#(on the other hand differences like that have always been there so maybe I’m looking too deep into it)

[solxamber]

You Try to Sleep on the Couch after an Argument with: Cater, Floyd, Silver, Rollo

Other parts: Housewardens ; Vice-Housewardens ; First-Years

Cater Diamond

The argument had been unexpected. Cater was easygoing, always quick with a joke or a teasing remark to smooth things over, but tonight had been different. The tension had built and built until, for once, neither of you had been willing to back down.

So, with a huff, you grabbed a blanket and marched to the couch, making a big show of snuggling in and getting comfortable. It wasn’t comfortable—not even a little—but your pride refused to let you move.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Then—ping.

You ignored it.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

With a groan, you reached for your phone, only to find your Magicam notifications lighting up your screen. You blinked. Cater had tagged you in a post. And then another. And another.

The first picture was of your shared bed, completely empty. The caption? lonely boy hours :’(

The second? Cater lying dramatically on his side, clutching a pillow like a heartbroken lover in a tragic romance. send thoughts & prayers, my partner has abandoned me

The third was even worse. A close-up of his face, his lower lip jutted in a ridiculous pout, captioned simply: is this what heartbreak feels like???

You stared at your phone, torn between laughing and crying because what the hell, Cater???

You tried to ignore it, but then another notification popped up. The newest post? A dramatic black-and-white shot of his hand reaching for the empty side of the bed. missing you rn. come home.

You buried your face in the pillow, groaning. He was so annoying.

And yet—your feet were already moving.

When you pushed open the bedroom door, Cater was sitting up, phone in hand, eyes flicking up to meet yours the second you walked in. His pout deepened, exaggerated and just barely pathetic enough to make your resolve crumble.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“But you love me,” he singsonged, setting his phone aside and opening his arms wide, waiting.

You tried to fight it, but the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself. That was all the encouragement he needed. With a soft, satisfied hah, Cater wrapped his arms around you the second you got close, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, warm against your skin.

You sighed, resting against him. “I’m sorry too.”

He squeezed you a little tighter before pulling back just enough to reach for his phone.

You rolled your eyes. “Cater.”

He grinned, not even pretending to feel guilty.

A second later, your phone buzzed. When you glanced at the screen, there it was—a final post. A simple picture of your hands together, warm and steady beneath the sheets.

reunited <3

Floyd Leech

The argument had been bad. Not the usual push-and-pull of Floyd’s unpredictable moods, not the teasing jabs that sometimes went too far—this had been real, raw, and biting in a way that made your chest ache.

You knew better than to expect an apology right away. Floyd wasn’t wired for that. So, with your pride stinging and your patience worn thin, you grabbed a blanket, made your way to the couch, and flopped down with your back stubbornly turned toward the bedroom.

Which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

Because if you’d been facing the bedroom, maybe—maybe—you would have had some warning before the Floyd-shaped projectile came flying toward you at full speed.

A thud, a weight collapsing onto you, and suddenly your whole world was Floyd—arms, legs, and far too much Floyd as he sprawled across your body like a particularly annoying weighted blanket.

You let out a strangled noise. “Floyd—”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even pretend to move. Just settled more comfortably on top of you like this was the most natural thing in the world.

With a grunt, you attempted to shove him off, but he was all lean muscle and deadweight. He wouldn’t budge. Worse, he refused to look at you, his face half-buried against your shoulder, arms loosely draped around you like a net that would tighten if you tried to escape.

“…Seriously?” you huffed, exasperated.

A long silence. Then, barely above a mumble—

“Sorry.”

You blinked. “What?”

Floyd finally shifted, but only to grumble into your neck, voice muffled against your skin. “You’re my shrimpy. I thought you’d get it.” A pause, then a quiet, almost begrudging, “…But I guess I was a little mean.”

You sighed, the last remnants of your anger melting into something softer. Floyd wasn’t the type to say sorry outright. For him, this was already pushing it.

With another sigh, you gave up and wrapped your arms around him.

Immediately, Floyd perked up, and before you could prepare yourself, he bit you—just a little nip against your shoulder, affectionate in that ridiculous way of his. When you startled, he looked up at you, grinning now, sharp teeth on full display.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love me~”

Unfortunately, he was right.

With a tired chuckle, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling the way his grin softened just a little. He snuggled closer, his grip tightening around you, and just like that, the argument was behind you.

Floyd let out a pleased hum, already half-asleep. “M’keeping you here forever.”

You weren’t even going to try fighting him on that.

Silver

You still weren’t entirely sure how you had managed to get into an argument with Silver of all people. Silver, who was usually so calm, so patient, so utterly unbothered by most things. And yet, somehow, words had been exchanged, tempers had flared, and now you were lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the pang of guilt gnawing at you.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside your window. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to sleep—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You frowned, cracking an eye open.

The sound came again, a soft pecking against the glass. Dragging yourself up with a sigh, you turned toward the window—only to be met with the sight of the cutest little bird, perched delicately on the sill.

You blinked. The bird tilted its head.

It had a tiny note tied to its leg.

Cautiously, you opened the window and untied the parchment, unfolding it with careful fingers.

"Sorry."

Your lips parted. You stared at the single-word apology, written in Silver’s neat, earnest handwriting.

Before you could fully process the sheer adorableness of the gesture, a rustling noise caught your attention. You turned your head just in time to see a squirrel scurrying up onto the windowsill, a small piece of paper clutched in its tiny paws.

It held it out to you.

You took it.

"Sorry."

You pressed a hand over your mouth, overwhelmed by a mix of affection and disbelief.

Was he seriously sending an entire woodland brigade to apologize for him?

And, perhaps more importantly—if you didn’t go talk to him right now, would he escalate this? Would an entire procession of deer, rabbits, and possibly a very regretful-looking bear show up next?

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. There was no way you were sleeping now.

Before you left, you rummaged through your cabinets and grabbed a handful of nuts, scattering them gently on the windowsill. “I don’t accept free labor,” you muttered, watching as the squirrel eagerly took a hazelnut before scampering off. The bird gave a happy chirp before fluttering away.

With that taken care of, you made your way to the bedroom.

The moment you stepped inside, he was already sitting up, eyes immediately locking onto yours. He looked a little sheepish, his usual composed demeanor softened with quiet guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, without hesitation. “I shouldn’t have let it turn into an argument.”

You exhaled, the last remnants of your irritation slipping away entirely. He was so sweet, so sincere, and you couldn’t even be mad anymore.

Stepping forward, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured. “Now, let's go to bed."

Silver didn’t argue. He simply nodded, slipping under the blankets, his expression peaceful now.

As you settled beside him, he hesitated for only a moment before murmuring, “Did the bird get to you first or the squirrel?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Bird.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I was going to send a rabbit next.”

You buried your face into his shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. “Go to sleep, Silver.”

And finally, you both did.

Rollo Flamme

The argument had left you drained, annoyance simmering just beneath your skin as you curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket over yourself with a sharp tug. You didn’t want to be this upset—Rollo could be infuriating, stubborn in ways that tested your patience, but you knew he didn’t argue without reason. Still, the weight of his words, the heat of the exchange, had made retreating seem like the best option.

At some point, exhaustion overtook frustration, and you drifted into uneasy sleep.

But then—dry throat, groggy mind—you stirred awake, an undeniable thirst pulling you from your rest. With a sigh, you pushed the blanket aside and padded toward the kitchen, the dim light of the apartment casting long shadows against the walls.

That’s when you noticed it—the faint glow beneath the bedroom door.

You hesitated, frowning. He was still awake?

Curiosity, or maybe guilt, urged you forward. Carefully, you peeked inside.

Rollo was pacing. Back and forth, hands buried in his hair, tension lining his shoulders. He looked wrecked—a man on the verge of either an epiphany or a breakdown.

Your heart squeezed.

You hadn't expected this. Hadn’t expected him to be just as shaken, just as restless.

Stepping inside, you barely made a sound, but he noticed instantly. His head snapped up, eyes widening.

For a second, he didn’t move. Then he took a step toward you, hands twitching at his sides, reaching out just barely before curling into hesitant fists. He stopped himself, as if afraid you’d pull away, as if unsure whether he had the right.

Your breath hitched. The sight of him—always so composed, now uncertain—made the last of your irritation fade.

Wordlessly, you closed the distance and took his hand.

The moment your fingers intertwined, you felt the tension in him unravel. His shoulders slumped, his grip tightening around yours, a quiet exhale escaping his lips. He held on like he needed the touch to ground him.

“I took it too far,” he murmured, voice raw with sincerity. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I know,” you interrupted softly. “And…I shouldn’t have either.”

His gaze met yours, searching, still unsure. You squeezed his hand, and that was all it took.

Rollo relaxed, expression melting into something exhausted, something relieved. He nodded, as if accepting an unspoken truce.

Neither of you needed to say anything else.

When you led him to bed, he followed without question. And when you pulled him into your arms, his body molded against yours with an ease that made it clear just how much he had needed this.

Within minutes, the tension that had kept him awake finally loosened its grip. His breathing evened out, his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, and for the first time since the argument, Rollo fell asleep— warm and finally at peace.

Masterlist

[chancloud8]

Picture Perfect

Part 1 * Part 2

Pairing: jeongin x reader

Word count: 2,1k

Summary: when Jeongin has a proposition for you, who are you to turn him down? Tags: suggestive maybe, but its mostly setting the scene for the smut in part 2

a/n: Happy birthday to our beloved Innie!! This was supposed to be a one shot, but because I'm not finished yet I decided to upload it in 2 parts. Part 2 will be smut ;)

Everyone in the studio has been excited about Yang Jeongin's shoot today. It’s all anyone could talk about this week, you included. You’ve been a Stay for a while now and when the call came that you’ve been chosen as the intern to work with the head photographer on this particular shoot, you may have fangirled your little heart out. 

When Jeongin walks into the studio this morning, looking sleepy and a little nervous, you expect to have to coax him out of his shell during the shoot. But boy were you wrong. As soon as he changes into his first outfit and the camera’s are turned on, it's like he transforms into a different man. 

You know he’s used to the camera’s, that he knows how to work them, but you also know how he feels about his body. He’s always been careful with showing too much skin and even with the Hallucination performance now existing, you didn’t think he’d be this confident, this sexy. Not that he shouldn’t be. The man is an absolute vision, with and without clothes. 

All through the photoshoot you can't keep your eyes off him. He's a work of art, perfectly sculptured with smooth skin and muscles in all the right places. It doesn't help that his eyes keep finding yours, holding your gaze, both through the lens of your camera as without it. 

‘Is it just me or does he look at you like you’re his next meal?’ Yumi, one of the make-up artists whispers in your ear during the second outfit change. 

‘I’m glad you’re seeing it too and I’m not going crazy,’ you mumble, looking through the photos you just shot. 

‘You’ve been undressing him with your eyes as well, don’t pretend like you haven’t,’ Yumi teases. ‘But I don’t blame you, that man is fine.’ 

‘Don’t let your husband hear you say that,’ you laugh. ‘But yes he is, look at this.’ You show her a picture where Jeongin leans back in the chair he’s sitting on, his abs on display as he has an arm thrown over his head while he looks right into your camera. 

Yumi whistles through her teeth. ‘It’s like he’s looking right into my soul, damn girl, this is good stuff. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him.’ 

‘You have a husband, babe,’ you repeat. ‘Besides, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t sleep around.’ 

Your eyes meet Jeongin’s then from across the room and the way he smirks at you almost feels like he heard what you just said.

During the next break you make your way to the snack table and grab a handful of grapes. You need something sweet to silence the beast inside you and usually food can do the job almost just as well as sex. 

You grab some grapes and pop them in your mouth, already eying the chocolate on the other side of the table. The flavour of a perfectly sweet grape hits your tongue then and you hum in surprise, immediately reaching out to take some more. Wow, these are good.

Someone chuckles next to you and with flushed cheeks you look up to see Jeongin looking down at you. He has the same look in his eyes as before and his lips are tipped up in a grin. 

Up close he's even more beautiful than through your camera. 

'I, uhm, can recommend the grapes,' you stammer dumbly, not knowing what else to say. You quickly pop some more grapes into your mouth so you won't have to talk for a moment. 

'I have a proposition for you,' Jeongin whispers into your ear as he leans close to you to grab an apple from the bowl on your other side. 

You nearly choke on the remaining grapes in your mouth and start coughing loudly. 

What did he just say? 

A proposition? 

What the fuck does that mean? 

Jeongin looks at you with both concern and amusement as you continue to cough, but then he reaches for a bottle of water and unscrews the cap before giving it to you. One of his hands comes up to rub your back and you look up at him with teary eyes, before taking a sip. 

'Thanks,' you say, clearing your throat. 'I don't think I heard that correctly.' 

'You did,' Jeongin smiles and he looks around to see if anyone is in hearing distance before he leans in close again. 'And the next time you look at me with tears in your eyes will be when you're choking on my cock.' 

Your mouth falls open at his words and you nearly drop the bottle of water in your hands. 

'I--what?' 

Jeongin just shrugs, giving you a cheeky grin before his eyes travel up and down your body.

'You can say no, but I hope you'll meet me after the shoot.' 

You blink at him and pinch your arm, not sure if you're dreaming or hallucinating. You must be. Right? 

Yang Jeongin, Ayen, the maknae of Stray Kids did not just suggest he wanted you to blow him, did he? Because that would be insane. 

'But- You- I,' you stutter, your brain is definitely having an error at the whole situation. 

'Me and you,' Jeongin nods. 'I'd like that very much.' 

At this point you're just gaping at him, probably looking like a fish on dry land. Fucking hell, what did he just do to you? 

'What happened to sweet innocent Ayen?' 

'Who said I was innocent?' 

'Uhm, everyone?' 

'Have you seen the Hallucination performance?' Jeongin asks. 'Have you been paying attention today?' 

You scoff at him. Of course you have and he knows it or he wouldn't have approached you, but he just raises his eyebrows and waits for you to talk. 

Damn Chan for rooming with him. It has to be his fault. 

'You've been corrupted and I wasn't ready,' you pout. 

'Or have I just been pretending?' Jeongin winks, taking a bite of the apple you forgot he was holding. 

'Breaks over!' Your boss yells then and you jump like someone just electrocuted you. 

'Wait for me after, okay?' Jeongin asks, smiling sweetly before he turns around to get his make-up touched up. 

What the fuck just happened?

The rest of the shoot goes by in a blur with Jeongin being even more sexy and confident than before and it's driving you insane. It feels like he’s playing with you, with his food, like you’re the prey and he’s the hunter. 

Your camera is filled with pictures of him biting his lip, rolling his eyes upwards, baring his neck and many more sexual images. Everyone around you is buzzing with energy, happy with the vibe and the pictures that are being shown on the computer screens from both Junhi, the head photographer, and you. 

You lost count how many times your heart skips a beat as Jeongin looks at you, or rather at your camera, but from your point of view there’s not much difference. By the end of the shoot you feel hot and your clothes feel too tight against your skin. 

One by one staff members pick up their stuff and leave the studio. You're being deliberty slow with putting your camera and laptop away and you linger to chat with your co-workers to buy yourself some more time to decide what to do. 

You'd be a fool to turn down Jeongin's proposal and you desperately wanted to go with him and do anything he wanted, but a small part of you wondered if it was a good idea. You had one night stands before, but being with a world famous idol is new for you and you’re not sure if you feel confident enough to go for it. 

When Jeongin leaves the studio, his manager on his heels, you stare after him. Will he wait for you somewhere? Will he come back to see if you are still here when more people have left the building? 

‘Miss?’ A soft voice startles you. 

To your left a kind looking man smiles down at you. He's wearing a suit and there's a security emblem on his sleeve.  

‘Yes?’ you ask, nerves filling your body. 

‘Could you come with me for a moment? I have some questions I'd like to ask you.’ 

You share a look with Yumi and she shrugs at you. 

‘Uhm, sure,’ you nod, following him to the hallway. ‘What's this about?’ 

The man doesn't answer and leads you to a secluded room at the other side of the building. Inside sits another man in a suit and in front of him are a bunch of papers. 

‘Hello,’ he greets you kindly, gesturing to the seat in front of him. ‘You're L/N Y/N?’ 

‘That's me,’ you nod as you sit down. 

‘Good, let's get straight to it shall we,’ the man smiles. ‘Yang Jeongin has asked to spend the evening with you, do you agree to this?’ 

You blink a few times and your mouth falls open in a small ‘o’. You should have known that this was about Jeongin. 

Squirming in your seat you try to ignore your galloping heart as blood rushes to your cheeks. 

‘I agree,’ you say, screaming internally at how easy it was to say. 

‘And do you also agree to sign an NDA?’ 

You tilt your head. ‘What would I be signing for?’ 

The man pushes a paper across the table for you to read. ‘The most important thing is that you can't share anything about your night with the outside world, if you do we'll sue you and you'll have to pay a large fine.’

‘Okay, so no talking about it. Got it,’ you nod, scanning the text in front of you. 

It’s all pretty basic. You can’t share any personal information with anyone or make any pictures or videos during your stay with Jeongin. It makes sense that they want to protect their idol from any scandals and you weren't planning on telling anyone. Who, besides Yumi, would believe you anyway. 

‘Can I borrow a pen?’

Thirty minutes later you're in front of a hotel door. Your heart is once again beating so fast that it feels like Jeongin would be able to hear it if he opened the door right now. The security guard who brought you up, gives you a funny look when you take three deep breaths before knocking on the door. 

Stay calm Y/N. 

Jeongin opens the door within what feels like two heartbeats. He's wearing the same outfit as before, but his hair is much messier. It looks like he continuously dragged his hands through it. Was he nervous? Did he wonder if you would come? 

He grins when he sees you and steps aside to let you in. 

‘I wasn't sure you'd come,’ he says as he closes the door behind you. ‘I'm really glad you did.’ 

‘Yeah?’ you smile, shrugging out of your coat and dumping it on the couch along with your bag. ‘I’m glad I decided to come too, then.’ 

‘You were having doubts?’ Jeongin asks when you turn to look at him.

He has his arms crossed and his eyebrows are raised as he studies your face. 

‘Not really,’ you shake your head. ‘I just have never done anything like this with an Idol before.’ 

‘So in a sense, I’m your first?’ Jeongin grins, dropping his arms next to his body as he steps closer to you. 

