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charlieleclerc16 · 2 days

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A game of UNO*

Summary: Charles and Y/N play a game of strip UNO. The rules are of course made up by Charles himself.

Pairing: bestfriend!Charles x reader

Word count: 4K

Warnings: No actual smut, as in P in V. Just a LOT of tension and ofc sexual topics such as stripping, making out, boners etc.

A/N: I guess I am now writing for Charles too. This story is originally posted on my other blog, so if it's familiar.. That's why lol. Also, funfact, I actually played a game of UNO with myself to get these cards to be accurate haha

Like they say; as we mature, the relationship matures with us. And so does the friendship between Y/N and Charles. The countless weekends going out to pubs are now spent mostly in the comfort of their own homes playing board games and watching movies. Of course, they liked to go out and drink, and God they still drink quite a lot. But they don’t care for loud music and sweaty people all around them.

Nearly every weekend, when there are no races, they come together and spend time like they always do. Downing a few bottles of white, munching on a delicious charcuterie platter, and just enjoying each other’s company. Today was like no other. Charles perched down in the corner of the comfy sofa and Y/N is getting the glasses ready for the delicious liquid.

“Can we watch The Notebook tonight?” Y/N said as she walked into her living room with two wine glasses and the bottle of white she had been craving all day. Charles simply chuckles and gives her a judgemental look. “What?” She asks him.

“Haven’t we seen that movie like a billion times already?” He laughs. Secretly Charles is a sucker for a good romance movie and Y/N is all too familiar with his preferences. When they were both still in their teen years and just met in school, Y/N had never seen The Notebook before and Charles insisted she needed to see it.

“I mean yes, but you know I love this movie.” Y/N states, remote control in her hand to turn on the movie with a smirk on her face. She lets out a sneaky giggle, getting all comfy against his body stretched out on the sofa. Charles’ strong arm wraps around her body so naturally. His delicious scent immediately relaxing her.

* * * Halfway through the movie, Charles gets bored. Each of them are two glasses of wine in and Charles is just ready for some action. He lifts his body off of the sofa making Y/N whine at the loss of contact. He makes his way to her board game stash. His feet drag across the floor and his hips sway from left to right, dancing his way to the cabinet. She laughs at him, the dork.

“What are you doing?” She questions, he is so cute dancing around your living room with his glass in his hand.

“I am done watching that movie, again. I wanna play a game.” He says with a mischievous smirk across his face. The little twinkle in his eyes tells her he really is up to no good. He opens the top drawer of the board game cabinet and pushes around some of the stuff in there.

“Ah! There it is.” Charles chuckles. He turns around holding the pack of UNO in his right hand. He brings it back over to the coffee table and opens up the little box as he sits down on the floor.

“You don’t want to watch a movie we’ve seen a billion times yet you do want to play a game we have played a billion times?” She questions Charles, although she has a feeling that there’s a catch. The look on his face tells her he is not about to propose a simple game of UNO.

“See, you got that wrong baby.” The smirk on his face is only growing bigger and bigger. “There's a twist.” The scared look on Y/N’s face is priceless to Charles. She grabs the remote control to press pause, putting all her attention on the man in front of her.

“How about we add some spicy rules to the game?” The room falls silent aside from the heavy breathing escaping her lips.

“What do you mean, Charles?” She whispers.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” He says as he starts shuffling the cards. “Okay so, since it’s just the two of us, we shouldn’t’ make too many additions. How about every time you can match a numbered card or wild card with the most recently played card, the other person has to take off one clothing item.” His gaze never leaves her eyes. He starts dealing the cards as if he expects her to just go along with his plan. “Let’s also say for every +2 played, the other person also has to take off one item instead of drawing two cards.” And that’s how the rules are played out.

“I don’t know, Charles.” She says looking down at the cards as she picks them up in her hand one by one. Her first card is a yellow 1. She looks at the second card before she adds it to her hand, a red reverse card. The third card she picks up has her widening her eyes, a yellow +2. She picks up the rest of the cards and she joins Charles on the floor beside the coffee table. She has already decided to play along.

“What if this ruins our friendship?” She asks.

“Then we’ll stop being friends.” Charles chuckles, lust covering his eyes.

“We can’t stop being friends just because of a game of UNO, dummy.”

“What if afterwards, you don’t want to be friends because you want to be more than that.” The flirty smirk on his face is weakening her entire body. Fuck. She’s had the longest crush on the man in front of her. Her whole body is yearning to be close to him. Of course, she wants to be way more than that.

“This would have to be the most seductive game of UNO for that to happen.” She tries to shrug off the nerves in her body. Not really doing a great job at just that.

“Shut up and play your first card.”

Charles flips over the top card of the deck. A green 1 lying flat on the table. She takes a look at the cards in her hand. There’s no green so she decides on a yellow 1. She places down the card and a hissing sound coming from Charles’ lips pulls her attention to his eyes. The look on his face looks like pure mischief. His long fingers drag through his cards. He pinches one of them in between his thumb and pointer finger with a big smirk on his lips. God, he looks so kissable.

She takes a big chug from her glass. Charles slams down his card, showing the yellow 1 matching your card perfectly.

“I would’ve never guessed I’d be getting you out of your clothes so quickly.” His voice was low and husky. Her wine glass barely touches the table before she brings it back to her lips for another chug making Charles chuckle at her nerves.

She thinks for a second before she hooks her fingers on the welt of her right sock. Her knees press into her chest and she takes both socks off, one by one.

“Hold on, this isn’t fair. You’re wearing more clothes than I am.” Charles states as she see his brain calculating. They’re both wearing socks, jeans and a T-shirt. But Charles refers to what’s underneath that. Suddenly she feel thankful for deciding on wearing a bra today, because that’s not a given for every day.

“Well, I guess that’s just my advantage of being forced to strip for you.” She shrugs.

“I did not force you.” He pouts making her giggle. She looks at the table to check back in with the card that’s last been played before diving back into her cards. She can’t help but let the slightest smirk appear on her lips before she plays the yellow +2 in her hands.

“Fuck.” Charles laughed. “Off with the socks we go.” He continues as he takes both of them off in a swift motion. He adds them to where her socks are piled up together.

Charles looks in his cards. There is a red +2 in his hand which he could just play right now but he decides to keep that one in his hand for a little longer. Instead, he pulls out a yellow 5.

Y/N sighs, feeling relieved that she doesn’t have to get rid of any more clothes right now. The anxious yet thrilling feeling is riling her up. She have never felt any excitement like this before. Charles and Y/N have been friends since forever and she has had the biggest crush on him for nearly as long. Her eyes always lingered a bit too long when they went to swimming together and he was in just his swimming trunks. Or the goosebumps his touch left on her skin as his fingers danced along her arm as a small sign of affection. Friendly affection, but it still made her feel all sorts of ways.

Both of them play a couple of cards before Charles has a big smirk plastered across his face again. Uh oh. His fingers stride along his cards again before he picks one. He places a red 7 on top of your blue 7.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if your seven was blue too?” He says as he scooches a bit closer, their legs now touching.

“Stooop, you make me nervous.” She blushes.

“Don’t be. It’s just me.” Charles reassures her and wraps his empty hand around her ankle. His thumb moves in soft strokes up and down. She knows he tries to calm her down but every stroke of his thumb is sent straight to her clit.

Y/N plays a red reverse card. Allowing her to play another card since it’s a two-player game of UNO. She’s all out of red so she draws a card, a red 4. She places it down and look back up to Charles who still has his hand on her ankle.

“Isn’t that fortunate?” Charles teases.

“Just from you saying that, I know there’s nothing fortunate about it for me.” She mumbles as she frightens the next card that he will put on the table.

Charles has a twinkle in his eyes looking at the card in his hand. The red +2 is going to get rid of her first clothing item that’ll actually reveal some skin. Charles too had been pining over her for years. He started loving her in a bit more than just a friendly kind of way around the age of 16. Now 10 years later, nothing had changed. Both of them had been dating people, trying to distract themselves from the massive crushes on each other. But at the end of the day, they always came back to each other.

