallowed, noticeably. His voice was rough. “Down the hall to the left.”

“Show me.”

Crowley pushed Aziraphale off of him enough to stand and hastily lead him down the hall, their sock-covered feet sliding smoothly over the hardwood floor. He had reached out and grabbed the Angel's hand without another word. And Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat as they entered the bedroom. Crowley pushed him back to lean against the doorframe and kissed him achingly and intentionally. The angel barely noticed the undoing of his bowtie as it dropped to the floor. They broke apart and Aziraphale sucked in a shuddering breath,

“Crowley…” he exhaled as he lifted the silver tie over the demon’s head. The black leather vest came undone next and he captured the demon's lips in his again as Crowley set to work on his velvet waistcoat. With hungry confidence, Aziraphale pushed against Crowley until he was stepping backward toward the king size bed. The demon was finally sliding off the waistcoat and working his way down the buttons of the undershirt when he muttered with frustration,

“Too many layers....” and proceeded to rip the rest of the shirt off, the buttons clattering against the wood floor. Aziraphale, shockingly, did not object. He pulled the white undershirt off over his head and climbed on top of Crowley as they settled onto the black duvet, soft and inviting against their bodies. He ran a hand down the demon's side and Crowley hissed with pleasure as the angel ducked down and pushed the black t-shirt up to run his mouth along the demon’s stomach. The shirt was pulled off and got lost somewhere on the bed in the process.

“Aziraphale...” Crowley breathed, and a vulnerability slipped out of him. He said the angel's name like it was a prayer. He brought his mouth back up to Crowley’s lips and felt the demon wrap his arms around him. When their lips met again it was a moment of devotion and reverence. He savored Crowley's mouth, trying to give him the worship and love he deserved. Please always say my name that way. Please always want me as you do now. He begged silently and he hoped Crowley could feel how much he adored him. The demon kissed back with as much affection, rolling them so he was now laying on the broad chest of the angel. He sunk his head down and began kissing his neck and down his chest. Aziraphale moaned and grabbed at the red disheveled hair of the demon, bucking his body upwards to bring himself closer to Crowley’s pleasuring mouth as he moved downward.

“So naughty…” Crowley teased and Aziraphale let out a small huff of annoyance. But Crowley kissed his body tenderly, nipping and smoothing over the bites with his tongue. And slowly moved downward. Until Aziraphale sucked in a breath at the sensation of Crowley’s mouth on his cock, only a thin layer of fabric in between. He needed that fabric to be gone. Thankfully, Crowley was one step ahead and pulled the boxer briefs down the Angels thick thighs.

The feeling was overwhelming, incredibly good but almost too much. His vision went blurry and all he could think was how he needed more. Every movement of Crowley's hot, wet mouth pushed the Angel further into utter oblivion. It was no surprise that humans found this so enjoyable, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it until now. He gasped as Crowley's tongue flicked out to pleasure him and lost all sense of anything but the demon's touch on his skin.

If this was sinful, Aziraphale made a mental note to sin often in the future.

It was some time later when they collapsed, the tension in their bodies melting away with the release. Aziraphale laid next to Crowley, his breathing a little ragged as he caught up. He rolled over and smiled into the crook of the demon's neck and Crowley smiled too as they both broke into a shared laughter. There was no denying what was between them. There was no going back now. And somehow, after everything, they found that it was incredibly funny. Crowley sighed pleasantly. He rubbed his hand on his forehead, pushing his sweaty red locks away from his face,

“Well, now that that coming is over with, do you want to tell me more about this Second Coming then?” Aziraphale gaped with dramatic disgust, and nearly shoved Crowley off the bed. Crowley sat up laughing, “I'm going to grab the rest of that wine.”

Aziraphale pulled him back down to sit on the bed, sitting up himself to wrap his arms around him from behind and plant a kiss on his cheek. He savored the feeling of intimacy as his bare chest warmed against the demon's back.

Crowley laughed warmly, “I’ll be right back.”

He got up and pulled on a black silk robe he had hanging on his door, and reached into his closet to toss an oversized Velvet Underground t-shirt to the Angel.

Aziraphale tucked up his nose at the shirt, “Don’t you have anything a little more stylish?” Crowley rolled his eyes, “It's just us, you’ll survive. I’ll go grab you some new clothes tomorrow.”

Azirphale watched him slip the robe on, wanting very much to rip it off later. Partly to wear it instead of the t-shirt, if he was being totally honest. He could miracle something, he supposed, but he’d already risked enough doing the small one earlier. And Crowley wasn't doing miracles either, he noticed. He thought back to the handwritten slip of paper.

But he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the pleasing silk covered view that sauntered down the hallway and out of sight.

–

It turns out he had lost a little weight and the shirt did fit. Albeit a little tighter in the arms and shoulders than it would on Crowley but it would do.

When Crowley returned, Aziraphale was wearing the offending t-shirt with his boxer briefs back on, blonde hair disheveled and flipping through the records Crowley had on a small shelf in the corner of his room. He noticed Crowley staring at him, a look of arousal in his eyes and he suddenly felt very self conscious. He was sure he looked like an absolute mess, but apparently the new look was appealing to the demon.

Aziraphale walked over to meet him and accepted the glass of wine he had neglected to drink earlier gratefully. He felt so content it was almost dizzying and he heard himself say without thinking,

“I hope you know that I am very much in love with you.” And he couldn't very well take it back, and realized he actually didn't even want to. He leaned in for a kiss before sitting on the edge of the bed. He felt the weight of it shift as the demon joined him.

“I caught on, I think,” Crowley teased. “Seeing as you left your very important heavenly post to pop down here and seduce me.” Aziraphale’s blush deepened and he caught Crowley smiling devilishly, clearly enjoying it.

“T-that wasn't the plan! Initially.” Aziraphale fussed absentmindedly with the bottom hem of the shirt, “Oh I don't know, perhaps it was. I just couldn't stand being there anymore. They are all so dreadfully dull and awful. I needed to see you. I couldn't leave it as it was and- oh dear,” Aziraphale remembered, “Do you think they’ve realized I'm gone?”

“Probably.” Crowley shrugged, stilling the angels' fussing hand with his own. Aziraphale was grateful for the secure touch. “But they have no idea where you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I warded this place after I moved in, against angels and demons. No one enters here without my permission and no one can see it or who’s inside. We can hide here until we sort this out.”

“Impressive,” Aziraphale sipped his wine, “How did you come up with such a thing?” “Muriel has been reading a lot of your books, the ones in the back. Spell books. And, I had my own ideas. I wasn't sure it would work but I tested it on Muriel, they couldn't come in until I let them. I don't know for sure about the second part of it. So we will see what happens, I suppose.”

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale smiled fondly. “You really are such a clever demon. I’ve always thought so.” Crowley blushed, and it did not go unnoticed. Aziraphale let Crowley pull his face in and give him a long, affectionate kiss. His mouth was warm and supple from earlier, a hint of wine on his tongue.

“I'm in love with you too, Angel.” Crowley stated, like it was as obvious as the stars in the sky. “And I thought, maybe, you would come back so I- I, you know, came up with a plan. Just in case.”

Aziraphale beamed at the confession. He wasn’t sure if he ever would say it out loud and honestly didn’t need to hear it. But, actually hearing it was like finally releasing a breath he’d been holding for years. But that initial meeting in the park, if he’d wanted him to come back then why-

“You didn’t seem to want me back at first.” It was more a question, and he looked at Crowley to see how it landed. Crowley was staring straight ahead at nothing. Lost in memory.

“I did,” he said finally. “But missing you and actually seeing you again were very- it was hard to know for sure why you came back.”

“Ah,” Aizraphale felt a small twinge of guilt, “Well, I hope it’s clear now.”

Crowley chuckled, “Just a bit, yeah.” And for the first time, Aziraphale felt truly forgiven.

They talked through the night, among other things that distracted from the conversation. By morning light, they had the beginnings of a plan to save humanity and each other. Again.

_ It had been a few hours after Aziraphale had left the bookshop. Muriel was busy cataloging books when Michael stormed through the doors seething, Uriel following behind. “Where is he?”

Muriel smiled, “Oh hello! Where is who?”

“Aziraphale.” Michael snapped, “who else would I come here asking about?”

Muriel winced, “I don't know actually. He was here for a moment but then he left. He didn't say where he was going.”

Michael let out an aggravated groan. They had been tasked by a very irritated Voice of God to locate the second missing Supreme Archangel and bring him back immediately.

The only problem was, there was no trace of him anywhere. Or the demon Crowley.

Ugh.

Michael was going to get so much shit for this.

Author Notes: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like me to continue this story. :)

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sashi-ya · 1 year

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𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑮𝒀 byakuya kuchiki x f! reader

synergy /ˈsɪnədʒi/ the interaction or cooperation of two or more organizations, substances, or other agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects.

a/n: I suddenly remember I had this scenario in my byakuya folder from some months ago when I only posted one piece fics, so I re read it and said "why not posting it?" and so here it is. tw: trying for a baby with kuchiki taicho. impregnation and pregnancy alert. byakuya and reader try for a baby. a little bit of angst cause there is too much drama we can't forget. totally self indulging. slow love making. wc: 1.9K tagging: @byakuyasbabe cause I'm sure you will love to read this one

“When will you bring us the next successor, Byakuya?” they ask him. But he only wants to have fun with her. He really wants to enjoy her, for him, only and just for him.

“Cherry blossom uncle… I want a cousin!” Ichika asks, while playing with her limited edition Chappy plushie Byakuya got for her…

Day and night, he is always so busy, cold bed, cold kisses in between sleepy nights. Avoiding his lover, because he knows, because he can tell she wants it.

It’s so late, the water runs, and he splash his perfect countenance with it. In the privacy of his bathroom, Byakuya watches his reflection. He is paler than ever, he is tired, he is worried.

Does he really want a baby? Does he really want to share you with a new life?