‘I guess so,’ you laugh. 

‘I like that,’ Jeongin says, he’s so close now that you have to look up. 

There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. He looks excited, hungry and playful and heat fills your belly in anticipation. You have no idea what to expect from him. 

‘What else do you like?’ you ask, smirking up at him. 

‘You’re about to find out,’ he says and then he pounces. 

His lips are soft, but he kisses you hard and fast. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon and when he sucks on your tongue you moan into his mouth. Jeongin’s hands are on your waist and he slowly walks you back until your back hits the door. 

‘You’re mine for tonight, Y/N,’ he whispers against your lips. 

All decent thoughts and any lingering doubts leave your mind then. You like this confident man in front of you and instead of answering you just moan again and roll your hips forward to collide with his. Whatever he wants, he’ll get. You’re ready to completely give yourself to him. 

Jeongin’s hands tighten on your hips to keep you still. ‘What do you say to that?’ 

Your brain takes a moment to come up with a reply. 

‘I’m yours?’ your voice sounds breathy and shaky. 

‘Is that a question or an answer?’ Jeongin asks, his lips leaving a trail on your neck as he slowly sucks on your skin. 

‘I’m yours,’ you say, sounding more sure. ‘I’m yours for tonight.’ 

‘Good girl.’

a/n: part 2 with the smut will be up either tomorrow or monday at its latest! ;) I hope you liked reading this hehe (sorry i just cant write smut without at least SOME story or warm up lmao) - taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust @velvetskize @channiefever @luvbangchan @aalexyuuuhm @katsukis1wife @herpoetryprincess @ye0lkkot @glitterywastelandgardener @vampcharxter @boi-bi-ahaha @mlink64 @greyyeti @mariteez

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension

Matt finishes up his shots, handing the jacket off to Chris before running a hand through his hair.

I take that as my cue, slipping my own jacket on. Just as I’m adjusting the sleeves, Matt starts walking toward me. My pulse skips slightly, but I force myself to act normal.

"Nice jacket" I say, my voice light, playful. I tug at the sleeve for emphasis. "We’re twinning."

He follows my motion, then looks back at his own. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something in his expression, something almost unreadable, before he smirks. "Yeah, guess so."

I tilt my head, raising a brow. "Trying to be me now?"

Matt huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. "Nah, this was all Chris. Maybe he wanted to show it was unisex or something, I don’t know." His tone is easygoing, dismissive, like the whole thing didn’t really matter.

Something in me sinks slightly. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe some kind of confirmation that there was a meaning behind it. That it wasn’t just a coincidence. That he had chosen it intentionally. But I nod, forcing myself to brush it off, not wanting to read too much into it.

Before I can say anything else, Nick, who had clearly been listening, steps in. "Okay, well, since you two are basically in matching outfits, you should get some pictures together."

I blink, glancing at Matt, who looks just as thrown off by the suggestion. He hesitates for a split second, then shrugs. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Chris, already looking back at photos, gives an approving nod. "Yeah, that could be cool. Matt stand behind Y/n."

I swallow, suddenly more aware of the way my jacket feels against my skin, the way Matt's standing just close enough for our sleeves to almost touch. I nod, stepping forward, trying to ignore the way my heart is beating.

We start taking photos, the fading sun casting a golden hour glow over everything. We take turns, everyone gets their solo shots, duo shots in turns between the boys then some of just Chris, Matt and Nick together. There’s small moments, genuine laughter caught between shots.

At one point, Chris calls me over, gesturing for me to stand beside him. "Let’s get some together" he says, adjusting his hoodie. It would be nice for both of us to have photos together, considering how hard we've worked on this.

By the time we’re done, the sky is a deep navy blue. We huddle around, flicking through the photos. The excitement is evident, everyone’s happy with how they turned out.

Chris straightens up, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright" he announces, a grin stretching across his face. "I say we celebrate."

Nick smirks. "You just want an excuse to go drinking."

Chris shrugs. "Yeah, and?"

We all laugh, the energy still buzzing in the air as we gather our things. The beach is still calm and quiet with the sounds of distant music playing from the bars lining the shore. We make our way up to the strip and walk into a lively sports bar.

Chris makes his way over to the bar and orders a round of drinks, effortlessly charming the bartender as he waits. Meanwhile, the rest of us find a table near the open air area, where there's a light breeze.

I decide to make my way to the bar, stepping up beside Chris. “I’ll help you carry them” I offer, reaching for a couple of glasses.

He flashes me a grateful smile. “Thanks” he says, passing two drinks to me. “Man, I’m so happy with how everything turned out. The photos, the jackets, everything.”

I smirk, nudging him playfully. “Even Matt’s jacket?”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

I roll my eyes. “Come on, don’t act clueless. His is basically identical to mine, my initial, my favorite number. You trying to make us twins or something?” I tease, though there’s an edge of curiosity in my tone.

Chris looks at me for a moment, confused. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he says, “I didn’t do that.”

My head snaps towards Chris. “What?”

“I didn’t pick Matt’s design” Chris explains, grabbing the last drink. “He sat with me when I was placing the order back in Vegas. I had already filled in everyone else’s details, but he got to choose his own.”

The words hit me like a slow motion realization, the pieces falling into place one by one.

Matt chose it himself.

The same initial. The same number. On purpose. And he played it off.

I swallow, my fingers tightening slightly around the glasses in my hand. My heart thumping in my chest. Chris is still talking, but his voice fades into the background as my mind races. I don’t even know how to feel, shocked? Conflicted? Something deeper?

Chris finally glances over at me, noticing the shift in my expression. “You good?”

I snap back to reality, forcing a small smile. “Yeah,” I lie. “Just.. taking the whole night in.”

Chris doesn’t question it, just shrugs before nodding toward the table. “Come on, let’s bring these over.”

I follow, but my mind is elsewhere.

Matt did it on purpose.

And I have no idea what that means.

As we set the drinks down on our table, I sneak a glance across at Matt. He’s leaned back in his chair, talking to Nate about something. My His jacket rests against the chair beside him, the initial and number staring back at me like some kind of silent confession.

I try my best to brush it off and we fall into easy conversation within the group. Chris and Nate get another round of drinks, sliding them across the table. The energy between us is nice, everyone is buzzing after a successful shoot and the anticipation of whatever the night might bring.

Chris grins as he leans back in his chair. “I mean, tell me that wasn’t one of the cleanest shoots we’ve ever done. No arguments, no disasters.. kinda feels wrong.”

Nate laughs. “It’s because I was there. Everything runs smoother when I’m around.”

Matt snorts, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, okay, let’s not rewrite history. Weren’t you the one who knocked over a whole light stand last time and blamed it on the wind?”

Nate places a hand on his chest, replying in defense. “It was the wind. A strong gust. Nature conspired against me.”

Chris shakes his head. “The only thing working against you is your own coordination.”

I laugh, settling back in my chair as the teasing continues. It’s easy like this, the kind of comfort that only comes from knowing each other for so long.

Nick pulled up some of the photos on his phone. He slides it across the table, and everyone leans in to look.

“Oh, this one’s sick” Matt says, tapping the screen. “But I feel like Y/n should’ve gotten the solo shot standing on the rocks instead of me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So you’re admitting I would’ve done it better?”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Mmm, not exactly. Just saying your balance is probably better, considering I nearly fell to my death up there.”

“You tripped once.”

“And it was a near death experience.”

Nick laughs. “Guy swayed a little and saw his life flash before his eyes.”

“I felt myself falling, kid” Matt insists, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t expect you guys to understand.”

I roll my eyes, reaching over to take the phone from him. “Anyway, let’s look at other pictures before this turns into the Matt Survival Story.”

The night continues like that, joking and teasing. The drinks kept coming, round after round, and at some point, I stopped keeping track. The buzz in my head was fun, my limbs loose, and the laughter around the table made me feel nice.

Chris, clearly feeling it too, leaned forward suddenly, eyes wide with a drunken revelation. “You know what sounds unreal right now?”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten us.”

“Churro’s.” Chris declared, as if he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “Like, really good, proper churros. There’s gotta be a spot somewhere on this strip.”

Nick laughed, swirling the last bit of his drink in his glass before setting it down with a clink. “That actually doesn’t sound like the worst idea. Wanna walk and see what’s around?”

Chris nodded enthusiastically. “Hell yeah.”

Nate stretched, already pushing himself up from his chair. “Might as well. I could go for something sweet.”

I expected Matt to get up too, but he stayed seated, nursing his drink with an unreadable expression.

Nick glanced between us before shrugging. “You guys staying?”

Matt barely looked up. “Yeah, we’re good here.”

Chris wiggled his eyebrows at us like he knew something we didn’t before nudging Nate to move. “Alright, suit yourselves. Don’t get too bored without us.”

With that, the three of them wandered off, their voices carrying over the music and street noise before fading into the night.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling as I swirled my straw in my drink. The silence between Matt and I stretched, but for once, it wasn’t awkward. It was.. easy.

“You’re holding up well” he commented, nodding toward my glass. “Thought you’d be slurring by now.”

I smirked, tilting my head. “So you underestimated me?”

“Never” he said smoothly, a small grin forming on his lips. “I just figured you’d be the responsible one tonight.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m on vacation. Responsibility is not in my vocabulary right now.”

Matt raised his glass slightly, as if to toast to that. “Fair enough.”

We both took a sip, the air between us charged with this weird tension, a different tension to normal, something neither of us seemed in a rush to address. 

Matt set his drink down, leaning forward slightly, his elbow resting on the table. His eyes, a little lazy from the alcohol, flickered with something unreadable.

“So, if responsibility isn’t in your vocabulary right now” he smirked, “what is?”

I smirked, continuing to swirl my straw in my glass. “Recklessness, maybe. Spontaneity.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Spontaneity, huh? That’s a dangerous game.”

I tilted my head, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I like a little danger.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Yeah?” He leaned in slightly. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

I took a sip of my drink, letting the ice clink together. “And here I was, thinking I was predictable.”

He shook his head, studying me like he was trying to figure me out. “Not even close.”

Before I could respond, Nick’s voice cut through the moment, his energy a stark contrast to our quiet exchange.

“Guys!” he said, slightly breathless, plopping down into a chair, “we just found something way better than this place.”

Chris and Nate sat down beside him, both grinning.

“Oh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Better how?”

Nick leaned forward, excitement clear in his face. “There’s a bar at the end of the street with a full on drag show happening. It looks insane.”

Chris nodded enthusiastically. “We’re talking full performances, outfits, the whole thing. You guys down?”

I glanced at Matt, whose lips twitched into an amused smirk.

“Well” he said, looking at me, “since you’re in your spontaneity era…”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You don’t even like using the term era”

Nick grinned, slapping the table. “That’s the spirit. Let’s get out of here.”

Matt lingered at my side, as we stumbled down the strip and into bar. The place is alive, bright neon lights, a shimmering backdrop behind the stage, and a drag queen in a sequined bodysuit commanding the crowd. She’s scanning the room, mic in hand, looking for her next victims to drag onstage.

Before I even have a chance to process what’s happening, Nick’s hand clasps around mine.

“Oh no” I start, shaking my head, but it’s too late.

“You know we have to do this.” he grins, practically dragging me toward the stage.

Chris, Nate, and Matt cheer from the table, egging us on like we have a choice in the matter. I laugh, half in protest, but I already know what’s about to happen.

Nick’s been dying to perform Alter Ego ever since we watched Crystal Envy and Lexi Love lip sync to it on Drag Race. And now, here we are, center stage, spotlights on us.

The beat drops, and suddenly, Nick transforms. He throws himself into the performance, rapping along flawlessly, hyping up the crowd, while I do my best to keep up, dancing and laughing through the whole thing. The drag queen is eating it up, hyping us both as if we were seasoned performers.

By the time the song ends, we’re completely breathless, and for once I’m not embarrassed by all of the attention. The drag queen dramatically bows to us, then gestures to the bartender.

“Now that is how you commit to the bit” she says into the mic. “Drinks are on the house for these two.”

We walk back to our table, joining back with the others when a tray of free shots is handed to us.

Chris whistles from the table. “I mean, if free drinks are involved, I might have to hit the stage next.”

Matt shakes his head, chuckling as I sit down.

“You really went for it” he says, impressed.

I grab a shot from the tray, still catching my breath. “What can I say? Spontaneity, remember?”

He raises his glass, smirking. “Guess you weren’t lying.”

I clink my glass against his before throwing back the shot, the burn of alcohol mixing with the rush of the night so far.

The warmth of the alcohol spreads through my body all at once, a delayed hit that makes my head spin slightly. The mix of adrenaline from the performance and the lingering buzz leaves me feeling lightheaded. My skin is still damp with sweat, a mix from dancing under the lights and the Hawaiian heat. 

I set my empty shot glass down and push back from the table. “I need some air” I mumble, mostly to myself, but Matt’s eyes flick toward me for a second before I turn away.

Stepping outside, the slight breeze feels cool against my overheated skin. I exhale, running a hand through my hair, trying to steady the rush in my head. So much has happened in just the past 24 hours. Getting my locket back, the jacket, the way he looked at me earlier, the teasing, the tension. 

It was a very different side of Matt that I wasn’t used to. 

I lean against the side of the building, staring down at my heels, my thoughts spinning faster than they should. Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. Maybe Matt isn’t just Matt, the frustrating, teasing, sometimes unbearable guy in our group.

Maybe he’s the guy who went out of his way to do something meaningful for me. The guy who gets jealous when I give someone else my attention. The guy who’s been watching me just as much as I’ve been watching him.

And maybe he likes me. And maybe I like him too.

I heard the sound of the side door to the bar swinging open behind me, catching my attention. I turn to see Matt walking toward me.

“You good?” His voice is softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge.

I glance at him standing there with his hands in his pockets, watching me. The concern in his eyes is subtle, but it’s there.

“Yeah” I say, offering a small smile. “Just a bit warm. And very drunk.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “Yeah, no shit. You and Nick just put on a whole damn concert in there.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “He’s been waiting for that moment.”

Matt smirks but then tilts his head slightly, considering me. “You wanna go for a walk on the beach or something? Might make you feel better.”

I hesitate for a second, but something about the way he’s looking at me makes it impossible to say no.

“Yeah” I say. “That sounds nice.”

We head down toward the sand, the noise from the strip fading as the waves take over and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Matt walks beside me, hands tucked into his pockets, but there’s an ease to his posture. “So” he starts, a teasing lilt creeping back into his voice, “you gonna add karaoke connoisseur to your resume after that performance?”

I roll my eyes but laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Gonna start touring next week.”

He grins. “I’d buy tickets.”

I nudge him playfully. “You’d probably take the piss out of me the whole time.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, biting back a smirk. “Or maybe I’d just sit front row and admire the view.”

I feel my stomach flip at his words, and suddenly the air between us feels differen again. Even more intense. My steps slow just slightly, and he matches my pace.

“You’re such a flirt” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

Matt smirks. “And yet, you’re still walking with me.”

I shake my head, trying not to smile, but I know he sees right through me. The alcohol has made me bold, but maybe it’s not just the drinks. Maybe it’s him.

We keep walking, the conversation flowing like we never hated each other. Playful. Teasing.

I laugh at something he says, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins, nudging me lightly with his shoulder. “And yet, you love it.”

I roll my eyes but don’t deny it. Before I can think of a comeback, my heel suddenly sinks too deep into the sand, throwing me off balance. I stumble to the side, my hands instinctively reaching out.

Matt reacts fast, catching me before I fall to the ground. One arm wraps firmly around my waist, steadying me, while the other grips my hand. The warmth of his touch against me sends a jolt through me, and I realize just how close we are, his face only inches from mine, his breath grazing over my cheek.

“Damn” he laughs, holding me upright. “You good?”

I grip his forearm, steadying myself. “Yeah, just, heels and sand? Not a great mix" I say, trying to play it cool. "And to think you were suggesting that I should’ve been up on the rocks earlier.”

Matt smirks, but instead of saying anything witty back, he suddenly crouches down in front of me.

I blink. “What are you-”

“Relax” he murmurs, fingers already working at the straps of my heels. “You’re gonna break an ankle trying to walk in these out here We don't need any more ankle problems.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the way he carefully unbuckles each strap, sliding the shoes off my feet like it’s the most natural thing in the world, has my brain rewiring itself.

Once he’s done, he stands, holding my heels in one hand. “There. Now you won’t have an excuse to fall into my arms again.”

I cross my arms, scoffing at him. “I didn’t mean to fall into your arms.”

Matt tilts his head, that signature smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He grins. “And yet, you’re still walking with me.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling too much, but I know he sees it. He always does. I bump my shoulder against his playfully. “You know, you don’t have to carry my shoes. I am capable of holding things.”

He smirks. “Yeah, but then what excuse would I have to be a gentleman?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, so you’re a gentleman now?”

Matt raises an eyebrow, stopping in his tracks.

“I mean” he says, looking down at me, “I did just save you from eating sand. That’s got to count for something.”

I glance up at him, my heart racing, but I play it cool. “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe I let myself fall on purpose.” I say sarcastically.

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “Oh yeah? You wanted me to catch you?”

I roll my eyes dramatically. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sturniolo.”

“Oh, so we’re using last names now?” He steps closer to me. “Careful, that’s dangerously close to flirting.”

 “Please, if I was flirting, you’d know it.”

“Would I?”

I exhale, feeling my stomach flip. He’s so damn cocky, but I can’t even pretend I don’t love it.

I tilt my chin up defiantly, a slow grin spreading across my lips. “Mhm.”

My heart is racing. I can feel the alcohol in my veins, but this, this moment, is all me. No liquid courage, no overthinking. Just me and him.

I step closer, tilting my head slightly, my body moving on instinct. My mind is made up. I want to close the distance. I want him.

I lean in.

But just as my lips are about to brush his, Matt turns his head.

“We should head back.” His voice is quiet, almost strained.

I freeze.

The rejection slaps me across the face. I pull back quickly, my face heating in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

I swallow hard, forcing a nod. “Yeah.. yeah, okay.”

Matt shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual cocky demeanor is gone, replaced by something I can’t quite read. Guilt? Hesitation?

I don’t wait to figure it out. I turn on my heel and start walking back toward the bar, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.

