#I do one thing right and three things go wrong

[inkydelusions]

think you can do it better? - 2.5k

summary: some members of the team learn about your boyfriend, and it breaks spencer’s heart. luckily for his, he’s an asshole, which means he gets a second chance to fix the one mistake he regrets the most. c.warning: fem!bau! reader. mentions of cheating (not spencer, don't worry). he does behave like an idiot in here tho. but then he fixes it so it's okay. it gets a bit intense at the end, but i wouldn’t go as far as to call it steamy or smutty (some heavy kissing and spencer being a hot nerd). a/n: i'm pretty sure this is the first time i write about reader and spencer kissing, which is funny that it took me this long. anyway, enjoy!!

hope you like it <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!

you throw your phone across the table with an exasperated sigh, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

“woah, okay,” morgan is the first one to react. “what’s wrong, princess?”

what’s wrong is that you had a terrible fight with your boyfriend a couple of hours ago, right before heading out for drinks with some of your team. since then, you’ve been trying to reach him, desperate to talk and fix things, but he’s been ignoring you. like the man-child you’re starting to realize he really is.

“it’s nothing,” you say, taking a long gulp from your drink. morgan whistles as the line of liquor in your glass gets lower and lower until it’s completely empty. emily raises her eyebrows, equal parts impressed and concerned.

“really?” she asks. “because the way you inhaled that drink makes it seem like it’s definitely something.”

you sigh again, your eyes drifting from hers to morgan’s, then finally to spencer’s. when they invited you out tonight, you didn’t exactly imagine opening up about your trainwreck of a relationship, especially not in front of spencer.

as much as you value his friendship, he’s the last person you want to discuss this with. not after what happened the last time you two had a heart-to-heart.

“come on, kid,” morgan presses. “you know you can trust us.”

of course you do. you trust these people with your life, every single day.

sighing, you finally admit, “it’s my boyfriend.”

spencer knows better than anyone the power words can hold. that awareness has helped him solve some of the best cases of his career. but he did not expect three simple words to hit him so hard. as per usual, he’s staring at your mouth as you speak, you he sees it perfectly, in slow motion even: the way your lips purse together when you say my, their round shape and the scrape of your teeth against your lower lip as you follow up with the word boyfriend.

how can one word carry so much weight? he feels it slam into his chest, shoulders sinking under the impact.

“what?” emily sputters, nearly choking on her beer.

“since when do you have a boyfriend?” morgan asks.

“six months. a friend introduced us at her birthday party.”

“how the hell did you keep it from us that long?” morgan asks. “we must be some of the worst profilers in history.”

you smile at that. “you’re not. i’m just very good at keeping my personal life… well, personal.”

spencer could only stare, wondering how the hell he’d managed to miss the signs. he had noticed you had started paying more attention to your phone in the past few months, but he only assumed that, since you had changed to a more modern model, you had been absorbed by technology like everyone else around him. you had started wearing more makeup, and, overall, you now payed more attention to your personal image. thinking about you doing all of that for another man makes a new kind of feeling bubble up inside his chest, one he’s not proud of.

“so, what’s wrong? stormy day in paradise?” morgan bumps his shoulder against yours from where he’s seating right next to you on the booth.

you trace a finger through the small puddle of condensation emily’s glass left on the table, biting your lip, feeling three sets of eyes on you.

“i think i want to break up with him,” you admit.

“well shit,” emily mutters. “we just found out about this guy and we already get to hate him. best day of my life.”

“it’s just…”

you think about the constant miscommunications. the petty fights that never get resolved because he always shuts down. the silent treatment, the emotional immaturity. and then there’s the whole other started that started today’s fight.

“i think he’s cheating on me,” you say, eyes glued to the table.

“that fucker…” emily murmurs.

you don’t see it, but spencer’s eyebrows are tightly furrowed, you don’t see it, but spencer’s jaw clenches. he’s biting back a storm of words. 

how—and excuse his language, but—how the fuck could anyone think or even dare to look at someone else while being with you? you were the most stunning, drop-dead gorgeous person he’d ever met. on top of that you are smart and funny and loving, and you care for those you love in a way that most people would die to be cared for. spencer genuinely can’t wrap his mind around it.

“how do you know?” asks morgan.

“he’s been avoiding me for weeks. i thought it was because he was mad i had to leave for los angeles…”

“he gets mad at you for doing your job?” emily cuts in. “honey, you need to get the hell out of there.”

“ i know. i know. then,” you continue, “the other day, i caught him speaking on the phone with someone. i’ll admit i was shamelessly eavesdropping.”

“as you should.” morgan nods.

“he was using that soft voice i thought was just for me. and he said something about how he ‘couldn’t wait to spend more time together.’”

as you speak, your voice falters, and your expression dims. now, spencer has never been a violent man. he gets angry, sure, but he’s never been one to let out that fury out in the form of violence. but as he watches your shoulders slump, the way you’re picking at your nails to keep from crying, he can only think about finding the guy that’s made you feel like this and punch him in the face. he knows it’d probably physically hurt him more than the other man, but, hey, it’d make him feel great on the inside.

morgan says it first: “i should kill the guy.”

“i say we do it,” emily agrees.

you sniff, attempting a smile. it doesn’t really work.

“i don’t know why it affects me this much. i’m not even sure i love him,” you admit, throwing your hands in the air.

that makes spencer’s heart stutter.

“good. that’s good,” emily says, reaching across the table to take your hand. spencer silently curses himself for not doing it first. “do you know what you’re going to do now?”

you shake your head.

“you’re gonna pick up that phone, call the asshole, and end it. no explanations. just, hi, hello, we’re done. click.”

“or tell him he’s terrible in bed and you’re tired of faking it,” morgan offers.

“you’ve heard that one before?” emily teases, raising an eyebrow.

“oh, baby, never in my life. when they scream my name, they mean it.”

“ew, too much information, morgan. jesus.”

“you started it!” laughing, he turns to you. “but seriously, end it. don’t give him the chance to twist it around on you.”

without a word, spencer pushes your phone across the table. when you pick it up, your eyes find his.

“what do you think?” you ask. “should i do it?”

should you break up with the miserable excuse of a guy who lied, cheated, and made you feel this miserable? absofuckinglutely.

“he doesn’t deserve you,” is all he says.

you stare at him, nibbling your lower lip. flashbacks of a quiet night almost a year ago come back to you. him, staring at the dark horizon over a white fence, not daring to look in your direction. you, trying to make him look at you, to say something, anything, and getting nothing but silence and pain in return.

“okay. i’ll do it.” you rise from your seat, gripping your phone tightly in your hands. “i’ll be back in a minute.”

the three of them watch you slip through the crowd, out the door, and onto the sidewalk. from their booth, they can see you pacing outside, phone to your ear. your frown deepens. your cheeks flush. and then you turn away, shoulders shaking, head hanging.

“that’s your cue, lover boy,” morgan says, nudging spencer under the table.

“what? what do you mean?”

“you know? for a genius, you can be incredibly dense sometimes,” emily chimes in, finishing her beer. “you really think we haven’t noticed the way you two glance at each other, how you were gripping the table this whole time to keep yourself from reaching for her hand?”

it’s in moments like these that he hates that some of his closest friends are just as good as picking on small details as he is. spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“i messed up, guys,” he says, tone dripping regret.

“what do you mean?” emily asks.

“a year ago, when we were away, working on a case in tampa, we… we had a moment.”

emily’s eyebrows shoot up. “define moment.”

“it was late at night. it’d been a rough day for me, i’d been dealing with a terrible headache all day, and i was very tired…”

“spencer, what happened between you two?” morgan cuts him off, leaning over the table.

“i’m gettin to it. i couldn’t sleep that night, so i was wandering through the hotel and i found a quiet, comfortable common area in a terrace. i sat down and just… i was just enjoying the peace.”

“reid, we really appreciate the immersive narrative but i want to know what happened between you two.” emily urges him to get to the point once again and spencer can only sigh.

“she told me she loved me.”

emily almost chokes on her own saliva, and morgan’s jaw in mere inches from hitting the table. spencer plays with his glass, turning it around and around and around, the almost-melted ice cubes clinking against the glass.

“please tell me you said it back,” emily whispers, eyes focus on you through the wide window at the front of the bar.

the silence answers for him.

“you idiot,” morgan says flatly.

spencer swallows hard. “i-i couldn’t. it wasn’t that i didn’t. i did. i do. but i wasn’t okay.”

he hadn’t been in the right state of mind at the time. and he wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he had dragged you down with him.

“i told her we couldn’t be together. that it went across the rules, and that it would be extremely inappropriate.” he drops his head, banging his forehead against the table with a groan. “i ruined it.”

and then three months after that you went to your friend’s birthday party. and a week later you started wearing perfume and high heels, and doing your hair in a way that made him salivate at the mere sight of you. all the while, you were dating another man. 

“well, it seems like they’re not together anymore.” emily points in your direction again.

you’re standing beneath the streetlights, no phone in sight. you’re looking up at the sky, cheeks tear-streaked. however, there’s a smile on your lips.

“if you don’t move your ass and go out there right now, kid…” morgan warns, and spencer doesn’t need to be told twice.

he bolts out the door, weaving through the crowd. it’s chilly outside, but he doesn’t feel it, really. maybe it’s the adrenaline, but right now he can only feel the furious beating of his heart, the prickly sensation in the palms of his hands as he walks a straight line towards you.

you feel him before you see him. when you lower your eyes from the dark sky to his face he notices the redness around them, the dry trails of tears down your cheeks. but spencer is surprised to not find a single trace of sadness or heartbreak in your face.

“did you do it?” he asks, breathless.

you simply nod, taking a step forward. spencer can’t take his eyes off you, your beautiful eyes, your mouth. those lips… god.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers when you’re in front of him, bodies so close he doubts he can breathe without you feeling it against your own chest.

“for what?”

“for having giving you a reason to end up with a cheating asshole who could never see what a truly wonderful person you are even if they paid him,” he says, eyes still fixed on your lips. he sees exactly how one of the corners tilts up slightly.

a smile plays on your lips. “you think you could do better?”

“i could. i will. if you let me.”

“oh, but i already did. and your answer was no. something about it being too… inappropriate?”

he sighs, taking a step back. or at least trying to. grab his shirt collar and pull him in, clashing your lips together. spencer immediately melts, letting out a soft grunt. you had imagined yourself kissing spencer reid many, many times. more than you will ever admit to. but never in a million years would you have imagined him being such a good kisser.

his hands hold tight onto your waist, pulling you into him until your body is completely pressed against his; chest to chest, hips to hips.

he mutters your name against your lips like a prayer, hand cupping your cheek. spencer drops one last chaste kiss on your lips before pulling back, resting his forehead against yours.

“i can’t believe we could’ve been doing this for months now,” he whispers.

“we have some catching up to do,” you say, nodding along. spencer huffs a laugh.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters after a couple of seconds, his eyes closed. “for making you think i didn’t love you.”

“i never thought you didn’t love me, spencer.” this time, it’s you cupping his cheeks, making him look at you. “but i knew you must have had a good reason to reject me, to want to keep your distance. that’s why i didn’t push you. and that’s why i kept mr. asshole a secret. i knew it would hurt you.”

unable to hold back, spencer leans in again, kissing you. this time it’s fiercer. more desperate. he knows you two have an audience, and that both emily and morgan will bring this whole episode up later, but right now he just needs to kiss you senseless. and judging by the ragged sigh you let out against his lips, it’s working.

“how are we going to tell the team? and hotch?” you ask between kisses, giggling when spencer groans at the mention of your boss.

he pauses, looking you dead in the eye, “honestly? i don’t care. and i’d really appreciate it if you didn’t think about our boss when i’m kissing you.”

“i wasn’t thinking about him. i was thinking about how inappropriate this is, and how we really need to start planning our kissing breaks for when we’re in the office.”

oh, spencer liked the sound of that. he could already see it in his mind. an excel spreadsheet with color-coded boxes marking time slots and locations… yeah, he’ll get right on it the moment he gets home.

“you’re already working on it, aren’t you?” you ask, tracing his jawline with the tip of your fingers. he merely hums, smiling. “god, i can’t believe i’m in love with a nerd.”

“it’s me who can’t really believe it, babe. trust me.”

thanks for reading <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!

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[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

The Crash-Bang Incident - Part Five

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Or: on the way to the tunnels with a concussed Steve Harrington passed out in the back seat, Max crashes into Eddie's van.

When Steve hears the sound of tires on the Byers’ gravel driveway, he staggers to his feet, only managing to stay upright with Eddie’s steadying hand on his elbow. Steve raises his free arm straight out, as if that will be enough to shield the kids from harm and keep them behind him. 

He wants his bat, wishes he could remember where he’d left it. But no matter how much care Eddie had taken in cleaning up his face, it hadn’t been any help to his throbbing brain. 

“It’s just Hopper, idiot,” Mike says dismissively as he rushes past them both to swing open the front door. 

Steve squints at the open doorway, determined to stay on his feet long enough to make sure Hopper’s the only one that comes through. The last thing he needs is another Billy Hargrove situation. Or even worse, another demo-whatsit.

Could a demogorgon even drive? 

Before Steve has time to puzzle that one out, Hopper strides through the front door, that little girl cradled to his chest, still in his arms. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Mike demands, loud enough to make Steve wince.

“Just exhaustion,” Hopper replies, sounding just as exhausted himself. 

He strides past all of them to place her gently on the couch. Eddie pulls Steve out of the way, and the sudden movement has Steve swallowing down bile as the world swims around him. He closes his eyes, but the room keeps swaying beneath his lids, the only steadiness the grip Eddie has on him.

“Munson?” 

“Hey, chief,” Eddie says, sounding downright cheerful for a guy who’d seen his first monster less than an hour before. Or maybe it’s been longer; he’s lost track of time. As soon as Eddie’d swiped that damp cloth against his cheek, he’d checked out. 

“What are you–” Hopper cuts himself off abruptly only to immediately start right back up again, sounding far more alarmed than he had moments ago. “What the hell happened to you, kid?” 

Steve opens his eyes. If something happened to one of the kids on his watch, he needs to know. But Hopper’s gaze is trained directly on him, bushy brows all scrunched up together. Steve opens his mouth to reply, but when bile starts making its way up his throat again, he snaps his mouth shut and swallows it down. 

“Billy Hargrove kicked his ass,” Dustin cuts in, sounding almost impressed by that fact. If it wouldn’t make his eyes pop straight out of his skull, he’d roll them.

“You need to go to the hospital, kid”

“That’s what I said,” Eddie cries, that same hysterical edge as in the tunnels creeping back into his voice. “But he just had to make sure everyone was safe.”

“‘m fine,” Steve says, finally looking up to meet Hopper’s eyes, ready to ask him about Will, and Nancy and Jonathan, and even Ms. Byers. He opens his mouth and spews all over the carpet, throat burning as he bends over and heaves, barely avoiding Hopper’s shoes as the man jumps back.

His and Eddie’s own shoes are far less lucky. 

“Gross, dude!” Mike cries.

“At least it wasn’t on El,” Dustin mutters, sounding just as disgusted.

