Not-So-Innocent Crush

[cutenonny]

Not-So-Innocent Crush Most people have seen a grand friendship strained by romantic inclinations at least once in their life, but when it comes to you, they can feel at ease. No one in the world would expect anything of that sort coming from your end. In their eyes, your age, personality type, job, duty, position, or even your species renders your abilities to feel romantic love null and void. And there's no way you could have any feelings towards them! If there is, it has to be a little crush. Completely innocent! ...except not. You are crushing, you may even love them, but most importantly, your thoughts toward them are anything but innocent. Actually, when it comes to them, your mind is absolutely filthy. Does their inability to view you as a sexual or romantic non-entity? If there's an age difference, do you feel guilty? A species difference, do you feel like a traitor? Maybe it best to keep how you really view the locked neatly inside - - except when everything comes to light, it's going to be messy. They're going to hate you...but what if they don't? What if your ideas are quite exciting, instead? Of course, things will probably be messy then, too. This meme doesn't have to be a smut meme. It can be fluffy, romantic, awkward, cracky, angsty, gen (...somehow) or, yes, even smut. Just state in your preferences what you'd, well, prefer. Reply with your character, preference, info, and which party you'd like to play: the oblivious object of lust and affection or the one sporting the big crushboner. Reply to others. Thread.

Comments

Jo Harvelle || Supernatural

[tobeclosetohim]

Mikaela Hyakuya | Owari no Seraph

[uglybloodsucker]

(ooc: ota genders and canons.)

Kyouhei Takano | Perfect Girl Evolution

[fortherent]

(ooc: ota genders and canons. i'm okay with writing starters)

Shihoudani Yuujirou | Princess Princess

[easternprincess]

(ooc: ota genders and canons. i'm okay with writing starters.)

Azumane Asahi | Haikyuu!!

[azuhi]

Ryuugazaki Rei || Free! || m/m

[ryuugazakirei]

Mello | Death Note | OTA

[mello_dramatic]

Nanase Haruka || Free! || OTA

[freeinwater]

Aoba Seragaki || DRAMAtical Murder || OTA

[powerofvoice]

Fai D. Flourite || Tsubasa Chronicles || OTA

[rebirthmark]

Mikeo ➫ Tales of Zestiria

[mikle0]

Eliot Waugh | The Magicians (books) | OTA

[oenophile]

[m/m for anything from his end, OTA if you want to have your heart crushed.]

Rhy | Shades of Magic

[soulsealed]

Lafayette | Hamilton: An American Musical

[asmartman]

Angelica (Schuyler) Church || Hamilton

[aschuyler]

[magician_king]

Quentin lets himself be pulled right out the smashed window of Grunnings Hunnsucker Swann with only a heartbeat of hesitation. He hasn't used magic in months, has nothing on the tip of his tongue that'll let him fly, so just takes Eliot's hand and steps blindly into the swell of his magic, trusting the three of them to have him, to get him out of there.

He doesn't ask where they're going, just trusts Eliot to lead the way.

Vision | MCU | m/f

[callmevision]

[oenophile]

The second Quentin touches his hand, Eliot knows they've done the right thing, tracking him down. Just look at that office. That luxurious, well-appointed office with a spectacular view of the city. A good thing they'd come along when they had, before normal life swallowed him whole and murdered him in cold blood. He's halfway to suicidal, anyway, or he must be, Eliot thinks, trusting him to not let Quentin drop like a stone. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. Instead, he pulls Quentin inside the sphere of influence his antigrav spell is exerting (the wings are mostly for show), holding him tight. Mostly, it's too windy to talk, but he can't resist at least one quip, voice chiding and careless to hide any trace of sentiment.

"White hair, Q, really? Bit cliche, don't you think?"

[magician_king]

"I don't know how to change it," he admits, helplessly, right in his ear, "I don't think I could dye it without feeling like an idiot."

Amazing how helplessness and shame redirect themselves to the nearest convenient outlet. How easy it is to wrap his arms around Eliot's neck and hang on, forehead resting on his shoulder, implicitly trusting him to get him out of here and fix this thing that has happened.

Really, he has about three good minutes before he starts to fall apart, and they should be in the correct universe and on solid ground, and ideally alone before that happens.

[oenophile]

"Could do it with magic," he says, eyes slanted sideways to assess. "Seems a bit like overkill, though." And it's not as easy to think about objectively, with Quentin stuck to him like cling wrap. His motives are entirely pure, of course; Quentin is his friend, they have seen some proverbial shit together. And yet, he is still but a mortal man, more or less, and even Eliot can only think good, wholesome thoughts for so long with another man's body pressed against his.