He finally places his card down, an excited look on his face. But she quickly takes her green +2 and smack it down on the table.

“Hah!” She yelps. “That makes two items for you to be gone!”

“Nah-ah, baby. Haven’t you read the rules before?” He states. “We both have to get rid of one item.” Charles smirks. Mr know it all, why does he know all rules of UNO? Probably because they have played it so many times.

“+2 plus +2 equals drawing four cards. Simple.” She argues but Charles already pulled out the rules from the box. He reads out the bit about how when your opponent plays a +2 card, you have to draw two cards and afterwards may continue your turn. Y/N is kind of sad that Charles isn’t going to get rid of both his jeans AND t-shirt.

Charles takes hold of the hem of his shirt with both his arms crossed before he drags the fabric over his head. In the meantime, she stands up to unbutton her jeans. She gets distracted by the beautiful sight in front of her. His abs are gorgeously on display his toned skin is like a piece of art. Charles had always been hot. But the more he started driving, the more he started working out. And damn did it do wonders for his body.

“What are you doing?” Charles asks as he throws his shirt on top of both of their socks. He softly chuckles at her eyes staring down at his torso.

“Ehm, sorry. I was taking off my jeans.” She states, causing Charles to groan. He shakes his head in a disapproving way. “What?” She asks him.

“Should’ve just taken off your shirt like I did.” He mumbles before he picks up his cards from the table. His eyes go from the discard pile on the table to the cards in his hand. There are no more green cards in his hand so he draws a card. Luckily it’s a green one so he places it on the pile.

“Hmpf, nah. I’ll keep my shirt on for a bit longer.” She mumbles softly. Being shirtless always makes her feel so exposed. Her insecurities would peak without a shirt so she’d rather keep it on for as long as possible. Charles notices how she tries to hide herself. His hand finds its place back on her ankle and slowly travels up to her calf, stroking up and down.

“You have no idea how god damn beautiful you are, do you?” He reassures and she tries to shrug it off.

Both of them have a few cards left in hand but none of them are useful. They draw a few cards, and some of them are played immediately. Y/N look at her cards and forges a plan. With a smirk on her face, she plays a wild card allowing her to change the active colour to blue. But she has instant regret when she sees a smirk on Charles’ face that’s even wider than her own.

His fingers pick a card from his hand but before he places it down he tugs it back and picks up another one to play. A simple blue 9 lays down on the table. But the twinkle in his eyes never left.

She sighs and take a big sip of wine to empty her glass. She places her cards down on the table and gets up to grab the bottle of wine in the fridge.

“Cute undies.” Charles coos since her shirt doesn’t reach past her bum.

She comes back with the cold bottle and fills up both of their glasses, emptying the second bottle of the evening. The glasses are a bit full but who cares? She places the bottle down on the coffee table and sits back in her spot.

The plan she made a few minutes ago still works, she plays a blue reverse card allowing her to take another turn since it’s just the two of them playing. Next, she plays a blue skip card to grant her another turn. And last up she plays a plain blue 6. During all three of these cards, the smirk on Charles’ face grew back more comprehensive and she just knows what is coming.

The blue +2 that hits the table was expected, and is followed by a shout of UNO!

“Fuck.” She mumbles and takes a gulp from her glass. “Fine.” She continues before she grabs the hem of her shirt. She drags it out, trying to hold off for as long as possible. But the anticipation is turning Charles on even more. Of course, he has seen her in a bikini before, but this is different. This feels different.

Her shirt is added to the growing pile in front of the sofa. Charles notices how she feels a bit uncomfortable. Her eyes avoid his and she is unsure where to actually look. His hand reaches out for her and slides from her upper arm all the way down to her hand. He holds onto it for a little while, squeezing ever so softly.

“You really are the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.” He reassures her by giving her the exact confidence boost she needed.

After Y/N plays her second to last card, Charles is able to finish the game by playing his very last card. Leaving him in his jeans and boxers and her in just her bra and panties.

“Let’s go for another round.” She states and already starts collecting all cards to shuffle them. Charles chuckles at her newly gained confidence. He is so ready to play a second round.

She deals the cards, places the deck back on the table, and flip over the top card of the deck. A yellow 4 is laying on the table.

“Since I won last round, you may start this one."

She places down a green 4 on top of the yellow one on the table. A simple but steady start, she thinks.

“Oh shit.” Charles says and places down the green 4 he already had in his hand, ready to play. “I’m so sorry, baby. You don’t have to…” He adds, suddenly getting nervous at the realization he is finally going to see her topless after years of wondering and imagining what she’d look like underneath.

“The game’s the game.” She states and lets her hand travel to her back to unclasp her bra. Charles gulped, feeling more nervous than he ever had before in his life. His heart was pounding as he looked into her eyes and saw the unmistakable desire there. He had no idea what she is thinking but he is fascinated by her daringness.

He watches as she pushes the straps of her bra off of her shoulders and drops the garment to the ground. She lets out a deep sigh of pleasure as her breasts become the focus of his attention, and the look in his eyes tells her he wants her just as much as she wants him.

She feels incredibly sexy and alluring. For a brief moment, their eyes meet. She feels a strange and wonderful stirring in her stomach. Her cheeks flush, and she quickly looks away. At that moment, she just knows that she is in trouble.

Without saying anything, she swiftly moves on with the game by placing down her green 8. Charles can’t seem to keep his eyes away from her for too long, giving her an enormous confidence boost.

Both of them place down a few more cards before she places down her Wild Draw 4 card and change the colour to blue. Charles draws his four cards and takes a good look at his cards. He’s having a hard time focusing on the game with the gorgeous sight in front of him.

He places down two cards in one go, a blue skip causing him to have a second turn, and a blue 5.

She places down her blue 8 and shout UNO! Charles looks through his cards again to find any card that may cause her to not finish the game. A Wild Draw 4, a +2, anything at all. But all he has is a blue 2.

“Oh my god, Charles. What are the odds.” She chuckles.

“What do you mean?”

She places down a blue 2 on top of his. She’s been waiting for this moment ever since he took his shirt off. Her thoughts have been flooded with the idea of him naked in front of her. It’s all she’s been thinking about for the past years.

“Fuck. You win the game and I have to take off my jeans?” He laughs. Without another word, he gets up, unbuttons his jeans and zips down his fly. His thumbs hook into the waistband of his jeans to pull them down painfully slow. A soft sign, nearly a moan is heard when his bulge is released from his tight pants. Ever since she had to get rid of her shirt Charles’ cock started hardening beneath him.

She gasps at the view in front of her. She makes it her mission to get him out of his boxers as soon as possible. The lust in her eyes is inevitable, not knowing where to look. His eyes? His hands, where he is pushing down his jeans? Or his bulge, which is honestly where she just wants to keep looking at.

Tension is rising and she can’t wait for him to add the last bit of his clothes to the growing pile. His jeans finally drop to the floor and he lifts his right foot trying to step out. His ankle gets stuck and she reaches out instinctively to hold the jeans down, helping him get out. She allows him to step out before she adds the denim to the pile of clothes.

Charles sits back down close to her. Both their legs touch again but now there is no fabric in between holding back the skin to skin contact. She looks down at where her legs touch and look back up to him.

“Hi.” He says with a soft smile across his lips. God those lips, they have never looked more kissable. Or is it just her mind playing games? Her thoughts are all over the place. All she wants is to just push him over, straddle him and kiss him. Everywhere.

“Hey.” She chuckles before a nervous laugh is heard from Charles’ side. Her eyes drop down to his boxers. He chose to wear navy blue Calvin Klein’s this morning and she is so thankful for his choice. The dark fabric accentuates his skin perfectly. An outline visible around his growing member.

“Eyes up here, baby.” He snorted as if he isn’t having the hardest time keeping his own eyes away from her tits.

“Sorry.” She whispers before Charles holds out his hand for her to grab. His thumb dances on the back of your hand. Both of them are quiet for a little bit as they soak up each other.