My stomach twists uncomfortably. How did I get it so wrong? The way he looked at me, the way he held my waist, the way he played into everything, was it just in my head?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that I just made a move.. and Matt Sturniolo didn’t want me back.

a/n : i would run into the ocean and never return if i got rejected like that

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[plutosillywrites]

imagine plus size!reader going to the bar for a date— just to get to stood up.. but that’s okay, 141 is there for their night out, and could never say no to a pretty bird like you.

(i hope u like this nonsense :3)

you’ve never had much luck with dating, which you think for the most part you’re okay with, sometimes it just doesn’t work out when you think it will— but it does sting when all of your friends are snatched up and engaged or dating.

it leaves you asking if there’s something wrong with you— which you know is not true, but when you are so crushingly rejected every single time, you get sick of it.

and tonight, god you hope it’s different. you had been chatting up some pretty guy, and he was nice— attentive even, and you aren’t ugly by any means.your curves are to die for, the way your tummy is seen in dresses, and how your thighs and ass look in some good jeans— maybe you have a few more fat rolls than the average person, and your body held a plump look. but you looked damn fine with it too..

the cellulite— the hair, the skin. practically flawless, and as you slipped on your black dress with pearl accessories, and a beautiful vintage black bag. you were ready to go—

you slip your heels on, grab your keys and you’re out the door. locking your apartment door behind you (god forbid you forget again like that one time. you’ll always miss your good mixer that the thief stole.)

the walk there is quite nice, your date having asked you to meet up at a jazz club nearby, which was only a 10 minute walk.

you walk towards the front door of the place, bright LED letters adorned the top of the building. ‘THE JAZZ ROOM.’ it’s a nice, quaint place.

as you step inside the sound of the sax and sweet singing voice draws you in, you smile at the song being sung— and make way towards the bar, waiting patiently for your date.

what you don’t see however, is how 4 men sat back in their seats to get a better look at you as you walked in. johnny is the first to say something— “Fucking gorgeous ain’t she.” — the others hum in agreement.

you twiddle your thumbs, sipping on a fruity cocktail because— of course you can’t shoot whiskey, it’s been 25 minutes since you got here— you even showed up 5 minutes late.

you laugh, but not one filled with joy, one filled with disbelief. “i think im just gonna delete tinder. it doesn’t work— stupid apps never do.” youre mumbling as youre finishing off your drink, and fanning down the bartender.

johnny claps his hands, and goes to stand. “i think pretty bonnie over ‘er got stood up. blokes missing out— it’s alright though, i’ll go and swoop her up.” he shuffles out of the booth, the others make no move to disagree but simon chimes in by saying, “you better tell ‘er how fucking gorgeous she looks tonigh’. “

johnny then makes his way towards the empty seat beside you. the 3 men sit and watch— they trust johnny to woo you over, he’s just too good with words.

you ask the bartender for another cocktail, and as you go to take a sip you hear a gruff scottish voice from beside you. “what’s a pretty bonnie like you doing here alone?” you turn, and wow.

the man has a mohawk, and the most stunning blue eyes you have ever seen. he’s got a smile that has a warmth churning up inside— why is he staring at you like your the only girl in the world? and why does it feel so good??

“oh— uhm,, haha..” you trail off, “it’s a funny story, really.” you fiddle with the fruit on a toothpick in your drink, “i’m supposed to be on a date, but uhm.. he didn’t end up showing.” you grimace a bit, taking a large sip.

“well, he’s a bloody idiot.” the man says, he leans closer, resting his head on his hand. “my names johnny, you wouldn’t mind if i took his spot as your date, would’ya?”

a handsome, muscular man with a hot accent asking to be YOUR date? yeah, you’re not saying no to that! you smile, laughing so quiet johnny almost didn’t catch it under the music.

“no, i wouldn’t.. i’d prefer if you did.” you scoot your barstool closer, and tell him your name, your hand resting on the table dangerously close to his.

“you look stunning tonight, love.” he breathes out, he intertwines his fingers with yours, “fucking breathtaking— had my eyes glued to you since you walked in ‘ere.”

you look at him quickly, he’d watched you since you walked in? “you like what you saw that much?” you questioned with a frown, and his smile only grew. “fuck yes, and not just me—“ he leans you can see the rest of the group.

their eyes are hungry; with something else mixed in, and you can’t quite tell if its passion or lust. “—my whole team thinks you’re the prettiest girl in this whole place.”

your body goes slack just slightly, before letting a smile creep onto your face, resting your hand on johnny’s knee you leaned close to his ear.. “well, it’s rude to keep people waiting.. isn’t it?” you whispered.

“you’re right as rain, bonnie. why don’t we join them?” johnny mumbles back, already standing and tugging you near their table, his hand wrapped around your waist…

pt 2!! https://www.tumblr.com/plutosillywrites/775073803823890432/part-2-of-plus-sized-reader-who-gets-swooped-up

(an: johnny i love you. i love you and you just don’t know it.)

[bubbleggum444]

—❝𐌋ITTLE MIƧƧ AC𝚃IVIST!❞

contents damian wayne x fem!reader, new hero!reader au, fluff + angst (n comfort), 3k+ wc. synopsis he knows all too well what it is like to feel like you don't fit it.

This felt so... wrong. Everything and everyone around ___ was just so frustrating, so difficult to deal with.

She had been an activist for as long as she could remember, fighting for what she believed in. But everything changed when she became a hero.

For better or worse? She wasn’t sure. No—oh great, Starfire just burned another tree down. Just perfect. Yeah, definitely worse.

Time and time again, this path hurt. It pulled at her, tore at her, like two different people were fighting for control inside her body.

One part of her—the old her—was someone who spent hours protesting, climbing trees to protect them, boycotting inhumane brands, and helping the vulnerable.

The other—the hero—was someone who saw, day in and day out, just how much destruction heroes left behind in their wake.

She knew her thoughts must have been tiring to others. Maybe even annoying. But she didn’t care. They weren’t her, and she wasn’t them. No one had the right to tell her how to feel about this.

Still, she could only bite her tongue for so long.

During a mission, Beast Boy casually tossed a used water bottle onto the street.

She hesitated, not wanting to sound like a nag. So instead, she simply picked it up, intending to throw it in a trash can.

Then she heard Garfield chuckle.

"Are you our new teammate or the trashman, newbie?"

Ouch.

Even the other Titans fell silent at the remark.

Her fingers clenched around the plastic, her vision burning. She didn’t dare look at any of them. She was too close to breaking.

So she walked away.

She hadn’t planned to. It was an impulsive decision, but that was who she was—rash, reactive. Always ready to act against injustice, even before becoming a hero.

She kept walking until she reached a park bench and collapsed onto it. The moment she was alone, the tears came. She hated this—hated feeling weak, hated that everything was finally catching up to her. The pressure of expectations, the weight of two halves of herself pulling in opposite directions.

It felt suffocating.

Like the disappointment she had seen in her parents’ eyes when she struggled to balance school and activism. The kind of disappointment that didn’t hurt physically but cut so much deeper.

A shiver ran down her spine as something cold wrapped around her from behind.

Whack!

On instinct, she swung back, landing a solid smack on whoever had just grabbed her.

"Damian?!" Her eyes widened.

"Oh my God, I’m so—"

"No, I deserved that," he admitted, rubbing his arm. "I came after you... I just didn’t know how to approach you."

Her chest tightened.

She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her. Least of all Damian.

She couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that spilled over, but this time, he was ready. He pulled her into another hug, and she let herself sink into it, gripping onto him like she might fall apart otherwise.

"There’s nothing wrong with being someone who picks up trash," she mumbled, voice still thick with emotion.

"That’s a decent, respectable job."

Damian huffed a small laugh.

"That’s not funny—"

"I know."

He tilted her chin up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. His green eyes searched hers, steady and unreadable.

"I’ve noticed how much you’ve been pushing yourself, ___," he murmured.

"Stepping out of your comfort zone. Going against things you once believed in."

His hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.She held his gaze, her breath catching.

"It’s admirable," he continued, voice softer now. "And... I understand more than you think."

She swallowed hard.

She barely knew Damian. Out of all the Titans, he was the most closed off.

Yet here he was. In a park. In the middle of the night. Holding her. Comforting her.

Was it always this warm at this time of year?

Her voice wavered slightly when she spoke. "Meaning...?"

He exhaled, thumb brushing over her cheek like he was afraid she might break.

"Meaning I’ve been where you are," he admitted. "I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider. To think that no matter what you do, you’ll never truly fit in."

His voice dipped lower, carrying something raw beneath it.

"And it hurt deeply. I rejected those who tried to help me because they were different, yet I embraced the pain from others simply because they were my familiars."

The air between them felt heavy—not with awkwardness, but with something deeper. It was as if their hearts had silently intertwined, speaking in a language beyond words. The weight of unspoken emotions filled the space between them, their rapid beats echoing a conversation only they could understand.

She felt it. The way her heartbeat stumbled, the way something in her chest tightened painfully.

And she could feel his too. Beating, racing—just like hers.

The silence between them was fragile, delicate, like the moment might shatter if either of them spoke.

With one arm dropping to his side, the other wraps itself around her shoulder in a gentle side hug.

"Let’s go get some dumplings," he murmured. "There’s a Chinatown nearby. The vendors stay open late."

Slowly, she let herself relax against him, nodding.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let’s get some pho."

As they walked along the cobblestone streets, ___ let out a quiet giggle.

His cheeks kind of look like dumplings…

She bit her lip to suppress her laughter, but Damian caught it anyway.

His gaze flickered toward her. "What’s so funny?"

She shook her head, smiling to herself.

"Nothing," she said softly. "I’m just really excited for the food."

Damian narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. But he let it go, walking just a little closer to her as they made their way down the dimly lit street.

And for the first time in a long time, ___ felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t so alone after all.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

© — ggυɱi '25

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

alsooo BB would NEVA be like this. I just needed a "bag guy" for the story :)👌🏻

[bitchinbarzal]

Almost Hate | M Boldy

Summary: a reconciliation with Matt wasn’t in the cards for you.

-

Boston College had been big enough that you and Matt could’ve easily avoided each other. But for some reason, the universe had other plans.

From the moment you met, there was something off between you. No real reason, no dramatic backstory—just a constant, simmering tension that neither of you could shake.

Maybe it was the way he always seemed to have some cocky remark ready when you walked into a room. Or the way you refused to laugh at his jokes, even when they were actually funny. Whatever it was, it had followed you through four years of college, through mutual friends and shared parties, through stolen glares across campus.

And then, after graduation, life happened. You moved on. He moved on. That part of your life was over.

Or so you thought.

Minnesota was never the plan. But when a job offer came, one too good to pass up, you packed your life into a couple of suitcases and made the move.

You had been here for a few months now, slowly settling in, figuring out the rhythm of a new city. Which is how you ended up at a bar downtown on a Friday night, sipping your drink and regretting not leaving earlier.

Because the guy standing next to you? The one who had been trying way too hard for the last ten minutes? Yeah, he wasn’t getting the hint.

“Come on,” he says, leaning in just a little too close. “One more drink.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply, shifting back.

“You sure? Because—”

“She said she’s good, man.”

The voice is familiar. You turn your head and—of course, Matt Boldy is standing there, hands in his pockets, looking at the guy like he’s debating whether or not to shove him away from you.

The guy scoffs but mutters something under his breath before finally walking off.

You exhale, turning to face Matt fully. “Boldy.”

His lips twitch. “Still calling me that, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “What are you even doing here?”

He shrugs. “Live here. Play hockey here. What about you?”

“Same. Minus the hockey part.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, like he’s piecing something together. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Yeah, well. Life’s funny like that.”

The tension between you is still there, but it’s different now. Less sharp edges, more… curiosity.

He clears his throat. “Let me walk you home.”

You raise a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Just—” He shifts his weight, looking a little unsure for the first time ever. “It’s late. And that guy might still be around. Just let me make sure you get home safe.”

You hesitate, but the sincerity in his voice makes you nod. “Alright, fine.”

The walk to your apartment is quieter than you expect. The city hums around you, streetlights casting long shadows, and Matt walks a step closer than necessary, like he’s making sure no one gets too close.

It’s nice.

Weird. But nice.

When you reach your building, you turn to him, crossing your arms. “So. You save me from a creep and walk me home. What’s next? We pretend we don’t know each other for another five years?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Actually… I was thinking I’d ask you out.”

You blink. “What?”

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost—shy? “Look, I know we had that whole ‘hate’ thing going on in college, but I don’t think I actually hated you.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t think?”

He chuckles. “I know I didn’t. I just—” He exhales, meeting your gaze. “I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t hate. And now that we’re here, and I’m walking you home, and you’re still you, and I still… notice you—” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to waste time pretending anymore.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, but you keep your expression neutral. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying—” He steps closer, eyes flicking to your lips before locking back on yours. “Let me take you out. No tension, no bullshit. Just you and me.”

The old part of you—the part that remembers all the snarky remarks and stolen glares—wants to push back, to challenge him, to keep whatever this is at arm’s length.

But the new part of you? The one that sees the way he’s looking at you right now?

That part says, Why not?

So you tilt your head, smirking just a little. “Fine. But if you annoy me, I’m leaving.”

He grins. “Fair deal.”

[agiiiiiiiiiiiii]

Until Now

Hiii. Let me know if you would like part 2.

nico hischier x reader

Theme: fluff, friends to lovers

Words: 3565

—————————————————————————

Walking into the Prudential Center as an official part of the New Jersey Devils’ staff feels surreal. You’ve been in locker rooms before, worked with athletes at the highest level, but there’s something different about this. Maybe it's because the team is new to you or perhaps it's because one particular player isn't.

Nico Hischier.

He doesn’t know you’ve been hired yet. The team only found out a few days ago that they were getting a new physio, and with their game schedule, there wasn’t much time for introductions. You were hired based on your experience, and despite your history working in high-performance hockey, you can’t shake the nerves buzzing in your stomach.

“Hey, you must be the new physio,” one of the trainers greets you as you step into the medical room, offering you a warm smile. “I’m Mike. Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks,” you say, shaking his hand. “Excited to get started.”

“Good,” Mike grins. “You’ll fit right in. Most of the guys are good about their recovery, but you’ll quickly find that some of them think they’re invincible.”

You smirk, already knowing exactly who he’s talking about. “Let me guess—hockey players who refuse to admit when they’re hurt?”

Mike chuckles. “Exactly. You’ll see soon enough.”

Before long, the locker room begins to fill as players trickle in from the morning skate, each offering a greeting and a warm welcome to the team. You’re busy organizing some rehab protocols when you hear a familiar voice.

“Mike, do you have time to check my—”

Nico stops mid-sentence when he sees you.

You turn, trying not to smile too wide, but the look on his face is priceless. His eyebrows shoot up, mouth slightly open, like his brain is short-circuiting trying to process what’s happening.

Your story with Nico was never simple.

You met through mutual friends years ago, at some party where the music was too loud and the drinks were flowing, but somehow, the two of you had ended up in a corner talking like you’d known each other forever.

From the start, there was something there—something easy, something that made you gravitate toward him without even meaning to. And from what you had heard from his friends, that feeling wasn’t one-sided. Nico fancied you. A lot.

And you couldn’t say you weren’t interested.

But something was always in the way.

One of you was always in a relationship or tied up in something that made timing impossible. There were stolen glances, lingering conversations, maybe even a fleeting moment where it almost happened—but it never did.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

So you remained in each other’s orbit, moving closer, then apart, again and again—like fate had a twisted sense of humor. You would see him at gatherings, catch up with ease, laugh at inside jokes like no time had passed.

But the years passed. Life happened. And eventually, you convinced yourself that maybe this was all it would ever be.

Until you got the offer to work for the Devils - an opportunity you couldn’t turn down.

You told yourself it wouldn’t change anything. That after so much time apart, you and Nico had both moved on, that whatever almost existed between you had faded into nothing more than a fond memory.

Being around him again would be fine. Easy. A reminder of the years before, when timing was never on your side but friendship had always been enough.

But now, standing here—seeing the way his eyes linger on you, the way his expression flickers between surprise and something deeper. You can’t help but wonder if this was ever going to be as simple as you tried to convince yourself it would be.

“You’re—” He blinks. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Nico,” you say, teasing.

He runs a hand through his hair, still looking completely thrown. “Wait. You—are you working here?”

You nod, trying to suppress a laugh. “Just started today.”

Before Nico can respond, Jack walks in, glancing between the two of you. “Oh, you two know each other?,” he says, grinning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Cap.”

Nico finally snaps out of it, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “No one told me about this.”

Mike chuckles from the side. “Surprise.”

Nico glances at you again, and you can see the way his mind is racing. You've always meant something to him—unacknowledged, lingering, yet constant. And now? Now you’re part of his world in a way he never saw coming.

Jack slaps a hand on Nico’s shoulder. “Man, this is gonna be so fun to watch.”

You laugh, meeting Nico’s eyes. “Looks like you’re stuck with me now, Captain.”

Nico exhales, shaking his head with a half-smile.

————

Over the next few months, you and Nico fall into an easy rhythm as always—friendly banter finds its way back into your dynamic. You joke with him during treatments, roll your eyes when he insists he doesn’t need rest days, and sometimes, you catch him watching you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

But you don’t let it go beyond that.

Because you have a boyfriend—a fact you hadn’t told Nico about. Yet.

In his mind, everything had been falling into place. Nico feels like, for the first time, the stars have finally aligned.

For years, it was always something—bad timing, distance, relationships that never left space for anything more. But now, with you here in a part of his world that feels permanent, he can’t help but think that maybe this is it. Maybe this is the chance he’s been waiting for.

But then, in the middle of an easy conversation, you mention something—someone—and the ground shifts beneath him.

A boyfriend.

You don’t say it like a confession, don’t drop it like a bomb. It’s casual, slipped into conversation like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t change everything.

But it does.

Because all this time, Nico thought the universe was finally on his side. Turns out, it was just playing another cruel trick on him.

After hearing you mention your boyfriend, Nico takes a moment, his face betraying nothing but the quiet storm raging inside. He forces a small, tight smile, but there’s a flicker of something else—disappointment, maybe even a little hurt—behind his eyes.

“You have a boyfriend,” he repeats softly, like he’s trying to process the words in a way that makes sense.

You nod, watching his reaction closely, but you can’t read him. “Yeah, we've been together for a while now.”