“What a selfish behaviour, Byakuya” he repeats to himself, while tying his long hair up in a ponytail. Since the Quincy invasion, he hasn’t cut his hair, because he knows how much you love it. But because he also has to leave it long; he is a married man, the Kuchiki clan leader that’s becoming older and “mature”.

You close your book. Something is wrong with your love. He has been acting a lot more distant -than always-. Colder. Byakuya hasn’t been tangling in your sheets like he did every night, and the mornings are as quiet as dead.

It has started to snow. There are two things you like about the gardens outside, one is when they are covered in pure white and the other is when they are bathed by that pink mantle of sakura flowers.

You realize that Byakuya is taking too long inside the bathroom, and after taking a swift look outside, you take his haori to cover your body. Wearing just a fine silk gown outside bed isn’t very proper for winter.

Knocking softly on the wooden door that separates you from him, you wait for him to answer. But he doesn’t. You panic… is he alright?

“Byakuya? Are you in there? Are you ok, love?” you ask. You could open the door, but you respect his privacy more than anyone else.

You can hear some sounds inside, and then, the door opening. “Sorry, you needed to use the bathroom?” he asks, coming out and letting you space to pass.

But you stay in place; your hand reaches his wrist. You know something isn’t ok with him. Frowning in pure worry, you take a look at his deep blue eyes.

“No. I’m worried about you. You know you can tell me, perhaps I can’t help you solve the problem, but I can support you” you whisper, being really serious about it.

Byakuya loves your resolve, and he also loves the way your words are like a sweet balsam to any pain in his heart.

He takes a deep breath and pulls you towards his chest. As always, his hot embrace is enough for your soul to feel sparkles fly. Where there was a pressure that wouldn’t let you breath, now, there is an aura of pure protection and fresh air.

“Should we… be parents?” he asks, grazing your back and unable to look into your eyes.

You smile, with your cheek pressed against his chest. That’s the problem, after all… “Problem”.

“You wanna be a daddy, Bya?” you ask, pushing him softly away so that you could see his face.

His look softens; a daddy… he has heard Ichika call Renji “daddy” so many times, when he held her in his arms, when Rukia told her “daddy was home”.

He had imagined this before. But it didn’t go as planned… what if… what if he isn’t here to protect his baby? What if… you leave him and his baby?

“You are scared, aren’t you?” you ask, aware of him unable to speak, but telling you everything with his eyes.

He looks down at your hands; and slowly nods. Byakuya has learnt some years ago that being afraid of losing is what kept him alive, human, remembering that he indeed has a heart.

“I am. But… I don’t wanna be a father because of the rest pushing me to it… I want it because I-” he murmurs.

You are sure, however, that his real intentions aren’t to please anyone else, but his own heart demanding to bond his soul to yours with the fruit of your love.

You smile again. A beam that’s bright as the sun. Your hand reaches for his chubby cheek, a soft caress on his beardless face and a look that can only a person who loves the other can give.

“I’d love to become a mother, but only if the father is named Kuchiki Byakuya…” you whisper, pulling him closer to you as you walk backwards.

He grins. Oh, caro mio, what a beautiful miracle is to see you smile…

Your legs hit the mattress behind, and you fall back. He follows you; both lay on the bed, looking at each other’s eyes. Lust? perhaps. But it’s tinted with so much profound love, it should be call purity.

“Can I make love to you, all night long?” he asks, with the tip of his nose grazing yours. His lips dancing so delicately over your crimson, needy ones. Your lover’s warm breathe mixing with yours, anticipating what you are about to do…

Joining bodies. Fingers interlocked. It’s cold outside, and the soft flakes dance in a dark night. But inside, the heat of your beating hearts, of your sensitive bodies…

Byakuya helps you lay your head on the pillow. The mellow orange tint of a candle dances and creates beautiful shadows against the wall. A shadow formed by two lovers kissing, by Byakuya’s soft hands undressing the woman underneath him.

His pale pink lips land on your forehead, on your lips, on your neck. He takes some time to inhale the spicy vanilla scent your skin has. Little grunts as a primal reaction when he does, he shivers, there is no woman in any of the worlds that could make him feel this way.

Byakuya’s delighted expression, is like a work of art for you. His frown softens, it looks like melting. His sharp eyes become the kindest. His lips barely separate, letting just a little bit of his front teeth to show. Long eyelashes create shadows on his cheeks.

“How can someone be so perfect…?” you ask, amazed, even after so long, at his angelical features.

The captain’s cheeks become blushed, hot even. The tip of his nose, too.

His lips barely tremble; and even if he wishes for you not to notice, you do. You play with a tuft of hair that’s been left outside of his low ponytail, curling it around your index. Even if the two of you were burning in desire, you didn’t want to rush things. It was all night long, right? There is plenty of time to enjoy every and each thing that you two will remember forever…

“Let me… please” you ask, slowly helping him free his body from the soft bamboula pants he is wearing. You enjoy the parts of his body you love the most, the kissable hip dips, the milky white skin so tight on his pelvic bones, the little scar that’s been there since his own petals cut him, what’s under the tiny happy trail that goes from his belly button down…

You are tempted to grab his sex, and you do with pure delicacy, making his muscles spasm and him to moan so seductively.

He reacts to it. Nothing should be received if it’s not given. Byakuya’s hand goes down, down to your sin. He takes it slow; nothing rushes him to enjoy the wetness forming in between your folds.

You begin to pump; you can feel his inner thighs tremble. He begins to trace circles on your core, making your toes to curl and your back to slightly arch in consequence.

Both give each other love, pleasure. Open mouths and pleading eyes fixed into the other’s. You can’t speak, neither does he. Why is it that you search for relief with only just your hands? Why don’t you melt into just one body already?

On the verge of climax, and with his lips around your nipples, you both stop for a brief second. “Do I?” he asks, when he wouldn’t normally do, he does now.

You bite your lip, you want this. He does too. Both ache for it, and yet still, even if it’s natural… you were scared. How could you not?

Byakuya stands up, he simply kneels in between your legs. Legs that rest on top of his thighs, spread so that he finally buries into you.

“I love you…” he murmurs, passing his hand underneath your waist. He helps you sit on his lap, leaving space just for your sexes to join whenever you are ready.

“I love you, too” you whisper, crossing your arms behind his neck. You can feel his hardness touching your entrance. But it’s not eagerly searching to enter, it’s just as if it was so natural, a feeling you never felt before even after so many times… why does it feel like the first time?

Byakuya’s hands hang over the small of your back. Yours in between his shoulder blades. Soft pecks given with pouting lips, and perhaps some little tears pooling in your eyes. You weren’t sad, no… It’s just that emotions were big enough to overflow your heart.

When, and only after some time, his hips begin to move in and out of you, he traps your moans in his mouth. You pull from his hair, he moves your body to accompany his thrusts.

Everything seems to go slow, so slow. You can feel each and every time his sex twitches inside of you. He can feel the way your walls spasm, clench to his length.

Your nails carve on his back, his teeth on your shoulder.

What a mystery it is the way the flame of desire gets feed by love, the way it grows so big, consuming all the air around, allowing bodies to succumb to nonsense and be only slaves of pleasure…

Words that turn to whimpers, emotions only expressed with physical reactions. Skin that sweats, skin that shivers, that turns hot and red. Lips bitten, pupils dilated.

Byakuya stops hitting you with steady thrusts that have become faster now. He blinks twice, he knows that he is about to finish. And you know it too.

The captain can’t speak, and can’t barely hold himself still… tell him to do it, tell him to finally seal this deal called eternal love.

You smile, blinking slowly and nod. You can’t speak, either. But, you just told him everything he needed.

His lips crash against yours. It’s not soft, not slow, not delicate. Now it hits you with the violence, the need, the passion, everything his soul is and that he usually keeps it locked in. Byakuya, and his impulses, everything he is, his true self and the part of him you love the most… the rush and the force of his love, filling you up, making you shiver, making you climax…

“Whatever the outcome of this it is… don’t you ever leave my side. I love you more than words can express” he grunts, once he thinks has finished but still some spasms invade his body.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, still connected, feeling the warm pressure in your insides… “As long as your light keeps shining in the middle of my nights, I will be always here… I love you; I love you so much”

#byakuya kuchiki x reader #kuchiki byakuya x reader #byakuya x reader #byakuya kuchiki imagine #byakuya x you #kuchiki byakuya #byakuya kuchiki x you #kuchiki byakuya x you #byakuya #kuchiki byakuya imagine #byakuya kuchiki #bleach #bleach headcanons #bleach imagines #bleach byakuya #bleach x reader #bleach anime #bleach fanart

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blainesebastian · 8 months

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celebrating you

words: 1,654 ship: austin x female reader summary: @whoreforbrownies requested: fluffy reader celebrating austin's fragrance campaign. more details in posted q and a :) warnings: none notes: masterlist is here! tag list: @killerqueenfan, @austinbutlermischief, @stylespresleyhearted

You’ve always been someone who likes to celebrate—not just putting up Halloween or Christmas decoration months in advance or throwing surprise birthday parties, but by having this incredibly warm aura that makes sure to praise family, friends and your partner. Admittedly, that’s come with a few downfalls in the past—more often than not, you’re always looking after other people while no one looks after you. It’s not something done on purpose, you know that, yet you sometimes find yourself in this rut of being there for others that you forget to take care of yourself.

That changes with Austin.

He reminds you how good it feels to have someone take care of you, how it should be something necessary, a balance within your relationship. He celebrates you just as often as you celebrate him—there are moments that he’s completely taken you by surprise. Not because there’s some obligation of a holiday or a birthday, but because it’s a Thursday in the middle of the month and he wants to buy you flowers and your favorite latte.

So, in turn, it makes celebrating your boyfriend a lot more organic feeling. It’s not out of responsibility or requirement, but because both of you know the value of the other.