After what feels forever but actually are only 1,5 minutes, Y/N speaks up.

“Charles? What are we doing?” She questions him, still holding onto him as she looks their connected hands.

“Hmm, I don’t know actually.” He replies. His free hand reaches with his forefinger for her chin and pushes her face up so she’d have to look in his eyes. “All I know is that I want you. So, fucking, bad.”

Her eyes light up. She can’t believe he really admitted what he just said and without a second thought she gives in to her desire of just a few minutes ago.

Y/N lets go of Charles’ hand and pushes him onto the floor by his shoulders. Simultaneously she climbs on top of him, causing a muted “oh” to fall from his lips. He is surprised by her actions and honestly, so is she. His hands grab her by her hips as she sits down on his stomach, avoiding contact with his aching cock.

Their lips finally connect. Ten long years are coming together in this sweet and lustful kiss. Charles’ right hand travels up and down her side as his left nestles into her hair. The two of them sink into the living room floor, both desperate for the connection they have been longing for.

His opens his mouth and gently sucks Y/N’s lip between his. He lets go after a few seconds and licks softly over her bottom lip. Her heart races as her spine arches under his touch causing him to naturally pull her closer. She opens her mouth to allow her tongue to join his, going back and forth.

She moans with pleasure and their tongues intertwine even more vigorously, entangling with one another in a desperate search for more pleasure. Each movement they make is somehow more tantalizing than the last. Their hands exploring each other's body with a deep hunger for more.

Y/N wishes this moment would last forever. She is scared of what might happens next, what if this is just a heat of the moment kind of kiss and they really can’t go back to being just friends. Or maybe that is exactly what Charles meant with his ‘Then we’ll just stop being friends’.

Charles’ hand roams down her back. He moans a bit louder when he finally touches her bum. She feels a firm squeeze on her left cheek, ripping a moan from her throat. Y/N bucks her hips instinctively at the sweet tingles in her core.

Their lips part for a second and she presses her forehead against his. Both of them are a panting mess, feeling completely out of this world. With Charles’ hand still squeezing her bottom he speaks up.

“How about we take this to the bedroom, baby?” He whispers.

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queensunshinee · 2 days

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Time Of Our Lives || Part 3

Part 3:

Liana hadn't seen Art for three days. Ever since they started studying at Stanford, not a day had gone by without his presence being felt. Even if just for five minutes, he would pop up suddenly and disappear just as quickly. Liana wouldn’t say it out loud, but his presence had started to grow on her. She was never the most popular kid or the most popular teen. She always had two or three friends. And Art, it's not very clear who he is in her life, but he's a figure that's there. Present. Breathing the air she breathes. Knowing the people she knows. Laughing at her words, annoying her with his. She hadn't seen him for three days and it's bothering her. So today, she decided to go to the open practice for the first time, and Art wasn't there either.

"Are you looking for Art?" a female voice sounded behind her, and she turned around. Facing her was Tashi. Liana searched for the words, something that was always complicated for her; finding words in front of people she didn’t know or felt threatened by. Right now, she needed to answer 'yes' or 'no', and all she could do was stare. "You're Liana, right? Patrick showed me a picture of you with the boys, and I’ve seen you a few times with Art. Are you looking for him?" she explained and asked again. "Oh, yeah..." Liana managed to find her voice, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks. Unwanted color flooding in. "Did you see him?" she squeaked, trying to steady herself in front of the girl before her. "He just texted that he wasn't coming to practice today. Nice to finally meet you. Maybe we can have lunch sometime." She smiled briefly and moved towards the court, leaving Liana in the stands. A bit more worried than she had been before.

She knocked on his door three times. Then another three. And then six more. After the fifth round, he opened it for her. It was the first time she had been in his room, and he couldn't hide his surprise. "Li?" Art's voice sounded weaker than usual. "You didn't come to the open practice," she said coolly, looking at him and furrowing her brows. He didn't look good. In fact, he looked like shit. His hair looked greasy, his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were sunken with dark circles around them. Art Donaldson looked awful. "What happened to you?" She gave his arm a light push, which made him lose his balance and almost fall, but he understood her intention and moved aside. He ran a hand through his hair, a tic she knew he had; when Art was nervous, frustrated, or confused, his hand automatically went to the back of his neck, a few seconds of that until he gets a grip and acts as if nothing had thrown him off balance. "You were at the open practice?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Stuck on that piece of information. Almost wanting to request that the sentence be engraved on his tombstone when the time came. 'Here lies Art Donaldson, whose open practice Liana Levi attended.' His parents would surely be thrilled. "For four and a half minutes, then I realized you weren't there." She said as she walked to the window and opened it. "Your room stinks," she stated, turning her gaze back to him. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" she added. Sure, they weren't best friends, but they were supposed to be each other's emergency contact. They were supposedly here together. He made sure to remind her of that once a day. And now, in a real emergency, he wasn't talking to her. "Because it doesn't matter, I already feel better," he tried to speak in a more upbeat tone, one he thought characterized him but failed miserably at it. Her hand was on his forehead, causing him to immediately lean into it and close his eyes. "You're burning up, damn it, Art." She moved her hand from his forehead to his cheek, realizing that the situation might be worse than she thought and beginning to think of a plan. "Okay, I need you to get in the shower, alright?" she spoke softly. He looked at her, his mouth half-open. "Where's your spare key?" she asked, without looking at him too much, opening the closet intending to find clean sheets there. Art watched her bustle around his room, and despite feeling awful, worse than he had felt probably in the last two years, he found himself smiling. Liana was worried about him. She would make sure he was okay. "Art, do you hear me? I need you to get in the shower, I'm going to get a few things. Can you do that for me? I'll be back in half an hour." she said assertively, and he handed her the key as she requested. "Please be done with your shower when I get back." She ran her hand over his forehead once more, almost causing him to surrender to her touch and close his eyes again, but just as she had entered like a storm, she left like one.

Liana went down to the cafeteria after making a phone order. She returned to her room with the soup and grabbed the bag she had prepared for Art. When she entered his room, the shower water was still running, so she decided to use the time to change his sheets and put the lemon, ginger, and honey in his fridge. He came out in a towel and looked at her, leaning against the doorframe. He felt blessed. His head hurt, he had sneezed forty times that day, and all his muscles ached, yet he felt blessed. "You didn't have to, Li..." he mumbled, and she turned to him. "Good, you're out. Get dressed and eat the soup. If it's cold, let me know and I'll go heat it up." There was a microwave on each floor, so that was an option. Art went back to the bathroom and put on long pants, unable to bring himself to wear a shirt. "I also brought you some pills I had. If you need anything else, I can go get it, this is just what I had in my room," Liana babbled, realizing she was behaving in an uncharacteristic way. It dawned on her too late that Art probably thought she was crazy. More than that, that he didn't want her presence in his room right now. She had invaded his personal space and decided on her own that she was there to stay, when he hadn't really invited her. He had done everything to avoid seeing her in the past few days. He sat down to eat the soup at his desk, unable to take his eyes off her for fear she would disappear and he would be alone again, wallowing in his own misery. "Is it hot?" she asked, not knowing what else to say. "It's great. Thanks, Li," he smiled sincerely, and she reached her hand towards his forehead again. "Can I?" she made sure to ask this time, hesitating and seeing him nod. Her hand moved from his forehead to his cheek automatically, and he sighed for a second. "You're still warm." Her brow furrowed again. "When you finish, take this pill, okay? It's supposed to help with the fever..." she added, starting to gather her things. "Are you leaving?" he asked. Art's voice sounded more desperate than he intended. He wanted to sound indifferent, as if he didn't mind being alone. As if the last three days hadn't been an isolated nightmare filled with self-pity. "You can stay a bit longer. If you want," he added quickly, saying the sentence fast as if it would make it vanish from the air. "Okay," Liana said and nodded. "We can watch an episode of 'Gilmore Girls'," she smiled. Every summer, she forced Art and Patrick to watch a few episodes of 'Gilmore Girls'. If she had to be stuck with them, at least some of the time they would do what she loved. She was sure they liked the show because sometimes they would make comments about it. Art shrugged while finishing the soup, acting as if he didn't care if she stayed or not. In reality, he wanted to smile victoriously because he had won today. No one could argue that Art was the winner of this day. "You can take a shirt from my closet if you want," he told her, and she nodded. If they were going to watch an episode of the show, they would watch it on his laptop, in his bed. She couldn't stay dressed in jeans, and besides, they had seen each other in much less clothing over the years. So Liana put on one of his oversized boxers and a Stanford shirt that was at least two sizes too big for both of them. Art looked at her and nodded for a moment, lying down in bed and waiting for the moment she would say it was too much for her. That despite all her good intentions, she and Art weren't going to share a bed just so he could feel better. They hadn't done that since they were six, probably because she wouldn't even sit next to him on the same couch. "We're in Logan's season, are you excited?" she asked with exaggerated enthusiasm and sat down next to him. He automatically pulled her closer. "Aren't you afraid of getting sick?" he felt like the biggest jerk in the world for asking only after he had pulled her that close. "My immune system has never let me down, Donaldson, and it’s not going to let me down today." She started the episode while getting comfortable next to him.