He expects Eddie to drop him, but all he does is walk them backwards until he’s depositing Steve into the empty spot by El’s feet. The world spins as his vantage point changes. He closes his eyes against it. 

“Take him to the hospital,” Hopper orders.

“But–”

“Now, Munson.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but the only cars out front sure ain’t mine!” Eddie cuts in, loud enough that it makes Steve’s ears ring. As if sensing his discomfort, Eddie pats his shoulder gently. “And I know a police set-up when I see one– no way in hell am I stealing Hargrove’s ride.”

“Again,” Dustin mutters, and Eddie echoes him, sounding just about as fed up as Steve feels. 

“I’m going to do what any well-behaved high schooler would do in this situation,” Eddie says before Hopper can start yelling. Steve can’t help but snort at that. They may not have overlapped much in school, but even he knows that calling Eddie ‘well-behaved’ is like calling a demo-dog a friendly neighborhood pet. “I’m calling Wayne.”

He squeezes Steve’s shoulder once before the warmth and pressure of his hand retreats, leaving Steve alone with El on the couch. He listens to Eddie’s footsteps walk away, presumably to call this Wayne person. Steve doesn’t know who that is, but can’t bring himself to probe at the question too much. His brain’s probably bled all its gooey bits out of his ears, just like Eddie had said, and now all that’s left is a rapidly-drying raisin that he can’t get to think any coherent thoughts.

He might not ever think a thought again. 

Steve keeps his eyes closed, lets himself drift. The kids talk, Hopper talks, Eddie talks, but Steve doesn’t; he’s got a raisin for a brain now, and raisins don’t have to talk. 

“Son?” There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking it gently. “You with me?”

His brain’s still rattling around in his skull, but he opens his eyes. There’s a man standing in front of him, bald, and tired-eyed, and vaguely familiar in the way everyone is in Hawkins. Steve blinks at him and tries to figure out what the hell’s going on. 

But then Eddie’s there, crouched down beside the man, holding his hand out. Steve takes it without hesitation and lets Eddie lever him up until he’s propped between Eddie and the other man, barely allowed to even support his own weight. 

“Let’s get you to the hospital, Stevie,” Eddie says, and then leads their trio in a limping procession toward the Byers’ front door. 

Byers. Shit, right. “Will?” Steve asks, hoping someone will answer his barely-coherent question. 

“He’s fine,” Hopper says, maneuvering in front of them to hold the door open. “Hell, you can visit him at the hospital if you want, as long as you let a doctor check you out first.”

Steve hums and lets himself be hauled out of the house and toward a beat-up truck. Eddie opens the passenger-side door, and climbs in, leaving Steve standing out in the cold, only upright by the other man’s steady hands. 

“Up you get, Harrington,” he says, and then he’s pushing Steve forward and up as Eddie pulls. Somehow he ends up seated in the passenger seat, Eddie close at his side. When the engine kicks to life, it rumbles soothingly through Steve until he’s slumping into Eddie, too exhausted to hold up his head. 

“Stay awake, pretty boy,” Eddie says, shrugging his shoulder just enough to tip Steve off of it and back upright. “Can’t fall asleep until we know your brain isn’t bleeding.”

“‘m not sleeping,” Steve replies, hating the way his voice whines out of him. His head feels too heavy on his neck. It’s a struggle to keep upright as the swaying of the truck lulls him. “M’ face is all messed up.”

Eddie snorts. “I know,” he says, slinging his arm around Steve’s shoulder, and letting him slump into his side. “That’s why you can’t fall asleep.”

“But you still think I’m pretty?” Steve asks, smiling as he tucks himself further into Eddie’s warmth as the other boy stutters, but notably does not deny it. The truck’s cold despite the tepid air sputtering out of the heater. In contrast, all the places their sides are pressed together are an inferno, heating him up from the outside in. 

It’s nice. Eddie’s nice. He always has been, even if Steve hadn’t used to think so. But he’d gone into the tunnels with them despite obviously not knowing what was going on, and he’d helped boost Dustin out of the hole, sacrificing himself in the kid’s place, even though he’d clearly been scared shitless.

His body had been wracked with tremors as Steve pressed him into the tunnel wall, trying desperately to shield him as the demo-dogs rushed past. In the moments after they’d all passed, leaving the pair of them unscathed, Eddie had laughed, seemingly so full of the relief of making it through the night that he’d leaned forward and–

“Did you really kiss me?” Steve asks, forgetting entirely about Wayne in the driver’s seat of the truck until he hears the man snort. 

Eddie makes a high-pitched whining noise but doesn’t pull away. Steve will take it. 

“Boy, mind telling me what you’ve gotten yourself into?” Wayne asks.

“Nothing!” Eddie cries, like a liar. He continues speaking in a whisper, like that will somehow stop Steve from hearing him despite the way they’re pressed together. “Later, Wayne.”

Steve laughs, and stays right there, propped against Eddie for the rest of the drive while the pair bicker back and forth. They’re good-natured about it, even as they push each other’s buttons just enough to get a reaction. It’s nice. At his house, the buttons are usually more like land mines and the goal is always to blow the other person up. This is more like something you’d see in a sitcom where everyone loves each other, and the stakes are all dropped by the end of the episode. 

The ride’s over quicker than he would have liked. Then he’s being maneuvered into the hospital and whisked away from them both. 

He ends up in a small, windowless room, propped on an examination table, the paper sheet beneath him crinkling and ripping every time he shifts his ass. A nurse with a clipboard asks him questions he mostly tells the truth about. After all, what had hurt him had been entirely human.

It always is. 

They scan his brain, find the concussion everyone was expecting, and bring him into a  brand new windowless room with a fresh paper shield to rip. He’s poked and prodded and rebandaged, and then left there to rot. 

Steve loses track of time.

He’s got nothing to do but think. He starts by wandering the small room and squinting at all the posters on its walls. That goes quick though, so he goes back to the table and eases himself back down and starts thinking about people and monsters and people that are monsters.

He wishes Eddie and Wayne were still here, distracting him with their squabbling. Or the kids, even. Historically, they’re loud enough to make his head pound, but he’d take that right now over this lonesomeness.

It feels wrong to be alone– it had the first time, too, after monsters and Will Byers came back from the dead. After the hospital. After they’d left Jonathan with Will and he’d driven Nancy home, he’d holed up in his own house, and tried not to think about a monster pouring from his ceiling. 

This time feels worse. Maybe it’s because he’d had all the kids to wrangle, or because Eddie was stuck to him like glue, or because he’d been there with the whole group while they came up with a plan, surrounded from all sides with people all talking loudly enough that he can still hear their voices echoing through his head. 

The quiet feels foreign, more isolating as he’s forced to sit in it. 

And after the first time, he’d still had Nancy the next day at school. He’s not sure he can say that any more, isn’t sure there’s anyone left. The kids have each other, Eddie’s got his group of weirdos, and Nancy’s got Jonathan.

Who’s left? Just Steve. 

It’s a relief when the doctor comes to give him instructions he barely listens to. Better his big, empty house than this tiny, empty room. Steve follows him out, through winding hallways he would have never been able to navigate on his own, and out into the lobby.

He’s not sure how he’s going to get home. Everyone who might be willing has bigger priorities like El and Will. His parents are in Chicago, and wouldn’t come anyway. It’s moments like this that he really misses Carol and Tommy, no matter how big of assholes they might have been. 

He’s just begun psyching himself up for the arduous walk home when he sees Eddie and Wayne. They must catch sight of him, too, because they both stand from their uncomfortable-looking chairs and head straight for him. 

“What are you still doing here?” Steve asks once they’re in hearing range. 

Eddie scoffs. “What, did you think we’d just leave you to find your own way home?”

Steve stares at his earnest eyes, throat clogged. Maybe, somehow, despite everything, he’s got at least two people in his corner. That’s enough. 

“What’s your prognosis?” Wayne asks. 

Steve shifts his gaze to him and tries to get his muddled brain to produce the correct words. “Concussion?”

Wayne’s face goes stern, eyebrows all caterpillared together in the middle. It’s all Steve can do not to take a step back. “What’re the instructions for that?”

Steve hadn’t listened to that part. When all Steve does is stare at him, Wayne huffs, turns on his heel and strides away. Steve watches him go.

“Is he… going to come back?” Steve asks hesitantly.

Eddie snorts. “He’s going to corner one of the nurses until they tell him what we need to do for your noggin,” Eddie says. When that doesn’t seem to reassure Steve, Eddie continues. “He’s going to come back.”

“And then?” Steve asks.

“We drive you home,” Eddie replies. 

Steve thinks of the small, clinical room he’d been left alone in, the way the walls seemed to cave in around him, making his alone-ness even worse. 

 “Can we visit Will first?”

Only two more parts! As always, thanks to @queenie-ofthe-void for the beta editing, especially some continuity issues I know came up <3

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

I used to know this life of mine (I used to know your love)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral, no use of y/n)

length: 1.5k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: people change as they grow and sometimes you're not around to see it, and then you have to learn to know them a second time, yes this is abt jason coming back from the dead

a/n: enjoy xoxo

"Oh, no sugar in mine, please." It's a simple thing, really - a soft, little request hazing through the early morning towards him. But Jason feels, as he freezes with the spoon he's holding half in the sugar container, a bit like you've shot him in the chest.

"No sugar?" he echoes - like it must've been a mistake, like he must've heard you wrong.

"Yea…" you confirm carefully. "Just cream."

He thinks, somewhere vague in the back of his head, that he should respond to you, that he should say something easy and smooth out the worried frown that's begun to tug at your lips.

But he can't. He's frozen, his hand still gripping onto the sugar spoon so tightly that his knuckles start to pale. Because he doesn't know - he used to, but he doesn't know. Something panicky and sharp begins to rise in the back of his throat as he remembers that he just doesn't know you anymore.

"Jay," you say carefully, and he nearly flinches at the feeling of your hands overtop of his, gently prying the spoon from his grip and putting away the sugar. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He grunts sort of noncommittally and you wait patiently, one hand smoothing down his bicep as you wedge yourself in to stand between him and the counter - so that he has to look at you, so that he can't run away. You always know, he thinks, where he's gone and how to get him back.

He wonders with a shuddering sort of guilt how you still know him so well, while he…

"It's just sugar," you say patiently, twisting around to grab his coffee and then manhandling his wrists so that he's holding onto it. You keep your hands around his as he wraps his palms around the ceramic - as if you don't trust him not to drop it, not to shatter it on the floor. Jason wonders sort of achingly when you had to be the one to bear these weights.

"It's just coffee," you continue, and he fixes you with a desperate look because he always knows when you're lying. 

"You used to take sugar in it," he says haltingly, and you hum in agreement.

"Yea - I guess I don't have as much of a sweet tooth now as I did then," you say simply - like it's easy, like it's just a spoonful of sugar.

"I used to know how to make you coffee," he says quietly, and if you weren't standing close enough to feel his heart thumping against yours, the whispered confession would've been lost in the silence of the home that you were supposed to share. 

"You do know how to make me coffee," you say gently, tilting your head to look at him as his own head bows. "It's just a little change."

"It's three years of little changes," he says hollowly, and he looks at you a bit like he's dying a second time. "It's three years that I wasn't here. Three years where you were living and changing and -" His hands tighten around the mug so much you worry a bit that it'll break, but you keep your own hands steady around his, nonetheless. 

"You know me, baby." You say it softly - like a promise, like a vow. You murmur it, again and again as your lips find his. "You know me."

"I used to," he breathes, his lips brushing against yours in that way that makes your heart skip.

"You still do," you reply pointedly, and the bit of heat that rises to your cheeks serves only to make his shoulders slump, his muscles straining just a bit less under the weight of it all. 

"It's not the same," he murmurs, and you pull back a bit to look at him, your palms still pressed against his hands as the heat of the mug throbs against his skin - as if that could somehow keep him right here, right now.

"It was never going to be the same," you say patiently. "Whether we were together or apart, it was never… Everything changes. Everyone changes. We might be kinda lucky, you know."

"Lucky?" he splutters, and you drop your hands from his, watching as his grip steadies around the mug - watching as he regains his footing. 

"Well, some people say that's the best part - you know, when you've just gotten together and everything is still new and interesting and… you're - you're getting to know each other still. That's how people fall in love, you know."

"I'm already in love with you," he says sternly, and you can't help the little smile that flits across your face. 

"Yea, but now you get to do it again," you run a hand through his hair, thumbing a bit at the little white streak. "Isn't it lucky? We get to do the best part again."

Jason pauses at that, looking down at the mug of coffee in his hands, at the ceramic that you'd bought when he was dead and gone.

"I'd always thought that the best part was going to be spending the rest of our lives together," he says flatly, and your sharp little inhale sends something painful through his lungs.

"Are we not doing that still?" you ask quietly, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the thought of his own impermanence. 

"Baby, I-"

"You don't sleep through the night anymore," you blurt out, and when he looks up at you, you look down. "You used to, um… I used to wake up in the mornings before you and you'd still be there sleeping and I could -" you falter. Jason reaches around you to put his coffee down, his hands instead finding yours to cling to - like it could keep you both alive. 

"You were such a heavy sleeper, I could lay on top of you and you wouldn't move," you continue, your eyes trained on his hands as they grip onto yours. "Before you -"

Died, he wants to supply, but you're pressing your lips together in that way that he knows means you're trying not to cry and he's not sure he could stomach being the thing that tips you over the edge - not now, not when you've spent so many years weeping over his memory. 

"I don't sleep like that anymore," Jason says instead, and he's not sure your little sniffle is any better than your tears. 

"No, you don't," you laugh hollowly, a heartbroken sort of sound in the comfort of your kitchen. Outside, the early morning rays of sun have begun to spill into the apartment and it's only then that Jason realizes how dark it's been while he waited for sunrise.

"You sleep so lightly these days," you continue. "I don't -"

"Say it, baby," he whispers as he crowds you against the counter. "Whatever it is."

"I used to know how to sleep next to you," you admit quietly, and Jason thinks that maybe he wasn't quite as prepared as he'd thought he was to hear it said out loud. 

"You still do," he insists. "It's different, but you still do." You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as tears really do begin to drip down your cheeks, and Jason cups your face in his palms and leans his forehead against yours.

"I don't know how to do this sometimes," you choke out, and he shushes you gently, kissing away your tears.

"You're doing it perfectly, baby," he whispers reverently - like he's confessing something holy, like he's scrubbing away some kind of sin. "You're doing everything right."

"I'm not -"

"You are," he insists firmly, and when you open your eyes to look at him, he smiles. "You're doing perfectly."

"How do you know?" you ask weakly, and he straightens a bit as he thinks of it - of waking up to you every morning, of the way you wrap your arms around his waist and lean against him while he makes you coffee, of the way you sit on the edge of the bathtub in the middle of the night and stitch him together.

"I just know," he says simply, but it comes out a bit raw - like he's cracked something open and all its contents are spilling out. The way you look at him, blinking as your eyes flicker over his face, he thinks that maybe you're the only one who can sort through the mess and make some kind of sense of it. 