Lately there’s been so much to be excited about when it comes to Austin’s career—first Elvis and everything that it brought with it, Bikeriders wrapping up, Masters of the Air, and now a slightly different turn with this fragrance campaign. You couldn’t be happier for him, not only does it come with a photoshoot to highlight how beautiful Austin is, but an interview to also showcase that same beauty on the inside. It’s really what you love most about him, something that drew you in in the first place. Austin’s kind, thoughtful, considerate, and a hundred other things that make you feel warm from the inside out.

Pretty much why it’s a no-brainer to put together something special for him.

You decide one morning, right before Austin leaves for the day for a handful of different meetings, that you’re going to decorate the entire apartment. It’s gonna involve baking and dinner too but one step at a time. Your friend, Carly, comes over and helps, buying extra tape that she sets on the kitchen counter.

“All this for a fragrance campaign?” She asks, but she’s amused as her eyes rest on the multiple sets of streamers and balloons that still need to be put together and hung.

“Yes,” You grin excitedly, picking up a cup of coffee to take a sip. “It’s not just about the cologne, I’m just proud of him—it’s a new step in a different direction, you know?”

“I know,” Carly smirks, moving to grab the coffee pot to pour herself some more too, “You’re in love,” Her voice is warm and teasing, “I get it. I’d celebrate him too if he was my boyfriend.”

You smile, your stomach doing that flip-flopping thing that is often associated with Austin. You know exactly how lucky you are.

“So you’ll help me with streamers?” You smile prettily at her, purposely fluttering your eyelashes in a teasing plead.

“Yeah,” She laughs, tossing a package of tape at you. It lightly hits your chest and falls back onto the counter, “Wouldn’t want him to come home with you sprawled off a ladder. Not much to celebrate in the ER.”

You gather up all the supplies to take to the living room, “C’mon then, I don’t have a ton of time before he comes home.”

Regardless that it’s the morning and you do have until early nighttime, you want to make sure you give yourself enough hours to play with to bake red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing and chocolate chip cookies. Dinner will be simple enough—it’s the baking that needs timed dedication.

Standing on a small stool in your living room, you take the tape from Carly’s waiting fingers and reach up to put some of the streamers into place. You’re definitely not overdoing it, just enough to make the apartment look festive.

“So…just curious,” Carly starts and you get down off the stool and move it a bit to continue the streamer line…you already know that if she’s gonna start off a conversation like that, it’s going to be something. “If Austin asked you to marry him, would you?”

A laugh startles out of your chest because, “Carly, we’ve been dating for eight months.”

“So?” She crinkles her nose, handing you another piece of tape, “My aunt and uncle were together for six before he popped the question.”

The whole concept has your stomach erupting in butterflies. You’re not saying you haven’t thought about it, because how could you not? But still…feels like something that’s a long while away. You glance back down at your friend, trying to picture what it’d look like for Austin to come home and just—

“I’d say yes,” You reply, fixing another streamer. You can’t picture something different coming out of your mouth, but before Carly gets too wound up, “But we’re far from that being a thing.”

She grins anyways and you can’t help but smile, a fond eyeroll to follow as you set up streamer on the other side of the room so it matches. Then comes the balloons and the handmade sign that goes up a little crooked but…thought that counts, right?

“Do you think I overdid it?” You ask, looking around at the living room.

Carly shakes her head, “Nah, we went through one roll of tape…two rolls would have been overdoing it.” You smirk, bumping shoulders with her for a real answer, “No,” She replies again, “I think it’s just the right amount—he’s going to love it.”

That makes something warm and golden explode in your chest and…good, you really hope so. You thank her a few more times for coming over and promise to save her some cupcakes if there are any leftover, closing the front door after she’s left. You’re hoping it doesn’t take too long to finish things up for tonight.

Nothing is exactly going according to plan—and you already know it’s your fault because you’ve got this concept of what ‘perfect’ is supposed to look like tonight. You should really know this by now, it’s better to land on something ‘special’ rather than ‘perfect’. It’s fine—everything is going to work out, you’re determined. So what if the cheese you bought for the chicken parm has mold on it? You can just go with pasta instead. So what if your cupcake pan has mysteriously gone missing? You can make banana bread with chocolate chips in them (a personal favorite of Austin’s).

There’s no reason to freak out over this…your boyfriend is going to love whatever you’ve put together (it only took you three times to talk yourself down off that metaphorical ledge).

Luckily, nothing else throws you off balance. Though you do wish you’d been paying closer attention to Austin’s location because you hear the front door open as you’re taking the banana bread out of the oven. Quickly setting it down on a hot pad, you tug off your oven mitts, putting your arms up and out.

“Surprise!”

Austin’s eyes are bright with surprise, a soft laugh tumbling out of his mouth as he sees the put together dinner, the banana bread, the streamers and balloons just past the kitchen in the living room. He sets down a bouquet of flowers he’s picked up for you (just because).

“It’s uh, it’s not my birthday.” He says teasingly.

Rolling your eyes, you grin as you move to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Austin leans down to hug you back, squeezing, pressing his face into your hair to breathe you in,

“I know that,” You huff playfully, shaking your head, “Just wanted to do something nice for you.”

You pull back out of the hug a little bit, Austin’s arms still around your waist. He presses a kiss to your lips, your hand lingering on his cheek. Your stomach does that familiar fluttering that you’ve easily associated with being around him, running your thumb along his lower lip.

“For the fragrance campaign?” You offer, as if it’s obvious.

Then his face kinda does that handsome thing where he flushes, his cheeks kissing pink. Apparently it wasn’t so obvious and he’s genuinely surprised. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You crinkle your nose, taking a look at the decorations, the dinner, the dessert—feels fairly apparent to you because what better way to celebrate him? This is actually pretty low caliber compared to what you could have done but…the key was really not to overdo it.

“Are you saying you don’t want the banana bread?” You ask, taking a playful step back from him, “Because I’ve been known to eat an entire loaf in bed before, so—”

You act like you’re about to reach for the pan but Austin doesn’t let you get very far, lifting you up and gracefully setting you down on the kitchen counter. A soft laugh leaves your lips, your arms resting on his shoulders as he takes a step forward and settles between your legs. One of your favorite positions with him because you’re nearly eye level now.

“I mean, there’s chocolate chips,” You grin, “I really don’t need to share any part of it with you—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, his hand moving to cup your cheek. You lean into it, can’t help it, would gladly fumble off the kitchen counter if it meant keeping your lips locked. Eventually though, oxygen wins out. He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, pulling back a little,

“Thank you,” He whispers.

You hum a soft reply, wrapping your fingers in his shirt and tugging him forward—definitely worth celebrating with another kiss.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler x you #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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this-is-krikkit · 1 month

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no more boops? have a fic instead!

rating: Mature relationships: Erwin Smith/Mike Zacharias, Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë

summary: Teleworking at Erwin's place grants Mike a front row seat to his boss honoring a stupid dare. Let's be honest, though: it has other perks.

additional tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, slightly kinky, Light BDSM, very light actually most of it is only mentioned, Based on a Tumblr Post, i gave Nanaba a family name for the narrative, i also gave her a couple heart attacks. also for the narrative!, Tumblr Prompt, Mike and Hange both wearing their boyfriends' shirts Challenge: complete, Office Romance

inspired by:

enjoy!!

“To conclude this meeting and another productive week, I’d like to have everyone’s attention for a few of our most pressing matters.”

Oh, he’s going to do it now, Mike realizes.

For the hundredth time in the last hour and a half, he has to check that both his microphone and camera are offline. He’s not usually so easily spooked about these things, but it’s one thing to want your privacy during a meeting with twenty people and the company’s CEO himself making a presentation, and it’s another to have to hide the fact that you’re teleworking from said CEO’s penthouse apartment every Friday because you’ve been secretly —Mike’s decided that drunkenly confessing to Nanaba a few weeks back doesn’t count— fucking each other for months now against all company guidelines.

He almost feels sorry for not warning his friend Hange, the only one besides Erwin and a few less highly ranked colleagues who’s currently got their camera on —and who is probably unaware of that fact, seeing how their crumpled shirt is hanging open as far as he can see— for what’s about to happen, but he couldn’t do that without giving himself away.

“I’m going to need Business Development, Sales and Marketing to work together closely on the Titan project next quarter. Zoë, Ackerman and Zacharias, as respective heads of these divisions, I’ll require that you regularly meet and update me directly on this matter. It’s a great challenge, but I have no doubt your BDSM task force, as I’ve labeled it, will tackle it under the deadline I stipulated earlier.”

It’s probably unnoticeable to everyone else with his camera so high on his laptop’s screen, but Mike knows he didn’t imagine the way Erwin’s eyes just settled on him, all the way over where he’s lounging on the comfy couch in his boss’ home office, when he said the acronym Mike dared him to place. Knowing this was coming does little to stop Mike’s shock at hearing the awfully casual way he enunciated those letters, and it’s physically painful to have to contain his hilarity —Erwin’s microphone is definitely still on and it’s not that big a room— when he glances back down and sees Erwin actually put it into bold, huge characters onto an otherwise blank slide.

His eyes catch movement on his screen then, and he realizes that some screens that were previously showing faces have suddenly gone dark.

His friend Hange's, however, hasn’t. In fact, they’re currently losing their mind over what just happened, and they’re definitely unaware of their camera being on if the image of them picking up their laptop and running into another room before settling it down in front of Levi as they hurriedly gesture at —Mike’s guessing since their microphone is still thankfully muted— Erwin’s scandalous slide is anything to go by.

It’s not unusual for Hange and Levi, two of the most important people in this company and annoyingly close friends —who, in Mike’s opinion, are two close idiots who really are in love with each other and should get together already— to be spending teleworking days together.

But something is… off in this picture.

Then Mike realizes, now that he’s seen them standing, that Hange’s shirt’s probably been hanging open because it’s obviously several sizes too small. And, before Levi’s eyes comically widen and he extends his arm towards their camera to turn their tiny window black as well, it finally clicks in Mike’s brain.

That wasn’t just Levi.

That was Levi and his naked torso, sculpted by the endless hours he spends in the same gym Mike trains at, and covered in hickeys.