Nico looks away briefly, running a hand through his hair, then meets your gaze again. “I… didn’t know.” He lets out a small, almost inaudible laugh, shaking his head. “I guess I should’ve figured it out. I don’t know why I thought…” He trails off, eyes downcast for a second, as if weighing his words carefully.

It’s clear he’s trying to mask whatever else is there, but you can still feel the weight of what he’s not saying. He might not want to admit it, but the truth is, hearing you’re with someone else stings in a way he didn’t expect.

There’s a stretch of silence, thick with something unsaid. Finally, Nico clears his throat. “Is he… good to you?”

You pause for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. He is.”

It’s not a lie. Not really. Your relationship isn’t bad—it’s just… not great, either.

But Nico doesn’t push. He just hums in acknowledgment, his jaw tight, and you pretend not to notice the way his entire demeanor shifts after that.

————

From then on, things are a little different.

Nico is still friendly, still professional, but the lingering tension that had started to build between you evaporates. He keeps a little more distance, doesn’t hold your gaze as long, doesn’t joke with you the way he used to.

And you tell yourself that’s a good thing.

And because, deep down, you know that if Nico really wanted to, he could ruin every single feeling you’ve been trying to suppress.

————

A few months after that conversation, things only get worse. The constant fighting with your boyfriend has taken its toll, and you’re at a breaking point, feeling like you need to confide in someone before you completely lose it.

It happens late one evening after a long road trip. The team had just gotten back, exhausted but relieved to be home. Most of the guys had gone their separate ways—some heading straight to their beds, others to grab a late-night meal—but you and Nico somehow ended up in the training room.

He had come in for a quick post-trip stretch, and you had stayed behind to finish organizing some rehab plans. It was quiet, the hum of the therapy machines the only background noise, and for the first time in a while, it felt like there was space to talk.

You didn’t even mean to say it.

But as you stood there, watching him work through a shoulder stretch, the words just… slipped out.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Nico looked up, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of the clipboard in your hands. “My relationship…,” you say, your voice soft but firm, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “It’s not what it used to be, and I don’t even know how it got here. We’ve been drifting, and I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I can’t anymore.”

Nico’s expression softens, and for a brief moment, you see the hesitation in his eyes, as though he’s unsure whether he should say anything at all. But after a beat, he steps closer, his voice gentle.

“You deserve someone who makes you feel good, who makes you feel happy,” he says, his words full of sincerity. “I don’t want you to stay in something that’s not right for you.”

You nod, fighting the urge to explain more, to justify yourself. “I don’t know what’s been happening. It’s just… been falling apart, and I don’t know what to do about it.” You look at him, your voice cracking a little. “It’s been hard to admit, even to myself.”

Nico falls silent for a moment, letting your words sink in. He wants to reach out, to comfort you, but hesitates, unsure if it’s his place. Instead, he meets your gaze with quiet understanding, his expression softer than it has been in a long time.

Nico stays quiet for a moment, taking in what you’ve said. He wants to reach out, to comfort you, but he doesn’t want to overstep. Instead, he looks at you with that quiet understanding, his expression softer than it’s been in a while. “Since when?”

You sighed, setting the clipboard down. “I don’t know. A while, I guess. It’s just been feeling… off. Rocky.” You let out a humorless laugh. “Guess it happens.”

Nico was quiet for a moment, studying you. And even though he didn’t say it, you could feel the way he was carefully measuring his reaction. Because deep down, you knew he wanted to hear this. You knew that part of him still hoped. But more than anything, you knew Nico—and he was never the kind of person who would want to see you unhappy.

Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Are you?”

His lips quirked slightly, but there was no real amusement in his expression. “I mean, yeah. I don’t want you feeling like that.”

The way he said it—so simple, so genuine—made your chest ache.

You nodded, glancing down. “Yeah. Me neither.”

A heavy silence hung between you, filled with words neither of you were brave enough to say.

After a moment, Nico reached for his water bottle, his voice softer this time. “Do you think it’s fixable?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

And for the first time since this conversation started, you met his eyes again.

The moment stretched, charged and unspoken, before Nico finally gave a small nod.

“Well,” he said quietly, “for what it’s worth… I just want you to be happy.”

The sincerity in his voice almost broke you.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the moment you realized where your heart had been all along.

————

The tension in the Devils’ locker room is so thick you could probably cut it with a skate blade. Someone is shouting at someone else, their voices cutting through the room, but you keep your head down, focused on your work. You don’t feel like yourself anymore—you just go through the motions. Your mind is somewhere else. Or, more accurately, on someone else. Your boyfriend—if you can even still call him that—has been distant, arguments bubbling up over the smallest things, and at this point, you’re starting to wonder if you’re just holding onto something that’s already broken.

And Nico knows.

He hasn’t said anything outright, but you can feel it in the way he watches you. The way his eyes linger a little too long when he thinks you don’t notice. The way his jaw clenches whenever he overhears you on the phone, your voice tight with frustration. The way he always asks if you’re okay—like he already knows the answer but wants you to say it out loud.

Today, it’s no different.

You’re finishing up with one of the guys when Nico walks in, fresh from the ice, his hair damp and his jersey clinging slightly to his frame. He offers a polite nod to the other player but doesn’t take his eyes off you as he makes his way over.

“Everything okay?” he asks, leaning against the treatment table as the other player exits.

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face before looking up at him. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He hums, not buying it. He never does. “Tired from work, or tired from… other things?”

You give him a pointed look. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

His jaw tightens slightly, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table. “Did something happen?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “Just the same old fight. Different day.”

Nico is quiet for a moment, his gaze searching yours like he’s debating whether to say what’s really on his mind. Finally, he speaks—carefully, like he’s choosing his words with precision.

“You deserve to be happy,” he says, his voice quieter than before. “Really happy.”

Your breath catches, because there’s something in the way he says it—something unspoken but so incredibly obvious.

Your stomach twists, and not in a bad way. Because you both know what he’s really saying. You both know what’s been lingering between you for months now. And you both know he’s too good to ever cross a line.

But damn, do you wish the line didn’t exist.

“Nico—”

“I know,” he cuts in, shaking his head as if he already knows what you’re going to say. “I know. It’s not my place.” He pushes off the table, raking a hand through his hair. “I just— I hate seeing you like this.”

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into your palms. “I know.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. It’s just you, standing there, your heart pounding, his eyes dark with something he won’t act on.

Not yet.

————

The breakup was inevitable. You knew it, your ex knew it. It wasn’t dramatic. No big fights, no yelling for once—just a quiet conversation that ended with both of you knowing it was over. It was overdue, really. And for the first time in a long time, you felt free.

You didn’t tell anyone right away, though. Not because you were hiding it, but because you needed time to process it on your own. And maybe, deep down, you knew there was one person whose reaction mattered more than anyone else’s.

Nico.

Which is why, when you end up out with the guys weeks later at , he’s still acting the same way he always does—watching you from across the bar with that same careful restraint, never letting himself get too close.

You’ve had enough of it.

That’s how you end up outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you lean against the brick wall, your heart pounding. You’re not second-guessing this. Not tonight.

And Nico follows. Of course he does.

The door swings shut behind him, muffling the music, and he stops just a few feet away. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, his voice low, cautious.

You don’t answer. Instead, you take a step forward, closing the space between you, and before he can say anything else—before he can stop you—you kiss him.

He freezes.

For a second, he doesn’t move at all, like his brain is still catching up to what’s happening. You’re kissing him—something he’s only ever imagined in his dreams, but now, it’s actually happening. The warmth of your lips, the closeness he’s always wanted, is real. Every part of him is aware that this moment, this thing he thought would never come, is finally here.

But then, just as you deepen the kiss, he pulls back, “What—,” he shakes his head, trying to process. “What are you doing?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Kissing you?”

His jaw clenches, and for the first time, you see something close to frustration in his expression. “You—” He exhales sharply.

“You have a boyfriend,” Nico says, his voice tight, like it physically pains him to say the words.

You blink up at him, your stomach twists, a mix of nerves and something dangerously close to excitement. Because you’re about to say something that changes everything.

“Nico,” you say softly, reaching for his hands where they’re still gripping your arms. “I don’t.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“We broke up.” You give his hands a small squeeze. “Few weeks ago.”

He stares at you, processing, his lips parting slightly like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. His grip on you loosens, his thumbs brushing absentmindedly over your skin.

“You…,” he trails off, his expression still bewildered. “You didn’t tell me.”

You swallow, searching his face. “I wanted to. I just—needed time. And I wasn’t sure if…” You hesitate, heart pounding. “If it would change anything.”

Nico exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his whole body still tense. “Are you serious?” His voice is quieter now, almost disbelieving. “It changes everything,” he pauses, “And you know it.”

Something inside you flips, hope bubbling to the surface. “Yeah?”

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, I’ve been losing my mind watching you, thinking I just had to live with it—” He cuts himself off, his hands coming back to your waist. “And now you’re telling me…”

“That I want you,” you finish for him.

His breath hitches, his fingers tightening on your hips.

“You don’t have to hold back anymore, Nico,” you whisper.

For a second, he still looks like he can’t believe it, like he’s waiting for someone to tell him this isn’t real.

But then, finally, he exhales, his shoulders relaxing, and his lips crash onto yours.

And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

Nico’s kiss is urgent, almost desperate, like he’s been holding back for too long. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, his body pressed against yours as if he can’t get close enough. You respond just as eagerly, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him even nearer, deepening the kiss.

For a moment, it’s like the world falls away—like it’s just the two of you standing there in the cool night air, the buzz of the club a distant hum in the background. His lips move with a kind of practiced hunger, but there’s a gentleness beneath it, as if he’s waiting for your signal, checking to make sure you’re still with him.

When you pull back, gasping for air, your chest rises and falls rapidly, and Nico’s forehead drops to yours, his breath uneven. “God,” he mutters, his hands still resting on your waist. “I can’t believe this is real.”

You chuckle, a soft sound, still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions flooding through you. “It’s real,” you whisper. “I’m right here.”

He takes a slow, deep breath, his hands gently cupping your face now, as if to make sure you’re not going anywhere. His eyes are dark, intense, but there’s a warmth in them now—something that feels different. Something that feels… right.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because this… this is more than just a kiss for me.”

You smile, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I’m sure.”

Nico’s expression softens, his smile slow and tender. He leans in again, pressing a light kiss to your lips, before pulling back just enough to look you in the eye.

“I’m not going to screw this up,” he says, determination in his voice. “I won’t.”

You rest your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. “You won’t,” you promise him. “I know you won’t.”

His eyes search yours, cautious but certain, like he’s trying to memorize this moment, just in case.

There were so many chances, so many times you could have fallen into this. Every moment before this was a chance left untouched.

Until now.

[glitchy-npc]

Jumpscare

Series: Fallen Hero Pairing:@dogueteeth-fhr Cerrisa "Beck" Becerra(they/them)/Tegan Wells (he/him) Tegan's POV. Warnings: none Word count: 1339

Los Diablos is almost pretty at night. It’s mostly the lights, the glow softening all the dirty, ugly aspects of the city that can’t hide in broad daylight. Not that the nights are innocent, far from it, but the distracting lights and the deeper shadows they create make it easier for the kind of work I do.  It’s messy, violent work but it's the only skill set I have, villainy isn’t that different from vigilantism at all. Or worse, what I did before. At least now I get to pick my targets.

I shift my weight to the other foot and flex my hands, the armored plates of my gauntlets gliding smoothly with the motion. The armor has practically become a second skin. How did I ever survive all those years ago, running around in a fucking skinsuit and jacket? 

Oh right, I didn’t.

Sidestep had to die so Retribution could be born, or some poetic shit like that. My mind always wanders when I’m stuck waiting.   

I’m waiting for Beck, or rather Heartbreak since we’re on a job. It's not that they’re late, I’m just early. I can chalk it up to post mission nerves, but really I just want to see them. 

I shift back to the other foot and cross my arms, trying to go over mission details but it’s hard to focus. I don’t even know what their armor looks like, this is the first time we’ve met for work. Every other time it had been hangouts that turned into drinks that turned into…ok I’m really distracted. Focus, idiot. 

I don’t have to wait much longer before I feel the growingly familiar brush of Beck's mind as they approach. 

“Good timing, I almost left without you.” I say without turning around. Their chuckle, muffled by their helmet, confirms what my telepathy already told me. It’s handy like that, always knowing who is behind you.

There are some blind spots though.

I turn to face them, we need to go over the plan one more time.

“So, we need to - JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.” The swear is torn from my throat almost before I have time to think it but my heart is racing somewhere around my eardrums.

Heartbreak spins around reflexively, their mind lighting up as they search for the potential threat. “What, what is it!?” 

“No, no, it's nothing, I just…” I try to return my heartbeat to normal and to think of anything that isn’t the truth.

Heartbreak’s armor is terrifying. 

They turn back towards me and staring at that helmet isn’t any better than the first time. They place a hand on their hip and tilt their head to the side, the gesture a twisted combination of sass and nightmare fuel.

“Something wrong?” Their question is light but the vocal distorters are not doing me any favors. 

“No just…nice design choice.” It's anything but nice but what do I know? 

“Don’t tell me you got scared?” Their tone is teasing.

“No.” I lie. “But you could have warned me.” I should be getting used to it by now but it's still so disconnected with how I usually see Beck – warm brown skin and scar tissue and the smiles they try to hide from me while I pretend I’m not looking. It still feels like Beck, mentally, but how can I be sure? Maybe it's someone else, someone with super telepathy, making me feel like it's them when they’re not.

“I don’t have super telepathy.” They laugh, derailing my train of thought. Right, they still have the normal kind and I’m an idiot. “You know it's me Tegan.

“Do I?” I ask, closing the gap between us. “Maybe you should take off the helmet and show me?” And maybe I can regain a sliver of my dignity if I pretend to be smooth.

“Hm. You first.” Of course their response is a challenge but it's an easy one.

It takes only a second to find the connection panel of my armor's face plate and remove it. I've spent so much time tinkering with this armor I know every bit by heart and muscle memory. I blink a few times to adjust my vision.

“Ok, now do me.”

I can’t help the cough I try to pass off as a laugh, there’s no way they didn’t phrase it like that on purpose. Little shit. 

“You want me to take your helmet off?” 

“I mean, unless you don’t think you can figure it out…” Their voice trails off, another challenge and a harder one this time but there's no way I could back down from something like that.

“Oh I can figure it out, just give me a minute.” 

It's getting easier to look at the helmet this close, though the design is meant to intimidate and inspire fear it's still just plasteel, paint and carbon fiber. Those I can deal with. I try to keep my face straight as I glide my armored fingers over the jaw portion of the skull, despite the teeth it seems to be one solid piece, no seams that I can see but then again Dr. Mortums work is flawless. 

Heatbreak stands stock still as my fingers work their way over the hands and I swear they’re the worst fucking part, I don’t want to know why Beck chose them as part of the design. I could guess, but I don’t like that line of thought either. I tuck the faceplate of my own armor under my arm and with both my hands on either side of their helmet it feels intimate in a way that's hard to process, I just hope it doesn’t show on my face. Though I can’t see their eyes I know they must be looking at me. There's a vulnerability to it, my face bare, while theirs remains concealed. But its a small price to pay, not like the blow to my pride that will be if I can’t figure this fucking – oh. There's a small panel, tucked behind the hands and concealed by the hood. I press it, rewarded by the familiar hiss of depressurised oxygen. The top and jaw portion come away in my hands.

Beck's handsome face smirks back at me, cheeks flushed and green eyes glinting even in the semi darkness. 

“Told you I could figure it out, now what do I wi-”

Beck kisses me before I can finish. It's not the first time, not by a long shot but it’s still exciting. If I had my faceplate on the interface would show my elevated heart rate for the second time tonight. How many years did I spend thinking I could never have something like this? That anyone would want to kiss me, or enjoy it? And from Beck's little hum against my lips, I can tell they enjoy it. 

If my hands weren’t holding pieces of armor they’d be around them in a second but it's their weight that reminds me we're here for a reason.

“We…” I start, breaking the kiss and hating myself for it. “We do have a job to do.”

“True.” They sigh as I hand their helmet back to them. “Doesn't mean we can’t think about what to do when the job’s done.” They reaffix their helmet and suddenly it's not half as terrifying as I thought it was. 

“I have a few ideas.” The distorters drop my voice a few octaves as I reaffix the faceplate to my own helmet.

“Then let's get this done and you can tell me all about it.” They saunter past me and I’m forced to turn and follow them.  

“Count on it.” I never could let anyone else get the last word in. A bad habit, I know. As bad as daydreaming about “after” when I should focus on the mission. And I will, once the adrenaline kicks in I can focus on the fight and nothing else. But until then I just keep coming up with ideas that make me grateful my helmet hides my blush.

[comicbookgirl2]

My cringy re-write for Dr Sawyer storyline for Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I’m not saying I dislike chapter 4! I actually like it quite a lot! This is just what I would’ve done for the doctors side of things!

Dr Sawyer is still helping the prototype like he is in the original only this time he is secretly trying to undermine him as well. With the power of the Omni hand/chip He has a small faction of his own- but unlike either Poppy’s (sensible toys) or the prototype (toys that toe the line of insanity) his are completely feral, lacking any remnants of the humans they once were, save for the loyalty that he’d forcefully implanted into them before he’d been betrayed by Playtime co.

But this is where we diverge from cannon. You see a bit after the hour of joy - he catches wind of Poppy’s displeasure of the prototype, and being in the position he is - he can’t help but agree with her. So he makes a proposition with her- and using his database informs her of possible survivors. Perphaps one of them could give her the assistance they need and put an end to the prototypes reign of terror.

Of course she and the rest of safe haven wisely don’t trust him but what option do they have? So little by little poppy plans with the doctor but when she leaves to finally send the letter she’s intercepted by the prototype who surprise, surprise had been informed by Sawyer of the entire scheme. (Yeah he’s double crossing people lol)

The prototype locks Poppy up, and now Sawyer (wanting to buy himself some time via providing more proof of his ‘usefulness’) sends his minion bodies to descend upon the safe haven residents, capturing some and killing others.

It’s a huge blow to safe haven especially when coupled with the loss of Poppy. But for the doctor it’s a flawless victory as he reveals the plan to the prototype who allows the letter to be sent out to the player.