"You just know, huh?" you say wetly, and he hums in confirmation.

"Same way you know, I guess," he offers, and you recognize it for what it is - something solid to hold onto, something sturdy, something safe. 

"Do you feel lucky yet?" you ask weakly, the joke sort of fizzling on your lips. Jason looks at you like he loves you, though, and the kisses that he presses to your tear-streaked cheeks feel a bit too much like heaven under the weight of the morning sunlight.

"I do," he says easily. "I really, really do."

[bbapplegirlie]

Distress Signals

A Love and Deepspace Caleb Fic

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NSFW! ADULTS ONLY!

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Summary: When Caleb sees you calling at 2 in the morning, he knows something isn’t right. And when he finds out why you’re calling… he’s determined to right some wrongs.

Content Tags: Lil’ bit of angst, lil’ bit of fluff, lil’ bit of smut, comfort, yearning, self-conscious MC, love confession, first kiss, Caleb fingers a confidence boost into you, Caleb comes in his pants (IDK, something about it is just so Caleb-coded, it’s gonna end up in every fic I write lol), use of gege/meimei, non-canon since this confession is different from the game. PLEASE be aware that Caleb gets paranoid that you were taken advantage of at a party, but it didn’t actually happen, and there are no graphic details! He’s just being an overly anxious adoptive bro ^.^

Length & Status: Roughly 10k words, completed one-shot

Author’s Note: This was written for a request that @ajyoursgirl sent in ♡ I hope you enjoy it, doll! Let me know your feedback, this is my first time writing for a request, so I’m a lil’ nervous :,) I was picturing this as a short 2.5k word fic, but clearly things spiraled out of control xD

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Caleb could sleep through a lot of things, but your phone call was not one of them.

Living in a cramped dorm room with three other college-aged boys could be, quite simply, hell on Earth. Well… technically above Earth, since he was still stuck in the clouds up in Skyhaven while he finished his last year in the Deepspace Aviation Administration’s Aerospace Academy. But regardless, it wasn’t peaceful. His roommates always watching stupid prank videos too loudly, Gideon’s unfortunate habit of sleeptalking, paper-thin walls between him and the idiots next door, the morning alarms going off every other hour with his roommates’ hectic schedules, the occasional sneaky hook-ups behind nothing but the flimsy curtains that divided their bunk beds… Caleb had learned how to ignore it all.

Except for you. Never you.

It helped that he’d set your ringtone in his phone to your sweet voice; it was his personal siren song. He’d caught you singing in the shower some time ago and recorded it, another small way he could always carry you with him everywhere he went. No doubt you’d be furious if you found out—you weren’t exactly the most, ah, practiced singer—but Caleb wouldn’t change it for the world.

The minute he heard your voice calling out from underneath his pillow, he woke up, smiling sleepily to himself. It was a much better way to wake up than his usual alarm. The only thing that kept him from not picking up right away so he could listen to the ringtone a little longer was knowing that you would be left waiting on the other end.

When he saw what time it was, though, his smile sank into a churning tide of nausea rising in his stomach.

2 in the morning? Why would she be calling this late…?

He answered the phone, rubbing his eyes as he sat up in bed. “Y/N? Wha’s goin’ on?” he mumbled, words still slurred with sleep.

Somewhere above him on the top bunk, Gideon groaned. “Caleb, dude, it’s fucking late, man, shut the fuck up—”

Caleb was quick to punch the underside of the bunk bed, silencing him. He didn’t want to hear it from Gideon of all people. His friend grunted an audible oof, the force of Caleb’s honed muscles barely buffered by the thin mattress.

“Um… hi, Caleb, I’m sorry to wake you up… everything’s fine, don’t worry.”

Caleb knew instantly from how you spoke, all choked-up and unsteady, that everything was not fine.

And so he got out of bed, quick to slip on a hoodie and shorts, any traces of sleep vanquished from his body. Whatever was going on, he needed to fix it now. Best not to do it in this cramped space where his roommates might eavesdrop.

“Pipsqueak, you don’t sound fine. Tell me what’s going on. Do you need me to come to you?”

There was a long pause on the other end as Caleb grabbed his wallet off the nightstand, ready to leap into action.

“No, Caleb, I’m fine, I promise. I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

But the assurance stuttered in your throat again, obviously halted by tears.

Fuck, Caleb should’ve punched the underside of that mattress one more time, just to release some of his rising fear and fury. There was nothing that set his blood boiling faster than knowing you were in distress, and being separated by so much distance only made it worse. Something about higher altitudes making things boil faster or whatever his high school physics teachers had taught him, maybe.

He slipped out of the dorm room, slamming the door just a little bit before he made his way down the hall, if only to irritate Gideon for butting in.

“Tell me where you are, pips, I’ll come to you.”

“No, no, Caleb, that really isn’t necessary. I’m on my way home now anyway. I’ll be there faster than you could get to me. I don’t want to interrupt you anymore than I already am…”

Your attempts at reassuring him did the opposite. Why the fuck were you out at 2 in the morning? Sure, you were in your first year of college, but he didn’t think you were the partying type—not his sweet, innocent pipsqueak. He’d spent all of your shared younger teenage years protecting you from that kind of stuff. He thought he’d done enough to deter you from ever wanting to do that kind of thing, but clearly not.

Another pressing question was why you would ever think you were interrupting him by asking for his help. Who else would you turn to but him? He would drop everything for you, always, and he thought that you knew that.

It didn’t matter what you said. He was going to come to you, whether you liked it or not. He had to make sure he set things straight with you about where his priorities lay, and that was best done in person.

Exiting the dorm building, Caleb let the frosty high-altitude air imbue every inch of his lungs, as if it could act as a balm to his increasing panic. But focusing on the night air made him realize that not only was the moon not out tonight, but it was also cloudy, and that increased his stress tenfold. Not only were you out this late, but you were out this late in the complete dark with no moon or starlight to guide your way home. Fuck.

He began to make his way down the winding campus pathway to the nearest Coelum Express station; thank god the Protocore-powered anti-gravity train that connected Linkon City to Skyhaven ran 24/7, or he would’ve never applied to the Academy in the first place.

“Okay, well…” he started, trying to think of how best to get you to open up. You were prone to moments like these, where it was obvious you needed help, but were too shy to say what was really wrong. He would pry it out of you one way or another, but he wanted to see if he could get you comfortable enough to explain on your own volition first. “Why don’t you tell me about your night, then? Did you go out with friends?”

He tried to make it sound like he was just curious, making conversation for the sake of it, but really, he wanted to narrow down his suspect list for who had upset you.

“Yeah, I was out with the girls… they got invited to a frat party and decided to drag me with—”

That nearly stopped him in his tracks. He briefly pictured himself punching a tree, or a bush, or anything really, but he was quick to compose himself. He needed to get to you as soon as possible, and if he allowed his short temper to make him miss the next train, he would never forgive himself.

But the image of you in a frat house of all places… fuck, and the fact that you’d left on the brink of tears… it wasn’t painting a pretty picture.

“—please don’t be mad at me, Cay, I know you said not to go to things like that, but they insisted, and I thought it would be fun—”

“I’m not mad, pipsqueak,” he assured you, a damn lie, but it wasn’t you that he was mad at. “You’re in college now, I can’t stop you from living your life and having the college experience.” Though he sure wanted to, at least when it concerned other boys. “A pretty girl like you deserves to have fun, right? Was it fun, then? It doesn’t sound like it...”

Your long pause made Caleb focus on counting his breaths to keep from screaming from impatience. “Well… it was fun while the girls were with me, I guess. We danced for a while, did some karaoke, played a couple of games… but then they all started pairing off with the boys,” you said, voice turning threadier, whinier.

If this story was going where he feared it was, he’d have blood on his hands, arms, and legs by the end of the night.

“They were, you know, kissing and hooking up with whoever, having fun. But I just got left on the couch in the living room all alone! No one would even talk to me. None of the other girls, none of the guys, and… I left on my own. I didn’t want to just sit there and watch like a creep. I felt so awkward, Caleb! I was the only one not getting any attention!”

The fucking flood of relief that washed through him in that moment nearly swept him off his feet. He was absolutely thrilled to know that you were just being ignored by boys instead of the worst-case scenarios his brain had been coming up with, but he tried hard to keep his sigh of relief from being heard over the phone. You were still clearly upset, and he didn’t want you to feel mocked.

“...Cay? Are you still there?” you asked, sniffling.

Caleb ran a hand over his face, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, pips, I’m here.” He finally made it to the train station. Lucky him, he only had to wait a couple of minutes for the next one to arrive, or he might’ve considered finding the nearest parachute and getting down to Linkon himself. “Was there a boy there that you were hoping to get attention from…?”

Again, he infused his tone with a false casualness that he wasn’t truly feeling. He was fishing for more information, fishing for the name of the boy he would need to… well, he wasn’t sure what he would do to the boy yet, but the cold, black jealousy that began to blacken his vision did not bode well for whoever it was.

“Well, no, no one specifically... but it would just be nice to feel wanted, you know?” Another surging tide of relief had Caleb relaxing a bit more, but your tears kept him from feeling completely at ease. Did you really not know how badly he wanted you…? “I wasn’t even the one invited to this party, the other girls were… they always are. Boys come up to them, give them their numbers, ask them on dates, hook up with them at parties…” The sob that you let out was small, but still enough to make Caleb’s heart feel like it was shattering. “I never get that kind of attention. Not in high school, not now. I’m starting to think I never will. Can you be honest with me, Caleb?”

Caleb clenched his fists, hating that the one thing you seemed to want right now—attention from other boys—would be the one thing that would drive him over the edge. Why can’t I be enough for her? “Always, pips.”

“Am I really so ugly that boys won’t even talk to me? I know my friends are super pretty, so I’m not surprised they have it so easy, but—”

“Y/N.”

He said your name so forcefully, with so much fevered passion, that you fell silent on the other end immediately. He only spoke that way when he was preparing to lecture you about something serious, which this clearly was to him.

“Y/N, I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again. Do you understand me? Not even as a question.” Caleb implored, covering the mouthpiece of his phone as the train pulled into the station. He hopped on after scanning his boarding pass, a plan brewing in his mind that required you to not know what he was up to. Luckily, the Coelum Express was quiet this time of night, so once he took a seat on the nearly-empty vehicle, he could speak again without too much background noise. “You are not ugly. And it’s insulting that you would even say that. Have I not told you a million times you are the most beautiful girl in the world? My pretty, sweet pipsqueak? Are you implying that I’ve been lying to you our entire lives?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But what, pips?” he interrupted again, even more impassioned.

“You’re just saying that because you feel obligated to!” you insisted, voice pitching higher. “Never mind. Forget I said anything, Caleb. You probably have to get up early, so I should let you go.”

“Uh-uh, no way, pips. Get off this phone now, and I will track you down.” He neglected to let you know that he was already tracking you down. “This conversation isn’t done. I never say anything just because I feel obligated to, you should know that. You are beautiful, pips, and that fact is not reliant on my opinion, nor is it reliant on any amount of attention you may or may not be receiving from some stupid frat boys. Seriously, are they even catches themselves? I’m going to guess not if none of them caught your eye in the first place. Tell me, did someone say something to you to make you feel ugly?” The thought alone had his biceps flexing. He cracked his knuckles to release some of the pent-up tension.

“No, Caleb, I just… I just feel that way on my own.” 

Caleb’s shoulders fell at that. It was good that no one was bullying you, but he so desperately wanted to find someone to blame for the way you were feeling. That way, he’d have someone to take his anger out on, but it was becoming more apparent by the minute that the only enemy to battle was your own self-doubt and lack of confidence. It was a much harder foe to defeat, one that couldn’t be punched or intimidated like he wished.

“It’s just… the little stuff adds up, you know? I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never even gotten flowers. Or chocolates, or love notes. No one has ever done anything romantic like that for me.”

Well, fuck, Caleb thought, knowing that wasn’t true. There were a few times you had received gifts like that from the boys at your high school; they’d left them on your front porch, taped them to your locker, sent them in the mail, but Caleb had always been quick to toss them before you received them. No way would he let some snot-nosed kid weasel his way into your life before he’d gotten a chance to tell you how he really felt.

Now, Caleb was wondering if the times he’d threatened those boys to leave you the fuck alone had somehow spread amongst your peers at college, too. Maybe that was why no one approached you, fearful of your ever-vigilant older not-brother that seemed to have too keen an interest in you.

On one hand, it pleased him to know his attempts at protecting you and keeping you for himself had worked. On the other hand, it devastated him to know that your tears might be more his fault than anything.

“Ahem,” Caleb said, swallowing down his guilt as his dark brows pulled tightly together. “That is verifiably not true. Are we choosing to forget that I’ve gotten you flowers and chocolates every year for the Qixi Festival? Never mind all the sweets I bring home, even when it isn’t a holiday.”

Your sigh was audible. “You know that doesn't count, Caleb. I’m talking romantically. You only do that in a… pitying-your-dumb-meimei kind of way.”

Caleb shut his eyes tightly, resisting the urge to start slamming his forehead against the window of the train as it descended into Linkon City.

Maybe at one point, he’d thought of you like a little sister. Not dumb, just… clueless sometimes. But for a long time now, you were more of his… clueless crush. 

Nah. Crush wasn’t the right word.

Clueless soulmate.

What you said was a reminder of why he hadn’t been more direct about this in the past, though. If you thought that he saw you like a sister, then maybe you just saw him like a brother. And he’d convinced himself long ago that he’d rather stay quiet than risk losing the closeness of the relationship you currently had by asking for more.

He’d lived like that up until this point, but he was about ready to snap. Having to endure listening to you speak as if you were unattractive, unlovable, was going to be the Protocore that broke the wanderer’s back. The idea that he’d never done anything romantic for you would be laughable if it wasn’t so infuriating.

It was time to step his game up. Maybe you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, but… he needed to try. He needed you to know your options. And maybe he was a little full of himself, but he thought he was a hell of a lot better than some sweaty frat boy.

“Pips, I promise you… I guarantee you that you will get to have all the romantic experiences you could dream of someday, and I can only pray that it won’t have its beginnings in some nasty frat house. I hate that you’re crying because some unwashed, drunken, bum loser didn’t pick you to be his one-night stand. Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”

“I’ll take what I can get at this point, to be honest,” you replied, voice heavy with shame. “I don’t think a girl like me gets to be picky.”

That time, he really did slam his head against the window in frustration.

He had so much to say to you, but he didn’t want to do it over the phone. If he was going to prove just how loveable you were, how truly beautiful you were, by finally offering the confession he’d wanted to give you for so long now… then he was going to do it the right way, face to face. He clenched his fist at his side, trying to restrain the words he so desperately wanted to say so that he could save them for the right moment.

Soon. The train would arrive soon.

“I know it’s probably hard for you to understand, since you’re neck-deep in fangirls waiting on the tarmac at the Academy every day—”

Oh, you silly, silly girl, Caleb thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. You’d forgotten the scheme of pretending to be his girlfriend so those girls would leave him alone so soon, huh?