As the episode progressed, her hand found its way to his hair, playing with one of his blonde curls that, just like Art Donaldson himself, had grown on her. "That feels nice…" his voice was barely audible as he was close to falling asleep, his head half on the pillow and half on her shoulder while his arm was wrapped around her. Just before Art fell asleep, focused on Liana's breathing and her fingers in his hair, instead of the show, he realized he didn't need much to feel good.

heyyy there. How are we feeling about this chapter? I hope the slow burn isn't too slow for you...any thoughts? I know that Patrick wasn't here at all, but he'll have his comeback, don't worry. Also, should I do a tag list? It feels a little too much since I really don't know if there are readers who want to come back. I really want to hear from you so feel free to talk to me (PLEASE). By the way- I still feel like my English is ruining the story, but again, I'm trying. Thanks for reading. It means a lot ❤️

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #challengers #challengers fic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan

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chronically-ghosted · 3 days

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Taylor!!! Happy 1k to you!!!!! So well deserved. Hope you’re having fun celebrating 💕

💫- “Do you have to leave right now?” “I can stay for a little while longer.” with big soft guy Frankie Morales please 🥰

Em xx

heat lightning

rating: teen pairing: frankie morales x f!reader word count: 1.1K summary: this is not your frankie warnings: angst, reader and frankie have a daughter, proceeds the events of the movie, everyone's having a really bad time a/n: thank you for your request, Em! i know i don't usually do angsty!frankie but i think this scene had been brewing in my head for a while and i wanted to try it out! love you so much and i hope you like it!

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Frankie Morales Masterlist

When you were nine, your aunt and uncle divorced. An ugly thing – lots of crying, late nights up with your mother, arguments over the phone, loyalties tested, lines drawn in the sand. You didn’t understand much of it at the time, but there was always a moment that imprinted on your young psyche that has stayed there ever since.

You can almost smell the spilt wine on the carpet in the living room, hear your mother muttering and blotting with one hand, the other on her sister’s knee. You couldn’t see your aunt’s face from your perch on the staircase. Perhaps because it was elicit – you had been put to bed hours ago – or because you were curious – you had never seen an adult cry before – but you can recall the memory as if it were yesterday. From between the banisters of the stairs, only your aunt’s back was visible, hunched over and swaying as if unable to hold herself up right. It reminded you of your baby brother before he could hold his neck – precarious and loose in a way that was almost horrific in its vulnerability. She sways, back and forth, your mother’s hand on her knee - it’s alright, it’s just a spill, we’ll clean it up, don’t worry, it won’t stain – and then your aunt mutters the words you will forever remember for the rest of your life. The words butting up against each other, slurred on top of each other, she whispers:

“I woke up to a stranger.”

You think about your aunt and your mother and the fights and the wine and the calls and how you never saw your cousins much after that as you stare up at the shadowed ceiling, as lighting blinks reality white for a fraction of a second. Thunder rumbles, angry like your aunt, but for some reason you can’t feel anger. You don’t know what you feel but your jaw remains slacked, your joints sink into the sheets, your throat clear.

Another growl of thunder, a single shriek of the alarm clock at 3AM, and Frankie’s hand slaps it silent, the alarm unnatural and too loud, threatening to bring the ire down from some great furious eye. Rage you couldn’t begin to grasp at, but wished for. The fortifying self-righteousness of anger would feel lovely right now.

Instead, all you can hear is your aunt’s drunken words.

Beside you, Frankie is still through the next beat of thunder, the spark of lightning, and then he sits up. He faces away from you, shoulders rounded like your aunt, but firm and steady unlike your aunt. In the next snap of lightning, you watch the planes of his back glow, muscle and scars and bone and sinew just as familiar to you as your own hands. You could trace Frankie blind-folded if you had to. Your hand goes to him as it has an incalculable amount of times over the past few years, unaware of what your conscious mind knows: you can’t make him stay.

A stranger – how can he possibly be a stranger to me?

Your hand on his lower back stirs him, waking up to the heat of your palm.

“It won’t be long,” he says for the dozenth time, a mantra for him as well as you. “I’ll be back before Alejandra’s party.”

The Frankie you know, the Frankie you love would never even risk missing his daughter’s birthday. This hulking thing in the shape of your husband sees it as something worth losing, in favor of money. This hulking thing in the shape of your husband wants to provide, wants to prove there is a sliver of a better man beneath the coke addiction, beneath the suspension of his license. It wants to provide, provide, provide when all it does to you is take.

Neither of you know this now but it will take him over a month to come back, empty handed but filled to the brim with more nightmares than before. One month to the day of this night, you will google, “when is a missing person presumed dead?” and then close your laptop so hard, it shatters and you blow a hole in your bedroom wall with the force you throw it across the room.

This hulking thing in the shape of your husband is foreign to you, strange, but it still smells like him. Sounds like him. Has the same warm cup of his hands.

When you don’t respond, or even beg, he moves to stand, the slats under the bed groaning. He promised to fix those months ago.

He stands and your fingers curl around your husband’s wrist. Even the beat of his pulse sounds just like Frankie’s. But this is not your Frankie.

You hope to God and whatever else is listening that Frankie finds himself in the dark bowels of that wet jungle.

Your mouth dry and your own heartbeat loud in your ears, you look up at him, into those dark brown eyes that make up your whole world. They are unfamiliar to you as they watch you with an emotion you can’t ever remember seeing in his eyes before.

“I know you have to go,” and you do, you know this is something he has to do for himself, not for you or your daughter, but himself and there’s nothing you can do to stop him. “But do you have to leave right now?”

This hulking thing that smells like your husband, sounds like your husband, maybe loves you like your husband goes still. Beneath your fingertips, you swear his heartbeat slows. Lightning flashes again and you lose completely the shadowy outlines of his face in the total darkness.

And in that flash, his wrist slips out from between your fingers – this thing is going to be intentionally cruel as he cuts the cord and takes off with the soul of your husband – and then a broad hand slips down to your shoulder, your elbow. Gently pushing, guiding you back onto your side, he slips back under the covers, encasing your body in skin and warmth you know so well, muscle and scars and bone and sinew just as familiar to you as your own hands. His breath is soft, relaxing as he curls around you and you hate this thing even more because it really does a wonderful impersonation of your husband, the man you love, the man you will always love.

You let the tears come because you know they won’t break his fickle stone heart and you need relief.

He holds you as you cry, his nose in your ear as he says,

“I can stay for a little while longer.”

#1k followers #follower event #1k milestone #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales #frankie morales x ofc #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fic

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aurelim · 23 hours

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Genres: Slice-of-life, coming of age, comedy, drama, romance, parody

Status: No public demo, outline written, release date November 2024

Rating: 15+

Content Warnings: Violence, language, bullying, depression + depiction of other mental illnesses, manipulation, tba

Inspired by those Disney Channel movies (you know which ones) and The Parent Trap.