Cut to the time when our player is there, you still run into his minions like yarnaby and pianosaurus (who’s Sawyer’s guard dog in this world as well) and his henchmen (other computer bodies) attack safe haven as well.

but you also see that sawyer has been doing some experimentation of his own- gathering parts to build something. What you may ask?

Simple- he’s rebuilding a body for himself- one without meat that won’t rot and age.

His interactions with you are somewhat similiar- malevolent and cold (almost coming off more like a computer than human during the initial interactions) until he asks you to betray Poppy and join him. He tries to use his feral toys to make you see how frivolous it is to help them but ultimately you refuse.

So he puts you in the same room as the trapped critter giving you a choice between your life or its own. This time you can hear the critter talking- it even remembers you, and pleads with you to save it. This is one of the critters Sawyer took from the safe haven and broke to prove a point that all the toys are the same regardless of how ‘sane’ they appear to be, all the while the critter asks for help.

And this time. You do.

Both to the critter’s amazement and the doctor’s disgust you save it. The critter initially follows you for a bit before scampering off asthe boss battle proceeds as originally save for a different part where you battle Harley in his new body- this one is far stronger and more dangerous than the others and corners you about to deliver the killing blow when the critter you save from before reappears and saves you almost at the cost of its life. But it works and you defeat Harley.

I know, I know it sounds cringe but hear me out!

Harley has always looked down on things like altruism, and empathy. He yelled at Ludwig for it. So him being defeated by it would be ironic wouldn’t it? Almost bringing things to a full circle while making you once again think about Doey/Poppy’s conundrum! That maybe there is things- people in the factory that aren’t worth throwing away.

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Thirty Seven

Aylah’s POV:

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in Kayla’s bedroom, my fingers running down the sides of the black bodycon dress I was wearing. The fabric hugged my curves, a little more snug than I was used to, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—just… different. I never really wore dresses like this, especially when I had something to prove, something to run away from, but tonight felt different.

It wasn’t just the clothes; it was the way I was feeling—the thrill of freedom, the distraction of the music, the promise of forgetting everything that had been weighing on me.

The dress was simple but elegant, the black shade making my skin pop and the cut accentuating every inch of my body. I had chosen it because it felt like it would blend in yet make me feel powerful. Tonight, I was trying to channel something I didn’t know I had in me—a version of myself that didn’t care about responsibilities or the tangled mess in my chest.

I adjusted the straps, checking myself from every angle. My hair was loose, falling in soft waves over my shoulders, and I’d kept my makeup fresh, bold but not overdone. The red lipstick felt like a punch of confidence. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for—maybe reassurance that I looked good, or maybe that I could pull off something that made me feel confident for once.

Just as I turned to check the back, the door opened, and Kayla walked in, her heels clicking against the floor with each step. I looked at her in the mirror and immediately noticed we were dressed almost identically, both of us in bodycon dresses that hugged our figures in all the right places.

She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning me up and down, and then a slow grin spread across her face. "Damn, girl," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Look at you. You’re gonna turn heads tonight."

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, my nerves coming through. "You think so?" I asked, still not quite convinced.

Kayla stepped closer, her eyes never leaving mine as she ran her hands down the side of her own dress. She was wearing a deep emerald green dress, the colour flattering her tan skin and bringing out the brightness of her eyes. She was effortlessly beautiful in a way that made me feel like I still had a lot to figure out about myself.

"You’ve got it, AJ. Trust me," she said, her tone teasing but reassuring at the same time. She grabbed my arm lightly, making me face her. "You’ve always had it in you; it’s just about owning it."

I exhaled, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "I don’t know, Kayla. I just...feel like I’m pretending. Like I’m putting on a mask to forget everything I’ve been thinking about lately."

Kayla tilted her head, her expression softening. "Hey, no one said you have to have it all figured out. Just tonight, forget about the messy stuff. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself. You’re allowed to let go."

I let her words sink in, the idea of being able to breathe for a little while—just for one night—settling into me like a gentle weight. I’d been so caught up in everything lately, especially with how complicated things had been with Adam, how I couldn’t make sense of my feelings. But maybe this was the night to stop thinking. To just be.

I met her eyes in the mirror, and she gave me an encouraging smile, stepping back and spinning in front of me to adjust her own dress. "Plus, you're not the only one who’s been thinking about other things tonight," she teased, her grin widening as she raised an eyebrow. "We’re going to have fun, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing off me, even if just for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you’re right. Let’s just make it a night to remember... or forget."

Kayla winked at me. "Exactly. And trust me, you’ll forget all about him and all the stupid drama when we’re sipping cocktails at the club."

I glanced at my phone on the bed, the screen lighting up briefly with a text from Adam. I didn’t bother reading it. The last thing I needed was to get lost in the complexities of my emotions tonight. I had enough of that in the past few days.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my clutch and slipped on my heels, making my way toward the door. Kayla followed suit, the two of us walking side by side, a silent understanding passing between us.

"You ready?" she asked as we walked out of the room and into the hallway.

"Yeah," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "Let’s do this."

The moment we stepped through the club’s entrance, the noise hit us—blaring music, pounding bass, the heat of a crowd that felt alive, electric. The darkened interior of the club was awash in neon lights, the flickering colours casting sharp, vibrant shadows over the packed dance floor.

Strobes sliced through the dim atmosphere, creating jagged lines of light that danced along the faces of the partygoers. The air was thick with a mix of perfume, cologne, and the distinct scent of alcohol, a cocktail of excitement hanging in the air.

The music was thumping with deep house beats and electric synths, each sending vibrations through my chest, the rhythm pulling at the edges of my body as if coaxing me into the chaos. The floor was a blur of movement, people lost in the music, some dancing, others talking loudly, all illuminated by the vibrant colours that seemed to change with every beat. The atmosphere was wild and uninhibited, the kind of place where people could leave their worries at the door and become someone else for the night.

As Kayla and I walked in, heads turned almost instinctively. The club’s energy shifted slightly, as if everyone was taking note of our presence. I caught glimpses of eyes following us—some curious, some admiring, others appraising us as we made our way through the crowd. The rhythmic pulse of the music seemed to become louder, more pronounced, as I adjusted my posture and tried to exude the confidence Kayla had been encouraging me to embrace.

With each step we took, the crowd parted, like waves pushing us forward, until we reached the bar area, where Cyrus, Leah, and Serena were already waiting. The trio were seated in a corner booth, drinks in hand, all of them laughing, the bright neon light casting a playful glow on their faces.

The moment they spotted us, their expressions lit up. Serena was the first to stand, her eyes widening as she took in our outfits, her lips curling into a grin.

"Look at you, AJ!" Serena exclaimed, her voice carrying above the noise, her gaze scanning me from head to toe. "You look like you just walked off the runway!"

I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, feeling the tension I had carried throughout the day begin to melt away. "Thanks, Serena," I replied, adjusting my clutch and giving her a playful wink. "You’re looking gorgeous yourself, as always."

Leah followed suit, her eyes glimmering with approval. "Damn babe, you are on fire tonight," she added, her words teasing but genuine. She turned her gaze to Kayla, her smile widening as she took in her dress. "Kayla, you’re killing it too! That green is everything on you."

Kayla grinned, the compliment clearly lifting her spirits as she spun once in place, letting her emerald dress catch the light. "Thanks, babes," she said, reaching over to give Leah a playful bump. "I might have to steal some of that confidence from you tonight."

Cyrus, leaning back in the booth with his drink, grinned mischievously. His gaze flickered from me to Kayla, then back to me again, a knowing look in his eyes. "Well, damn," he drawled, his voice dripping with a mix of admiration and amusement. "You two have definitely raised the bar for the rest of us tonight. No wonder the whole club’s been staring."

I shot him a playful side-eye, rolling my eyes, though my lips tugged upward in a smile. "Don’t flatter us too much, Cyrus."

We each began to laugh, my anxiety easing almost instantly before Kayla grabbed my hand ushering me to follow her, “Come on. Let’s get on that floor before I start dancing without you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I hesitated for only a moment before I moved, the heels clicking sharply against the floor as I followed her lead. The moment I was on my feet, it was like the atmosphere shifted entirely. But now, with the lights casting bright flashes across our faces and the pulsing beats calling us, I felt the heat of the night settle around me like a second skin.

Kayla immediately moved forward, making her way toward the dance floor with an effortless sway in her step. The confidence she exuded was contagious, and I found myself smiling, following her toward the center of the chaos.

The space around us seemed to open up as we moved through the crowd, the sound of the music growing louder, the bass vibrating in my chest. The dance floor was packed, but there was a kind of energy here—an unspoken freedom that came with being surrounded by strangers, all of us lost in the rhythm.

When we finally reached an open space on the floor, Kayla started swaying her hips to the beat, her body moving with fluidity as if she had been waiting for this moment all night. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the rhythm seep deep into me, then opened them to see her already spinning around, the confidence in her movements undeniable.

I let go of any lingering self-doubt. There was no room for hesitation here, not in this moment. I started moving, too. My body followed the beat, my feet shifting across the floor with growing confidence as the music filled every inch of the room. I felt the heat of the crowd around me, the sweat on my skin, the adrenaline building with every passing second.

The world around me seemed to fade away, and for those moments, it was just the music, the lights, and the energy of everyone dancing together. My friends were with me, but it felt like we were all connected by something bigger, something that didn’t require words or explanations.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Leah and Serena had joined us, too, already getting into the groove, their movements carefree and natural. The energy was electric, and I couldn’t help but laugh as we all danced together, losing ourselves in the beat. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about Adam, or my mixed feelings, or any of the complicated mess that had been clouding my mind because of Jungkook. I was here, in the moment, with my friends, letting the music drown out everything else.

As the song shifted to a new track, I found myself feeling lighter, the worries slipping away. My body moved to the rhythm without second-guessing myself, and the freedom was intoxicating. Kayla caught my eye again, giving me an exaggerated wink as she twirled, her body twisting effortlessly to the rhythm. I laughed and twirled along with her, spinning with a sense of abandon I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The flashing lights, the laughter, the music—it was everything I needed, even if only for tonight. A distraction. A release.

I let the moment carry me away.

The music shifted again, this time into a faster beat, and the energy on the dance floor seemed to intensify. The crowd around me surged, and I was lost in the rhythm, my body moving to the pulse of the music with abandon. Kayla was beside me, laughing and twirling, and I felt a sense of freedom I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time. The air felt thick with excitement, the weight of the night lifting with every beat.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me—too close, too insistent. A guy had sidled up, his hand brushing against the small of my back as he tried to press his body closer to mine. I froze for a split second, my body tensing at the unwelcome contact.

I knew the signs—knew exactly what he was trying to do, and it was the last thing I wanted right now.

Without missing a beat, I twisted around sharply, stepping back to put some distance between us. My gaze shot up to meet his, irritation flashing in my eyes. "I’m not interested," I said firmly, the words sharp, cutting through the music that was still pounding around us.

The guy, clearly a little taken aback by my response, hesitated for a moment before he gave me a sleazy grin. "Come on, babe," he said, his voice slurring just enough to make me cringe. "You’re too pretty to turn down."

I took another step back, my hand raised as if to ward him off. "I said, not interested, back off before I make you regret it," I spoke, my tone unwavering. I wasn’t about to let some random guy ruin my night. 

The moment I spoke the guy’s smirk faltered, and his eyes flickered with annoyance. But before he could say anything else, I saw a familiar figure approaching from behind—Cyrus, Leah, Kayla, and Serena. They were making their way over, their expressions shifting from casual to serious when they saw the tension in the air.

"Is there a problem?" Cyrus asked, his voice low and commanding, stepping up beside me with Leah and Serena right behind him, all of them looking directly at the guy. Kayla stood beside him, ready for whatever might come next.

The guy looked at Cyrus for a moment, sizing him up, then his lips twisted into a sneer. "Fuck off," he spat, clearly trying to intimidate him.

Leah’s eyes narrowed. "I know you didn’t just tell my best friend to fuck off," she snapped, her tone venomous, and I could see the fire in her eyes. She wasn’t about to let him get away with that.

The guy just smirked, not backing down. "Shut up, bitch," he shot back, his voice laced with anger.

I felt the heat rising in me, but before I could respond Kayla was already stepping forward, her hands clenched into fists. "That’s it," she said, her voice firm. And before anyone could stop her, she lunged at him.

In the blink of an eye, she tackled him to the ground, pinning him with surprising force. "You don’t talk to my friends like that!" she yelled, landing a hit to his shoulder. The others joined in, rushing forward to help hold him down as he struggled beneath them.

I couldn’t believe it. My mind was still reeling from what had just happened, but now, my friends were really going for it. They were hitting him all over, pushing him down further as the guy flailed, shouting curses.

"Guys, stop! We’re going to get kicked out!" I tried to shout, my voice rising above the chaos, but it was hard to get their attention amidst the loud struggle.

Leah grabbed the guy by the collar and pulled him up just enough to lock him in a chokehold, her muscles tense with the effort. "That’s what you get for fucking with us," she spat in his ear, her voice deadly calm despite the intensity of the situation.

Serena, meanwhile, had pulled out her phone and was recording the entire scene, laughing like she was watching a movie. "This is going viral," she said between giggles, holding the camera just above the guy’s flailing head. The whole thing was almost surreal, but it didn’t seem to stop any of them.

Suddenly, the club’s security appeared, two towering figures marching toward the scene, their eyes scanning the chaos before they moved in to break it up. One of the guards reached down, pulling Leah off the guy, while the other held back Kayla, who was still itching to land another hit.

The large, imposing figure of one of the guards grabbed the guy and began dragging him outside, his hand gripping the man by the collar like he was nothing more than a ragdoll. He barely had time to process what was happening before he was roughly escorted away.

Once the guy was out of the way, the other bouncer turned to us, his face still stern but less angry now that the situation had calmed. "What happened here?" he asked, looking at us for an explanation.

I could feel my heart still racing, but I quickly spoke up, trying to keep my voice steady. "He tried to touch me and I rejected him," I said, the words coming out sharper than I expected. "But he wasn’t getting the message and then got aggressive."

The bouncer’s face darkened with anger. "I’m sorry about that," he said quickly. "We’ll make sure this guy is dealt with. He won’t be allowed back here again." He seemed genuinely apologetic, giving us a nod of reassurance.

Leah, always the one to add a bit of flair to everything, laughed, elbowing Cyrus and Kayla as the bouncer turned away to deal with the guy. "We definitely gave him a lesson in respect," she said with a grin.

Kayla joined in, shaking her head. "Badass is an understatement," she said, her voice playful but full of pride. 

Serena, who had been holding her phone the whole time, flashed it at us. "I am definitely posting this," she said, giggling. "What a scene."

"Totally," Kayla added, throwing an arm around Leah's shoulders. "We make one hell of a team."

Cyrus smirked, shaking his head. "Now I don’t know about you guys, but I think it’s time to get drunkkkkk!"

That was all the encouragement we needed to let the night take us wherever it wanted, to throw ourselves headfirst into the chaos without hesitation. The bar gleamed under the neon lights, shots lined up like soldiers waiting to be taken, their amber and jewel-toned hues reflecting the pulsing glow of the club.

Without a second thought, we grabbed them, our hands brushing as we lifted the glasses in an uncoordinated but enthusiastic toast, the crystal-clear clink barely audible over the pounding music. The liquor hit hard, burning its way down our throats, but instead of slowing us down, it only seemed to ignite something reckless in our blood, something untouchable and wild.

The games started innocently enough, a round of Never Have I Ever that quickly unravelled into Truth or Dare, and before long, we weren’t even keeping track of the rules anymore, downing shots for reasons that no longer made sense but felt completely necessary in the moment.

Kayla, her eyes glassy with amusement and mischief, turned to me with a smirk, barely steadying herself as she pointed in my direction. “You,” she declared, pausing for dramatic effect as if she were about to deliver the most important decree of the night, “are getting on that table. Right now.”

There wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to refuse. The second I climbed onto the wobbly wooden surface, the entire room seemed to pulse with me, the bass of the music thrumming through my bones, my heartbeat syncing to the deep, vibrating rhythm as I threw my arms up and let myself move without thought, without hesitation, without care.

The world tilted, but whether it was from the drinks or the sheer euphoria of the moment, I couldn’t tell, nor did I want to. Below me, Cyrus whooped, his drink splashing over his fingers as he lifted it in celebration, while Kayla cackled, phone in hand, capturing every second as she screamed, "ICONIC!" at the top of her lungs.

Time became something fluid, impossible to track, slipping away into a blur of flashing lights, tangled limbs, and breathless, full-bodied laughter that made my ribs ache. We danced until our legs could barely hold us up, drank until the floor beneath us felt more like the deck of a rocking ship than solid ground, and clung to each other as we navigated through the intoxicating, exhilarating chaos of it all.

At some point, walking in a straight line became laughably impossible, but none of us cared, our bodies colliding as we stumbled together toward the exit, barely able to stand yet unwilling to let the night end just yet.

By the time we spilled onto the street, the cool air wrapping around our flushed skin in a welcome contrast to the heat of the club, Kayla and I were holding onto each other for dear life, our laughter bubbling over as if we had discovered some great cosmic joke. And then, without warning, with the kind of certainty that only comes from being perfectly drunk and perfectly happy, we started singing—no, screaming—the words to Judas by Lady Gaga, our voices loud, unfiltered, and completely off-key.

"I'll bring him down, bring him down, down…"

We didn’t care who was watching, didn’t care that the lyrics came out slurred and slightly out of sync, didn’t care that we were stumbling over our own feet as we twirled dramatically beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

"I'm just a Holy Fool, oh, baby, it's so cruel."

Kayla nearly collapsed from laughing, gripping my arm so tightly I almost went down with her, and for a moment, I thought my lungs might give out from how hard I was laughing too. The city stretched out in front of us, glittering with possibility, the night still thick with electricity, and in that perfect, delirious moment, we were invincible, untouchable, weightless, and completely, overwhelmingly alive.

I slurred to Kayla, "Uhhh, we need to go homeeeeeee."

Kayla pouted theatrically, her lower lip jutting out as she clung to my arms like a lifeline, her body swaying slightly with the lingering dizziness of too many drinks. “Nooo, I wanna drink more!” she whined, her words stretching out in a sing-song tone before she suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. Without waiting for my response, she spun on her heel and skipped—literally skipped—back inside, disappearing into the neon-lit chaos of the bar, leaving me outside. The night air was cool against my flushed skin as I stood there, swaying on my heels, laughing softly to myself for no reason at all.