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked you to just pretend…

“—so you don’t know anything other than having your pick of every girl you could possibly want—”

Every girl except the one I need.

“—but it’s really hard, Caleb. It’s hard feeling like the least wanted girl in the room.”

I won’t let you feel that way for long, pipsqueak, I swear. I’ll stop being a coward.

Caleb chewed his lips, peeling back a bit of dry skin and then cursing when he tasted blood. Aw, hell. Now wasn’t the time to fuck up his lips, not when he was planning on…

He rubbed his temples, forcing the panicked thoughts to the side. “Pips, have you considered that the only reason people don’t approach you is because you’re too beautiful?”

You scoffed, but he didn’t give you time to refute him.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re not the only one who struggles with self-confidence.” I would know, he thought, laughing silently to himself. Even though he was generally super confident, considered one of the most popular guys at the Academy, and yes, frequently approached by the girls there, he still struggled with how he saw himself… especially when he wondered how you might see him. “Maybe those guys at the party all thought you were the most likable, most gorgeous girl in the room, but were too scared to approach you. Have you… have you ever tried to approach them instead?”

“Ha-ha,” you said, the dry, mocking laugh obviously one you had learned from him. “You know me, Caleb. Of course I haven’t. The girls had to beg me to even leave the house in the first place. I don’t have the guts for that.”

Another sigh of relief. “Well, then… maybe you have your answer. Sometimes, beautiful girls need to be the ones to make the first move. Give it a try before you start declaring yourself unlovable.” 

It seemed like the right advice to give, but he hated that he was giving it to you, encouraging you to make a move on anyone else but him. If he could just get to your place first before you had a chance to practice his advice, though, then maybe he could avert that crisis. 

He shook his head as if to clear it and focused instead on teasing you.

“And if that still doesn’t work, I dunno, pips. Maybe you’re hopeless, after all.”

“Caleb!”

He giggled quietly, pleased to hear your irritation replacing the tears. “Oh, hush, I’m only teasing. If you approach someone and they turn you down, consider it practice for the next time. You can’t let a single rejection discourage you.” Though he certainly would be discouraged—no, heartbroken—if you turned him down when he got there…

As the train descended into Linkon City, Caleb tried to lighten the mood by distracting you with tales of all the times Gideon had been turned down by the girls at his school. Objectively speaking, he was a handsome, smart, talented, charming guy (though Caleb would never admit that to his face), yet he still faced rejection, just like everybody else. He hoped that it would help get it through your thick skull that finding love took a little patience sometimes.

Caleb was being a hypocrite, though, because he was completely out of his own patience. He had to hold himself back from using his gravity evol to speed up the train’s descent into Linkon.

When the train finally pulled into the station, he really did use his evol to pry the doors open, unable to wait any longer. He all but vaulted from the vehicle, taking the familiar route to your apartment like a bloodhound on the hunt. To his dismay, the flower shop that he had planned on stopping by was closed—didn’t they know that a man might need to buy an emergency bouquet at 2 in the morning?—but that didn’t stop him from covertly stealing a hefty bundle of flowers out of people’s gardens as he continued his journey. It was no professional floral arrangement, but he tried his best, making sure to gather only the freshest blooms in your favorite colors.

All the while, he kept you distracted on the phone, letting the conversation flow freely. He asked you if you’d found any new favorite restaurants, how your classes were going, what your new friends were like. He had to keep the edge out of his voice for that last question; he didn’t like the idea of you being around girls who made you feel so insecure, who would ditch you for a bunch of dudes and leave you to walk home alone in the middle of the night. He asked if you were staying safe on your walk, and you were quick to assure him that you’d just made it home.

When he got to the corner store at the end of your street—thank the heavens above that it was open, or he would’ve broken the glass to get in—he made an excuse about fetching a glass of water so that he could grab your favorite chocolates without you hearing the cashier. It was no heart-shaped box with a pretty red ribbon tied around it, but he would make sure what he said when he got to your place left no room for confusion about how he felt.

“Hey, pips, I actually have a question for you,” Caleb said during a lull in the conversation as he finally made it to your apartment. He fished out the spare key you’d given him to get into the locked lobby.

“Shoot.”

“I, um… I’ve been struggling to tell this girl how I feel, actually. I’ve been feeling a little insecure myself. Guess we’re kinda alike, after all, huh? Could you maybe give me some advice?”

The other end of the line went quiet for so long that Caleb wondered if you had fallen asleep. 

“Pips?”

“Yeah, sorry, I heard you. I just… I don’t know what to say. I’m the last person you should be asking for advice, you know.”

The hurt in your tone was hard to miss. And as terrible as it was, it made Caleb’s lips pull up into a smile. If you were jealous over the idea of him approaching some other girl… that was a good sign, right?

But that smile quickly fell again. Maybe Caleb was misreading it, and the hurt wasn’t jealousy at all. Maybe you were just upset to have this topic brought up again, a reminder of the shitty night you’d only just begun to forget.

“I actually think you’re the perfect person to ask, Y/N,” Caleb argued, trying to hold onto his resolve to go through with this as he stepped into the elevator. “I trust you more than anyone else. You’re the only person on this earth I feel like I can open up to completely. Who else could I possibly ask?”

You sighed, long and tired. “Okay… Well, tell me about her. What is she like?”

“For starters, she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” he said, cheeks heating. Would you take that hint, or…?

“Mm, see? I knew you were lying earlier when you told me I’m the most beautiful girl in the world. It sounds like I’m only the second most beautiful. Guess I can’t trust what you say, huh, gege?”

Caleb let out a quiet giggle. Just so, so clueless.

“What else? A pretty face surely can’t be the only thing that made you gravitate towards her…”

“No, of course not. I’m not that shallow,” Caleb said, fidgeting with the chaotic array of flowers so that it didn’t look like a heap of yard trimmings. “She’s also funny. Kind. Most of the time, that is. Not so much when she gets mad, and I do have a tendency of pissing her off, but I think she secretly likes how annoying I am. And she’s smart… about most things. Sometimes, she’s completely oblivious to what’s right in front of her. But…”

When the elevator doors opened on your floor, Caleb felt his hands begin to tremble. This was it. 

“...I think she’s the one. Well, I know she’s the one, for me at least. But I’m not sure if she feels the same way. Sometimes, I think she gives me little hints, but other times I’m not so sure. I’m worried she just sees me like a… like a friend. Do you think I should tell her how I feel?”

Caleb swore he could hear you chewing on your lip through the phone. “Whoever she is, she’s a real lucky girl, Caleb. She’ll be the envy of your whole school. Why wouldn’t you go for it? Like you said, the worst that can happen is you get rejected. Even if that happens, at least you won’t be anywhere near Gideon’s rejection record, right? He’ll have that high score for quite a while before you beat him…”

That time, Caleb was certain that he hadn’t misheard the jealousy in your voice. Even the way you forced yourself to tease him despite whatever negative thoughts were brewing was familiar; it was a habit that you’d surely picked up from him. But whether or not that jealousy was because the girl was receiving Caleb’s attention, or just any boy’s attention at all, remained to be seen.

When he made it to your apartment at the end of the hall, he lowered his voice, not wanting to ruin the surprise. His heart was trying to break out of his damn chest, like it wanted to break down the door itself, and he prayed that the thudding wouldn’t make his voice too shaky.

“So you think I should just go for it, then? My pride be damned if she turns me down?”

“I don’t see how anyone could turn you down, Cay. You’re the perfect catch. And if she doesn’t see that, then maybe she’s more oblivious than you thought, and you shouldn’t waste your time on such a dumb girl.”

“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right,” Caleb said, giving his hair a final finger-combing, slicking back his sharp-as-swords eyebrows, and straightening his hoodie strings (maybe he should’ve dressed up a little better for this moment, but it was too late now). “Hey, I’m gonna go, I think I need to tell her right now, pips. No better time than the present, right? Good luck with everything. I’ll see you soon, though!”

“Oh, okay—”

He hung up the phone before giving a proper goodbye, biting his lip to hold back the laughter. 

And then he knocked on your front door, loud enough that you could hear from your bedroom.

If he thought he was impatient before, it was nothing compared to now. He counted the seconds like eras, fidgeting the longer time went on without the door cracking open. Did you not hear him? Were you not actually at your apartment? Had you crashed at a friend’s place instead, or had you maybe gone back to your shared childhood home to stay with Josephine? Oh, no, and the way that he’d hung up so rudely, you probably wouldn’t even pick up the phone to let him explain—

He truly began to panic then, and some of the mangled, hand-plucked flowers fell from his sweaty palms onto your doormat. He dropped to his knees to pick them back up—no, no, no, she deserves better than this—only to have the door finally creak open right at the most inopportune moment.

Caleb scrambled to get up, eyes wide, face flushed. You were so fucking beautiful, enough so that the breath was knocked from his lungs. Any last vestiges of his composure fled back up the hall, down the elevator, and out the front door as he took you in. How could he be so stunned by you every single time he returned to your side? It didn’t matter that you were just in your pajamas, your hair messy, your makeup smudged; it still rattled him every time he saw you. God dammit, he’d grown up with you. There was no reason he should still be this unprepared for how you pulled him in like the universe’s strongest black hole. He had an entire train ride to prepare for this moment—years, really—and here he was, fucking it up already.

“Um… pipsqueak! Fuck. Here, these are for you,” he said, shoving the disfigured bouquet into your hands as your eyes went wide with shock. Oh no… were those… tears?! Maybe his ruse on the phone had worked a little too well… “And, uh, hold on…” He fished through his hoodie pocket, trying to locate the bars of chocolate he’d bought from the corner store. But why were they… squishy? Fuck! He thrust them into your hand regardless, desperate to salvage this moment. “These are for you, too! Now you can’t say no one ever did anything romantically for you, okay? Don’t forget it this time. And, uh, sorry they’re melted, I’m just, well, I’m kinda nervous. I’m sweating a bit, haha. Maybe pop them in the fridge before you eat them. Um…”

How in the world had his planned love confession turned into rambling about chocolate and sweat?!

“Caleb, what the hell are you doing here?!” you finally asked, and Caleb flinched at the hint of anger evident in your tone. “It’s almost 3 in the morning. Don’t you have a date you’re supposed to meet up with? Are you even going to be able to get to Skyhaven in time?”

He gave you a shaky smile in response. “I, uh, actually think I made it right on time…?” he tried, nervously scratching behind his ear.

But you still weren’t getting it. Your brows came together, your lips pouting out. You lifted your chin as if in annoyance, but Caleb knew you were just trying to keep those welling tears from spilling over. “Please don’t tell me she lives in the same building as me. I don’t need you rubbing it in my face that you can get girls so easily… at least let me get a boyfriend first so I don’t feel so left out.”

“Fuck, pips, you’re so…” Caleb groaned, running his fingers through his hair before gently shoving your shoulders. He pushed you inside the apartment and followed after you, shutting the door behind him. The last thing he needed was nosy neighbors hearing how badly he’d screwed this up, lest any of them get it in their heads that they could do better. Once inside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath that did nothing to soothe him. “It’s you, Y/N! It’s you. I’m here for you.”

You didn’t respond for a torturously long moment.

I ruined it, I ruined it, I ruined it.

When he finally found the courage to open his eyes again, it was to find you absolutely dumbfounded, your pretty, plush lips parted in an O. No, no, don’t focus on that, Caleb, not yet, he ordered himself. The sight of those pretty lips combined with his pumping adrenaline made his cock stir far too easily in his shorts, and that was absolutely the last thing he needed right now, especially with how unrestricting the fabric of the shorts was—nothing would be hidden.

Come on, say what you’ve waited so long to say! The words were trying to burst out over the phone, why won’t they come out now?!

He cleared his throat, stepping closer to you so that he could grip your shoulders and center himself. “Pipsqueak… there is no other girl. There is only you. There’s only ever been you.” His amethyst-fire eyes darted between your own, searching for any sign that you reciprocated his feelings. “And I am horrified that you felt for even a second that no man would ever want you. I want you. I need you. I’ve needed you my whole life, and the only reason I haven’t said so was because I was terrified you would be disgusted with me.”

You still weren’t saying anything. Caleb gripped your shoulders even tighter, as if he could squeeze a response out of you; no dice, though, so he continued to ramble.

“Hearing you on the phone like that, though, pips… you’re killing me. I’ve held myself back for so long, thinking that maybe someday you’d start to recognize how I felt and show me you felt the same way, but now you’re looking in the wrong places even though I’ve been waiting right here this whole time and…”

His hands fell away from your shoulders, and he backed himself up against the door, forcing himself to put some distance between you two. He didn’t want to scare you, although that bridge might’ve already been crossed. 

“Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough before. Or maybe I did, and you just didn’t want me like that, so you pretended not to notice. In which case, I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like this, but… I need to make sure you know exactly what your options are before you start chasing some dumbfucks at your school who don’t even know what your favorite colors are, what your favorite foods are, what brand of toothpaste you like. Who don’t know how to make you laugh, how to make you pout, how to bring out that pretty color in your cheeks. Because I do. And I think… I know I can do a whole lot more than that, too. Give me a chance, pips. I am begging you. I will get on my knees if I have to.”

Fuck, am I being too pathetic? Too desperate…?

The apartment was too silent. You still weren’t saying anything. Caleb bit his lip again, that torn part he’d ripped open earlier bleeding once more, the small raindrop of blood nothing compared to the blood spilling from his cracking heart into his rib cage.

He had half a mind to turn and run from this room before he had to listen to his worst nightmare come to life—you rejecting him.

Caleb buried his face in his hands. “Fuck. This was too much. I’m sorry. Just… take some time to think about it, okay? Call me if you want to talk about it... and if not, you don’t need to say anything, alright? We can pretend this never happened. I promise I won’t bring it up again, and we can go back to the way things were before, and—”

Your small hands wrapping gently around his wrists—so much smaller, they very nearly couldn’t wrap all the way around—was enough to break him from his rambling. You’d set the strangled flowers and melted chocolate down, giving him your full attention. You tugged Caleb’s hands away from his face, exposing his flushed cheeks, his pleading eyebrows, his quivering lower lip. You looked concerned; it was the same face you made when you saw a lost puppy running down the road all by itself. 

“This isn’t a prank, right, gege?” you asked, voice small and timid.

 “What?” That was the very last thing that Caleb had expected to come from your mouth. “Of course not. Y/N, do you really think I would—”

“Um, yes, I do, actually!” you spat back, your concerned, pitying look flipping into one of frustration in the blink of an eye. “Considering I just called you in the midst of a quarter-life crisis that no man would ever return my feelings—including you, you fucking meanie—and your response was to prank me into thinking you were meeting up with some other girl, yeah, I very much think you are capable of pranking me with a fake love confession—”

—including you, you fucking meanie—

—including you—

The words echoed in his brain so hard that it might’ve shattered his eardrums, because the rest of what you said was a blur.

Caleb’s lips fell open, staring at you blankly as he waited for your rant to end. When it finally did, your chest heaving and your cheeks heated into that beautiful, apple-red, he could only barely manage to whisper, “Do you really mean that?”