As a 17 (soon to be 18) year old senior, you are anxiously awaiting for the day you graduate, pack your bags, and ditch Sunnyview, the sleepy, incredibly boring, town that you have grown up in all your life. It has been your dream for as long as you can remember—sometimes you can almost taste freedom on your tongue, so close yet so far away.

But one day, all of that changes when the filming for a movie is announced near your hometown. Not only is it a Stephen Zuckerberg, but it stars the recent award-winning actor Taylor Victory. Their presence stirs great interest and excitement in your small town. You did not care much about the actor beyond your keen interest in Stephen Zuckerberg movies, or at least, you thought you did not.

Until you have a chance encounter with the one and only Taylor Victory, and you notice the eerie facial similarities you share with them. Thus, a deal is struck between you.

You will swap places with each other—Taylor will experience a normal week of high school as you, and you will live the life of an actor in their place. Plus, their offer of money doesn't quite hurt, and with it you would have enough to leave Sunnyview.

Oh, how little did you realize how much trouble you were about to get yourself into.

↬ customize your name, nickname, gender, looks, personality, etc.! however you will think of yourself as a "regular, ordinary" person living a boring life.

↬ taylor's gender, pronouns, and looks will be identical to yours (with a few modifications)!

↬ take the place of a famous teen actor and perhaps get to film a few scenes. lie, cheat, gaslight, manipulate; whatever it takes to convince others that you are who you say you are. otherwise...

↬ fall in love with your best friend, the popular kid (aka your crush), your "co-star," or no one. break or make your relationships with them.

↬ celebrate your 18th birthday as taylor and all by yourself.

↬ attend prom as yourself. or taylor? you aren't quite sure what it is yet.

Taylor Victory (gender based on MC) → The Identical Twin

The actor who became well-known for their lead role in the romcom movie "High Love" and won awards for it. Ever since Victory entered the entertainment industry at the age of 5, they have never been able to live a "normal" life. Until, that is, they meet you. They are charming, suave, and everything that you imagine an actor to be. Especially their cockiness.

Maxie Yang (gender selectable) → The Best Friend

You have known them ever since you were in diapers; your sweet, quirky, and incredibly reliable best friend since forever. They have always cherished you and you to them, acting as your shield when you used to be heavily bullied in middle school. They have a remarkable passion for art and is a total geek for mythology. Years later, Maxie remains the same as ever, though sometimes you catch their adoring gaze at you. Do they...no, probably not.

Tropes: friends to lovers, unrequited pining (on their part)

Kelsey Lovelock (gender selectable) → The Crush

Kelsey Lovelock is one of the popular kid at school...and has also been your longtime crush since 8th grade. You don't remember when it first began, but they have always treated you nice enough even if their friends are assholes and made your life hell the years before and during. Charismatic and currently in the running nominations for Prom King/Queen. They likely do not feel anything for you considering how little you have talked to them in your final year of high school…and they are dating someone else.

Tropes: acquaintance to friends to lovers, unattainable

Peyton Ryans (gender selectable) → The Co-star

Taylor's co-star in their upcoming movie together. And for whatever reason, they seem to hate Taylor with a passion. Unfortunately, they play as the protagonist (that's Taylor)'s love interest, so you often have to make contact with them. Perhaps you could try to persuade them to see a "different" side of Taylor and change their view. It all depends on how you play the game—just hope they don’t find you out.

Tropes: enemies to lovers, coworkers

FAQ

#swapped-if #if #interactive fiction #twine if #twine wip #if: intro #slice of life #coming of age #drama #romance #parody #cyoa #upcoming if #interactive game

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aragaki · 19 hours

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Darlin' x Milo.

I know I'm all alone in my little boat here but Darlin x Milo has me in a chokehold and I need to get it out!!

For one, Milo would absolutely call Darlin' Tank instead.

Thinking about Milo and Tank, they've been around each other since they were teenagers. Maybe there was some feelings, some fights. Two stubborn, strong-willed wolves with Asher always going on and on about their will-they-won't-they dynamic, much to Milo's chagrin.

Then they vanish off with some fancy-talking vamp and Milo's left with a yearning he refuses to admit to. He's got other things on his mind. He pretends that Tank's absence from pack meetings doesn't bother him but knowing they're gone, and in a worse place, weighs on him.

Then he finds them, battered and bloody, crumpled outside on his way home. They're hurt. They're half-delirious from blood loss and couldn't help themselves from going somewhere familiar - to someone familiar.

Milo patching them up as best he can, trying to get information out of them but they fight him tooth and nail at every turn. Just like the old days. All he knows is there's someone they're out for, someone they want to kill, and Milo can't tell anyone they're back in Dahlia. And just like Milo says to Sweetheart, as long as it doesn't affect the pack, he can do what he wants.

But it does and he doesn't know it.

Milo's place becoming Tank's safehouse, Milo trying to help Tank as much as he can but they're so tight-lipped about who they're hunting. But the two of them are getting closer. And Milo learns just how out of place Tank felt in the pack, with them, never feeling like they were really accepted.

David confronting Milo, absolutely pissed that two members of his pack are going behind his back. Milo and David, who are at this point more distant after the death of Gabe, and Milo having something to prove to David but has disappointed him.

Milo telling David that Tank doesn't think of themselves as a member of the Shaw pack, and hasn't in a long time, even before they left. Milo having to tell David that he didn't ask who it was Tank was hunting, scared that if he pushed or if he told David and they found out, they'd probably run and they'd never get them back and he doesn't want to lose them again.

Tank confronting Milo at the pack meeting, convinced he was the one who told, furious, hurt, and betrayed again, so tried of being betrayed, but Milo defending himself. Making it clear that he didn't tell David and Tank didn't tell him about Quinn either.

Tank's body being covered in scars from fights and Quinn. Being ashamed and disgusted as Milo, who spills compliments like a fountain, kisses each one of them. Milo's body-worshipping habits coming out at every unhappy frown Tank makes when they see themselves.

Milo buying Tank good looking clothes, fully at his wit's end with their unironed white tank top and jeans. Tank liking the clothes but never wearing them cause they seem so expensive, they should be for a special occasion. Milo's insistence that mulberry silk or not a shirt is a shirt so please fucking wEAR IT.

Asher's vindication when Milo and Tank finally make the leap into being mates. He's been on this train since they were teens, he's been suffering from an IRL slow-burn romance for half of his life!! Will not shut up about the fact that the "pack scrappers" finally got together.

"Bite me, Milo. 😒" "Not in public, sweets."

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted milo #milo greer #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redactedverse #these are all just plot bunnies I have in my brain #that I know I'll never write #if anyone else wants to take a crack at any of these feel free #I'm just happy to finally get these out of my brain it's been days and I haven't known peace #darlin just continues to be the hottest redacted character they're so shippable I could make a bunch of these

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perfectlittleking · 1 day

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A Motive For Escaping Hell

Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (Netflix TV Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, gore, horror, do not read if you have yet not seen s01ep07 since this contains spoilers Character(s): Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland, Doll Spider Demon Relationship(s): Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Read on AO3 Word Count: 3,211 Summary: In Hell, hope does not exist only despair and pain and everything that can tear down a soul. Edwin knows that, but he has hope. He has a reason to fight, a reason to escape again. The problem is, can he keep it alight long enough to find the door?

The eyes of a young bloke shudder away from the creature in front of him. Avoiding any vision of the sight in front of him doesn't help. He huddles tightly against the wall. Calling himself a coward for sulking away from the beast, but it's safer. Still, he can see it in his head from the echoes in the chamber.

On the other side of the room was his captor, a towering spider covered in baby doll parts. All the pieces were sentient, as if the whole beast were a hive of individuals protecting the truth within. It hunches over, letting its numerous mouths munch on its snack. The two front doll arms hold onto the meal, cradling it. With closer evaluation, one would notice the meal was human.