Mike steals a glance at Erwin, but his boss is now calmly calling the end of the meeting, his usual poker face on although there’s no way in hell he didn’t notice what just transpired.

Before he can think of addressing it out loud as Erwin turns his computer off and stands from his chair, Mike’s phone chimes with Nanaba’s special ringtone. He sighs and picks up, knowing making his best friend wait after these very interesting last few minutes isn’t the best idea.

“Mike, what the fuck?” She starts, and Mike rolls his eyes as he rethinks of the countless times she’s threatened him with days long HR seminars about his swearing. “You and Eyebrows did this on purpose, didn’t you? Hange’s freaking out so bad right now!”

She’s being so loud the sound of her voice carries way further than Mike’s phone speaker, and Erwin mouthes the nickname back at him with obvious amusement, now close enough to sit with him on the couch.

“Well, first of all, I didn’t know their camera would be on,” he says, trying not to sound as defensive as the guilt he feels about his other friend’s distress wants him to. “And besides, it serves them right for not telling me they're finally hooking up with Levi! Did you know and forget to tell me by any chance?"

Mike shares a glance with Erwin at that, who shakes his head condescendingly at his outrage —and if Mike wasn’t almost sure his boss had figured his two friends out before they all just got accidental proof of their relationship, now he is— and extends one arm over the back of the couch to scoot even closer to Mike’s lap, before casually starting to leave feather light kisses along his neck.

“You do not have a fucking leg to stand on here, Mister Secret CEO Boyfriend,” Nanaba scolds over the phone, making Mike freeze at the unexpected title, even as the pressure of Erwin’s lips only increases against his sensitive skin. “Which, by the way, I know this was his idea and not yours, you’re not twisted enough to come up with something like this. And I know I said I wanted to make friends with the big boss now that you two are doing the horizontal tango, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea after—

“That’s alright, Miss Fischer,” Erwin interrupts, taking advantage of the speechless state his hickeys have left Mike into, sounding way too unbothered for their current predicament. “I’m not here to make friends anyway.”

There’s a sudden squeal followed by the muffled sound of Nanaba possibly trying to catch her phone before it falls from her grip.

“Erw— Mister Smith? Oh my God. Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Sir, Mike never said… I mean, had no idea you could overhear—”

“It’s alright,” Erwin says again, pausing to nibble at the skin over Mike’s collarbone, who’s trying to glare at him even though he knows it’s a lost cause. “I’ll see you Monday, Miss Fischer. Have a restful weekend.”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry again. I’ll see you on Monday, Sir.”

Erwin takes the phone away before she’s even done and throws it behind him on the cushions, not bothering to check that the call effectively cut —although Mike’s sure it did, because Nanaba sounded absolutely terrified.

“You just terrorized your HR Director,” he tries, still panting from Erwin’s most recent attention to his neck.

“I know,” Erwin singsongs like he just got praised instead of scolded, nipping along Mike’s jaw playfully now.

“Did you do it because of the nickname, or because I told you she had a crush on me back when we started at the company?”

Erwin chuckles, his breath fanning over Mike’s overheated skin in the process, and draws back far enough to look him in the eyes.

“Come on, I don’t hold such childish grudges,” he says smoothly, predatory smile firmly in place.

Mike bites back his own smile, and tries to keep his face neutral.

“You know I’m aware that you’re lying, right?”

Erwin only grins wider and lets his hand travel along his torso, down his abdomen, and finally cups him briefly over his pants, tearing a hiss out of him that effectively ruins his attempt to appear unimpressed.

“And you know I’m aware of how much that turns you on, right?” he asks in his ear.

"Fuck. Kiss me,” Mike orders.

He doesn’t often use this tone of voice, but you'd need to be blind not to notice the surprising effect it has on such an authoritative figure as Erwin Smith.

But his boss still isn’t one to give up control that easily, as assure the previous times they’ve been together in bed —or this couch, his kitchen, his bathroom... even under his on site desk one memorable time— combined with the way their lips fight for dominance the second they connect and the rough hands that immediately begin tearing at his clothes —well, at Erwin’s shirt that he borrowed today, actually, so Mike really couldn’t care less about the buttons sent flying around the room right now.

Mike lets out a gasp as Erwin pushes him firmly onto his back and trails his hands over the skin he’s just uncovered. His fingers find Mike’s nipples and pinch them, reaching that perfect line between pain and pleasure right away as Mike curses as much as he blesses how well Erwin’s come to know his body in only a few months of casual —is it still casual? Erwin didn’t exactly react to Nanaba calling him Mike’s boyfriend earlier— sex encounters.

The edges of his mind are already getting fuzzy, but Mike doesn’t let himself completely fall under Erwin’s spell yet.

One of his hands cups the back of Erwin’s head and adjusts the angle with enough force to bury his face in his neck, tickling his skin with the facial hair he knows Erwin finds irresistible and unexpectedly biting down, hard. It’s definitely going to leave a bruise; but for one, it’s low enough that Erwin will be able to hide whatever faded mark is left after the weekend under a high collar shirt; and this move is one of Erwin’s weaknesses that’s never failed before.

It doesn’t disappoint now, either, and Erwin moans loudly and goes slack enough at the sudden teeth impact to let Mike switch their position and land on top of him instead.

“You really shouldn’t lie to me, Mister Smith,” he growls as he settles on top of him, rotating his hips so his ass rubs against the hardening erection in Erwin’s pants even as he brings one hand to wrap his around his throat.

He spreads his fingers around his airway, teasing gently before he starts squeezing.

“Wait,” Erwin chokes out suddenly.

Mike lets go of his neck at once, dropping the act and cupping his cheek instead.

“Red?” he asks, searching Erwin’s eyes for signs of pain.

He tried to erase the surprise from his voice but knows he only partially succeeded —choking is certainly not where they’ve ever drawn the line before. Then again, if that’s what Erwin needs right now, of course he’ll stop.

“No, of course not,” Erwin says, dismissing his concerns with a scoff. “But don’t you want your assignment first?”

“Oh. Well, sure, but why… I mean, what is it, do you think I’m going to fuck your brains out so hard you won’t remember when I’m done with you?” he teases, grinding against him again.

“Actually, yes,” Erwin breathes through a tender smile.

There’s no trace of humor in his tone or on his face now, and Mike is split between a surge of white hot arousal at knowing his lover genuinely thinks that highly of him, and near-overwhelming affection for the sometimes disarmingly honest, always unpredictable, and forever complicated man he’s currently pinning down on expensive leather they’re about to ruin.

“Alright,” he concedes, putting both hands on each side of Erwin’s head and stilling his movements. “What inappropriate word do you charge me to use in workplace conversation next week, Sir?”

Erwin curls his index to coax Mike closer. He follows the order and leans over him until Erwin’s able to take his lower lip between his teeth and suck on it, and Mike’s groan lingers even after he’s let go with a loud pop.

“C.B.T,” Erwin enunciates.

Mike closes his mouth and swallows. Hard.

Erwin smirks up at him, his clever hands using the distraction to unbutton and unzip Mike’s pants in one fluid movement.

#snk #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #erumike #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #erumike fanfiction #erwin smith #mike zacharias #miche zacharias #mikeeru #erwin x mike #erwin x miche #levihan #(minor/background but they're still in here)#my stuff #ao3 link

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blacksailskmeme · 24 days

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Hi there piratefam!

Happy Black Sails Netflix day! 🥳 🏴‍☠️🥳

A quick reminder that we have a little Black Sails Kink Meme running right now (live up til the end of Summer 2024!) The link above is to the event collection of fills and below I'm posting some more info about how to participate if you haven't yet heard about it! :D <3

Premise--

I’m encouraging as informal and low stress/pressure of an atmosphere as possible here. Back in The Day when LiveJournal Kink Memes were common, it was very typical to see a prompt put up and filled within an hour. It doesn’t have to be polished, it doesn’t have to make logistical sense, it just has to fill the prompt as best as you can, sexily! It’s supposed to be fun. A bunch of fun, raunchy kink and smut to roll around in as a fandom. 🥳 🥳

So yeah, first thing to expect, it’s basically ALL PWP (porn without plot). Not to say that someone can’t write a full plot epic if they like, do whatever you like, but in my experience, a 4am fugue state smut fill written in a sweaty haze is kind of, the spirit of the thing. We’re creating ficlets, snapshots, tasty treats of smut with as little pressure to make it in any way polished as possible. Please think of this as, hmmm, a little fun writing exercise you do before you go back to your Big Serious Work, if that helps. We are letting loose, we are having fun, we are being deliciously, joyously, unrepentantly filthy with it! The tagline for the event is: “Get High, Jerk Off Three Times, and Write Me a Warmup :DD”

Literally ask for whatever smut you want~~ This is your chance, toss it into the pot! It will be tagged accordingly when posted if it’s filled, so live your truth, chase your bliss, know no shame, no one can see you~~

Rules--

–This is an 18 plus event, please, as all of the content will be Explicit.

–It is also a Black Sails Only Event, please no crossover prompts or fills. However, AU of all types are encouraged with our favorite pirates.

–All ships, all kinks, are welcome for submission, and the fill will then be tagged appropriately. If you have any questions on how to tag something, or just want another pair of eyes to confirm, you can always DM me <3

–Fills must be 500 words minimum of fic. There is no maximum and the fill is allowed to be WIP if you intend to write more chapters later. I would encourage that the content of the prompt be IN the first chapter at least before submission to the collection.

–We’re Gonna Be Nice and Civil!! No ship bashing, no kink shaming, we’re all mature adults here. If you don’t like something, then don’t fill it, don’t reblog it, don’t read it, pretend you do not see it. If you don’t like it, it’s not for you!

Logistics--

For prompts-- you may submit ANON ASK PROMPTS to this blog. I will publish them with a number and a link to the collection. If you like one of the prompts, simply post it through the collection with its corresponding number and then that AO3 link to your fill will be reblogged underneath the original ask prompt. It is helpful when submitting a prompt to give details that are important to you, and the prompt filler will do their best with it. <3 So, I suggest giving a ship specification up front, maybe a vague timeline (season 1, season 2, etc), and then the kinks you want to see with a short description.