“Do I mean that you’re a big meanie? Of course I do, I’ve only said it a million times! Are you implying that I’ve been lying to you our entire lives?” you said, echoing his earlier words in a mocking, mimicking tone.

“No, pips.” Caleb finally came to his senses, stepping forward to gather you in his arms. He kept his head leaned back just enough so that he could take in every detail of your face as he made you repeat yourself. “Do you really mean that… that you have feelings for me?”

That was when you fell silent, your cheeks burning brighter. He wished he could buy the color in pigmented form just to keep it in a little glass bottle so he never had to go without it.

Your eyes darted away from him—so bold when you were angry, but so shy the minute he tried to cross this line.

But Caleb wasn’t having any of it. “Look at me, pips. Did you mean it?”

Slowly, you lifted your fluttering lashes up to him, trying to dash away those earlier tears. “Yes, Cay,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“So why were you trying to catch some other boy’s attention at a party earlier…?” Caleb asked. This time, it was his turn to look shot-through-the-heart, and you flinched at how potent the hurt was in his eyes.

“I… Caleb, you’re so popular!” you exclaimed, shaken. “You have a whole world worth of beautiful girls to pick from, why would you ever want me? I’d gotten so used to all your admirers throwing themselves at you, I just, I… I resigned myself to never thinking you’d even look my way! It’s not like you ever dropped any hints or anything!”

Caleb scoffed, flashing one of those sharp-edged smiles that instantly set your blood to boiling. You tried to pull away, thinking he was going to start mocking you, but he only held on tighter, threading his fingers into your hair at the back of your head so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. 

“Oh, I most certainly have dropped hints, missy,” he said, taking that scolding tone again. “Fuck, pips, you’re so cute when you’re clueless.”

You tried to pull away from him again, but it only resulted in him pulling you even closer and then spinning both of you so that he could cage you in against the door with his broad shoulders.

But it wasn’t a cage, not really. This was your home.

“I’d say you’re cute when you’re being a bully, but it wouldn’t be true,” you spat back, resorting to petty insults when you didn’t know how else to act, “because you’re just a big, ugly, stinky, jerk—”

And that was when Caleb pressed his smiling lips to yours, drinking down your insults like expensive liqueur, swallowing your shocked little grunt as a chaser.

To say he just about blacked out would be wrong, because he would remember every tiny detail of this moment for the rest of his life.

To say his heart stopped beating would just be untrue, because it was thundering a storm inside his chest.

To say the universe came to a standstill would just be too cliché.

But the moment was momentous. He would spend a lifetime trying to find the right words to describe the relief, the purest joy, the nectar of ripened love finally being tasted.

The kiss wasn’t like the ones described in storybooks. It was his first kiss… his very first kiss, and yours, messy and unpracticed. There were clashing teeth, bumping noses, colliding chins. It took time to ease into it, to gather the courage to delve past each other’s lips and deepen the kiss the way real kisses were meant to be shared. There were even a couple of moments just like the classic pedestrian face-off, where you both tried to angle your heads at the same time, only to block each other clumsily.

The first time it happened, something like panic flashed through your eyes, like you were worried that it would turn him off and make him regret finally crossing this line with you.

But Caleb was quick to reassure you by laughing it off and lovingly running his fingers over your waist before getting the angle right and kissing you once again.

The second time it happened, he took control and used the slightest bit of his evol to guide you in the right direction. That made you moan. All those years growing up, you would throw an absolute fit when he used his evol on you without permission, but the sound you made then made it very clear that it was more than okay now.

He’d wondered how your first kiss might go for so long, but he’d always thought he would be consumed by the feeling of it, not the taste. The feeling induced ecstasy, yes, soft and plush and hot, but fuck, that flavor. It tasted like a summer's wet dream come true. Now that he’d had you on his tongue, he’d never be able to get it out of his head. It was the sweetest, purest essence, finally his to claim as his own.

Caleb’s shaky, sweating hands fell down your waist, your hips, lower and lower, until his fingers were just underneath the hemline of the pajama shorts you wore. You pressed into it, the unpracticed seductive touch still enough to elicit delicious sounds from you. He swirled his fingertips in a deliberate pattern, tracing the word ‘MINE’ over and over on the flesh of your thighs.

He wanted that touch to stay branded on your skin forever.

When Caleb realized he was moments away from rutting against your leg like a dog, he pulled back. You were both panting, the shallow, hot breaths filling the small space between your heaving bodies.

“Am I going too fast?” Caleb asked, his voice husky. His gaze was glued to your lips, mesmerized by the shine and swell of them.

The intensity of his gaze made you glance away, made your hand’s hesitant exploration of his jaw and hair falter. “If… if it’s too fast for you, we can stop,” you mumbled back.

Caleb shook his head back and forth vigorously. “Mm, we won’t be stopping on my account, pips. I want everything you have to give me. Everything,” he urged, leaning into your palm to nuzzle it with his cheek just as you tried to pull it away. “But I don’t want to scare you. We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t ready. Tell me what you want.”

“I… I want more,” you spoke quietly, words almost inaudible. “As long as you don’t think I’m a bad kisser.”

“Hmm… I suppose this is the worst kiss I’ve ever had,” he said with a smirk, pretending to ponder just long enough for horror to flash through your eyes, “but only because this is the only kiss I’ve ever had. So, that also makes it the best.” Before you had time to start throwing insults at him again for his teasing, his lips crashed back into yours, magnetized by the unstoppable force of his passion.

And as his tongue met yours once more, he wound his arms around your legs and hoisted you up onto his body, relishing in the soft gasp that you gifted him directly into his mouth. He felt that gasp burn down his throat and stain his lungs in a shade he never wanted to get rid of. 

He could’ve used his evol to make the process of carrying you a little easier, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel every ounce of your weight in his arms just as you were, gravity unaltered. With your legs wrapped around him, he carried you to the couch, stumbling a couple of times as he went. It brought forth a fit of the most delightful, effervescent giggles from you that made him feel downright giddy.

“Serves you right,” you snorted at him, and he gave you a big, bright, goofy smile in return.

He set you down on the couch cushions and knelt down on the floor before you, sliding his hands up your thighs and gently pushing them apart so he could crawl in between them. Even with him on the floor and you on the couch, he was tall enough to reach your mouth, no problem. He resumed the gentle lapping of his tongue against yours, continuing to learn how you liked to move against him and matching his caresses to yours.

He wanted to do it forever.

He wanted to do more than just kiss you forever.

Caleb’s hands crawled further up your thighs, running his thumbs in imperfect, nervous circles, the rest of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh like you might fade into nothing but a figment of his imagination if he didn’t hold on tight enough. He pulled you closer to the edge of the couch, relishing in the small burst of pain as your teeth grazed that place he’d bitten open on his lip earlier. He needed that pain—a reminder that this wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t a fanciful hallucination that he would suddenly awaken from and be left heartbroken by.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, choosing his next words carefully. He opted to be vulnerable for you, hoping it would help you see that he was just as inexperienced and insecure as you, and that that was okay. “Promise me you won’t hate me if I’m not good at this, okay? If I don’t know how to touch you properly, tell me so I can get better.”

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing before you spoke. “Caleb, I could never hate you.”

He laughed at that. “You’ve only said it a million times, pipsqueak. Should I not take your words at face value anymore?”

Your brows pushed back together, the shyness of your countenance fleeing in favor of irritation for a brief moment again, but it only made Caleb laugh harder. He distracted your irritation by pressing a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to your lips. I’ll never get sick of that.

When he leaned back once more, he gave your waistband a small tug so that you knew exactly what he wanted. “Now, if you would do me the honor of taking these off… I can show you how I’ve wanted to touch you for a long, long time now, Y/N.”

You chewed your lip, looking down at where he was kneeling between your legs, a man praying at his altar. “Only if you promise you won’t hate me for…”

“For what, sweetheart?”

You turned away, your words an incoherent mumble.

“I can’t hear you, baby. Don’t get all timid on me now.”

“For how I look, Caleb. If I’m not as pretty down there as you thought I would be—”

Caleb lifted one hand from the waistband of your shorts to grip your jaw, pulling you back to face him. It was his turn to express his full-blown irritation, furious at the idea that he would ever be so shallow as to hate you for what you looked like, as if your beauty wasn’t a gift in every way, no matter what shape it came in.

He didn’t need to see you naked yet to know that no matter how you looked, the sight would be seared into his brain as paradise on earth for the rest of his life.

“Did you not hear me earlier?” Using his strongest magnetic gaze to make sure you wouldn’t look away this time, he let go of your chin and hooked his thumb back into your waistband. This time, he didn’t wait for your permission to take the shorts off—he yanked them, using just enough of his evol to lift you off the couch and sneak them down your calves. It brought forth a squeak from your plush mouth, a sound that made him smirk. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Y/N. Every inch of you. That isn’t just my opinion. It is a fact. I’ll repeat it as many times as I need to, but I wish you would learn it on your own, too. So quit being so damn insecure and have some confidence, please. If someone like you doesn’t know how beautiful she is, what chance do the rest of us have?”

Only when he was done giving his speech did he allow his eyes to trail lower to the little black panties you wore. And that ended up being the smart thing to do, because fuck, it was hard to think about anything other than his need for you as he caught sight of the wet patch seeping through the black fabric between your legs.

You squirmed under the intensity of his perusal, but he pressed his hands tightly against your inner thighs to keep you from closing your legs. He admired the color of your skin, the way the tufts of your cute little hairs peeked through the sides of the panties, the shadowy creases where your thighs met your hips while sitting, the stretch marks, all of it. 

“Now take these off for me too, yeah, pips?” he urged as he nodded towards the panties, his voice dropping to a low, raspy octave. “Let me give her the same pep talk so you can get on the same damn page about how beautiful you both are.”

You hesitated, but he gave you time to gather your strength this time. Because he needed time to steady himself, too—he hadn’t even touched his cock, but it felt like he was moments away from cumming.

And when you finally lifted up to take those panties off as he said, he really did almost cum. Hot fluid leaked from his tip like it wanted to say hi, too.

Pep talk momentarily forgotten, Caleb’s mouth fell open as he stared. God, your cunt was so fucking pretty. She was glistening, flushed the same lovely color as your blushing cheeks, but more deeply pigmented, your clit swollen and throbbing already. 

He wanted to kiss her. To taste her. Because if she was anything like the lips on your face, he would be addicted for life.

But he still had words he needed to say to her, so he needed to save his kisses for later.

“Caleb, you’re staring…”

“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said, not daring to even blink. “How could I not? She’s more gorgeous than any sunset I’ve ever seen. Prettier than every star in the sky.”

And with trembling fingers, he pressed his pointer finger to your pussy for the very first time.

“Mmm!” you cried out, even so small of a touch resonating deeply enough to make you buck off the couch.

He started his touch low on your pussy, gathering the slick moisture that dripped from your entrance with every throb before dragging it up, up, up to circle your puffy clit. You jerked back from the touch, the foreign feeling of a man’s hands on you like lightning to your nervous system, but Caleb didn’t retreat. He just waited for you to settle down before resuming the slow circles and strokes once more.

“How is that, baby?”

“Mmm… ‘s intense, Cay…” you slurred, already caught in the thrall of the feeling.

He smiled, looking up to take in your enraptured expression for just a moment before he went back to staring at that hot place he’d dreamed of for so long.

“You’re so pretty, pipsqueak. So, so pretty. She’s so pretty. You really thought I would hate this?” he asked, words earnest. “You silly girl. My silly, sweet, precious, pretty girl.”

And then he dragged that finger back down to your tight entrance, pressing it in slowly, relishing in the way your inner walls clamped up around his finger like they were welcoming an old friend. God, you were made for him, and your body knew it.

“Oh!” you gasped at the unfamiliar intrusion, but didn’t buck away from him that time. No, instead, you chased the feeling, thrusting your hips closer to the edge of the couch so that you could ride his single digit.

Caleb grinned, repeating the motion. With every long stroke of his fingers inside your weeping pussy, he could see the hesitation, the restraint melt from your body. He kept the rhythm up, intent on unraveling you.

“Promise me you’ll never go seeking out some other boy’s attention, okay?” Caleb rasped out, wishing it came out like an order, but it came out more like a desperate plea instead. “I’ve been here this whole time, pips. I always will be. You don’t need anybody else, alright? I’ll be anything you want. Anything you need. I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise. I promise, Y/N. So promise me you won’t break my heart by running off to some asshole who wouldn’t give you that same devotion.”

You bit your lip, hips quickly learning how to bounce a pleasurable rhythm against him. “I’m sorry, Caleb, I’m sorry. I promise, I promise, I promise,” you panted out, and the words pleased him so much that he gifted you a second finger between your pussy lips. “Fuck! Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, gege, I promise, I never wanted any of them anyway, I just wanted you—”

A third finger.

“Caleb!”

“I wish you’d spoken up sooner, pips,” Caleb said, his own hips jolting from where he knelt, wishing his too-loose shorts would provide more friction against his throbbing cock. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve waited?” His brows pulled together as he remembered all his nights of pent-up frustration, staring at your photos, watching you when you didn’t know he was looking, waking up from dreams and wishing they were real. “And you’ve just been thinking this whole time that you’re not the most stunning, most alluring woman to ever walk this earth? It’s absolutely unacceptable.”

He sat up on his knees and leaned forward enough that his lips just barely brushed yours, getting drunk on the breaths you let out. You made him feel so good, and he wanted to make you feel good, too. Better than good. He suddenly remembered a tip he’d learned online during one of the many nights he’d spent reading tutorials on how to touch a woman properly, just in case this moment ever came.

Might as well give it a try now…

Caleb curled his three fingers inward, pressing hard against your front walls as he picked up the pace of his strokes.

The effect was immediate.

Your body seized up around him, your cunt squeezing him, massaging and milking his fingers as if they could give him the hot load you so clearly wanted. His cock twitched and throbbed underneath the flimsy layer of his shorts, making the fabric bounce. He was fucking jealous of his own fingers, a thought that nearly made him laugh.

You started letting out little gasping, mewling noises that Caleb had half a mind to record for his new ringtone—but he wouldn’t, because his roommates back at the Academy absolutely did not deserve to hear such a beautiful song.

No, these sounds were for no one but him.

“Let your friends have all those stupid boys. They can have whoever they want, and it doesn’t matter, pipsqueak, because I’m yours,” he cooed to you through your orgasm, and god, the way your mouth parted open, the way your eyes went hazy and crosseyed as your climax reached new heights… he needed to cum, too. “I’m yours, sweetheart, always and forever.”

Now that he was sitting up, his cock was close enough to press against the edge of the couch. It wasn’t the friction he wanted, but he could make do, because as badly as he wanted to fuck you… he needed more time to prepare. He would make sure that moment was something out of a storybook, since he’d goofed this moment up with torn flowers, melted chocolate, and rambling words.

Though something about how this night had gone still felt right, even with all his mistakes. He wouldn’t change it for the world, not when this was the outcome. It felt like you two: honest, passionate, messy, and just a little chaotic. 

He only had to thrust his hips against the couch cushions a few times before he was coming, too. The hot liquid got all over the inside of his shorts, falling out of the bottom of his pant leg, and splattering all over the carpet. 