Plastic heads gnaw and tear at the flesh, pulling apart pieces. Bones crunching under a few of the jaws. Shattering and being spit out on the floor. It mirrors the sound of marbles hitting pavement. Some pieces bounce; others crash and crack as they hit the grimy floor under the spider. The whole chamber was a half eaten buffet of human anatomy.

Other sounds fill the air. Plops of blood carry an arrhythmic tone. Twos, fours, and sevens. It’s chaotic and jarring against the rest of the appalling music. Every so often, a dull thud breaks all when a large chunk of the spider’s meal is dropped. Nothing about the sound in the chamber brings comfort, nor should anything down here.

Little giggles and soft whispered child tones slip from the mouths of those who don't eat. The same sound a baby doll makes. It has the childlike giggle, the babbling of nonsensical words, and the sweet hum of happiness. It only factors in a creepier tone when observing the demon.

Everything together paints the horrid image in the mind of Edwin Payne, haunting him since the day he entered. Nothing has ever truly blocked out the Spider Doll Demon from his mind.

It has been a while since he ran the corridors of the Doll House for the first time, but he's gotten out before, so he has faith in himself. He couldn't remember the full path that he had written down in his notebook since he dumped that knowledge in the ink, hoping he would never have to use it again. Eyes close as he tries to remember the pattern he had written down in the notebook all those years ago.

This was his labyrinth, not as intricate as the one in the myths he has read, but it was similar. Leave a trail, and one would escape, but he was not Theseus, and he didn’t have a ball of yarn. No. He was just a kid. All he knew was a way to escape. He’s done it before, but pulling that stunt again had a low probability.

There are a few paths he can recall. None of them seemed to be in order, but he will take what he can. Take a left to the open gate hall. Avoid the south wing; it held misery wraiths. It wasn't much, but it was better than starting over completely. He can do this.

Confidence floods the bloke as he pulls himself off the floor. Attempt eight. He will make it this time. On his knees, he places one hand on the wall for support. His back straightens before he can pull one leg out from under him. Slowly and quietly. That’s the rule for escaping from the room with the demon. His legs straighten, and he finds himself ready to leave. One last look at his captor.

Bare feet move in silence. He’s learned the hard way to sneak out of the room. Carefully, he takes each step. Not too slow since he knew how long a body enthralled the demon, but not too fast or he could make a sound. It’s a tedious process, but he finds himself out of the room and in the corridors of the endless halls. He’s run them numerous times, but remembering the path? That’s something he’s been finding difficult. This was attempt eight. This will be the attempt that becomes a success. The endless halls become his track.

Once clear, he runs. Legs pumping and arms swinging. With all his energy and all his strength, he tries his best to carry himself down the halls. Left. Left. Straight. He takes the same path as before on the sixth and seventh attempts. Straight. Keep running, he tells himself. He can make it. He runs down the hall that accommodates various rooms where agonizing and excruciating screams hide behind. This is a new feat for him this time down here. There’s hope. Hope fuels him to keep going.

A child’s giggle rings down the hall from behind him. The sweet sound of innocence that the demon hides behind. It causes Edwin to look back. He knows that doing so will slow him down, but he has to check if the demon draws near.

Bare feet smack the concrete. The space between the two is shorter as the boy picks up speed. He picks up speed, even when his calves burn and ache. He cannot stop. His eyes stay in front of him, looking for his next turn. As he crosses the hall, one foot crunches down on a porcelain fragment of a doll.

It digs into the skin, cutting deeply into the ball of his foot. Biting down on his tongue, he tries his best to muffle the agony he wants to let out. Any sound would alert the creature to his whereabouts. The muffled groan causes his eyes to close and pause in the hall.

The floor’s littered with discarded doll pieces. Some plastic, some porcelain. All came from the spider demon. He’s not sure if the creature molts or was harmed, and he would rather not know. It wasn’t the first time he’d snagged a piece.

He leans against the wall and lifts his leg up enough to check the damage. He can’t stop for long, or the creature will find him. The porcelain digs into his foot, but he can see it in the entry wound. Fingers pinch the side that didn’t sink in the first step. A tear slips down as he pulls it out. The piece gets dropped on a pile next to him. He endures the pain as he lowers his foot back to the floor. He lost time, but he doesn’t see the beast in any direction.

A blood trail follows him now. He still tries to run. A small limp comes with him with each step on the injured food, but he bears the pain. He runs. He turns the corner, putting much of his weight on the hurt foot. Eyes close for a second as if he’s praying, but no one will answer when he’s down here. No brave soul would venture to save him. It’s a risk he didn’t want anyone to take.

Feet are still in motion. He soon hits something hard. Not a wall. Not a misery wraith. Hard plastic and rough porcelain cut against his clothing. Eyes don’t dare open, as he knows what he hits. The leg that Edwin ran into wraps around his body, squeezing it.

Flecks of black flicker in his vision before everything starts to unfocus. A few blinks help clear the scattered dots, but only for a few seconds. A loud crack rings in his ears. Pain explodes in his back, soon vanishing. A piercing scream races from within and flees down the halls of the Doll House. Half his body goes limp. Everything below his ribs doesn’t exist to any of his nerves. It throws him into a panic. Breathing becomes sharp with quick breaths. Each one brings a sharp pain. All of this tells him the worst: the eighth attempt is the eighth failure. The leg squeezes tighter, piercing the snapped spinal cord. The surge of pain causes Edwin to black out.

As he regains consciousness, Edwin finds himself somewhere else. No. Where he is is where he started: the demon’s main chamber. He’s back on the floor across the room from his predator, who’s devouring the eighth version of him. It’s where he always wakes up after a failed attempt. Life. Reincarnated once again. It’s a torturous cycle he never wanted to experience again, but here he is. Trapped in Hell in the Doll House. The endless halls always bring him back to the demon, back to the pile of failed attempts. It hasn’t changed. Nothing has. The demon is enthralled by the body, and when it grows tired, it will turn to him for another game of cat and mouse. Nothing could stop this cycle except escape.

He’s done it before. He’s ventured into several rooms of the deadly sins. He’s ran up the endless stairway before. The path from the Doll House to freedom is sketched in his notebook. He is proof that he’s escaped Hell before. Edwin Payne: one of the known cases of a spirit escaping. The problem is, why can’t he do it now? What was different?

The cowering bloke sits with his legs curled to his chest. He leans against the wall, avoiding seeing the demon. He has the same clothes on his back as last time. His motive is different. Last time, he believed he was there because of a miscalculation, but that was the opposite of what the Night Nurse said before the door opened. He was there because he was supposed to be. The thought hurts and digs deep into him, causing him to ball up tighter.

He shakes the thought away. He cannot slip away so soon. He can make it. He will prove to Asa that her records were incorrect and he isn’t supposed to be down here. Attempt eight wasn't the last attempt. He has enough fight to run the halls a few more times. Edwin wasn't going to quit. It was too soon to call that. He's Edwin Payne, and the only thing stopping him from escaping is himself.

━━━━━━━━━━━

He’s lost count of all the times he’s tried. All the times he’s been ripped apart, eaten alive, thrown across the hall, and the other unspeakable ways he’s been killed. All he knows is that he’s failed. Failed so many times that he cannot make out the number of bodies that build a hill of discarded versions of him. Was it twenty, thirty, or fifty of them laying on top of each other? None were whole. Severed limbs and loose organs have fallen off the hill and rolled down around it.

He knows he’s tried and tried again. All he does is find himself back in the chamber with the demon. Each time he loses, and each time the demon wins. Always finding the creature with its most recent prize withering in its plastic arms. The same sound rings out. Even if he tries to muffle them, they have burned into his eardrums.

Hours have passed. . . or was it days? It’s difficult to figure out how long he’s been here with the dim lighting in the Doll House. The windows just peer out to other locations in Hell. Sunlight doesn’t touch here and never plans to. There’s no ticking clock in any of the rooms that latch to the halls. He isn’t sure how long he swims in the darkness between death and rebirth. There’s nothing that can help Edwin figure out how long he’s been down here.