For fills-- There is NO CLAIMING PROCESS NECESSARY! If you see a prompt that strikes your fancy, you are IMMEDIATLEY encouraged and free to fill it, there is NO LIMIT ON FILLS for each prompt!

Both prompt submissions and fills will be open simultaneously through the entire span of the event.

The entire collection is marked Anonymous, which means any work submitted to it will be posted Anon. There is no option you need to worry about checking to guarantee this.

After the event is closed, if you want to then de-anon your work, that is your prerogative. However, it will mean you must remove the work from the collection, as the collection itself will forever and always remain anonymous.

As more prompts come in, I will continue to assign them numbers and post them using the tag #2024BSKMemePrompts. As they come in, fills will be reblogged under their prompt using the tag #2024BSKMemeFills.

(PS: If you submit your fill and do not see it immediately, please remember it’s just me handling the organization and I might be asleep. But rest assured just as SOON as I get the notification on the collection I will publish it on Tumblr.)

Information regarding posting to AO3 collections can be found here. The expanded guidelines and rules for fills can be found here.

If you are unsure of something, tags, anything at all, or if you have questions I haven't covered here: please do not hesitate to reach out to me either through the event blog or my main @jaynovz. I will respond to questions as soon as I’m able :DD

GOOD LUCK EVERYONE, HAVE FUN IN THE SPLASH ZONE OF SMUT AND KINK~~ 🎉🎉

#2024bskmeme #announcements #about #black sails #black sails event #long post #there are over 100 excellent prompts already and 12 delicious fills #hop in :D

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vampiricgaz · 25 days

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Denial | Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Transmale!Reader Oneshot

Warnings/Tags : Brief mentions of sex, internalized transphobia, anxiety, vomiting, angst and fluff

A/N : This would be my second one shot that I’ve posted, I hope y’all like it :3

AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/55254895

The footsteps in the living room echoed throughout the hall—a sound you’ve memorised so much it’s ingrained in your head. The steps get louder and louder, and when they stop, you then hear a sudden knock on the door of your room. The door opens slightly, the light from outside shining into the darkness of your room. You see his shadow cast on the walls, the outline of his handsome features, and his body highlighted by the soft light of the hallway.

“I’m going out now; I'm probably going to buy a few snacks from the 7-11 nearby. You want anything, mate?”

There it was the familiar voice of the one who made your heart race—the one that made your feet turn cold and made the butterflies flutter around in your stomach. Kyle Garrick, your college roommate, the one you were lucky enough to have instead of any other roommate.

“Maybe a bag of crisps and some chocolate, thanks.” You answer with a warm smile, trying to hide the fact that your heart is about to pump itself out of your chest.

He was the perfect man, you thought. He was smart and sweet, a gentleman when he needed to be, and dammit, the tiny fangs of his teeth peek out when he smiles cheekily at you, making you feel giddy and lovestruck. He’s taken care of you when you were ill, and he’s always been by your side, platonically.

You were mere friends with him, something that always hit you hard and shattered whatever fantasies you had about him. Everything you had done together has been platonic—something roommates do for each other—and that it meant nothing more than just being good friends. Whether it be the cuddling sessions you both would have on the couch while the television was on, sleeping together on the same bed when you both needed the comfort, cooking each other food when the other was in a bad mood, kissing each other everywhere on the face except the lips, or borrowing each other's clothes. All of it was platonic, or so you thought.

You sat there on your bed as you thought about your crush on Kyle, the dark room hiding your flushed expression before you plopped back down on the bed. You squeal into your pillow at the small interaction, your cheeks turning warm when you remember his mellow voice. You’ve fallen for the man hard, and it was only time until you confessed to him. But you couldn't—not when you’re a girl to him.

Kyle was gay, something he’d known for a long time. He came out to you, and he trusted you fully to tell you that. It took a lot for him to gather up the courage to tell you, and tears were shed the day he did. You hugged him tightly and let him cry on your shoulder. The poor guy feared you were going to hate him for it, but you accepted him with open arms. You reassured him that you were supportive, that you liked him regardless, and that him being gay was not going to ruin your friendship. And things have been alright since then, with the two of you being closer than ever and having a great friendship overall.

That was until you had to sleep through countless nights hearing loud bed creaks and various noises of Kyle getting fucked by other men every other night, and it haunts you knowing Kyle was having fun with other men and not you. Sometimes you met the men in the mornings, seeing Kyle be all lovey-dovey and affectionate with them while you simply tried to get a bowl of cereal. You would catch a glimpse of Kyle smiling softly as he laid his chin on the other man’s shoulder, hugging the man from behind while pressing kisses to his neck. And at first, you coped by knowing Kyle was finally happy after years of hiding his true self and that his happiness mattered more than your desires. But it soon turned into resentment and jealousy, wishing that those men were you and that Kyle loved you as much as them.

Soon you snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the front door open, and you rushed out with your hoodie and smiled when you saw Kyle’s presence.

“What’cha got there? Got me the crisps and chocolate that I wanted?” You asked cheekily before you went rummaging in the plastic bag for what you wanted.

“Of course, I got your favourite ones too.” He pulled you out by the scruff of your neck like you were a cat before handing you the stuff he bought. “I figured you were hungry and bought you more stuff; you're welcome.” He smiled as he also gave you a cup of noodles and a hotdog, kissing you on the temple before he went back to his room.

Your heart raced again, the familiar thumping of your heart as the kiss lingered on your temple. It was a platonic kiss; that was all that it was, and you knew that better than anyone. He was affectionate with you, but it wasn’t the same; those small cheek or temple kisses weren’t the same as the ones he gave to his flings or ex’s; it was all platonic.

You couldn’t blame him at all; it was your fault that you’re like this. Maybe you could’ve had a chance if you wore masculine clothes and tried to ‘look like’ a man, but no, you were feminine and wore feminine clothes to cope with the fact that you’ll never be the boy you want to be, especially not a boy Kyle would ever love. Makeup and girly clothes were all you’ve known, never having the guts to come out to anyone, so you remain the girl that everyone knows and loves—except Kyle would never love you.

For a while, things were normal, and you barely cared about Kyle and your problems since you were drowning in a pile of assignments and projects that needed to be done. But then it happened again; it was another one of those off days where nothing went right and those thoughts came back. You couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror without having to see the person you’ve become; you couldn’t recognise yourself under all those frilly clothes and pinky makeup. You hear laughter out the door; it was Kyle and probably another one of his flings again. “Great.” You mumbled, knowing what kind of night this would be. It didn’t help that you were spiralling as it is, your dysphoria and anxiety spiking the more you thought about Kyle and yourself. You were on the brink of tears, your body didn't feel right and you wished to tear your skin right off. This wasn't you, or well a version of you that you despised.

Wanting to get some fresh air you tried to leave your room, only to be met with the sight of Kyle kissing another man with a smile on his face before waving him off as the stranger left the apartment. Jealousy surged through your veins, and then the sudden realisation hit you hard. You're never going to get this, not when you're like this. Your stomach churned, and you suddenly felt sick. Of all things, this wasn’t what you needed for tonight. And without even acknowledging Kyle, you rushed back into your room and straight to the toilet, where you retched everything into the bowl. Kyle ran to you immediately out of concern, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back as you emptied out your stomach.

“What’s wrong? Did you eat something bad? Are you sick?” Kyle asked frantically, panicking while he helped wipe your mouth and walking you to your bed. You sat there, faint and weak, leaning against Kyle’s body. You couldn’t get the images of Kyle’s flings out of your mind—the man you’ve loved for so long, knowing the love would never be reciprocated. The jealousy was eating you inside, and it wasn't just jealousy that Kyle had eyes for other people, but the people Kyle liked were attractive looking. You could never look like them.

“M'fine…” You mumble inaudibly, trying your best not to show Kyle that you were having almost going to have an anxiety attack. Kyle looked down at you, placing a hand on your forehead to check for a fever.

“You’re warm; are you sure you’re fine?” Kyle frowned as he saw your weak state, keeping you comfortable on his body as you weakly lean on him, head beside his shoulders. You nod your head, but Kyle didn’t believe that you were fine.

The way Kyle held you, his soft and mellow voice comforting you at your worst. You couldn’t help but fall for him even more. You hated yourself for being so vulnerable in front of him. You mumble to him, “Would you ever like me?” Kyle blinked in confusion at the question, an awkward silence taking over the room.

“I do like you, though.”

“Not in that way; you know what I mean.”

Silence filled the room again, and Kyle shifted nervously.

“You know I’m gay, right? I’m not into women.”

“And I'm not a woman!”

“Forget it. Just leave.” You groan and push yourself away from Kyle, lying on the bed while turning away from him. Kyle didn’t say anything; he simply stood up and left the room like you asked him to.

Weeks went by, and you both haven’t spoken to each other since you’ve avoided him even when he wished to speak to you. Locking yourself in your room all the time, only ever coming out when you had classes. You noticed that Kyle hadn’t brought anyone over, but you didn’t think much of it. You were rotting in your bed and barely eating these days, but as you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a knock on the door.

“Mate, please let me in.” Kyle pleaded, and you could hear the desperation in his voice as he continued to knock on your door. And for whatever reason, you lazily woke up and opened the door.

Kyle’s face held a worried expression, frowning when he saw your dishevelled appearance and your messy room. He knew you weren’t taking care of yourself. Your eyebags grew deeper and darker, face paler and duller than before, Kyle could tell you weren't alright. There was a plate of food in his hand—something he cooked up just for you.

“You can’t keep avoiding me, love.” He said this as he barged into your room, sitting on the edge of your bed with the plate set down on the bedside table. “I care about you; please talk to me. I can’t stand not talking to you.” His eyes pleaded with yours, begging you to take care of yourself even with just a simple plate of food. He took your hand into his, his thumb gently tracing circles at the back of your hand. You missed the feeling of his soft hands touching you affectionately, or maybe you just missed him.