The world tilted slightly, my vision blurring at the edges, but I barely noticed too busy continuing my dramatic off-key rendition of Judas. My limbs felt light, my thoughts even lighter, and for a moment I let my body move with the unsteady rhythm of my own amusement. But when I spun around, a little too fast for my alcohol-clouded coordination, I collided directly into something—no, someone.

A startled yelp escaped me as I stumbled backward, but before I could topple over completely strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me with a firm but careful hold. My head snapped up, my hazy vision adjusting as I blinked rapidly trying to focus on the person in front of me. My brain struggled to piece together features, but nothing was clicking, and instead of making an effort to figure it out I just grinned—big and goofy.

“Sorrrrryyy, mister!” I slurred, the words tumbling out in a bubbly mess accompanied by a breathless giggle.

The person’s hands remained steady on my arms, his grip grounding me just enough to keep me from toppling over completely. “Aylah?” he asked, his voice laced with something suspiciously close to concern. “Shit, are you okay?”

I squinted, tilting my head, my brain working overtime to connect the voice to a face, to a memory, to literally anything, but my alcohol-soaked mind had other plans. My lips parted in an exaggerated gasp of realization and I pointed dramatically at his chest.

“You’re not Aylah. I’m Aylah!” I declared, as if this was the most profound revelation in the world. And then, for absolutely no reason at all, I collapsed into laughter, my entire body shaking as the giggles took over, unstoppable and delirious.

The guy—whoever he was—did not look as entertained as I was. His expression shifted, brows knitting together as his grip on my arms adjusted slightly, as if debating whether or not I was about to completely collapse. “Are you drunk?” he asked, his tone hovering somewhere between amused and genuinely concerned.

I threw my arms out as wide as they would go, nearly losing my balance in the process but catching myself at the last second, wobbling like a cartoon character trying to stay upright. “Noooooooo!” I drawled, the word stretching out dramatically, full of false conviction and pure drunken energy.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and I could practically see the skepticism radiating from him. My grin only widened.

He let out a heavy sigh, the kind that sounded equal parts exhausted and resigned, rubbing a hand over his face before fixing me with a look that made it clear he had already made up his mind. “I need to get you home,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But, of course, I wasn’t about to let that slide. “Noooo, I wanna drink more!” I whined dramatically, swaying on my feet, my body teetering forward before I caught myself on his arm, giggling as if gravity itself was a joke.

“No, you’re wasted,” he said firmly, his hands gripping my shoulders to steady me.

I opened my mouth to argue, fully prepared to launch into some kind of passionate, slurred defense, but before I could get a single word out, he bent down and, without warning, hoisted me effortlessly over his shoulder.

For a second, my brain short-circuited.

And then—

“WEEEEEEEEEEE!” I squealed, kicking my legs playfully like a child on a carnival ride, my arms flailing dramatically as if I were soaring through the air instead of being kidnapped against my will. “I’m flyingggg!”

“Stop swinging your arms,” he grunted, gripping me tighter to keep me from completely flopping off his back. “You’re going to be sick.”

I gasped, appalled at the mere suggestion that I wasn’t in full control of my body. “Nooooo, I would never!” I protested, but the words came out more like a giggle than an actual defense.

To prove my totally sober and responsible state, I patted his back reassuringly. Well—okay, maybe it was more like a slap. A loud, resounding smack echoed through the night air.

“Wow,” I mused, letting my fingers linger as if I had just made the most ground-breaking discovery of the century. “You have a really nice ass, mister.”

His entire body tensed, and I swore I heard him physically groan in frustration. “Aylah,” he warned, voice strained, “behave.”

But instead of taking him seriously, I just burst into laughter, completely unbothered, resting my chin against his back like a smug little gremlin as he carried me toward his car.

Once we got there, he set me down carefully—probably out of fear that I’d just collapse like a ragdoll—and with practiced efficiency, he guided me into the passenger seat, reaching over to buckle me in like I was an overgrown toddler. I wiggled slightly, making the process as difficult as humanly possible, but he just sighed again, clicking the seatbelt into place before shutting the door with a firm thud.

Through the windshield, I watched as he leaned against the car, exhaling deeply as he pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen before he pressed it to his ear.

“Are your friends still inside?” he asked, glancing at me.

I nodded lazily, my head lolling to the side. “Mmmhmm.”

He clicked his tongue, clearly debating something in his head before grabbing his phone and speaking into it. “I need you to pick up some people up from Club Elysium,”

The person on the other end didn’t even hesitate before responding. “Jesus. What happened?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he could already feel a headache forming. “Aylah’s wasted. And not just ‘needs a glass of water’ wasted—fully gone. She tried to argue with me about her own name, called me ‘mister,’ and then—” He paused, exhaling sharply. “Then she smacked my ass.”

There was silence on the other end before a choked laugh broke through. “She what?”

As he talked, I just sat there, humming to myself, watching him through half-lidded eyes and thinking that, despite everything, he really did have a very nice ass.

After ending the call, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned to face me, his expression hovering somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement. “Alright,” he said, voice steady but firm. “Do you have your house keys with you?”

I blinked up at him, my alcohol-soaked brain struggling to process the question. My brows furrowed in deep concentration as if the answer was buried somewhere in the depths of my mind, just out of reach. Then, suddenly, a brilliant idea struck me, and I gasped dramatically, throwing my arms out wide.

“I live in the skyyyyyyyy!” I declared, dragging out the word as I tilted my head back to gaze at the night sky above, my body swaying slightly in my seat. The stars looked so pretty. So shiny. Maybe I did live up there. Who was he to say I didn’t?

He let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing a hand down his face, but I caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying to fight back a smile and failing.

“Aylah,” he started, his voice laced with patience he probably didn’t have. “You do not live in the sky.”

I gasped again, clutching my chest in mock offense. “How dare you?” I slurred. “I’ll have you know, the clouds and I are very close. I’m practically their queen.”

His head dipped forward for a second, as if he needed a moment to gather the willpower to deal with me. Then, after a deep breath he straightened, his expression resigned. “Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m taking you to my place.”

I perked up at that, my grin stretching from ear to ear. “Ooooh, didn’t realise you had a crush on me.” I teased, wiggling my eyebrows. 

He groaned, reaching across to buckle me in again when I immediately started wiggling out of my seatbelt. “For the love of God, just sit still.”

I giggled, leaning my head back against the seat. “Your place better have snacks,” I mumbled, already half-asleep.

He sighed again, this time heavier, but as he drove off, I swore I heard him chuckle under his breath.

Jungkook’s POV:

As I drove through the quiet city streets, my gaze flickered to her every so often, a fond smirk tugging at my lips. She was an absolute mess—her makeup slightly smudged, her dress slightly wrinkled, and her hair a tousled halo around her face—but somehow, she still managed to look adorable. Her head kept lolling to the side, her eyelids fluttering as if she was fighting sleep, but the slow, even rhythm of her breathing told me she was already losing the battle.

The soft hum of the engine and the distant glow of streetlights cast a sleepy haze over the car. When I got stuck at a red light, I turned slightly, only to find that she had finally given in, completely knocked out. Her head had slumped forward at an awkward angle, her cheek pressed against her own shoulder, her lips slightly parted.

I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head with amusement before reaching over, careful not to wake her, and gently tilting her head so she rested more comfortably against the door. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, barely more than a breath, and she murmured something incoherent in her sleep, shifting slightly but never fully waking.

Noticing the way her bare legs curled slightly from the cool air, I grabbed my jacket from the backseat and draped it over her lap. She barely stirred, only nestling deeper into the seat, her fingers twitching slightly against the fabric of her dress.

Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the parking garage of my hotel, the soft beeping of the car shutting off breaking the silence. I glanced over at her again, still completely passed out, her body limp and weightless in sleep. With a quiet sigh, I stepped out, rounding the car to open her door. The moment I unbuckled her seatbelt, she shifted slightly, her brows furrowing for a brief second before relaxing again.

Carefully, I slipped my arms beneath her, lifting her into my chest with ease. She was warm and soft against me, her breath fanning lightly against my collarbone as she instinctively nestled closer, her fingers weakly gripping the fabric of my shirt.

The elevator ride up felt longer than usual, the soft hum of the music filling the quiet space. Every few seconds, she’d mumble something unintelligible, shifting slightly but never waking, completely lost in whatever dream world she had stumbled into.

Finally, I reached my suite, nudging the door open with my foot before stepping inside. The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow from the bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the space. Carefully, I laid her down on the bed, adjusting her so she wouldn’t wake up sore in the morning. She barely reacted, just curling onto her side with a small sigh.

With a smirk, I crouched down, gently sliding off her heels one by one so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Her toes flexed slightly at the sudden freedom, but otherwise, she didn’t stir.

After grabbing a pack of makeup wipes from the bathroom, I returned to the bedside, lowering myself gently onto the mattress beside her. She was still lost in sleep, her features soft, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in slow, even rhythms. The dim lighting of the room cast gentle shadows over her face, highlighting the remnants of the night—smudged eyeliner beneath her lashes, traces of lipstick fading from her lips, a faint flush on her cheeks.

I peeled open a wipe and, with careful hands, began to clean the streaks of mascara and eyeliner clinging to her skin. The cool sensation made her shift slightly, a quiet whimper of protest escaping her lips as she scrunched her nose and turned her face away.

I chuckled under my breath, running a soothing hand through her hair. “Just a little bit more, baby,” I murmured, brushing my thumb over her temple. “Then you can sleep.”

As if my voice alone was enough to ease her, she stilled beneath my touch, her body relaxing, her breathing deepening once again.

I worked quickly, wiping away the last traces of makeup before tossing the used wipes into the bin. Once finished, I pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it snugly around her shoulders to keep her warm. Just in case, I grabbed the small waste bin from the corner of the room and placed it beside the bed, knowing how the aftermath of a night like this could be unforgiving. I also set a bottle of water and some painkillers on the nightstand, within reach for when she woke up.

Satisfied that she was comfortable, I pushed myself up, ready to leave her to rest—

But before I could take a step, her fingers curled weakly around my wrist.

“Don’t leave,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with the soft vulnerability of sleep.

I froze, feeling something tighten in my chest, something warm and unfamiliar.

She was still mostly unconscious, her grip loose and drowsy, but the way she reached for me, the way she clung as if my presence alone made her feel safe, sent a quiet ache through me.

A small smile tugged at my lips.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured her gently, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face. “I’m right here, baby.”

At my words, a faint, contented smile ghosted over her lips, and though her fingers relaxed, she didn’t fully let go.

I stayed for a few moments longer, just watching her, making sure she was truly settled before carefully slipping her arm back under the blanket. She barely stirred, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. With a quiet sigh, I stood and made my way to the couch, grabbing a spare blanket from the wardrobe. The plush cushions weren’t nearly as comfortable as the bed, but I didn’t mind.

Lying down, I draped the blanket over myself, folding my arms behind my head as I let my gaze drift back to her sleeping form. My body begged for rest, but still, I stayed awake just in case she stirred. Just in case, in the quiet vulnerability of sleep, she reached for me again—and if she did, I’d be right here.

[softieekayy]

Time cast a spell

Marc Spector x reader x Steven Grant

Word Count: 1984

From the beginning of time souls that were meant to be each other always found one another. In each and every lifetime. Now wasn’t much different either, apart from the fact that they may not have been born in the same decade. The gods laughed at their obliviousness.

The older man, Marc Spector, a unique one he was. 3 men living in one body, a vigilante. Always a villain and violent. His fated one, a much younger woman and a breath of fresh air. Osiris swore to the other gods that she must’ve been a descendant of his, life followed wherever she stood. She was innocence in its purest form. Khonshu observed her from a distance, a part of him wanting to pluck her right out of his avatar’s life, allowing him to lead the life he lives. But he couldn’t, there was something so alluring about a woman who worshipped him every night the moon was full. A funny thing really, his avatar’s other half was a follower of his and oftentimes she pleased him greatly.

Marc met her by accident the first time. It wasn’t much, a bumped shoulder and a grumbled apology but the smell of her fruity perfume stuck around, it was like the scent had wrapped itself into the clothes he wore. He didn’t know what she looked like but she was in his dreams every single night. Steven had grown curious of her, he asked Marc who she was and if she was a special lady friend of his. The latter just snarked at him and Steven listened, clearly finding out that another woman so soon after Layla was a soft spot.

Steven met her the second time. However this time she was distressed, her eyes a little swollen and mascara smudged under her eyes as she chased her furry little feline down the street. Luckily the bastard stopped at his feet, rubbing his black fur all up against Steven’s legs.

“Oh Jazzy, there you are!” She exclaimed, coming to a quick halt as the fat coal coloured cat slowly made his way towards his owner's arms. She picked him up eagerly, the cat snuggling into her chest as if he’d been looking for her. She hadn’t even noticed Steven and Steven was too awkward to say anything.

“Will you speak or just stare at her like a creep?” Marc asked from the reflective surface of the pole. Steven just stuttered but before he could say anything the goddess in front of him did.

“Oh thank you so much for stopping this little fat bastard!” The woman exclaimed, her eyes looking animated as she thanked Steven.

“Oh uh, no need to thank me really, he ran into me” Steven awkwardly smiled, his hand fiddling with the shoulder bag he wore.

“Well Jazzy here doesn’t really just rub up against everyone so you must be special.” She joked, holding the cat in her arms like a baby. Steven just nodded, unable to say anything.

“I’m Y/n by the way.” She tells him, extending her hand for a handshake and Steven, in return, repeats his name to her and she smiles.

“Well I think I must let you head home before I talk your ear off in the alley way. You looked like you were in a rush.” The younger woman spoke gently, her eyes diverting to the cat, keeping a close eye on him. Steven nodded, too stunned to say much else and could only wave goodbye as she turned and left. This time the perfume lingering onto Steven’s clothes.

“Mate I think I might never wash these again” Steven tells Marc, a lovesick expression clouded his eyes.

“Yeah well, that’s not such a good idea, I don’t think we’ll be seeing her again” Marc sneered, certainty coating his words. At that Steven snapped back into reality, Marc’s harsh words sinking in as he continued home.

Jasper’s rough meow woke her up from her peaceful slumber, the old cat deciding to put all of his weight onto her chest, waking her up.

“Jazzy, I love you, I really do but you weigh 12 pounds and I can’t breathe.” She deadpanned. Staring at the cat as if he understood her and maybe he did because he got off her chest and slunk into the spot beside her, cleaning himself. She stared at him for a second, lips twitching up into a smile before she made her way out of bed.

The day to her was unknown. She knew she had errands to run but nothing that would take her more than two hours. Maybe she could drop by the museum, she hadn’t seen it yet despite living in London for 3 years now. She hummed to herself in agreement to the plans, grabbing her clothes and hopping into the shower. Unbeknownst to her, a god eyed her every movement.

Steven wouldn’t say that today was great. Marc had the body the night before and now he was tired and barely conscious. Donna hadn’t been the greatest either, nagging him for his clothes this time around and all Steven could do was give her a look. Jake laughed at him when he saw the state his buddy was in and the latter could only glare at him.

(Y/n) made her way up the stairs of the museum, admiring the poster of the Ennead before she noticed its inaccuracies. The weather was bearable today, not too chilly but just warm enough. She made her way up the steps, walking through each and every exhibition until she reached her favourite, Egypt. There was something about the ancient civilization that called her in, it lured her like a moth drawn to a flame. She stood there for a couple seconds, not quite aware of what would be waiting for her.

Khonshu watched her, his eyes following the young woman like a hawk. He made sure he hid his presence, not wanting her to even sense him in the slightest.

“I wonder how much longer you can hide it from her.” Hathor’s voice purred in the moon god’s ears as she came to stand next to him. Khonshu didn’t turn his gaze away from the woman who was now engrossed in some sarcophagus.

“What is it you want, Hathor? Do you not have your own avatar to attend to.” Khonshu sneered and the goddess chuckled lightly, watching (Y/n) as well now.

“My avatar is doing just fine. She’s thriving,” she said, “yours however, their life might just get turned upside down again.” She smirked and Khonshu thought about engaging in battle there and then. Hathor not privy to his thoughts jus smirked, leaning fully against the pillar.

“I won’t let her.”

“You cannot stop what has already been fated, Khonshu, no matter how much you might try. Don’t forget who she descends from.” Hathor gave the young woman one last look before patting her dear friend’s arm and leaving. Khonshu wondered if she was there just to antagonize him or to help him see clearly.

(Y/n) couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched intently, her red lips curling down into a frown. She didn’t like the feeling and in recent days it had been more prominent, as if the looming figure never left. It started after she got Jasper back from the strange but cute man. Her thoughts drifted towards him, Steven, a charming yet very awkward man. She found him very likeable though and wondered if she’d see him again. However the size of London and the population pulled her out from dreamland, knowing that it would be near impossible.

A small black figure caught her eye as she was immediately drawn to it. Upon inspection it was a plushy of Anubis, a great god turned into one that children would hold in their sleep. She thought it was cute, but then she saw a scarab and then Hathor and so it went on until she had 12 of them in her hands, anymore and she wouldn’t be able to get home.

Steven eyed the woman with the copious amount of gift shop items and a small smile snagged on his face.

“Uh, need some help there?” Steven questioned the stranger, awkwardness thick in his voice, his hands suddenly feeling more clammy.

“Hm, oh yes please!” The voice, a very familiar one chirped back, handing Steven the pile of stuffies before he could say anything else.

“No fucking way.” Marc scoffed from the reflection once the so-called stranger's face was revealed. It was her, the woman Marc bumped into and the one whose cat was rubbing up against Steven.

“Oh it’s you! Hello Steven!” Her voice gleamed with happiness and excitement and Steven suddenly felt faint, his heart was beating too fast that the older man thought he was gonna have a heart attack. Her eyes lit up in a certain way that made it seem like they had stars littered in them and Steven had a hard time looking away from them.

“Oh hello. How is uh, the little bugger?” Steven asked, truly wondering about the black that seemed to fancy him.

“Oh Jasper! He’s doing wonderful, probably looking for a way out as we speak.” She chuckled, waving her hand in the air as her gold bracelets clinked together. Red lips upturned in a soft smile, a far away gaze in her eyes.