Luckily, they aren't far out, now. There's a distinct charge to the air that he's learning to recognize, the world seeming like a curtain hiding something much more real behind it. No halfway stop through the Neitherlands this time; Fillory needs its full complement of royalty, and accepts them with open arms. As they land at Whitespire, a grand appearance befitting their stature, Eliot makes an executive decision to hustle Quentin away from the crowd. The others don't stop him. Julia is staring off into space with a frown, as seems standard these days, and Janet is off chattering to a herd of functionaries, no doubt already planning the coronation ceremony.

To be honest, he's almost concerned. Quentin's even whiter than his hair. But there's a remedy for that, as there always is, and as he ushers Quentin into his personal suite he's already pushing a goblet into his hands. "No talking until you finish your medicine," he says firmly, and decides it might not be a bad idea to have some, himself. Make it a double. He gets the feeling they're both going to need it.

[magician_king]

Quentin lands and straightens up, follows him, and finally takes the goblet in the same dreamy kind of daze. He's three sips in before he recognizes it as liquor, and it makes him smile.

"I got the note you left me."

Back during his coma days.

"Way to leave me unconscious among a herd of creepy centaurs. Did you figure out what they did to horses? That place was weird, Eliot."

But he obviously isn't overly concerned about it, and it's a good sign, how broadly he's smiling, how it stretches wider as he speaks.

[oenophile]

Eliot only snorts, giving Quentin a look. "Of course we knew about the horses, they weren't exactly keeping it a secret, were they? Bunch of exhibitionists. And anyway, you weren't a horse, more of a vegetable, so we figured you'd be safe."

He shrugs, polishing off his drink and turning towards a decanter on a side table, pouring himself another generous measure and opting for a bit of class at least in not just keeping the bottle.

"Anyway, looks like it turned out alright, didn't it? You're alive and awake, more or less in one piece from what I see. Which is more than I expected, by the way--I am immensely hurt that you got my note and didn't try and get in touch." He places a hand over his heart, feigning dramatic agony. Funnily enough, it actually doesn't take much in the way of acting.

[magician_king]

"Gross." Says Quentin, wrinkling his nose, when Eliot says 'exhibitionists' in reference to the horse people, and sips his drink again, finding a spot to sit, and curling up over one gangly leg, chin on his knee.

"I'm not in one piece. I've got weird wooden pieces now."

Which brings him to;

"I had decided I'd be safer if I never did magic, or looked for it, ever again. And I didn't know how to find you without it." Except, this, as he says it, he realizes is an excuse, when the absolute truth of the matter is; "I couldn't have gotten my shit together to call even if I had a phone number, honestly. It's been-"

Here's a word that's serious and that he's maybe never said before out loud.

"-like, clinical levels. You know? I'm through 'temperamental and artistic' and into 'not okay.'"

[oenophile]

"Wood? Really? You'll have to show me sometime, the centaurs wouldn't let us see, really. Guess they're not exhibitionists in everything." Personally, he'd liked the smiles and relief on Quentin's face much more than this...whatever it is. The slide back towards brooding and pensive. Time runs funny between worlds; he wonders if they've stayed on the same track or not. It's hard to tell, with Quentin's hair, with what they've been through. God knows there's days he's felt forty, instead of the technically twenty-seven-ish he is now. But the point is, if there is a point, that whatever the hell Quentin had hoped to accomplish by running away clearly hadn't happened. For obvious reasons, really.

"Quentin, you're the stupidest genius I've ever met," he starts, leaning against the arm of the chair and tapping him lightly in the head with his goblet. "Or maybe they replaced part of your brain with wood, I don't know. None of us are okay. How the hell do you even get to okay, from where we were at? I haven't the slightest fucking clue. But what I do know is, it's going to be better, now that you're here." He hadn't exactly intended to say that. It wasn't exactly part of his cool, bored persona. But, hell. It was just the two of them, and he'd been thinking it long enough. May as well.

[magician_king]

"Yeah," says Quentin, letting out a breath, and squaring his shoulders up some, because Eliot is absolutely right, "this place is going to be good for me."

Stupid as he often can be, he's usually good about identifying the right place at the right time, and this- this is something good.

"It will be fine. Normal person fine, that is- neurotic and with a slight dependency on over the counter cough medicine fine."

Which he can live with.