“I ruined it, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to ruin our friendship.” You spoke, and Kyle’s expression softened when he heard your faint voice speaking to him.

“You didn’t ruin anything; it wasn’t your fault.” He smiled softly as he sneaked his arm around your shoulder, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. You looked up at him in confusion.

“I shouldn’t have confessed. I’m sorry.” Kyle laughed as you said that, but he wasn’t laughing at you. He looked at you and smiled widely—the kind of smile that makes your heart flutter. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing on your arm as a way to reassure you.

“You know, when I say I care about you, I mean it. I care about you way more than I should, and I think you know what I mean. So there's nothing to be sorry about lovey, I'm glad you confessed. ” Kyle’s words made you freeze, your mouth agape as you wanted to speak, but no words were coming out.

“You don’t have to say anything; just believe my words, yeah?”

“But I’m a woman to you, aren’t I? You don’t like women.”

“You’re not a woman to me; you don’t have to keep pretending that you are one from now on.”

"Kyle-"

“You’re a man; you always have been and always will be, especially to me. You got that?”

For the first time, you felt comfortable in your own skin, as if the mask you've worn for so long had just broke and fallen from your face and you'd been laid bare in front of Kyle, and he loved you regardless. Tears brim your eyes, a small pout forming on your lips before you plant your face against the fabric of Kyle’s shirt to absorb the tears. He chuckles at the sight and hugs you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m a bit sad you didn’t tell me sooner; you didn’t have to hide it from me. I trusted you with my secret; now it's your turn to trust me.” He said as his hand cupped your cheek, a gentle look in his eyes as he made you look at him. Your glassy eyes stared at Kyle’s, and he gently wiped away the tears that stained your now-warm cheeks.

“I don’t look like a man; I feel ashamed to even call myself one when I wear dresses and put on makeup. How can you call me a man?” You replied as you rubbed your eyes, leaning comfortably on Kyle as you spoke.

“You’re still a man even when you wear dresses and make-up. You've seen me wear skirts and put on some make-up before, didn't make me less of a man, did it?”

"That's different, Kyle. I look like a woman; I just don’t understand why you like me.” You said it bluntly, and he could only giggle at how blunt you were being.

“Maybe I’ve always liked you; I just thought it was platonic.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I’m not, I swear!”

You whacked him on the arm while he continued to laugh, in turn making you crack a small smile at him.

“Look, maybe there was a part of me that denied my attraction to you when I thought you were a woman. Now that I know you’re not, I feel more comfortable liking you. Does that make sense?”

He explained while you continued laying against him, your smile widening the more Kyle spoke. Your cheeks were red, and your body became warmer. The thought that Kyle had always liked you made you happy.

“What about those men?”

“You mean when I bring people over? I knew I was gay for way too long, so when I started liking you, I thought I was wrong about my sexuality. I started sleeping with more guys to distract myself, I guess. But rest assured, I’m still gay, and I like you.”

You fell into silence, thoughts swirling in your head while you listened to Kyle. Kyle knew you were deep in thought; he could see how much you were struggling to believe him. You still had doubts and insecurities yelling at you that 'this was all some big prank. Or that Kyle was actually bi and he sees you as a woman. He couldn’t have liked you. How could he have liked you? You look nothing like a man, and Kyle liked you. Does he like women too, then? Maybe this is all a big joke, and Kyle is just playing with you. What if he pities you and he’s just pretending to like you? Are you just trapping him in a false queer relationship? Maybe-'

You felt a sudden warmth on your lips, snapping you out of your thoughts as you felt Kyle’s lips on yours. His hands cupped your face lovingly, tilting it up so he could kiss you. His lips were soft and warm on yours; it was addicting. You closed your eyes and savoured the moment, reciprocating the kiss with the same gentleness he had.

“You think too much, lovey.” Kyle mumbled cheekily as he pulled away from you, smiling before gently kissing your forehead. But this time it didn’t feel platonic; no, the kiss was romantic and one you’ve longed for since you met him.

“I love you.”

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x trans reader #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #kyle garrick #trans reader #trans mlm

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shrekgogurt · 1 month

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An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on you WIP(s)

Thanks for the tags @theearlgreymage and @wellbelesbian !!!!

🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)

For the sake of this endeavor I’m gonna focus on I Knew A Boy, I Knew A Man which is also more affectionately referred to as IKABIKAM, eyecab eyecam, 👁️🚕👁️📸, etc.

🍄Describe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Natasha as like a vaguely Margaret Thatcher figure but she was in office in the late 90s not the 80s don’t think about it too hard okay the exact policy/praxis doesn’t matter so much as the ideology/vibes/dynamic + Davy (The Mage) as like a fucked up Welsh caricature (of his own design) because he’s overcompensating and has the media literacy of the worst film bro you’ve ever had the misfortune of talking to = their sons falling in love through football/soccer against all odds as juxtaposed between childhood and adulthood.

🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?

Trauma

🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

Solsbury Hill for obvious reasons

⚠️Which wip you’re most likely to finish or update next?

This one :-)

💾What is your document of your wip/ a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

Okay, I’m usually absolute ass at naming files in any helpful fashion but this project is so organized on Google Docs. My notes app is a different story. Those don’t even have titles. I just launch into my whims as they come.

Most interesting answer I can give is that the folder containing all my fic documents is titled “kill the part that cringes.”

🖍Post Any sentence from your wip

Listen, I warned y’all.

To be in love with Simon Snow—a life sentence, an encyclopedia of grief.

♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

In the original musings of IKABIKAM—titled Scarborough Fair as the club was gonna be in Scarborough—Simon was Irish rather than Welsh and raised by Ruth. I know. Wild to think about now. But it’s true. And then I did some excavating on canon and the story we have today was born. Lost to time (the original idea of this fic which was actually two fics) is a whole very fun scene. I had planned that after the international break match against other, Simon convinced Baz to go out on the town with him. I wrote this snippet back then. It didn’t make the cut for obvious reasons and honestly I don’t know how much I stand by the characterization. Or the prose. Everything about IKABIKAM is better to me but this sexy little number deserves the people’s attention. I’m slightly concerned it’s offensive.

They’re playing INDUSTRY BABY in this club right now? I’m not dancing with Simon Snow to a Lil Nas X song. That music video…I’m only a man. I’m also not exactly sober. I will not risk a Snow relapse. Besides, Snow himself just downed the rest of his drink.

He leans toward me to say something. With the combination of his drunkenness and his accent I can barely make out his words, “eye gahta gohbakta da barrr.” (Translation: I’ve got to go back to the bar.) He really doesn’t.

I pluck the glass from his hand, “this last one is on me.”

He goofily smiles. His head is drooping to the side and his eyes are half-lidded. It would be adorable if I wasn’t worried about him falling over. I scan the room. One of the other Irish players is nearby. I hook Snow’s arm in mine (both my hands are full!) and drag him towards his teammate. He stumbles behind me looking completely blissed out.

I tap the other player on his shoulder. Clancy I think? The left winger. “Hey, I’m going to force Snow home so he can avoid a stomach pump. Could you make sure he doesn’t wander off while I close out my tab?”

He nods. I throw Snow at him and maneuver through the crowd up to the bar. It’s packed. I finish my own drink before I can push an opening to order. The bartender nods at me. She looks worn out from the night. I don’t blame her.

“Soda water with lime please.”

“Sure. What’s the name on the tab?”

“Grimm-Pitch. Could you close it?”

She nods and turns on her heel. A minute or so later she returns with the drink and my card. I take them.

“Is there any chance I could close out my mate’s tab too. He’s pissed.” I gesture back at the direction of Snow and Clancy. A circle of women have surrounded them. Honestly, fair.

The bartender gives me a wary eye. “What’s the name?”

“Snow.”

“Snow? Like the footballer Simon Snow over there?” She points at Simon.

I nod. The bartender scoffs, “Sure I’ll give Simon Snow’s card to some random Englishman.”

Random Englishman? Am I really going to have to do you know who I am this woman? I go for a subtle approach and just sort of lift an eyebrow and draw attention to the name on my own card: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. The realization hits her. I was afraid I would have to tie my hair up.

“Oh shit. Fuck you’re Baz Pitch.” She stares at me. I hold out my hand. “Right, the card!” She hands me Snow’s card.

I nod, “Alright. Thanks.”

She shakes her head at me, “No, sorry for the hassle. Have a good night English…defensive midfielder…Baz Pitch.” She says my name with a laugh like she’s awestruck I’m in this Dublin nightclub (fair), “and thanks for the win today!”

I’m beyond tired of hearing that line.

When I return Snow is having the time of his life: posted up surrounded by ladies singing along to Ayyy Ladies. They’re not being subtle in their flirting. (Again, fair. Good for them.) Snow is incredibly respectful despite being off his face. Good lad. He’s still far too drunk to consent to anything so I don’t feel terribly guilty for pulling him away from the grind fest.

When he sees me approach he lights up, “Baz!” His arms fly open. “Took you long enough.”

I hand him his drink. There is a blonde woman dancing on him. She throws her arms around his neck. He knocks back the drink and chugs it in one go. A little water dribbles down his chin and he wipes it away with his thumb. It catches on his bottom lip. He hasn’t looked away from me once. And this fucking song…

“When I hit it from the back, don't fuss, don't fight

When I put it in ya mouth, don't scratch, don't bite”

I need to get the fuck out of here.

He hands me back the glass, “That drink was awful. What was it?” His speech is a little less slurred than before.

“Water. I’m taking you home.”

He blushes, “What?”

“You’re plastered. So, you should get sick in your own loo rather than on this lovely woman,” I give the blonde a wink. She dances away.