A giggle that sounds like it belongs to a child came from the demon. Was it mocking Edwin? It must have known the reason why Edwin kept running away. He always assumed that this was a game for the demon. A game it wanted to play for centuries since it did trade something for him.

He curls up against the wall. The light of hope that has been glowing since he arrived has started to flicker. It’s slowly going out, like a candle that’s just a wick. There’s no wax or oil to keep it burning. It might have been the only source of hope in Hell. The damned lose hope when they find themselves here. It’s a miracle to Edwin that he still has a speck of it.

With each passing moment, Edwin slips away. He is close to being gone, but something keeps him sane. There is something that keeps him going and holding on. The thought keeps him from slipping too far.

He closes his eyes. He finds strength in a way that he could never explain to anyone. His mind draws out the one thing that Edwin has been holding on to since he was dragged back down. The fact he’s always sure of–

Brown eyes.

Brown curls.

The fact that Charles Rowland is the bravest person he knew. That nothing could stop him, not even Edwin.

And he’s hopelessly in love with him.

Was hopeless the right word? Love was a topic that always made him feel like a dilettante. It wasn’t something he was ever interested in when he was alive, but after meeting Charles, things twisted in his mind. It was slow, but after realizing that, if he did have one, his heart would beat for him. He wanted to know what it felt like to kiss Charles.

It’s tormenting to be in love with Charles Rowland. He’s reckless, also he was always around Edwin. He never went a full day without seeing him or without talking to him.

Just thinking of him gives breath to the burning light of hope in his chest. He lets his mind wander more about his crush. He focuses on the golden cross earring, the one that reflects the sun when hit just right. He can see his bright smile before he bursts into laughter.

It gives him enough strength to pull himself up. He runs this time. Another attempt.

It doesn’t end as he wants it to, but when he finds himself back in the chamber, he tries again. He thinks of Charles. He pretends he’s cheering him on in the living plane. He can almost hear his voice.

“C’mon mate! You can escape. You’ve done it before,” says the hallucination of Charles.

It gets him to push himself. It causes Edwin to run faster down the hall that tripped him up on the eighth time. He doesn’t miss the right turn like he did the twelfth and twenty-first time. He’s getting better. He can–

The gasp of life brings him back. A few attempts have passed, and everyone ends like the one before. He takes a breath of courage before pulling himself back to his feet. It’s weaker than the last. He tries to hold on to the thought of seeing Charles again. It helps. But it distracts his mind.

He takes a left. No. it was supposed to be right. He circles the hall. It was a new hall, one he hadn’t explored. It couldn’t be the exit. Did the labyrinth change? Could it have changed? Hell could grow smarter and learn from its victims. He wouldn’t rule that out. Just thinking about that makes him sink down. It makes him hit the floor and pull his knees to his chest. His head rests on top of his knees.

Hell wanted him, and Hell finally got him. Even with the faint thought of Charles that lingers in his mind, Edwin cannot find the strength in him. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” he whispers weakly.

A tear slips down his cheek and down to his knee. A few more follow on the same path. He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t escape. After all, when he escaped last time, things felt strange. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt like Hell allowed him to escape.

By keeping his silence, the creature can’t find him. Being still allows him to hide in plain sight. If he keeps this up, he could stay in this hall for a few days at most.

“Edwin?” Charles’s voice breaks the silence in the hall.

For a moment, Edwin believes it's in his head. Charles wasn’t that reckless or idiotic to come down to Hell for a rescue mission. No one in their right mind would do that. It only makes his arms tighten around his legs.

But what if he’s wrong? Slowly, Edwin picks up his head. The yellowish glow of a lantern glows down the hall. The same one he once used for Charles back in the attic of St. Hilarion’s. He couldn’t imagine that, right?

Behind the light stands him. Stands Charles. The real Charles. The one his ghost heart would beat for.

“Edwin, mate.”

His voice is soft, calming. There’s hope in his voice. There’s hope glowing in the hall, all because of Charles Rowland.

“Charles?” He whispers as he slowly pulls himself up.

He needed to know if it was him– if it truly was the bloke he’s been in love with. He takes a step toward him once he’s standing.

That one step alerts it. It causes the horrors he’s dealt with for almost a century to be witnessed by Charles. The creature speeds down the hall, down the corridor, and scoops Edwin up like a rag doll in the plastic arms. Slamming his body against the wall, then against one of the legs. The wound on his head, which he thought had finally healed, opened up again. It leaves a trail to the room where Edwin will wake up in.

If Charles was real, he should run. If Charles was truly Charles, he wouldn’t, thought Edwin. If Charles felt the same tug in his chest as he did, then he would follow the demon, even if it was dangerous.

When he does wake up in a new version of himself, he’s cowering. Charles wasn’t in the room where the demon rests. The Charles he saw was another figment of delusion. Charles was smarter than that. Edwin curls up, trying not to make a sound. No one would come for him. Charles deserved better anyway.

How long has it been since he saw Charles? If it was Charles, would he have made it by now? Minutes pass by, and he still finds himself alone with the demon. The Charles he saw wasn’t real.

What catches his attention is the slight reflection of light on the wall in front of him. The light catches a splatter of crimson, causing the deep wine to brighten. Light like that doesn’t show down here. So what was. . .

Before he can turn around, he hears his voice. He hears Charles’s voice.

“Edw–”

The sound causes Edwin to twist himself quickly, and he finds himself with Charles in front of him. His hand is now covering his mouth to avoid the demon hearing them. For the first time, he can feel him. Soft lips against his palm. Hell made things feel real and alive. For the first time, he’s feeling Charles. He’s real. Charles Rowland was here with him in Hell.

He came to Hell for him. Came to rescue him. He was the bravest person he knew, and bloody hell, he was in love with him.

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #the case of the very long stairway #payneland fanfiction #dead boy detectives fanfiction #edwin x charles #fanfiction #fanfic

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kunikidas-lost-glasses · 2 years

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Fyolai headcanon

While living on the streets as teens, Nikolai shoplifted a small pocket radio on which Fyodor and him listened to music. It made thier hard street life a bit better. Both were very much in love with each other but Fyodor was in denial, struggling with what his abusive family had thaught him about gays so neither of them confessed since Nikolai knew about his internal struggle. One day a certain song started playing and Nikolai thought f!ck it, stood up, bowed in front of Fyo, held out a hand and asked him to dance with him. They were outside like always and people could see them at anytime but Fyodor agreed after being chaught of guard for a short moment. It was the first time the danced together and both fell in love even more. Fyo fell hard. The song has become thier song from now on, both keeping this memory close to thier heart and even now as adults in a relationship they still dance to that one song like when they were teens. Nikolai will put on the song and like back on that day he will go to Fyodor, bow before him, hold out his hand and ask him to dance with him. Fyodor never denies and so they dance through the room in thier small apartment in Japan, listening to the song, holding each other close and for these few minutes it's only them. Not the war, not any scheming, just them. The papers with dozens of plans, cooardinades, codes and informations which are scattered on the floor are being ignored for once as they dance over them and sometimes Fyodor even lets himself rest his head on Nikolai's shoulder, closing his eyes as his mind stops racing for these few minutes

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Song to which I imagine this is никогда by руслан утюг ♥

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the-gayest-sky-kid · 6 months

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i love skk theyre so everything

#and i mean this literally my perception of them changes so often #theyre all of it at the same time #like with all hcs really #they exist in thr void #yes they're dating yes they've been pining since 15 no since 16 since 17 they didn't realize they liked each other until now theyve been #hooking up since they were teens actually since the dungeon scene no they've never fucked but they really wish they did or they dont #but it would be nice if it was with each other theyre basically friends with benefits they made out on the side sometimes no theyre so #oblivious or repressed they dont even think about it theyre literally just weird besties who think about each other all the time theyre #literally best friends until the end they dont even like each other romantically or sexually but theyre there until the end actually theyre #somewhere in between and they dont know how to describe it other than it being them #what they are is soukoku it just IS dazai and chuuya and that includes whatever the fuck theyre doing #etc etc #skk

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zinniapetals · 21 days

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it’s so weird when a post is explicitly chengxian and then people add lwj into the mix.