Caleb had jerked his cock plenty in his life, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Inhaling your sweet scent, the sweet taste of your saliva still permeating his tongue, the sight of you climaxing before him, that was all it took to bring this feeling to levels he hadn’t known were possible. He nuzzled his face tightly into your neck as he rode out his orgasm, as you rode out yours, as you both rode the high of those crashing waves together.

He bit down lightly on your neck, an assurance that yes, this was real, yes, you were here, and yes…

You were finally his.

“I love you, pips.”

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

Masterlist // AO3 ♡

[mickyschumacher]

Heyy can you write about Kimi Antonelli x Toto wolffs daughter, where she had like a bad day and her and Toto kept arguing a little and Kimi noticed it that her day went bad, so to cheer her up he planned a late night stroll through the city and perhaps sharing ice cream is included?

(Ps: I love your writing soo much omd I’m in love and please keep the dean huijsen fanfics coming 🫩 that man is so underrated)

[TONGUE TIED!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: kimi finds you storming out of your dad's office after having a bad day, so he decides to turn your frown upside down. or in which you learn something you had only ever dreamed about.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, angst, arguing, weirdly estranged relationship between reader and kimi, literally kimi being a dork, inaccurate history of stavelot (no offence to anyone seriously), bad german and italian, confessions // proof-read-ish!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: andrea kimi antonelli x wolff!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k+

𝐀/𝐍: GAH THIS WAS SO CUTEEEE! ty for the request ♡︎ i made it a bit romantic, so hope that's okay. i also kinda left the 'wolff' name/relationship a bit ambiguous for us coloured girlies. i had a spiel about this on the set it up fic 🤧 hope you like it ♡︎ p.s. also thank you for the dean love <333.

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Today was not your day. You didn't know what it was specifically or what negative energy you had put out into the world and you therein been attacked with, but it felt like the entire universe was against you.

It had started with waking up as most days usually did. It was media day in Belgium and you were on break considering you were officially a high school graduate. You had joined your dad on a whim, abandoning your plans for an Euro summer for loud engines and the smell of petrol. In hindsight, it wasn't your greatest, brightest idea. But you had fallen borden within a week, sitting at home with nothing to do.

So you had planned to join the great Toto Wolff at work. See how things were. You weren't at the paddock too often. But ever since Austria, the paddock loved seeing you regularly.

You could've sworn you had set your alarm for seven. You vividly remember swiping your phone and putting the right time. Yet you had blankly looked at the large eight figure on your screened and grimaced. You were late.

You tried to keep your cool. Getting ready as fast as you could, picking out your clothes while you brushed your teeth. But a tumble into the door of your hotel bathroom had you hopping and groaning for minutes on end.

A step outside of your hotel had you scoffing. As the dark clouds loomed over you, you wondered where your European summer had gone. You breathed in slowly, relaxing your stubbed toe and smiling to yourself ever so calmly. Chin up. This day couldn't get any worse.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You were wrong.

This day could get worse.

In fact it could get much worse.

"Wollen Sie mich auf den Arm nehmen?" You queried, brow raised incredulously as you stood in your father's office in the late evening, hand on your hip. Are you kidding me?

Toto sighed, rubbing his face with one hand and moving the pile of files on his desk with the other. "I'm sorry, schatz. You know how it is."

"It's my birthday. You never miss my birthday," you simply stated. Maybe you sounded like a spoilt brat. A child. But the annoyance was seeping through your veins.

You both knew you were right. Your birthday, let alone any of your siblings' birthdays, they were never missed. Work was never a priority. It was second... last even. It was always family time. But your father was sat in front of you, telling you in three weeks he'd not be home to celebrate with you. And he wasn't even giving you any alternative.

Toto tilted his head, giving you a defeated look. "I don't know what to say, schatz. I need to see things through with Max. This is going to be good for us. For the team. For Kimi."

"Right..." you drawled, nodding sarcastically. "Us."

"___–" Toto started by calling your name but you were already heading out the door.

You grumbled some incoherent words under your breath, shutting the door behind you. This day sucked.

"Are you okay?"

Your body stilled at the voice. You hesitantly turned around, skin burning upon seeing the familiar face. Apparently your day could get even worse than worse – laughable really.

The corners of your mouth curved upwards awkwardly. "Yeah," you nodded slowly, hands locking together behind your back. "I-I didn't think you were still here."

Kimi shrugged, brown eyes darting between you and his surroundings. "Left my phone."

You tipped your head in understanding, taking a discreet glance at the office a few metres behind you now. "Um, you didn't..."

"Hear anything?" He queried, smiling lightly at your nod. "No."

Your chest finally slumped with relief. Thank God. You'd rather a laughable day than dreadful.

"But," Kimi interjected, pursing his lips. "I did notice you walk into the garage with a frown so," he sucked in a sharp breath, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "Would you like to go on a walk?"

You blinked. Oh. Oh? You mulled over his offer before nodding. "Sure."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Belgium in the evening, well, was as European as it got.

The dark clouds had quietened slightly, allowing a peak of the sun to set in the background. Lights of stores debated on whether they wanted to shine. You had found interest in the cobblestone paths embedded with the shape of bricks as you walked alongside Kimi.

You and Kimi were between acquaintances and friends. You had known him a long time now. Your dad had set his eyes on him the moment he had gotten wind of a talent like him. In some ways it was good for you had made a friend of sorts. One that gave you daisies at the park. One that made your heart beat a little different on occasion.

But some days, you watched your father kiss his feet and you wished he'd do the same with you.

Ever since Kimi had been in official talks for his seat, your relationship with him had sort of soured. You're greetings were less frequent. You didn't seem to hang out as much. These were the reasons why it was so difficult to find the right words to say now. Because you weren't sure what to say.

"So," Kimi broke the silence. "I know you've been to Stavelot often, but how much do you really know about Stavelot?"

You raised a brow, turning towards him. "Why? Going to be my tour guide?" You snorted, eyes travelling back to the path.

"Well most of these buildings around here existed in the 18th and 19th century," Kimi started, pointing at well constructed towers nearby and fountains. "Even parts of the abbey and the square. Which is crazy if you think about it."

You paused, looking at him blankly. Was he really going to do this? You eyed him once more before sighing and giving in. "Right then. What happen to the abbey?"

Kimi grinned at your words, walking towards the centre of the town. "So Stavelot was built around the Abbey of Stavelot-Malmedy, founded by Saint Remaclus in 650 AD apparently. A bishop, of course."

"Of course," you repeated, pressing down your smile.

"The Abbey had a lot of power, spiritually and politically. It was really important during the Holy Roman Empire too. But then the French Revolution separated it from religion–"

"Bloody French," you clicked your tongue, shaking your head in a joking manner.

Kimi laughed softly, relishing the refreshing evening wind on his skin. "–and then they partially destroyed the abbey, leaving it in ruins. Then Stavelot was added to Netherland's Kingdom and Malmedy went to Prussia. Eventually they both were added to Belgium. Ice cream?"

You blinked at the random wrods, realising you had indeed stopped in front of an ice cream sure. You shrugged. "Why not?"

Kimi opened the door, letting you in first before following after you. You greeted the owner and looked over to the driver behind you. "You still learning German?"

Kimi nodded, shifting on his feet. "It's pretty bad."

You grinned. "My favourite's are chocolate, stracciatella, and cookies and cream."

He sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. You watched him awkwardly greet the owner like you had. Slowly he sounded the words, telling him what flavours you wanted. You tried not to laugh but the small glare from Kimi told you that you were failing.

You breathed out slowly, still grinning as the owner finished your order, handing you the cup of ice cream. You fished through your purse, finding the change to hand to him before leaving the store. You both resumed your walk, the last rays of sun finally saying goodnight.

After taking a bite of some chocolate ice cream, you turned to Kimi. "So what? They teach you Stavelot history in Italy?"

"No..." Kimi smiled gently, shaking his head in disagreement. "I searched it up an hour ago," he casually said.

You pulled your brows together. "What? You mean like randomly?" You queried, amused.

Kimi rested his spoon in your cup and gave you a pointed look. "Yes, of course. It's my passion," he said dryly, enjoying how you rolled your eyes at him. He sighed, "I planned it. So I could see you smile."

You could feel your heart stutter all of a sudden. It's murmur loud in your ear. The blood of your skin sprinting to the surface, leaving you flushed. You swallowed, nodding slowly. You gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you," you quietly said as the night of Stavelot felt deafening unexpectedly.

Kimi pressed his lips on a line before giving you his usual boyish grin. "It's okay," he said. "Non è facile per lui, lo sai. Ci sta provando." It's not easy for him, you know. He's trying.

Your eyes fell to the streets of Stavelot, incidentally looking at a family playing around near the fountain. You knew who Kimi was talking about. You nodded gently. "I know. I just wished he tried harder. For years it's been Lewis, Nico, George, you, and now Max. I'm tired. And it's different with Jack, Rosa, and Ben. I don't know... I felt like I don't belong. Like I'm not a true Wolff. He doesn't care," you mumbled.

Kimi's eyes widened at your confession. He took your ice cream cup from your hands and put it on the side before holding your shoulders carefully. He held your eyes earnestly. "That's not true. If anything, he cares about you the most."

You blinked before chuckling softly, pushing away the thud of your heart against your chest. You shrugged off his hands, taking a few steps past him. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Dad of the year."

"I'm serious," Kimi maintained, grabbing your ice cream before catching up with you. He handed you the cup and said, "Even before I signed the contract, Toto threatened me."

You gave him an incredulous look. "What? Don't date my daughter or else?" You joked, grin falling at his silence. Your eyes grew bigger. "Wait. Really?"

Kimi nodded, giving you a small smile. "Said I'd distract you. Which is rich since I'm the one driving."

You laughed, taking another scoop of your ice cream. "You say that like you actually liked me then," you sighed in amusement, looking over at the path in front of you.

Kimi looked at the back of your head, chewing on his lip lightly. "Who says I didn't?"

You froze in your footsteps. You turned to him and sucked in a sharp breath. "Andrea," you warned.

Kimi would've winced at the use of his first name if it weren't for your tone. Full of disbelief. "Why? Is it that hard to believe?"

"I–" you fumbled over your words, ears growing hot. "You– we barely know each other anymore. How could you possibly have–"

Kimi tilted his head, smiling gently. "Because you're ___. And I like that about you."

You blinked. Your brain was going into overload. Each memory you had ever had with Kimi coming to the surface. What signs had you missed? Where were the indications that his heart equally beat as fast as yours when you were around each other? You swallowed thickly. "Please tell me you're not speaking in the present tense."

Kimi took a few steps forward, barely an inch away from you now. The summer evening air swirled around you as his hand grabbed your jaw, caressing your burning skin softly. He whispered against your lips. "Present. Past. And if you let me, I can speak about the future too."

You stayed silent momentarily. You pondered over his words. Over everything you had ever known about Kimi. Who was he really to you? And yet, somehow, after all those memories, you found him. Younger with that God awful haircut. Hand reached out towards you, holding. a daisy.

"My dad's going to kill you," you murmured, unable to look away from those brown eyes.

"I think I'll take the risk," Kimi grinned, resting his forehead on yours.

You laughed softly, raising your hand to cover his own. "I'll put in a good word then."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[pearltapes]

◜BACK TO FRIENDS !◞

How can we go back to being friends when we just shared a bed?

﹙aged up! not proofread, fem!reader, 18+ content﹚

◜Izuku Midoriya ◞

When he woke up to you curled into his side, at first he thought it was just a bad night, and you just cuddled into each other for comfort, until he tried to pull off the blanket and he realized both of you were naked under the thin fabric.

He yelped in shock, pulling the blanket down again—accidentally waking you up, causing you to sit up—causing the blanket to slip down your chest.

"Zuku, shut up. I'm trying to sleep." You groaned out, rubbing your eyes for a second before the cool air hit your skin, both of you pausing, your hand falling from your eyes as you glanced between your bare chest and Izuku.

"Sorry. Jesus, I'm sorry." He hissed, quickly covering his eyes with his hands as you pulled the blanket back to cover your chest.

Memories of the night before, unfortunately only now wanting to come back. His skin on yours, soft intimate touches, and sweet words falling from the other's tongue.

His hand slowly falling from his face as he gave you a quick glance, making sure you'd covered yourself before he turned his body to face yours again. "I'm sorry." He mumbled out, pulling his shirt from the nightstand and offering it to you.

With a short blink, you pulled it from his palms, turning so your back was to him as you tugged it over your shoulders. "Zuku, I'm not... not mad at you, don't worry."

The boy let out a short breath of relief as he fidgeted with the thin blanket. "I'm still sorry—last night, I wasn't thinking. If I made you uncomfortable-" He got cut off by you putting a hand in the air.

"Izu, you didn't make me uncomfortable, alright?" You assured, resting a hand on his shoulder before slipping it back in your lap, glancing down as a small flush filled your face. "Besides, if memory serves me right, I was more than willing to do... what we did."

"So, we're ok?" He prompted, carefully reaching over to graze his thumb over the skin of your wrist. "Nothing's wrong?"

"No, of course not." You assured with a quick and simple nod. "We just... spent a night together. That's not something to be ashamed of or upset over. I consented." Your palm found its way into his as his gaze fell to stare at them

"I—yeah, it definitely felt like you were into it." He admitted, hand slotting perfectly against yours. "I was too, don't worry."

Both of you sat there in silence for a moment; the only noises were his fan whirring from the corner, the quiet hums of your breathing mixing, and the ticking of his clock on the wall

"Izu?" You whispered, leaning back against his pillows as his head jerked in your direction, a small tug of his wrist against yours. "That wasn't... you still want to be friends, right?"

Without even a shred of hesitation, he nodded frantically, squeezing your hand softly. "Of course. I wouldn't just abandon you; we're still friends, as long as you want to be."

A simple nod as he lay next to you against the pillow, a tense hum hanging in the air as you turned to glance at him again.

One shared thought in your heads as your bodies pressed together softly.

How the hell were you supposed to stay 'just friends' after a night like that tucked away on his twin-sized mattress?

◜Shoto Todoroki◞

He didn't have much of an outline when he called a few of his friends over to celebrate getting a new apartment. Just drinking and spending time with some of his closest confidants.

One thing he definitely didn't expect when he woke up was the weight of one of his friends lying on top of him on the cot he'd set up in his bedroom.

"y/n." He whispered, gently shaking your shoulder as you stirred, clutching his blanket tighter. Against her skin.

"Five more minutes." You mumbled, leaning more against his chest before blinking and sitting up... it took all of three seconds for it to process through your mind.

Unfortunately, it took half a second for you to tumble off the small cot, landing on his floor with a thunk as he sat up after you, blinking as the blanket only half covered your body.

"Are you ok?" He leaned over, staring down at you sprawled out on top of the small piles of your collected clothes.

"I think I landed on your belt." You groaned, curling the blanket back around yourself as you sat up, Shoto swinging his legs off the cot, gently patting the spot next to him.