“Right yeah. Cheeky bastard.” Steven joked, hoping to hear that laugh again.

“Oh that he is. Now enough about that little trouble maker.” She said, resting her arms on the countertop and leaning forward just a bit, “Would you like to join me for coffee or tea sometime, whatever is preferable to you.” She asked with a delicate smile and Steven was at a loss for words.

“Steven, man, you’re gonna have to say something, she can’t read your mind.” Marc told him, sighing at his friend.

“Oh right! Yes, of course. Does Wednesday at 5pm work for you?” Steven rattled off and the younger woman in front of him could only smile, nod and admire.

“That works perfectly for me Steven, I’ll see you then.” She grabbed the bag of stuffies from him and waved him bye. A small piece of paper with some digits written on it left on the desk.

Steven was giddy and despite Marc’s fake reluctance, he too was looking very forward to this night.

Later that evening, (Y/n) was sprawled onto her bed, her iPad tossed beside her still playing the video she was watching from earlier. Khonshu observed the scene, an intriguing little thing she was.

“Child.” He whispered, his voice mixing in with the air. The young woman stirred a little yet still showed no signs of waking up.

“Little one, arise.” Khonshu poked at her with his staff and that seemingly did the trick.

“Huh, w-what.” She mumbled, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes. She looked ahead only to see bandages wrapped around a humanoid figure until she looked up and saw a floating bird skull, she screeched.

Khonshu leaned down until she was able to see his head, “At last we meet, darling.” His voice mixed in with the night sky as the woman in front of him looked confused and scared before she passed out.

Khonshu stood up, looking at her body and then up at the night sky.

“At last, after eons of torture she took form once again.” He spoke to the sky, his words letting the gods know what they suspected. Taking one last look at her, Khonshu fled in the night sky to his avatar.

He looked at the peaceful Marc Spector, asleep as if he had no worries for tomorrow.

“You have no idea what she will bring you, Marc.” And with those words Khonshu disappeared, letting things play out the way they need to for now.

Tagging these beauties: @weredancingonamoonbeam @jake-g-lockley

[cheeseatlantic]

why the fuck did i make price all angst? you motherfuckers with the daddy issues need it idk!!

TRUTH IN THE SILENCE

John Price x GN reader (B2b)

The night was thick with tension. The hum of city life outside the safehouse felt distant, muffled by the weight of the conversation you and Price had been avoiding for weeks. It had started off like any other mission, a partnership built on respect and professionalism, but something had shifted. You couldn’t place when or how it had happened, but now you were standing on the edge, both of you skirting around the unspoken truth that hung heavily between you two.

You didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about Price that made you forget all the rules. You’d always been able to compartmentalize, to keep your feelings in check for the sake of the mission. But with him, it was different. It wasn’t just a passing attraction, it wasn’t just the adrenaline of the job. It was something deeper. It was the way his eyes lingered on you when no one else was looking, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way you caught him looking at you when you thought you were alone.

And yet, every time you got close to him, every time you thought you could breach that invisible line between professional and personal, he pulled away.

Now, you were here. The air was thick, charged with something neither of you were willing to admit. Price stood across from you, his hands resting on the edge of the table, the weight of his posture telling you everything you needed to know—he was trying to keep control, keep everything locked up and in its place. But you could see through it.

“You know, I’m getting tired of this,” you said, voice steady but with a bite to it. “This whole back-and-forth we’ve got going on. One minute, it’s business as usual, and the next, you’re avoiding me. What the hell is going on, Price?”

Price didn’t move. His jaw tightened, but his eyes softened as he met yours. He looked like he was wrestling with something, his military-trained mind clearly at odds with whatever was going on between you.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he finally replied, voice low, but you could hear the strain in it. “You’re just… too close for comfort.”

Your heart stung at his words, but you didn’t let it show. You knew what he meant—he wasn’t afraid of you. He was afraid of what this could be, afraid of how close the two of you were getting. You could feel the walls he was trying to keep up, but it didn’t stop you. You were tired of being the one to hold back.

You stepped closer, your presence undeniable now. “You’re full of shit,” you said, voice dripping with frustration. “You’re scared. Scared of losing control. Scared of what happens when you start caring.”

His eyes flickered with something—a hint of vulnerability that he would never let anyone see. For a moment, it was like the walls between you two were on the verge of crumbling. But then, just as quickly, they shot back up.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Price muttered, almost to himself. “I can’t afford to care, Y/N.”

“But you do,” you countered, taking another step closer. “You do care. That’s what makes this so damn frustrating.”

The words hung between you, a challenge, a confession. It was the truth you’d both been dancing around, the truth that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Price’s expression hardened once again, and before you could even react, he grabbed you by the wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “You think this is easy?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You think I’m just gonna throw everything away because you’re feeling something? You have no idea what it’s like to live like this, to be constantly on edge. To let yourself care.”

You didn’t pull away from his grasp. Instead, you met his gaze with defiance. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know what it’s like. But I do know what I feel. And I know that if you don’t start living, you’re gonna lose everything that actually matters.”

There was a long beat of silence, the air thick between you, and then Price let go of your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the weight of everything that had been left unsaid crashing down on both of you.

It was like a moment of clarity had hit him. The walls were cracking, and he was starting to see you. Really see you. He didn’t say anything at first, but the soft sigh that left his lips told you all you needed to know.

“You don’t get it,” Price said, shaking his head slowly. “You think I’m avoiding you, but I’m trying to keep you safe. I’m trying to protect you from this… mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

You shook your head, taking a step back, finally giving yourself the space to think. “I’m not asking for protection, John. I’m asking for the truth. For you to stop pretending like we don’t feel the same damn thing.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the weight of his words pressing down on you both. Finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “I don’t know if I can do this with you, Y/N.”

You felt your heart sink at his words, but you didn’t back down. “Then stop pretending like you can’t.”

For a moment, Price stood there, his hands clenched at his sides. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle raging inside of him.

And then, without a word, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you two, his hand reaching out to cup your face. His thumb brushed gently over your skin as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, like he was giving in to something he’d been fighting for too long.

The kiss was full of everything unsaid between you two—the fear, the desire, the vulnerability. There were no more walls, no more pretending. It was just the two of you, in that moment, choosing to stop hiding from the truth.

And as the kiss deepened, you realized that maybe you’d both been pretending for too long. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as complicated as you’d made it out to be.

It was never about control. It was always about letting go.

[airandyeah]

Gimme Gimme Gimme (God!Sukuna X Reader) Pt.8

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Makes me overjoyed that the taglist keeps growing, I love you all and appreciate the support! This chapter is one of my favorites so far. This is all from the POV of you in your past life, so this isn't in the present.

The air was thick with the oppressive hum of his power. Sukuna, in his true form, loomed above you, a towering god of destruction, his body a grotesque amalgamation of strength and fury. His four eyes glowed with an unsettling light, and his form radiated an aura that sent shivers down your spine. He should have been terrifying, and in many ways, he was. But in this moment, it felt as if something else was stirring beneath the surface—a hesitation, a vulnerability that you had never expected from a creature like him.

You found yourself frozen in place, your gaze tracing the sharp contours of his face, the flicker of humanity hidden behind those overwhelming eyes. Despite his power, despite the danger that clung to him like a second skin, there was something strangely intimate in the air. The world seemed to hush around you, as if it too was holding its breath.

Sukuna’s massive form shifted, his hands trembling slightly as if unsure of his own strength. He lowered his gaze, his lips curling into something close to a frown.

"Are you afraid of me?" His voice was deeper, more resonant in this form, but there was an undercurrent of something softer beneath it—something almost uncertain.

The question hung in the air, fragile like a thread waiting to snap. You felt the weight of it, the gravity of his being, but you could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you—he wasn’t just waiting for an answer, he was waiting for you to look at him as something other than the storm he had always been.

"No," you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the vastness of his presence. "I’m not afraid of you."

He seemed to hesitate at that, his colossal form shifting again, as though he had expected something different. The flames that danced along his body flickered erratically, and he let out a long, deep sigh that vibrated through the air like a wave crashing against the shore.

"You should be," he murmured, his voice barely audible now, a tinge of frustration mixing with something else—something you couldn’t quite place. His gaze softened, just for a moment, as if you were more than just a pawn in the game he was playing.

You took a cautious step toward him, your heart pounding in your chest, unsure of what this moment meant, unsure of what to expect from him. He could obliterate you in a heartbeat if he wished. Yet, there was a strange tenderness in the way he watched you now. His massive frame bent slightly forward, as if trying to shrink himself down to your level, trying to find a way to connect beyond the ferocity that defined him.

A shaky laugh escaped you, catching Sukuna off guard. You took another step, your voice light but full of sincerity. “You know, you’re really trying, huh?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable at first, but there was a flicker of something—surprise, maybe—before the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I am," he said, his voice laced with something almost sheepish, despite the godlike strength in his form. "But you make it difficult."

The statement was strange coming from him, and it caused your heart to beat faster. You could hardly reconcile the destructive force before you with this hesitant, almost bashful being. It was as though the chaos inside of him was being held back by some invisible force, some thread of connection that bound you both together. It made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe.

Sukuna took another step toward you, his gaze now softer, more intent. "You should go," he said, his voice low, "before I ruin everything."

But it didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a plea, a desire for you to escape the storm inside of him. And yet, you stood your ground.

"I’m not afraid," you repeated, your voice stronger now, full of something that you couldn’t quite name. "And I’m not going anywhere."

For a long moment, there was silence between you both, the weight of his presence pressing down on you. His towering figure loomed over you like an ominous storm cloud, but there was something undeniably tender in the way his eyes lingered on you. And when his hand reached down—massive, like a mountain range in its immensity—you didn’t flinch.

His fingers brushed your cheek softly, an act of gentleness that felt almost impossible for someone like him. His touch was like fire and ice combined, burning with power yet somehow cool against your skin, as though he was learning to be something else entirely.

"I don’t know how to do this," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to be this—how to be anything but the destruction in my bones."

You looked up at him, the fear, the tension of the moment slowly starting to ebb away, replaced by something more complicated. Something fragile.

"You don’t have to know," you said softly, stepping closer, your hand reaching out to touch the edge of his palm, your fingers trembling slightly. "You just have to try. And so do I."

Sukuna’s eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, the intensity of his form—his monstrous, destructive power—seemed to waver, like a storm cloud dissipating in the face of sunlight. He stood still, as if waiting for something. As if waiting for you to change everything.

And in that moment, it almost felt like you could.

"You make it hard to be angry with you," he said, his tone still rough but no longer filled with the usual menace.

You smiled softly, your heart pounding in your chest as you finally stood beside him—not as the all-powerful god of destruction, but as a being, vulnerable and seeking something you couldn’t define.

"Then maybe that’s a good thing," you murmured.

For once, it felt like the storm inside him was quieting. And maybe, just maybe, you were both learning how to navigate the calm before the inevitable chaos. ~~~ The river’s gentle current hummed softly in the background, as if the world itself had quieted in anticipation. You were sitting on a large stone near the water's edge, the cool breeze brushing against your skin, your thoughts as restless as the water flowing past.

That’s when you saw him. Sukuna.

He wasn’t the towering god of destruction you were used to seeing—no, today he was something else entirely. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his usual posture of arrogance replaced with a hint of uncertainty. He walked slowly, almost hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure of his place beside you.

In his hands, there was something small—delicate.

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and amusement tugging at your lips. “What is that?” you asked, leaning back against the stone.

Sukuna froze for a moment, his dark eyes flicking to yours. For once, he didn’t seem quite as confident, his gaze faltering for just an instant. He cleared his throat, and his fingers tightened around the bundle of pale pink flowers he had carefully gathered.

“They’re for you,” he said, his voice quieter than you expected, a small flush creeping up his neck. “I… thought you might like them.”

You blinked, trying to process what had just happened. The god of destruction—Sukuna—was standing before you, holding flowers like a bashful child offering a gift. The sheer absurdity of it almost made you laugh, but you quickly swallowed the impulse.

"Flowers?" you asked, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Did you pick them yourself?"

He didn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he glanced down at the flowers, his fingers subtly fidgeting with the petals. “It wasn’t easy. But I thought... they might make you smile.”

You couldn't help it. You let out a small, amused laugh. "You? Picking flowers? That’s a first."

Sukuna’s eyes flashed up to meet yours, a faint flicker of something like irritation in his gaze. But instead of the usual scorn, there was a touch of self-consciousness. “I can do things other than destroy,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t need to be reminded.”

You smiled at his defensiveness, feeling the tension between you loosen. It was so strange—this side of Sukuna, so unlike the god of destruction, so unlike the creature of chaos he was born to be. And yet, here he was, standing before you, a blush creeping onto his face as he offered you the delicate bouquet of pale pink flowers.

Taking the flowers gently from his hands, you leaned forward and inhaled their sweet fragrance. "Thank you," you said, your voice soft, genuine. "They’re beautiful."

Sukuna’s lips twitched, his usual impassive demeanor flickering just slightly, like a cloud passing over the sun. "I’m glad," he said, his tone still low but with an unspoken sincerity. "I wanted to do something... for you."

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling warmly at him, a softness creeping into your heart. Sukuna, the god of destruction, the being who had brought kingdoms to their knees, was standing before you, flustered, awkward, and yet… trying so hard to offer something precious.

“Maybe next time, you can bring me a bouquet of fire instead,” you teased gently, watching as his expression flickered between annoyance and uncertainty.

"You're impossible," he grumbled, but there was something in his voice that made it clear he didn’t mind. Not really.

And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like the world was on the verge of crumbling. It felt like something entirely different—a quiet peace, an almost fragile moment in time that you wished you could hold onto forever. ~~~ The evening air was thick with the scent of earth and trees, the setting sun casting long shadows over the quiet clearing where you stood with Sukuna. The world around you felt distant, the sounds of the forest muffled by the sheer intensity of the moment. You didn’t speak—neither of you did, as if words might shatter the delicate peace that seemed to settle between you.

Your gaze flicked to him, to the imposing figure that was both familiar and distant. Sukuna stood a few steps away, his usual cold detachment softened by something unspoken. His intense gaze, usually filled with power and arrogance, was now shadowed with something else. Something quieter.

The breeze stirred your hair, and you caught the flicker of something soft in his expression as his eyes followed the movement. It was a fleeting moment, but you saw it—a crack in his stoic façade. For a brief second, he didn’t look like the god of destruction. He looked like a man, caught in a rare moment of vulnerability.

You shifted slightly, stepping closer to him without thinking, feeling the pull of something unspoken. It wasn’t something you had expected from him—this closeness, this quietness that felt almost intimate.

He noticed your movement, but instead of pulling away or retreating into his usual guard, Sukuna seemed to hesitate. His gaze flickered to your hand, and for a heartbeat, everything around you seemed to pause. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, like something was about to change.

And then, without a word, Sukuna took a slow step forward. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but there was an uncharacteristic hesitation in his actions. His hand, large and strong, hovered just beside yours—barely an inch of space between you—but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You could feel his presence like a weight against your skin, the heat from his body so close it almost burned. His eyes locked with yours, a fierce intensity in them, yet there was something vulnerable hidden beneath the surface—a quiet longing.

You didn’t say anything. There was no need for words.

And then, his fingers, ever so gently, brushed against yours.

It wasn’t a grand, sweeping gesture. It wasn’t dramatic or intense. It was simple—delicate, even—and yet, it sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was hesitant, unsure, as if he feared you would pull away or reject him. But instead of moving back, he lingered, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in a soft, almost tentative gesture.

You didn’t pull away either. You didn’t need to. There was something in his touch—a quiet plea, a hope that had no words, but was felt in every brush of his skin against yours.

You held your breath, the silence thick between you, your pulse quickening with the sudden weight of the moment. For all his power, for all his history of destruction, Sukuna had never seemed more... human.

His voice broke the quiet, low and almost raw. "I thought... if I could, I would never let go."

It was a strange thing for him to say—vulnerable, uncharacteristic of the god who had destroyed so much in his time. Yet here he was, with his hand just barely touching yours, his words carrying the weight of something deeper.

You stared at his hand, then back into his eyes, and a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, the softness of the moment making your heart flutter. “You’re not really good at this, are you?” you teased, the words light, but the sincerity behind them evident.

Sukuna’s lips twitched, the faintest sign of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never had to be,” he said, his voice still rough but with a hint of something else—a tenderness that he didn’t know how to express.

You took a slow, deliberate breath, and with a quiet motion, you closed the distance between you. Your fingers curled gently around his, the warmth of his hand filling you with a sense of peace, even in the chaos of everything around you.

He stiffened at first, the unexpected move catching him off guard. But then, just as slowly, he relaxed. His grip tightened slightly, not possessive, but almost as if he was afraid this moment would slip away if he didn’t hold onto it.

You stayed there for a long while, neither of you saying anything more, but the silence between you was no longer awkward. It was comforting, like a secret the world couldn’t touch. The weight of everything—the destruction, the fear, the uncertainty of the future—seemed to disappear, if only for a fleeting moment.

And in that moment, Sukuna didn’t seem like a god of destruction. He seemed like something else entirely—a man who, for just an instant, allowed himself to feel something he hadn’t in centuries. ~~~ After the silence that stretched for what felt like a lifetime, the tension between you and Sukuna finally cracked, like the faintest of glass shattering.

He shifted slightly, his hand still resting gently in yours, but now there was a strange lightness in the air—a moment of reprieve from the intensity. You could feel the weight of his usual dominance returning, but it was... softer now. Almost like he was trying to work out what to do next, and failing, just like you were.

For some reason, his uncertainty made you smile. You couldn’t help it. You hadn’t seen him like this—not this... awkward. And it was too much to resist.

A quiet chuckle escaped you, and Sukuna immediately stiffened, eyes narrowing at you. “What’s so funny?” His voice was laced with an almost comical mix of defensiveness and curiosity, as though he couldn’t fathom why you’d suddenly laugh.

“You,” you said simply, the giggles bubbling out despite your attempts to keep them in check. “You look like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

His brows furrowed deeper, his lips pressing into a tight line as if to fight back his own irritation. But then, just when you thought he might snap, you saw it—the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, the smallest hint of a smile trying to break free.

“I do know what to do with myself,” he muttered, though there was a crack in his usual cold confidence. “I just don’t know what you want.”