I’m pretty sure tabs aren’t even really that much of a thing in Ireland. And like…I don’t think you can close them out for someone else. So like. I don’t know what the fuck I was on while writing that. Obviously not Google.com, or reality. But most of all I was absolutely jump-scared reading that back and discovering I was gonna make Baz a defensive midfielder? WTF!?

🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

A hockey one-shot. Whenever it happens the chirps are gonna be out of this world.

🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

One in a way that’s meaningful. Maybe two. It’s a fresh thing.

🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

The chapter is really expositional in an isolated way and so I have to backtrack for context without being boring.

❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

Blessed beyond belief.

Now tagging @artsyunderstudy @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cutestkilla @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @j-nipper-95 @noblecorgi @prettygoododds @thewholelemon @valeffelees @roomwithanopenfire @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe omg and @emeryhall tell me everything

#ikabikam #bonus content

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beautifulpersonpeach · 3 months

Note

I’m relatively new to the fandom and have really enjoyed a lot of your posts… I have a question that I couldn’t quickly find an answer to in searching through your tags…

What’s the deal with streaming? Like, I listen to BTS. I enjoy them a lot, I listen to a pretty even mix of all their albums though I probably like MOTS:7 era the best). Some days I listen to them like all day lol (if I’m cleaning the house or something) and I listen to them a lot in the car or while working. I’ve enjoyed some solo releases more than others so I naturally streamed those more. but like the more I start following accounts on here and on army twt the more confused I get about the intense pressure to stream constantly? I’ve heard that people play certain songs (or albums I guess?) on repeat on mute and/or have dedicated streaming devices they keep going all the time.

Not to be negative or rude at all but like…what? Maybe because I’m new to KPop and have never followed it until BTS but that just sounds so weird and… idk the word, maybe disingenuous? Again I do not mean this as an attack I am just genuinely confused. Wouldn’t BTS themselves want us only to listen if we were actually enjoying it and not out of some competitive attempt to get better ratings? It feels so odd to me, like that is not how I would behave with any other artist that I love. I would only ever listen to them out of a genuine desire to hear their music. But there seems to be so much weird shaming out there for when/if songs are not streamed heavily enough? And for any other artist I would just write that off as a difference in taste among the fandom, but here it’s treated like a personal wrong against the artist…?

But as I say that I’m sure there’s more to it… I have definitely seen people talking about payola or chart manipulation so idk. If I should google this instead, just tell me to, I just have already tried and didn’t find that much clarity, just a bunch of people on quora and Reddit talking about certain songs not getting streamed enough.

Anyways this is super long, sorry if it annoys you. Just thought you seemed knowledgeable and levelheaded enough to ask? Love your posts. All the best.

Ask 2:

Okay wait I’m the anon that just asked about streaming and I went and re-read your post about “inorganic success” — I had read it before but somehow I didn’t put together that the 24-7 streaming is an attempt to combat payola or like go up against it I guess. Okay. That makes more sense. I still feel like there’s a weird focus on charting but I guess if it’s about getting more concert venues and more radio play it makes sense.

You can ignore my last ask then I’m sorry if I’m being dense or something lol.

***

You haven’t at all asked a stupid question. Your confusion is easily explained by you being new to k-pop, and everyone new to this madhouse asks this question eventually. I’ve talked about this before, but can’t find the post for the life of me so I’ll briefly go over it again.

First, you need to understand what k-pop is. K-pop is a system that gamifies music consumption. Competition is something you’ll see in the music industry regardless. Western stans such as Arianators, Barbz, and the Beyhive have organized around streaming goals and efforts for at least 10 years now. But there’s no other music industry that explicitly emphasizes competition among groups and fans, the way the k-pop industry does.

Competition is baked into its DNA:

From the idol training system under agencies with supposed specialities that are treated like warring houses a la Game of Thrones (a mentality created by the Big 3),

to the music shows where fans are encouraged to vote daily and weekly for the best artists and where wins are tied to streaming numbers,

to the highly publicized year-end award show criteria that outline key metrics for wins in streams, sales, and fan votes.

Basically, the k-pop industry creates a clear hierarchy of talent and acclaim for artists in their system, directly stokes fan participation in buying into that hierarchy, and the numbers are the easiest litmus test/short cut to settle the question of who is at the top.

And all of this is served with a cocktail of parasocial delusion and entitlement that has (more easily manipulated) fans thinking their perceived investment into their faves, earns them the right to micromanage their fave idols’ careers. All of this benefits the labels and industry because they’d rather have you more engaged (even if toxically), than not.

Everybody here buys into this system despite what they’ll tell you, some just manage to keep their wits and perspective to prevent getting sucked in, while others fall headfirst into it.

And so, like I said in my ‘inorganic success’ post you referenced, the focus on streaming is part of fans really just playing the game. Excess is something you’ll see on the charts in any case, whether in k-pop or in the West.

The difference with BTS and ARMYs however, is in the why of how the fandom streams. Essentially, you’re more likely to find people just as passionate about the music itself as they are about giving that music its due in hard numbers and consequently, recognition. You’re more likely to find fans like this in the ARMY fandom, than any other, in my opinion. Some people forget that the og ARMYs were k-pop fans first. They were fans who intimately understood how this system worked, they understood why the Big3 maintained dominance in k-pop for literal decades, and they saw the worth in the music BTS made, loved it enough to invest time into the playing the game better than anyone else at the time - pushing BTS from nugu status to where they are now, competing well outside the realm of the k-pop system but in a space that remains complex and highly competitive.

Another aspect that differentiates how ARMYs stream vs other k-pop fandoms, is that due to the sheer size of the fandom in absolute numbers, the average ARMY typically streams less than a typical k-pop stan. Basically, in other fandoms the typical stan has to stream more per person to have even a fraction of the gains seen in the ARMY fandom. ARMYs also aren’t doing anything other fandoms aren’t doing, it’s just that so far, they’re more efficient at it and don’t have to worry too much because BTS makes music that keeps attracting more fans, adding to the size of the fandom. They’ve also generally stayed away from more illegal methods given the intense scrutiny and animosity the fandom has faced for being part of the reason BTS upended the ordained hierarchy in this space. It sounds silly but it’s true.

But that’s only one side of the story. The other side is that in the fandom, everybody here really just does what they want. And many people genuinely enjoy listening to BTS that much and that intensely. Going by personal experience in what I observed before I became ARMY, I noticed that many ARMYs are Type A and organized - people who like and study data. The first time in my life that I saw someone create a spreadsheet for fan theories on a k-pop MV, was when an ARMY made one for I NEED U MV. I’m not sure what it is about BTS, but from the beginning they’ve attracted the sort of fans who genuinely enjoy listening to music often, people who enjoy creating and playing around with playlists, and people who track and measure applicable data. So your assumption that the people who stream like this are people who don’t actually enjoy the music, is wrong. In my opinion. For a lot of ARMYs, streaming and appreciating the music isn’t mutually exclusive.

Personally, I listen to music a lot. And I’ve always been that way, so when I became ARMY, I just sort of naturally fit into that culture. The sort of music BTS makes is a joy to listen to, I play their stuff literally everyday and it feels like the most normal thing in the world for me to sleep to Serendipity sometimes (in my sleep playlist which includes brown noise and rain sounds), or to do laundry to Let Me Know playing, or to drive to UGH and Set Me Free Pt 2 playing. I have multiple accounts because I listen to all kinds of music all the time, and it’s just convenient for me to have things set up such that I can flip on a playlist in every situation I’d want one on.

But like I said, the reality is that everyone in this fandom does what they want. It’s true there are certain people in the fandom who obsess over streaming, these are typically chartmys and akgaes, but most other people stream however they like. Fandom in general is a pressure cooker environment so I don’t blame you for noticing that pressure, but at the end of the day you really should just do what makes the most sense to you.

ARMYs generally recognize the reality of the space they are in, they recognize what it means for BTS, and most simply tweak their normal listening habits to maximize the gain and support to BTS. Plus sometimes it’s fun to play into fandom’s initiatives as a way to connect with other fans (such as in streaming parties).

I ended up rambling but let me know if this answered your question.

#BTS #BTS army #bts fandom #kpop fandom #kpop industry #fandom behaviour #streaming

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softie-rain · 2 months

Text

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Pairing: Coriolanus Snow/Sejanus Plinth

Tags: possibly ooc - takes place two years before canon - coryo is weirdly nice - idk guys this is so lovesick and fluffy I'm not used to it

Summary: Having a crush on the handsome boy you share classes with has got to be the most embarrassing thing to happen to someone. Like, seriously: how do you hide it without failing? Or, Sejanus Plinth is caught staring at Coriolanus Snow during class.

Notes: inspired by the headcanon @incorrect-pipravi sent, which you can find here. Was supposed to be a small drabble and instead ended up 2k words (which is shorter than what I usually write anyway.)

Also damn I haven't posted my writing on tumblr since FOREVER it's been ages fr. So this is your reminder that other than bitching about coryo and sej I also write

you can read it on ao3 here

Sejanus kept staring at his reflection in the mirror, fixing his hair. He wasn’t one to usually care about his looks, as long as he looked decent enough to go out in public. But lately he felt like had to be at his best, even going as far as thinking of wearing his favorite sweatshirt (the blue one Coriolanus gave him for his fourteen birthday, he had been the only one to show up at the party he had organized), but the weather was definitely too hot for that one. Besides, the uniform was mandatory at the Academy.

“Sejanus, why are you still here? You have to hurry if you don’t want to be late!” His mother entered the room, looking at him with worry. Sejanus turned with an apologetic look.

“Don’t worry ma’. I’ll be fine.” He said. Mrs. Plinth nodded and walked over to him, patting him on his back.

“You look perfect, darling. I’m sure this secret girl you seem to like so much will adore you!”

“Ma’!” Sejanus heavily blushed, gently pushing his mother away in embarrassment. The old woman chuckled, smiling at her son.

“There’s no need to be ashamed of it. Everyone has their first crush at some point.” She said, trying to reassure her son. Sejanus wanted to laugh. Of course his mother didn’t know. There was no way she could have found out on her own, and he never said anything. She was convinced Sejanus was in love with a girl from the Academy, and he surely wasn’t going to be the one to break the news to her that said girl was actually Coriolanus Snow.