Without a word, you took the spot next to him as he wrapped an arm around the small of your back. "It doesn't hurt... that bad, right?" He whispered, heating his hand as he rubbed the general area the belt had mashed into.

"I'm fine, Sho." You assured him as he stilled his hand, looking over you and to the pile of clothes on the floor. "Just stings a little bit."

"Last night wasn't... bad." He admitted, keeping his gaze fixated on his floor. "By the way—I enjoyed it."

"Shit—I did too." You whispered, gaze sweeping over him, hand curling to the side of his face, toying gently with a patch of his white hair. "It was... really good, Sho."

"Yeah," he simply whispered, his free hand coming to press against yours gently. "You're sure your back doesn't hurt too much?"

"Not to inflate your ego, but if my back hurts, it definitely isn't because of landing on your belt." You leaned over, whispering lowly in his ear. "I'm fine though, promise."

You both sat in silence for a few minutes, your hand shifting from the side of his face to rest in your lap, both of you taking inconsistent glances at each other, barely missing the other each time.

"What are we going to do?" He whispered, fixing the blanket back over your shoulder as it slowly slipped down. "Like, do you... do you want to talk about it?"

"We don't have to; it's not like we can change it or take it back." You whispered back, a hesitance landing between both of you. It wasn't regret, like either of you had expected. It was more like wanting it to happen again, and again, and again.

"I know we don't have to." He nodded, cupping your chin so you'd look at him. "I'm asking if you need to."

"...Yeah, it'd be the smart thing to do," you admitted, glancing down at his palm before back to his eyes. "I just don't know what to say."

"Maybe start with if you think it was a mistake, tell me it was, and I'll move away." He whispered, his thumb just barely grazing your bottom lip. "Say the word, and we'll pretend it never happened."

Fuck.

"Sho... That was anything but a mistake." You admitted lowly, catching the spark in his eye as he leaned closer, breath ghosting over her lips. "That was the best night I've had in so long."

"Yeah?" He murmured, gaze flicking between your lips and eyes slowly. "A one-time good night, or something more?"

As your own gaze fell to his lips, he kept his space, waiting for your answer.

"God, how badly I want it to be more than just a one-night escape." He didn't even give you a moment to breathe after your words before his lips were moving against yours.

It's simple, there is genuinely no way to go back to being friends once you share a bed with Shoto.

◜Denki Kaminari◞

"Shit." He whined as you collapsed onto his chest. "That was-"

"Heaven." You interrupted him, trying to catch your breath as his hand slowly trailed down your bare back. "That was heaven."

"I was going to say hot. So, so hot." He murmured into your neck as he pulled his softening cock out of your soaked cunt. "You were so hot." He bit your neck softly as you shifted your lower body against his, stretching your legs across the couch.

"That works too." You sighed, pulling gently at his hair as he sat up, pulling you with him, kissing down to your collarbone.

With a soft jerk, you pulled his head back. "Cool it, Sparky; I'd like to walk tomorrow."

"Sorry, sorry." He rested his forehead against yours, brushing a hand through your hair. "You just... God, you felt like electricity."

"Think that was all you." You whispered, softly kissing his lips as he moved his lips against yours slowly before pulling back again.

"Ok, you're waking 'him back up." He hissed, hands moving to your hips to gently help you get off him.

"Sorry, Sparky." You whispered, settling your head on his chest as his arm wrapped around your side, slowly sliding up your side, gliding easily with how wet your bodies were, a small kiss falling to the top of your head.

"Do not fucking apologize for that." He breathed out, giving a soft zap to your side to make you squeal. "I can die happy if you keep doing that."

The words hit both of you harder than he meant, as his hand stilled on your hip. This hadn't been the first time you slept together; each time it happened, it got better and better.

But those words were like lightning zapping through you.

"Shut up, Denki." You mumbled, burying your face into his chest. "I'll kill you if you don't quit being weird."

"Not my fault you know how to give me a good time." He whispered, one of his hands tangling through your hair, pressing you closer against his chest.

"And it's not my fault you don't know how to just shut up sometimes." You huffed out against his chest, tilting so your chin was pressed into his flesh, half-glaring into his eyes. "You're so annoying. Ruining a good thing by being all..."

"Honest?" He mused, sending another jolt of electricity to your ribs.

"That's—damn—besides the point, Sparky." You hissed, grabbing his wrist and tugging it off your flesh.

"I didn't hurt you, right?" He shot up his hands, carefully not on your skin. "Sorry—I was just teasing."

"Shut. Up." You groaned, wrapping your arms around him tightly, pressing your head into his chest so he'd lie back down. "You were just being annoying. I'm fine."

As he planted back against his pillows, he wrapped both arms around you gently, planting another kiss to the top of your head. "Shutting up."

"Why do you have to be so..." You trailed off, glancing up as he closed his eyes, visibly content with his life. "So damn... Fuck Denki. I'm at a loss for words."

"Maybe my zaps work better than we thought." He teased, slowly tracing stars on your spine.

"No. Idiot." You groaned, burying your head in his chest, once again. "You're so... Comfortable. Safe. Good to me."

"Oh no. You're making it sound like I like you." He gasped, mock bewilderment in his tone as he tugged you closer. "Of course I'm good to you. You think I want to ruin this?"

Yet again—his words made you both pause.

There wasn't even a clear line of what this was anymore. It ventured past meaningless fucking long ago, and it just got more and more domestic each time.

"Damn," The simple word fell from your tongue with ease as his grip slightly loosened, propping his head up to directly stare at you, before pulling the blanket over your bodies, pressing another kiss to the top of your head before leaning back.

Sleep, the best way to escape all problems.

It takes a while, an achingly long time, before one of you finally fesses up, but once the two of you finally admit there is no 'friends' anymore, it's hot and heavy till you die.

◜Tamaki Amajiki◞

oh my god. oh my god. oh my god. Those were the three words rapidly repeating in Tamaki's head when he woke up in your bed.

He slipped from the blanket, only feeling worse once he got a glimpse of your sleeping body as the blanket rose. Fuck.

He felt so stupid for sleeping with you. it wasn't bad, it wasn't even in the same solar system as the word bad. But he thought of how it could affect your friendship—and that it was physically painful to even think about if your friendship died because he could keep it in his pants.

He slowly gathered his clothes from the floor, taking small glances as your arm reached for the spot he'd been in moments before. Patting the spot a few times before you opened your eyes, half-squinting, half-glaring at him.

"Where are you going?" You whispered, holding the covers to your body as he paused, mid-pulling his boxers back on, as his face turned a deep shade of red.

"I thought it'd be better if I just-" He tried to explain, pulling the black boxers over his waist as your glare hardened more.

"Tamaki... just come back to bed." You urged, carefully pulling the blanket up. "Please."

"I just- It- Damn it." He slumped back onto the mattress, burying his head into your pillows. "What if we just fucked up everything?"

"Oh, Tamaki." You sighed, slotting your body next to his on the mattress, rubbing his back gently. "We didn't fuck up anything. Don't worry."

"I'm so stupid." He groaned into the pillow, you lightly slapping his back.

"You are not stupid, you're an idiot. But you're not stupid," you assured, going back to rubbing tender circles in his skin, "Tama, you're my best friend. Okay? Nothings going to change that."

"It's not that simple. I've been in you." He raised his head from the pillow slightly, staring over you as you pulled the blanket over him. "Oh. My. God." He hissed, pressed his face back into the pillow. "I've been in you."

"Yeah, don't think we're forgetting that anytime soon," You admitted quietly, before pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder. "But it doesn't change the fact that I still trust you, okay? I'm not mad."

"You're not? But... because I couldn't just keep it in my pants like normal people, things are going to be so awkward." He gritted out, clenching his fingers into the pillow as you slid a hand under his chest.

"Tamaki, the only thing that's remotely awkward is you freaking out. It was good, focus on that, focus on the naked girl next to you, focus on anything but that right now. Please" You whispered in his ear as you felt his body flinch away from your touch before he turned his face to watch you.

His cheeks flushed as your free hand came to brush his hair from his eyes. "Tama, I don't regret it." You assured, cupping his cheeks as you felt his face tense under your fingers.

"Neither do I." He admitted quietly, shifting his face closer to yours on the pillow, slowly shifting to lie on his side, one hand experimentally landing on your side. "That's why I'm so freaked out... I really liked it."

"Tama." You cooed, tugging him closer. "I liked it too, a lot." gently rubbing your thumb over his cheek, delicate around the flush of his blood as you leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

"It seemed like it." He whispered, causing your own cheeks to flush as he carefully leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You were very vocal."

"I liked you better when you stammered out every other word." You groaned, ducking down to press your forehead against his chest.

"I think... God kill me. I think I like you all the time." He mumbled, pressing his palm to the crown of your head, tenderly scratching at your scalp.

"...Tama," You carefully pulled back from his chest. "Come here."

Without warning, you pressed your lips against his, holding his body against yours, as he wrapped his arms tighter around you. The kiss pulls you both into a feverish frenzy again.

Round two found ways to be more delicious than the first.

◜Katsuki Bakugo ◞

He hated this feeling, your body atop his, his arms tight around your stomach as you snored into the crook of his neck, fingers tracing shapes into the flesh of your hips.

"Katsu?" you whispered, pulling back from his chest, groggily rubbing your eyes as he sighed.

"God, I thought you were going to stay there forever." He hissed, maneuvering you into the empty space beside him.

"Shut up. I couldn't move." You mumbled, pressing your own palm into your flesh. "You're rougher than I expected." A certainly painful wince popped on your face, bakugo quietly clicking his tongue.

"Roll over," he prompted, waving his wrist around in the air.

"Katsu, if you think I'm letting you go for a round two—" You groaned, before getting cut off by his hands finding your skin under the blanket, flipping you like a pancake.

"No dumbass." He hissed, crawling on top of you, pulling the blanket down past your hips. "I'm trying to rub out the damage-oh shut up i heard it."

"Katsu." You giggled out as he began trying to press around on your lower back. "oh right there, that's where it hurts."

He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your shoulder, rubbing firmly into your flesh. "Got a little too carried away..." He murmured into your skin.

"It's ok I didn't complain." You cooed, patting backwards in the air, tapping his chest gently, "You did so good Katsu."

"God, shut up and take the fucking apology." He groaned biting your shoulder, feeling you shiver beneath him.

"That didn't feel like an apology." You mumbled, pressing your face into the pillow.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me—I'm sorry for being too rough with you earlier." He whispered, pressing a soft kiss just behind your ear. "You just lay there and I'll try to make it better."

"Hmm, deal." You sighed, getting more comfortable against the pillow as he kneaded your flesh gently.

"You're so... infuriating. You know that, right?" He grumbled, pulling his mouth from your flesh. "You just needed to piss me off. God, you're going to walk funny."

"You sound guilty. It's cute Katsu." You turned your head over your shoulder as he sucked a breath in.

He reached one of his hands forward, pressing your head back against the pillow. "Stop looking at me like that, it's what got us here in the first place."

"No, what got us here was me calling you an annoying jackass, and you bent me-" He pressed the hand over your mouth.

"You like walking, right?" He hissed, head dipping between your shoulder blades, feeling you nod. "Good, then shut up."

He moved his hands back to rubbing your back gently. "Are you feeling better?"

"As good as you'll manage tonight." You whispered as he pulled his hands off, watching as you rolled over under him. "Thanks, Katsu."

"Shut up. It meant nothing." He groaned, lying down on top of you. "You were whining."

"Oh fuck off." You mumbled, wrapping your arms around him as he ducked his head to the crook of your neck. "I joked."

"Yeah... and it made me feel bad." He hushed, slipping around your waist as he shifted, getting more comfortable.

"... Katsu, you're getting mushy." You teased, trailing a finger up his spine slowly.

"Enjoy. The. Moment." He gritted out. pulling back to look in your eyes. "I'm trying here."

"Sorry." You pressed a kiss to his forehead as he shifted closer, letting you soak in his body heat.

The two of you lay there, sharing quiet breaths for a few minutes before you pulled his head back to look at him.

"You did really good." You whispered, gaze drifting to his lips momentarily before sweeping back to his eyes.

"Soundin' a bit like a broken record there, babe." He leaned to press a kiss to your collarbone. "I had fun too."

"... Things won't just go weird between us, right?" you murmured, shifting his body on top of yours as you felt him shake his head.

"God, can't you give me peace for five minutes. No dumbass. I won't treat you any different. Ok??" He whispered into your skin. "It was good, you were good, had fun, I had fun. There's no point in acting like it was bad, or didn't happen"

"... Ok, stop talking before I want to kiss you again." You hissed, leaning more into the pillows as he grinned, moving back from her chest slightly.

"How can I get that, like within the next five seconds?"

A thwack to the head later, you and Bakugo fell asleep cuddled together. and he wouldn't admit it, but he ached for it again.

[deletedscenegirl]

Hiccup xbooknerd. She gets lost in the book she reads and forgets to come to training. Hiccup finds her reading in her hut not realizing she’s been up all night trying to finish the book series she’s reading. (Lmao it should be Fourth Wing and Hiccup is jealous she has a thing for daddy Xaden. Lol jk jk…unless)

Hiccup takes the book from her and begins reading the page she’s on. It’s a smut chapter and he jokes that maybe if he did what the mmc in the book does she’d be at training instead of reading. She jokes and says if he did what the mmc in the book does, she wouldn’t be walking.

(You could totally make this implied smut lol. I just think with his sarcasm it would be funny)

OH. MY. GOSH

turn the page.

“in which the Chief of Berk finds himself losing to a man who doesn’t exist — namely, the brooding, smutty fictional warlord she’s been reading about at 2am.”

🐉 reader x Hiccup · reader is obsessed with books · teasing banter · interrupted training sessions · soft jealousy · he reads the spicy chapter and never recovers

It was the third missed session this week.

Hiccup stood at the edge of the training ring, arms crossed, one brow twitching upward in that very specific, Chief-like way that said: I’m being patient. I’m being reasonable. I’m two seconds away from mounting Toothless and dragging her here myself.

Stormfly thudded to the ground in a swirl of gravel and talons. Astrid vaulted off mid-roll, landing with the kind of easy grace that made everyone else on the team feel a little bit like wet laundry. She adjusted her bracer, glanced around once, and raised a brow.

“She’s not coming, is she.”

Hiccup didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked. The leather of his gloves creaked as he adjusted the grip on his forearm. Somewhere behind them, Snotlout yelled something indistinct and completely unnecessary about battle axes.

“She said she would,” Hiccup muttered at last, voice clipped. “Said she just had one chapter left.”

Astrid snorted. Wiped the back of her arm across her brow, amusement tugging the corner of her mouth upward. “That was yesterday.”

He gave her a look. “She said it was the final battle.”

That earned him a pause. Astrid tilted her head slightly. “Did the final battle have three parts?”

“Apparently.”

Another beat of silence. Then, innocently: “Sooo... book four, or book five?”

Hiccup exhaled through his nose. His teeth clicked. “five,” he snapped — then blinked, realizing too late what he’d just admitted. “...Not that I’m keeping track.”

Astrid grinned. “Oh, sure you’re not.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re doing the Thing again.”