I blame CQL and the animation for not sticking to the relationship between wwx/jc faithfully and creating that whole extra subplot of jc/wq in cql bc truly, in the novel when it focuses on wwx/jc friendship, it’s silly teens that are just so intimate and knowledgeable about one another while being blurred with the strange history of their parents and the inherent competitiveness they both have and it’s way more than what could be viewed as just romantic ship or whatever

The conviction wwx has that jc will return with help when trapped in the cave, jc believing in wwx’s words that they are twin prides, jc having faith in wwx finding a core solution, wwx seeing jc’s scars and promising to get rid of them — it’s the little things in their interactions as people who grew up and trust and love each other to the point of giving up their lives for each other!!

it’s frustrating to see a good chengxian post and it being reblogged or commented with other characters that a) were never mentioned in the post b) removes chengxian and makes it some other ship

#maybe I’m biased since I read the novel and watched the anime #I’ve yet to see cql just bc a lot of fans left a bitter taste in my mouth #and the manhwa art style deteriorated so I stopped reading it but also they bro-coded them so hard #no hugs no light banter it was really weird #anyways i know cql is what got many people into the mdzs fandom which is why folks have a skewed idea of chengxian #but I really wish jc and wwx relationship wasn’t so demonized or watered down in the adaptations #like it’s complex and complicated but they were also teens and young #mistakes are made bc of the passion and trust and faith in one another #they literally gave their lives up for each other and I hate when folks are like well wwx would do it for anyone #bc no he wouldn’t!! he never had anyone as close to him as jc #I promise I’m not ignoring jyl bc their relationship is different in that there was no deep seeded conflict or complexities between them #but pls stop adding lwj to chengxian posts if he was never mentioned #unless it’s to give nuance and not just hehe wwx has two hands #yeah he does and in my explicitly chengxian post it’s so he can both hold jc hand while holding the bed as he gets railed #liztalks

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agentark · 1 year

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R Verner, opening their mouth: 😎😏😉

S Dorran, milliseconds later: 🤨😑🤔

exhibit a

exhibit b sofia, we're all about to die can you roast ruby later

#sibling behavior #i was making a post about how S is quietly the funniest person in all of Fernweh #and then I realized all my best screenshots were of S and R's back and forth #if S wasn't so polite and courteous no one would be safe #it's tough being the smartest and funniest in town but someone's got to do it 😔#i love both R's obvious sarcasm and S's dry wit - theyre so funny together #and also #i love how they feel like they still interacted after MC leaves fernweh and before the story starts #sometimes you get stories like these where it feels like the main characters stop existing to each other in the between times #like im not under the impression that they had weekly lunch outings or anything but it also doesn't feel like--#--they conveniently started talking again two days before MC and B show up #the way that you talk to friends you've had since you were a kid/teen is so....like you know me in a way no one else does #and that creates a certain familiarity even if you dont interact as often as adults #it also gives you special privileges to mercilessly tease them #fernweh saga #fernweh saga spoilers #if snippets #i started a folder of these moments bc they crack me up so much

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pocketramblr · 5 months

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I want to know how all might reacts to reincarnated afo!aizawa

Like I think All Might would understand that Aizawa doesn't remember his villainous past, and has essentially been reborn, but the fact that afo somehow managed to get away with it (in a matter of speaking at least) must be like one of those forbidden itches from another dimension: forever vexing him

So All Might doesnt find out about this until Aizawa goes to him himself a few months after the worst of it, which is important because the reaction is defintely something that would vary based on when and how he learned it.

As it is, Aizawa goes to Might Tower and is like "Hey, I'm a UA student, Nedzu emailed All Might and said why he needed to see me, if he hasn't checked it tell him its about All For One." and is quickly sent up to talk. All Might is confused about the why- this kid is like, sixteen, AfO could have been dead before he was born.

But then Aizawa sighs, and says "I was born on the day you killed All For One," which means he knows way more information than he should, and All Might listens even when the kid immediately seems to go off topic by explaining that he's always wanted to be a hero, even though erasure is a weak quirk, and he knew he wouldn't be able to be a hero like All Might. Then he gets to the Garvey fight, and very quietly says that when he tried to erase the villain, he stole one of his quirks instead. All Might looks at the boy's palms, and sees.

But he doesn't quite see the truth yet.

"You're All For One's son." He breathes.

Shouta shakes his head. "No. Worse. I was born the day you killed him, right? Well, the hospital I was born at, there was a doctor that worked for AfO. Tried to save his life. Couldn't. So AfO ordered him to grab a baby, and transfered his quirk... to me." All Might relaxes, because that is tragic, but easier to deal with- "And then, I guess, they lost me? Not sure, but um, after Gravey, i went to the hospital and the Doctor kept messing with me. He was giving me more of All For One's quirks... and his memories. And i- it was so stupid, I went in there alone, and now... it's all there. in me."

All Might is no longer relaxed. He stares at the kid. Miserable, Aizawa holds out a hand, and a spike shoots out from it. One All Might remembers going into his chest, and he flinches.

Aizawa puts his hand down.

"I can't figure it out."

"Can't figure what out?" All Might asks.

"I can't figure out if I'm more me or more him now. I mean, I feel like I'm in charge. But he's been alive a lot longer, even if so much of those memories a blur. And, logically, even if he isn't in my head, his memories have to affect me. I mean, i knew going alone was stupid, but all those memories of his power, his pride, i ignored it and went anyway. I can't figure out what it means to know all of this now, who I am or what I should do."

All Might nods. He feels such pity for the boy, such grief he didn't prevent this. caused it, even, really. "And you came to me?"

"Yeah. You're the person alive who's known All For One the longest, except Gran Torino and I didn't know how to find him." The teen shrugs. "You'd be the one to know if he's... you know, if i'm him. You'd be the one to stop him."

All Might stares at him, not moving, not speaking. Aizawa beings to twitch despite himself.

"You trusted me to fix this." He finally says. "Yeah, there's no way in hell All For One's in charge of your brain then. You're safe, kid. You might have the memories, but i take it you hate the guy in them?"

"More than anything. You're sure? It makes sense that i could be influenced-"

"Young Aizawa. You're safe. I am sure. And if that changes, i'll make sure to help you. I am here."

Aizawa goes nearly boneless on the couch. "Thanks."

"No problem. I'm guessing you'd feel better if you were doing something about it, though?"

"Huh?"

"You're a hero. You feel better when you're doing something."

"Yeah. What do you have in mind?"

"Let's see if any of your new old memories can help us weed out anyone else who could be planning something like the Doctor was, and then come up with some plans to use all those quirks in you now for good."

Aizawa smiles for the first time in weeks. It is a terrifying smile, but it is absolutely nothing like All For One's too-calculated smirk. All Might smiles back.

#see the thing is. aizawa does have lot of the memories unlocked after the doc is done with them #not as bad as it couldve been and afo is super not in charge #(since he got afo-quirk as a baby his body kinda overwrote the vestige in the same way the original stockpile vestige got overwrote by ofa)#(and there wasn't enough time to even start transplanting another afo vestige in to take over)#but it is a lot. and aizawa is both a depressed teenager and someone who tries to cope with logic #and what is the difference really between having memories because you did it or because they were planted?#so he's not having a great time #(note: he did not got to garaki alone because of afo influence or anything like that. that was just dumb teen moment and not wanting anyone #else hurt again)#but yeah All Might is going to be very uneasy for a time #not because of shouta specificlly (tho pleeeenttty of guilty feelings there)#but also because it *could* be done. so how does he know there isn't another person it's happening to and afo will really take them over an #be back?#he doesn't #like shouta he'll feel better over actually doing stuff about it #meanwhile shouta is. look he's gunning to dump a lot of those quirks asap he does not do great with ghosts in his head #but they'll figure things out thatll help both of them. have a weird dynamic. closer but also kind bitter. not 'bitter towards each other'#but 'bitter together' ig #anon #pocket talks to people

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