He wasn’t sure his ma’ would have minded actually. She thought Coriolanus was a good boy, and even his father appreciated him. Yet Sejanus had never told them the truth, and he wasn’t going to. Whether out of shame, or fear, it didn’t matter.

Sejanus shook his head, ignoring his mother’s comment. “I better get going now or, as you said, I’m going to be late. See you later ma’.” He said, waving at her as he walked out of the apartment.

After the short drive to the Academy he ran up the stairs rushing to get to class, even if there was no need to. They had assigned seats, he knew he'd end up sitting next to Coriolanus either way. But he also wanted to chat before class started, and Coryo always seemed to arrive awfully early, for some unknown reason.

When he finally got in the room he smiled upon noticing the curly haired boy with his head down in the textbook, probably revising for the lecture of the day. Coriolanus was a perfectionist like that, always studying, making sure everything he did was excellent, especially when it came to the Academy and his studies. Sejanus was pretty sure he had never failed one single class.

Clemensia Dovecote hadn't either, but she didn't put in half the effort Coriolanus did. Coriolanus Snow always worked much more than what was required, sometimes Sejanus wondered if it was because he wanted to be better than everyone else. Or maybe he just craved academic validation.

Either way, Sejanus thought it was extremely attractive. When he was always so carefully focused in class, and Sejanus so carefully focused on him. The way he'd bite his lip when he tried to get a particularly difficult subject, his small frown when he didn't understand something. A barely perceptible one, that he tried to hide to not show that he was confused but that Sejanus could see anyway. If he paid as much attention to the lesson as he did to Coriolanus he'd probably ace every class he took.

But Coriolanus was much more interesting than whatever Mrs. Click could ever blather about, right?

“Morning Coryo.” He greeted him, sitting next to him.

“Morning.” Coriolanus replied, without looking up from his book.

Sejanus bit his lip, trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going. “What are you reading?”

“History of Panem.”

“You don't need to revise, I'm sure you'll do great as always.” Sejanus told him, smiling, thinking he'd complimented him. But Coriolanus sighed.

“That doesn't mean I'll stop studying for the exam.” He replied coldly, probably annoyed Sejanus interrupted him. So he nodded and left him to read, at least until Professor Demigloss arrived and started his lesson.

Sejanus tried to pay attention, he really did, but his eyes were drawn in as if by magnets to Coriolanus’ beautiful blonde curls that so gracefully fell on his face. Sejanus observed as he moved them away, his blue eyes focused on the board in front of him. He also noticed as Coriolanus started chewing on his pen while listening to Demigloss’ - rather boring - explanation.

Sejanus found himself wondering what it would have been like to kiss him, to have those lips on his. Would he have bit down on Sejanus’ lips the same way he was biting down the pen? Would he have been rough, or sweet and soft?

He always assumed Coriolanus was a rough lover, but he couldn't know for sure, maybe he would-

“Mr. Plinth, I believe the board is here and not where Mr. Snow is sitting.”

The professor's voice made him snap out of his lovefool trance, and Sejanus’ head immediately turned to face Professor Demigloss, who looked rather annoyed. He felt his cheeks grow warm, and he knew he was probably the same color as his Ma’ tomatoes when they were mature. He muttered an apology and looked down at his notes-less book, too embarrassed to meet anyone's eyes.

He could hear his classmates snicker, and he knew they wouldn't easily make him forget this. But, gosh, the worst were Coriolanus’ eyes on him.

Sejanus could basically feel his gaze, burning like his stare alone was setting him on fire, and he wanted nothing more than to get up and leave the room.

The rest of the class went on painfully slowly, Sejanus could have sworn it lasted hours. As soon as Demigloss dismissed them he instantly got up, packed his bag and left, ignoring Festus calling for him and rushing out before anyone else could make fun of him. Especially Coriolanus.

Truthfully he didn't think Coriolanus would. He never joined in with the others - especially Festus and Arachne - when they talked about him behind his back or made fun of him, ever since they were kids, so he didn't see why he'd start now. Either way, Sejanus couldn't stand the confrontation to test his assumption.

He tried to ignore Coriolanus the best he could the rest of the day, and he thought he managed. But then Coryo stopped him at the Academy entrance, right when he was about to leave once all of his classes were over.

“Sejanus? Can we talk?”

Sejanus shrugged, trying to play it dumb. Maybe if he pretended nothing happened Coriolanus would forget about it. “S-sure. About what?” He said, praying his voice didn't sound as high pitched to Coriolanus as it did to him.

“Uh, the history project we have to do? I thought maybe we could work on it together.”

Sejanus sighed in relief, covering it with a cough. He cleared his throat before raising his eyebrow. “History project?”

Coriolanus nodded. “Yes. Professor Demigloss talked about it today in class. Or were you too busy staring at me to pay attention to him?” He asked, grinning.

Sejanus started blushing, his eyes widening as his mind tried to come up with some excuse or at least a way to get out of that situation. His palms were getting sweaty and he could feel the panic rising up in his chest. “Oh, uhm, no. Obviously, I was listening. I was-”

“Sej relax. I'm just teasing.” Coriolanus interrupted him, his grin only growing wider. “So? What do you say about the project?”

Sejanus thought it was weird how Coriolanus didn't seem to mind it, but definitely didn't complain. If his friend was cool about it, then he was going to be as well. He nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Of course.”

“Great. It's due tomorrow so the sooner we start working on it the better.” Sejanus gave him a short smile, agreeing with him.

“I'd suggest going over at my place, but the cleaners are around today. They’re usually very invasive, I don’t want them scooping around while we study.” He explained, sounding annoyed. Sejanus nodded, understanding his problem. He had the same struggles with his own cleaners, though usually they left him alone when he asked.

“It’s okay, I get that. Maybe we could study at my place then?” He suggested, trying not to blush again at the thought of him and Coriolanus alone in his bedroom. Coriolanus didn’t seem to notice his struggles at keeping his cool and nodded, mumbling a ‘sure’ before following Sejanus outside where his driver was waiting for him.

Sejanus spent the drive to his house in silence, hoping his mother had gone through with her plan for the day and was out shopping. He wanted to avoid any awkward meeting between her and Coryo. But of course, when they got into his apartment, there she stood in the kitchen waiting for her beloved son. “Sejanus? Is that you?” She asked, walking over to them. Her eyes slightly widened in surprise when she noticed Coriolanus with him. “Oh! I didn’t know you were going to have friends over. Hi, Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus smiled at the woman. “Hello Mrs. Plinth. Sorry for intruding.” He said, giving Sejanus’ mother an apologetic look.

“Oh nonsense. I was about to leave anyway, I need to buy some new clothes for little Sej here.” She said smiling. Sejanus felt as if his skin was on fire at his ma’ words, and he could see in the corner of his eyes Coriolanus trying not to laugh.

“Okay well me and Coryo will be studying in my bedroom, see you later ma’.” He said quickly, wanting to get out of that situation as soon as possible. Once they got to his room they immediately started working on the project, neither of them wanting to waste any more time. Coriolanus shared his notes with Sejanus since he had taken none during class, too busy staring at Coryo.

The evening went on uneventfully, they spent most of it on the books with one snack break where Sejanus offered Coriolanus the cookies he had baked the day before, which the blonde boy seemed to most definitely appreciate considering the eager way he was eating them.

Sejanus was sitting on his bed while Coriolanus was at his desk, leaning on the chair. They were almost done with the school work when Coriolanus spoke. “Why were you staring at me?” Sejanus blushed and dropped his pen on the floor, immediately picking it up as if the falling object could have been a new source of embarrassment for him. “Earlier, in class.” He added, as if he needed a reminder of what Coriolanus was talking about.

“Uhm…” Sejanus didn't know what to say. He avoided the subject all day. He knew it was impossible for Coryo to forget about it so quickly but he wasn't expecting him to bring it up now either. Especially since he had sounded fine with the situation that morning.

Coriolanus must have noticed Sejanus was rather uncomfortable, because he immediately specified, “I'm not making fun of you for it. I'm just curious. Did I have something on my face?”

He was smiling, but Sejanus wasn’t sure it was meant to be a joke. More of a light comment to put him at ease. Though he didn't work he appreciated the effort, so much he thought Coriolanus deserved the truth, or at least half of it. Sejanus had never been good at lying anyway.

“No, nothing like that. Honestly? I was looking at your hair. And your eyes.” He confessed, avoiding the other's gaze.

Coriolanus frowned. “My eyes?”

“Yeah. They're very… blue. And pretty. It's like staring at the ocean, or the clear sky. Sorry, I know it's dumb. Just got caught up in my thoughts I guess.” Sejanus mumbled, drawing doodles on his hands as he tried to fight the urge to ramble out dumb excuses that would have led Coriolanus to realize he had a crush on him.

He had just admitted he thought his eyes were pretty, could it get worse than that?

Fortunately he didn't have to find out because Coriolanus simply nodded and dropped the subject. Sejanus didn't say anything either, but when he raised his eyes again and saw Coriolanus bouncing his leg nervously under the desk he could have sworn he saw his cheeks growing red, though he was clearly trying to hide it.

Sejanus smiled and looked down, going back to check his notes, when Coriolanus spoke again. “I like your eyes too.” He said, catching Sejanus by surprise.

“They're this dark brown color that gets lighter if you observe them under the sunlight. They look like milk chocolate chips.” Coriolanus commented, never once switching his position or raising his head to look at Sejanus as she talked. “I love chocolate.” He said, and it was clearly the end of their conversation on the matter.

He loves chocolate. He loves my eyes.

The thought kept playing loud in Sejanus’ head as he tried hard to stop his blushing, failing miserably. Maybe that day hadn't been so terrible after all.

#snowjanus #snowplinth #sejanus x coriolanus #coriolanus x sejanus #sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games

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