You grinned, poking at his pride with a teasing edge. “I don’t know what you want either, but you’re definitely not as smooth as you think.”

His eyes flashed with that familiar sharpness, but before he could retort, you pulled on his hand gently, dragging him toward a nearby tree where you leaned against it. Your laughter had become more genuine now, bubbling up freely as you watched him stumble slightly, trying to maintain his regal posture while simultaneously adjusting to the fact that you had shifted the power dynamic, even just for a second.

You were still laughing when you caught a glimpse of his expression—his eyes softer now, and for the first time, he looked a little... self-conscious. It was an absurdly endearing sight, and before you even realized it, you found yourself laughing even harder.

Sukuna sighed heavily, throwing his head back in mock exasperation. "You're impossible."

“I know,” you teased, wiping a tear from your eye. "But you're a little fun to tease. You should smile more, you know."

He scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. "I don’t smile."

“Clearly,” you shot back with a smirk, still a little breathless from laughing.

And then, as if to prove a point, you exaggeratedly made a silly face, pulling your cheeks in and puffing your lips out in a ridiculous manner. Sukuna blinked at you, clearly taken aback by your goofy expression, and for a second, you wondered if he would break.

It was just a quick glance—a fleeting moment—but you caught it: the smallest, barely noticeable upturn of his lips, as if he couldn’t help but appreciate your silliness.

You widened your eyes playfully and stuck out your tongue. “Not impressed?”

He stared at you for a heartbeat, and then, without warning, he leaned in. His fingers curled gently around the back of your neck, pulling you close enough that your breaths mingled, the teasing smile still on his face.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered again, but this time, there was something more in his voice. Something that made your heart race in your chest.

“Impossible is fun,” you whispered back, your lips brushing his lightly as you tilted your head.

Sukuna paused for a split second, as though considering something, before his eyes darkened in a way that made you feel like the air between you had just shifted. And then, with a single, smooth motion, he closed the gap between you.

His lips met yours—firm and unhurried, as if he was testing the waters. It wasn’t like the fiery, desperate kisses of some of the stories you’d heard—it was more like the soft release of something that had been building between you two for far longer than either of you had acknowledged.

You froze for a moment, heart pounding in your chest, but then, just as quickly, you leaned into him, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. The moment felt both slow and fast, a rush of adrenaline mixed with a sense of grounding, of connection that neither of you had expected.

And when the kiss broke, it was soft, lingering, leaving your mind spinning and your pulse still racing.

Sukuna didn’t pull away immediately. He hovered just an inch from you, his breath warm against your skin, as though he were waiting for your reaction.

You blinked up at him, dazed and a little surprised at how natural it felt, how soft his touch was despite everything. The space between you seemed suddenly more charged with an unspoken understanding, a new layer to what you shared.

"Well," you said, your voice a little breathless, "guess you're not completely hopeless after all."

Sukuna’s eyes flashed with amusement, the smirk that had once been all arrogant confidence now more playful. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words.

You laughed softly, your heart still pounding, but this time it was different—lighter, as if the weight of all the chaos and destruction could be put aside for a moment. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, you had this—this silly, unexpected moment, and maybe that was all you needed.

And as the night deepened around you, you stayed close, your fingers still entwined, the echoes of your laughter dancing in the air between you.

Taglist: @rinkomei , @sleepycrybbylaiah , @queenmimis , @maellem , @after-laughter-come-tears , @damdido Taglist is always open for anyone!

[sttoru]

Sukuna with clingy concubine 🛐🛐 like hella clingy, always clinging to sukuna, sitting on his lap and just following sukuna like a lost puppy

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. fluff. little bit suggestive. size difference. reader is clingy, a bit of an airhead ig. reader gets called ‘girl, brat’.

“y’re annoying me, girl,” sukuna grumbles as he walks to the courtyard. you had magically appeared behind him the moment he stepped out of his room to get some fresh air.

you flash him an apologetic smile “i’m sorry, my lord.” you’re not sorry, sukuna knows, though he doesn’t comment on it. it’s been like this ever since a week or two ago. he cannot recall why you’re suddenly so much more affectionate.

he doesn’t wait on you, however, and takes big strides towards the courtyard. if your little legs can’t keep up, that isn’t his problem. you frown and take on the challenge that’s been thrown your way.

you increase your pace and nearly run after sukuna. you have to lift your kimono a little to make sure you wouldn’t trip over the fabric. it doesn’t seem like you’ll give up any time soon as you follow him with that same content expression on your face.

sukuna can’t believe that a human like you dares to even be in his presence for so long. he didn’t call for you, so why are you adamant on staying with him? he concludes that something must be up, “what’d you want from me?”

there hangs a silence between you two afterwards. sukuna’s slow yet heavy footsteps reverberate through the hallway, followed by your quick and light ones. you pout as you notice that the king of curses isn’t even sparing you a glance, “nothing at all. i just like to be with you.”

you add the latter as an afterthought. you don’t expect sukuna to react to that, so you continue to trail behind him into the courtyard. “tch,” you hear him scoff in annoyance. you’re sure he doesn’t mean any actual harm by that, so you don’t take it personally.

sukuna eventually sits down on the engawa, where the servants have placed the comfy zabuton cushions. there’s always one for you as well—right next to sukuna’s. it’s become a habit for the maids to include you in sukuna’s daily routines since you’re always with him.

you eye your own cushion, though don’t make an effort to actually sit down on it. sukuna stares ahead, not bothered to notice you at the moment. you look down at his lap, recalling just how perfectly you can fit on it.

you don’t waste any more time and plop down on his thick thighs, your back against his chest. sukuna’s brow twitches at the sudden contact. his bottom pair of eyes look down at you whilst the upper ones keep looking at the nature in front of you both.

“get off me,” the king of curses commands through a low tone. he doesn’t push you off, however. that alone should tell you enough; he’s tolerating your behaviour as per usual. or perhaps he secretly likes your proximity.

you shall never discover which of the two it actually is.

“nooooooo,” you exaggerate with a whine. you don’t want to. you wrap both of your arms around one of sukuna’s—clinging onto him like your life depends on it. he simply responds by sighing.

you know sukuna’s able to grab you by the collar and force you to sit down on the cushion beside him, but he doesn’t. your heart flutters every time sukuna shows some tolerance to your clingy behavior. it means that maybe—just maybe—he’s opening up to the idea of being more affectionate with you.

“such a fuckin’ brat,” sukuna simply puts one hand on your waist, the others supporting his weight on the engawa. he grumbles, but there are clear signs of him relaxing with you in his presence.

you chuckle at the realisation and swing your legs in excitement. sukuna unexpectedly bites your ear in response to your increased activity on his lap, “stay still or i’ll kick you off.”

you let out a small whimper as you feel his fangs gently sick into your earlobe. you jolt back and rub the skin with your hand, looking up at sukuna with a playful frown before teasing him back. you roll your eyes and answer him with a firm yet mocking, “sir yes, sir!”

sukuna clicks his tongue at your tease. you answer him like he’s some general in the military. that’s not the kind of relationship he has with you—it’s more than that. even though he knows you’re joking, he dislikes it when you call him anything other than ‘my lord’, ‘my king’, or just his name.

he finds great satisfaction in the way you refer to him as such. you’re the only one who can make sukuna grin each time you remind him of his status and the power he has over you.

the power dynamic; it’s addictive.

he needs more of it.

sukuna reaches out to grab your face with one hand, but you’re quick to pull your head back the moment you see that intimidatingly big hand coming down onto your vision. you clear your throat and apologise, “i mean—yes, my lord.”

the king of curses hums in content. that title is exactly what he had been looking for. he retracts his hand and settles it back down on your waist, patting your sides twice to show his satisfaction with your obedience.

you stop squirming around in his lap and simply lay back down in his arms. you close your eyes and nearly fall asleep because of the comfortable atmosphere. the slight breeze against your face is relaxing and perfectly compliments the warmth from sukuna’s body.

what a perfect way to spend your day.

[inbabylontheywept]

she was dead silent on the drive home, but that was okay. sometimes, after band practice, she was just out of words. it was a short drive to her house. the only part where it actually felt weird was after i pulled up her parent’s driveway. 

after that, the silence stretched so far it smeared and left a weird residue. she kept looking at the car door like she wanted to leave, so i looked at the door too, then she looked at me, and i looked at her, and my first thought was that she was going to tell me that the door was stuck. i was used to that car always doing some damn thing. it was the car me and all my siblings had learned to drive in, and it was really beat to hell. there were dents all over the body, which we’d unsuccessfully tried fixing up with spackle. it had looked nice for maybe a week, but then the sun wrecked it - the spackle cracked up like the mud on the bottom of a dry riverbed and turned a sort of off yellow-white that made the car looked like it had been molded out of chicken shit. it also had a bullet hole it through the cabin that whistled like a toothless old man whenever the car went above 40, so loud it could drown out the radio, and a cabin that smelled so strongly of bugspray that even the arizona summer we drove everywhere we could with the windows down.

(if you have kids one day, you will maybe, possibly, begin to understand how much i loved that car.)

anyway, i was thinking about what else could possibly be wrong with the chickenshitmobile, and she just kept looking at me, and then i wondered if there was something on my face, and she just kept looking at me, and then the penny dropped and i realized she was trying to work up the nerve to break up with me. 

now, i’d seen her work up the nerve to do things like this before – it could take quite a while. and knowing it was about to happen made the waiting immediately unbearable. 

so i said hey. 

and she looked at me, very startled, and said hey back real small. like she’d been caught. and in a way, i suppose she had. 

and i said it’s okay. you can just say it. i’ll be okay.

i’m always okay. 

and she said: i’m really sorry. 

i loved her, you know? it was highschool, but teenagers are capable of love. the way people love changes over time just as much as the way they stand, or the way they talk, but things don’t stop existing just because they're different. opposite really – a thing only stops changing when it's fully gone.

and i said, nothing to be sorry for, and i meant it. she looked a little relived, and i was happy to give her that peace. then she left. i watched her make it through the front door, because that was just habit at that point, and then i sat there a while afterwards, checking how i felt. and the answer was not good, but good enough to make it home. good enough to limp on. 

so i put my car in reverse, took my last look goodbye, and immediately backed into her neighbor’s car. 

crunch. 

air bags didn't go off, which was good. i left a decent dent in the bumper of the other car. genuinely couldn’t tell if i did anything to my car – anything wrong with it just kind of blended together into the general ecosystem of hand mottled, sun cracked, chickenshit spackle. 

i checked my glove box, and my car insurance info was, of course, out of date. my phone was dead too. as a teenager, my phone was less my lifeline to my friends, and more my tether to my parents, so i wasn’t particularly conscious of keeping it charged. both my fault.

i sat there a few minutes, trying to think of the best way to handle things, and there was only one answer i could think of, and i hated that answer, so i spent a few more minutes trying and failing to think of a better one, and then a few more coming to peace with what had to be done. 

then i went back to knock on my now ex’s front door. 

her dad opened, which i was very relieved over, even if he seemed less than thrilled. he looked me over, and in a firm, but slightly apologetic way said: she does not want to see you right now. 

(i think he assumed i was going to try and talk her out of the break up?)

and i said not here for her. i just backed into your neighbor’s car, and i need to call my dad, but my phone’s dead. could i borrow yours?

and he looked at me, then back at his neighbors car, which sure enough was dented, then he looked at the chickenshitmobile, and if there was something wrong with it, it just kind of blended into the general Wrongness of the car, then back to me, and i could see him imagining the last ten minutes from my pov: getting broken up with, backing into a car, having to walk up to your exes door and borrow a phone, calling my dad to tell him that i just reversed into someone.  

and his expression shifted from stern and apologetic to truly sad, which felt more kind that i deserved. things only got here because i kept fucking up - forgot to look behind me, forgot to replace the insurance forms, forgot to charge my phone. it was my mess, but his sympathy meant the world to me. i probably would’ve cried if he said sorry, or patted me on the back or called me sport, but instead he said

stay out here – i’ll bring you a phone.

and then he left.  

i found a nice spot on the lawn in the shade under a sycamore, then settled into his grass.i was trying not to freak out, and was doing an okay job. he came out a minute or so later, not just with a phone, but a juicebox and a jar of green olives, which really threw a wrench in the whole try not to cry thing. soon as i saw those, a few tears squoze out. i was still hoping i could pass them off as Manly Tears but then he told me that he’d gotten the olives a few weeks before and had been meaning to hand them off to me, and that this was his last chance for that. then i made a sound like a horse drowning in a bog, and he patted my back pretty rough, four solid thumps, like he wasn't sure if i was crying or choking on an olive, and was trying to cover both bases at once.

then he went back inside, and i made a few more bog horse noises while finishing off the rest of the entire jar of green olives, and then i called my dad.

he was about ten minutes away that day, and luckily was home. he drove over, and we went to the neighbor’s house, and from there things actually went quite nice. the neighbor was a retired man who actually said he could fix the dent himself, no need for insurance. he said he appreciated that i didn't just drive off, and i said i was really sorry about his car, and he said he was really sorry about my car, and then he gestured to the chickenshitmobile and i laughed because it really was a disaster on wheels.

then we left.

i thought we were going to head straight home, but instead we went to a gas station, and we both got several slim jims that we folded into thick enough coils that we could put them on a hotdog bun because the growing up mormon equivalent of having a sad brewski with your dad is just choosing to make bad decisions sober. then he took me to the canals and we watched the sun turn all orange and pink, and he looked over at me and said:

brains are good at remembering bad days. so you gotta make sure that a bad day has a good part in in, so you can remember that too. remember that when you have a kid. try to do a good job on days like that - they're going to be a big part of how they remember you.

and then he gave me a big hug and said he was never going to eat another slim jim again.

---

the year after that i went to college, which kicked my butt in new and exciting ways. and on a lot of those bad days, after a test that went sour, or a faux paus that was particularly embarrassing, or some other hardship of my new adult life, i’d stop by the gas station and pick up leathery, half jerkied hotdog before heading to the canals to watch the sun set. i’d take a bite and imagine my dad next to me, grimacing through the slim-jim wad, asking what good thing i was going use that time to remember. 

and in my head, i’d say you, dad. 

i’m going to remember you.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine logan seeing you again

logan x reader

warning: some deadpool x wolverine spoilers. this takes place after the movie. under 1k words.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The apartment was packed jammed with friends and some foes of Wade Wilson. There might have been music playing in the background, but Logan couldn’t tell when his eyes locked with the figure walking through the front door. His heart dropped, he felt sick to his stomach as his eyes fluttered. It had to be a dream but then he quickly came to his senses.

This wasn’t his universe, his world. He was somewhere entirely new. He caught his breath as Wade shouted out an exclamation of joy. Logan watched as he drew up from his seat to greet you with an overzealous hug, pulling you toward the group at the table.  Wade held you rough by the shoulders and grinned. “Look who decided to come out of retirement, conveniently after we,” he pointed to Logan then himself. “Saved the fucking world. Avengers, who? Bunch of assholes, if you ask me.”

“You sound like a man scorn, Wade,” you teased, offering a wave of a hand to your friends. The idiot next to you was right, the whole superhero thing had been a thing of the past. You have been a regular civilian for a few years now and have been loving a more relaxed existence – not being threatened daily was like, nice. “Don’t worry, you’ll see all the details in the movie. Have you meant my little angry beaver, the Wolverine?”

Your head jerked to where the older gentlemen was sitting, and you grinned. “I haven’t had the pleasure. I never met this world’s Logan – we ran in different circles. It’s nice to meet you.”

His heart relaxed and he confidently held out a hand, ignoring the interested glance from Laura. “Nice to meet you.”

“Take a seat next to Logan,” Wade urged, winking over to his new hesitant partner. “I’m sure he can fill you in on all the fun we’ve had together. Tell her about the sex ramp we had in the car that one time.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Logan cursed, telling you to ignore him.

“I usually do,” you laughed, thanking Vanessa for the beer she slid over from her side of the table. Popping it open, you relaxed and asked Logan how this place was treating him. “Must be weird, coming here. It’s like your world, right? Just slightly different?”

“Something like that.”

“Did we know each other back there?”

Your question seemed so invasive and frank – it almost made Logan smile because some people never changed, no matter what universe. Back where he came from, you were such a firecracker little shit. He had his hands full dealing with your bullshit. You were always running towards danger with little regard for your own safety because you had him. He had always been at your side, or at least, trying to catch up but he had always been there for you.

Logan had loved you and you had loved him.

Two reckless mutants.

Then you died and that sent him straight down a barrel of alcohol and indifference, to everyone and everything in his world. Which led to his greatest shame of all, allowing his family to be murdered because he was too busy drinking his sorrows away. He had long forgotten what it felt like to see you smile or hear you laugh, to feel your fingertips on his skin. The weight of your head on his chest as you slept, he never could replicate that feeling and yet, here you were.

A different version of you but God, the same.

“We were friends, really good friends.”

The hint of sadness in his voice was enough for you to understand and maybe not truly, but something had happened. That much was evident and while it might have been silly, you wanted nothing more than to comfort this man next to you. The room seemed to fall quiet, but no one was paying attention, except the girl next to Logan. Your eyes met hers, but she just smiled and looked away. Logan’s eyes were focused on the beer in his hands, but his eyes jerked up when a gentle hand touched the top of his. Your skin ablaze his and it felt wrong to feel like he had once when he didn’t even know you. Not this version of you, a woman he knew nothing about. It didn’t feel right but he wanted nothing more to allow this to go on. To see who you were in this world.

Did he deserve that? After everything that happened.

“Were? I won’t pry but it seems like life has given you a second chance, Logan.” You smiled softly and removed your hand from his, lifting your beer can to him. “You guys saved this world; a second chance is the least the universe can give you. Why not take it?”

Logan chuckled lowly. “The version of you I knew also had a deficiency in reasoning.”

A hard smack landed on his chest, and he laughed, which made you laugh. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t look like that idiot.”

Looking over to where you pointed to Wade, who had decided to show off his hair piece, Logan smirked. “Yeah, that’s fucking terrible.”

The two of you smiled at each other and something clicked in that moment, leaving the both of you quiet until you broke the tension. “To not looking like Wade Wilson.”

Logan clicked his beer against yours and felt a settling in his heart. Maybe he did deserve a second chance, at least, he could start toward earning that second chance. “Amen to that.”