“What Thing—?”

“The Thing where you pace around like an abandoned puppy but pretend you’re just ‘checking in on team readiness’ and ‘managing schedules.’ You’ve got that I miss her but I won’t say it out loud look.”

“I do not have a look—”

“You absolutely do,” Astrid said, then raised a hand before he could protest. “And don’t give me that Chief face. I’ve known you since you couldn’t lift a shield.”

“I still can’t lift a shield properly,” he muttered.

“Exactly.”

Toothless huffed from where he lounged in the grass behind them, tail flicking in lazy circles, yellow-green eyes blinking slowly like he, too, had been waiting for something — or someone — to appear.

Astrid glanced toward the woods, toward the direction of your hut nestled slightly out of the main village. “Want me to go drag her out by the braid?”

Hiccup hesitated.

He was many things now. Diplomatic. Composed. Maybe even wise on a good day. But he wasn’t blind. And he definitely wasn’t immune. He could tell when someone’s absence turned the morning cold. When your laugh — that quiet, book-muffled one — wasn’t echoing across the stables, everything felt a little… wrong.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he said finally. “I’ve got it.”

Astrid watched him mount Toothless with narrowed eyes and a knowing smirk. “Tell her Xaden would’ve made it to training on time.”

“Shut up, Astrid—”

But she was already laughing.

There was a knock at the door. Then a pause. Then another—sharper this time, laced with a level of Chiefly authority that usually turned grizzled warriors into cooperative puddles.

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Not when everything was happening.

Not when the heroine was moments away from confronting a thousand-year-old betrayal, her power slipping, her fate uncertain.

Not when the romantic tension had finally snapped like a taut bowstring—when the brooding commander with a past darker than dragonfire was whispering all kinds of positively scandalous things in the shadows of a war-camp tent.

The door creaked open. A familiar voice followed: exasperated, dry, vaguely incredulous. “...Are you serious right now?”

You didn’t look up.

You did wave. Vaguely. Like he was just a passing seagull and not the Chief of Berk standing in your doorway. Leather boots creaked against the plank floor. The sound was slow, deliberate, full of someone deciding whether to scold you, laugh, or lob the book straight into the fireplace.

“Hello?” he tried again, halfway between a warning and a plea.

You blinked up at him, bleary-eyed and half-possessed by dragon-bonded war college drama. “Hey.”

Hiccup’s brows rose. “‘Hey’? That’s what you’ve got for me?”

You stretched your legs out from where they were curled under you, wincing at the way your joints popped. “Sorry. Chapter break. I’ve been meaning to—”

“Train? Eat? Sleep?” he said, stepping closer, squinting at the cover in your lap. “Breathe?”

“Technically I’m doing that one now,” you offered helpfully.

He gave you the full Chief Haddock stare—arms crossed, jaw tight, weight on one leg in that practiced lean of disappointment. Toothless would’ve been proud. You, however, were not impressed.

“Is that Riders of Basgiath?” he asked, voice dangerously neutral.

“Mhm.”

“The one with the dragons and... the incredibly questionable uniforms?”

“And deeply traumatized love interests,” you added brightly.

“I can see that,” Hiccup muttered.

Your hut was a mess. Books were stacked haphazardly on every available surface, some spine-up, some splayed open. Your tea had long gone cold. A forgotten biscuit crumbled near your elbow. One mug balanced on a leather-bound novel titled Wing of Iron like it belonged there.

“I’m going to assume,” Hiccup said slowly, “from the five empty mugs and your current posture—which I think defies several laws of anatomy—that you haven’t slept.”

You blinked up at him again.

“You’re three sessions behind. Toothless is mad at me.” he replied flatly.

“I said I was coming—”

“Two books ago.”

“I was close!” you said, clutching the cover like it was sacred. “It was the climax.”

“Oh, it was something,” Hiccup muttered, eyes narrowing at the shimmering gold dragon emblem on the cover. “Book five?”

“…Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging,” he said. “I’m just… wondering what Xaden Riorson has that I don’t.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then— “…Wingspan?” you offered, innocent as a naddersnout.

The reaction was immediate. Hiccup leaned down and, with a speed that would’ve impressed Thuggory himself, snatched the book right out of your lap.

“Hey—!”

“You’re cut off. We’re doing a full intervention.”

“No—Hiccup—!”

“Let’s just see what’s been keeping you from basic survival functions—” He flipped to a random page, casual as anything, smugness creeping into his voice—

Then paused.

Mid-page.

His eyes scanned.

Brows climbed.

Mouth opened.

Shut.

Opened again.

You lunged. “Give it—!”

He stepped back, holding it aloft. “‘His breath ghosted down her neck as he pressed her into the wall, one hand gripping her—’ oh, wow.”

“HIC—”

“This is what you’ve been skipping drills for?” he asked, torn between horror and fascination.

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“I’m wounded. Betrayed. Replaced by a man named Xaden—‘as his other hand slid beneath her leathers and she gasped his name like a prayer’—wow.”

“It’s plot relevant!” you argued, peeking through your fingers.

“Oh, totally essential to the war strategy,” Hiccup said, flipping the page like it had personally offended Berk’s honor.

“It was!”

He held it up, pointing. “‘She knew then that she would never want anyone else—’ you underlined this.”

“It’s a good line!”

He blinked. And then—stepped forward. Slow. Deliberate. Voice low. “So what I’m hearing,” he said, “is that if I pinned you to a wall and whispered like a warlord, you’d actually show up to training?”

Your brain short-circuited. The question hung in the air like a spark over kindling.

Then—“If you did what the main character in that book does,” you said, looking up through lashes, voice deceptively light, “I wouldn’t be walking.”

You said it like a joke. But it landed like a dare.

The silence stretched.

Hiccup Haddock III, Dragon Master, Uniter of Tribes, Slayer of Trappers, stood there with a book of smut in his hand and the color draining from his ears like someone had lit a forge under his collar.

“Oh,” he said weakly.

You grinned.

He did not grin back.

You leaned back on your elbows, casually, enjoying the way his brain visibly sputtered. “Cat got your tongue, Chief?”

He stared at the book like it might explode. “I—this is—very bold of you.”

“Bold?” you echoed. “I thought I was being tactically efficient.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You said it yourself. Maybe training needs... new motivation.”

He coughed. Loudly. “You’re impossible.”

“You started it.”

“I was trying to motivate you! Not—”

“Not get hot and bothered by my reading material?” you offered.

“That’s not—I’m not—”

You raised a brow.

His voice dropped into a mumble. “…I’m confiscating this.”

You laughed. “Right. For strategic analysis?”

“Exactly,” he muttered, turning toward the door. Then paused. “…So what is it about this Xaden guy, anyway?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“He just seems… kind of broody. Dangerous. One of those guys who definitely never does his taxes.”

You blinked again. “Are you… jealous of a fictional warlord?”

“I’m not jealous!” Hiccup insisted, holding the book like it had betrayed him. “I just think Berk deserves better than some morally grey leather-sporting—”

“You literally wear leather and scowl at people from the back of a black dragon.”

“That’s completely different!”

“How?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

You tilted your head. “That’s what I thought.”

He stared at you. You smiled, smug and warm and a little bit dangerous. And then—finally—he smiled back. It was quiet. Slow. Like something unfolding after a long winter. He stepped back toward you. Set the book on your bedside table.

You looked up at him, curious. “Giving it back?”

“No,” he said softly. “Just… putting it somewhere safe.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t know what it was—his voice, or the way he looked at you just then, like the whole room had gone quiet except for your heartbeat.

And then—

“…Maybe I don’t need to read it,” he murmured. “I’ve got a pretty vivid imagination.”

[thatnightlamp]

FULGRIM MODERN AU WHO IS VERY DESPERATE TO GET BACK WITH YOU.

yayyyyy I translated them all into English by myself using google translate and faith, without my friend's help!! Will post 2 per day until done!!

You’ve blocked Fulgrim on everything, phone, socials, even your Venmo and yet, here he is again, sprawled dramatically on the steps outside your campus library like a Dior advertisement that’s been emotionally waterboarded.

His silk shirt is half unbuttoned, exposing the soft gleam of his chest, pearl liked and suspiciously oiled. His silver hair, dyed lighter at the ends, curls artfully around his face in a way that screams I wept into my Dyson Airwrap.

He looks up at you with those amethyst eyes that once made you weak and now mostly make you tired.

“Darling,” he breathes, like he’s just been through war. “You look... divine. Better than I remember. Are you sleeping? You’re glowing. You’re punishing me on purpose, aren’t you?”

You glance up and down the stairs, wondering if campus security is close enough to call. “Fulgrim, it’s been two weeks.”

“Fifteen days,” he corrects with a fragile smile. “Three hours and... seven minutes.” He holds up his phone, and yep, there’s a countdown app. It’s labeled The End.

You sigh and step past him.

He grabs your ankle.

“I’m in hell,” he says. “You’ve made hell beautiful. Everything smells like you. Ferrus said I have to stop burning candles in my room or he’ll ‘duct tape me to a tree.’ You remember Ferrus, right? Hates fun. And joy. And feelings?”

“You do live with him,” you mutter. “Still.”

“He’s trying to get me to do laundry like a peasant,” Fulgrim hisses, crawling after you as you head up the stairs. “I nearly died the last time I touched detergent. It got on my hands, darling.”

“I’m not taking you back.”

He freezes dramatically, gripping the banister like it’s a lifeline. “Is this because I forgot your birthday? Or because of the coke thing? I wasn’t even doing it! I was just arranging it! That’s art, baby!”

You stop walking. “You tried to commission a sculpture of me. Naked. Without asking.”

“Because you’re breathtaking!” he insists, throwing his arms wide. “Do you know how many sculptors refused because they said they couldn’t capture your radiance? That’s oppression! That’s censorship of beauty!”

A group of freshman girls walks past, whispering and giggling. One takes a video. Fulgrim poses instantly, winking over his shoulder, then collapses again when they pass.

“Look, Fulgrim,” you sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re toxic. You’re exhausting. You used my shampoo because it ‘smelled like restraint,’ you threw a tantrum when I wore flats instead of heels, and you started a fight at my cousin’s wedding because you said the cake was ‘visually impotent.’ ”

Fulgrim blinks at you, genuinely confused. “Was I wrong?”

You walk faster.

He follows.

“I’ve been suffering, you know,” he whines, tugging his oversized designer coat tighter around him like a tragic widow. “I’ve stopped doing shoots. My agent said I’m having a breakdown. I cried on Ferrus’s motorcycle and short circuited it. I can’t sleep in my bed because it smells like your shampoo, so now I sleep in the bathtub.”

“Oh my god.”

Ferrus appears from behind the nearby vending machine, sipping a protein shake and looking like he’s regretting his entire bloodline.

“Is he bothering you?” he asks, nodding at you like you’re a fellow war vet.

“He’s following me.”

“I live for them,” Fulgrim says, and Ferrus rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful.

“Can’t you tell him to stop?” you ask.

“I did,” Ferrus says. “He wept into my lifting belt and then tried to seduce the campus priest about it. Said he needed ‘divine clarity.’ ”

Fulgrim clutches his chest. “He was so wise, and he smelled like frankincense and guilt.”

“You also bought an alpaca,” Ferrus adds.

“It was a metaphor,” Fulgrim says tightly.

Ferrus walks off, muttering something about “going feral in the woods.”

You’re starting to consider joining him.

Fulgrim trails you again as you head for the quad. “Darling, please,” he murmurs, turning on the full force of his broken angel routine. “I know I’m a mess. But I’ve changed. I’m doing yoga now. I’m journaling. Ferrus says if I write one more poem about your clavicle he’ll feed my laptop to a garbage disposal, but that’s just his process.”

You turn and face him.

“Fulgrim. Do you even remember why we broke up?”

He tilts his head like a confused spaniel.

You press on. “You crashed my thesis exhibit because you said my pottery ‘lacked orgasmic curvature,’ and then you broke one trying to ‘demonstrate’ it.”

“I was helping!” he says, wounded.

“You told my professor you should co-author my art statement because ‘your existence was the muse behind it.’ ”

He looks proud. “You said it was the best line I ever wrote.”

“I was crying when I said that!”

He reaches for your hand.

You snatch it away.

“Fulgrim, I loved you. But being with you was like dating a collapsing star, beautiful, bright and fucking unbearable. I never knew if you were going to kiss me or scream at a cloud.”

“I would never scream at a cloud,” he says, scandalized. “Unless it was blocking your face. Or shaped like my father.”

You blink. “What?”

He leans in. “You complete me. I’m empty without you. I tried to replace you with absinthe and a guy named Matteo. It didn’t work. Matteo was boring. And absinthe tastes like licorice flavored piss. I’m suffering. Ferrus says that’s ‘growth.’ ”

You rub your temples. “I’m not going to fall for this again.”

“Then fall for me anew,” he pleads, grasping your shoulders with enough passion to make a passing couple stare. “Let’s start over. Clean slate. Pretend I’m a beautiful stranger who looks like a Greek statue and wants to worship you.”

“You’re literally stalking me.”

“Romantically.”

“I’m filing a report.”

He drops to his knees, very slowly and dramatically, like he’s being lowered by the divine. “Then let my mugshot be your masterpiece.”

A paper cup hits him in the head. Ferrus again.

“Get the fuck off the quad.”

Fulgrim makes a wounded noise and slinks away, muttering about how art isn’t respected in this barbaric institution.

You sit on the bench and breathe. Finally. Silence.

Until your phone pings.

New Instagram Story Tag: @TheFulgrimation posted: “The pain is delicious. Her hate is sculptural. I would lick her heartbreak off a canvas.”

You block him again.

The next day, you find a bouquet of lavender roses outside your door with a card that reads:

“My only vice is you.

My only cure is us.

My only crime... was loving to aesthetically.”

– F.

Attached is a key to a locker. You open it. Inside is a statue of your foot, perfectly sculpted in marble. It’s on a velvet pillow.

You scream.

[throatgoatgeto]

First Love/Late Spring

if the love of your life turns into a genocidal freak and leaves you, only to show up again years later, wwyd? 

Tags and Warnings: Suguru Geto x f!Reader, reader in the same year as Geto, Gojo, Shoko, unspecified CT but reader is skilled and strong, mentions of smoking throughout the story, reader smokes, high-school sweethearts, first love, lots of timeskips across the story (starts when they’re first years at jujutsu high and time skips to adulthood eventually), shokohime, everyone is kinda fruity lmao, reader and shoko are lowkey homoerotic, Geto gets defected eventually, he’s lowkey a dick but he loves the reader in his own stupid way, reader has terrible boundaries with Suguru, they suck at communicating, they’re NOT adults in the first few chapters, kissing, making out, PDA, lots of fluff at first enjoy it while it lasts, eventual gut wrenching angst, eventual smut (?), hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, toxic relationships, they’re both so fucking stupid just go to therapy omg

in this chapter: people die. lots of angst.

chapter one, chapter two

recap: “Hey baby, we kinda have to leave, there seems to be an emergency. I love you,”  “Okay, stay safe and come home soon, I love you more,” you say your goodbyes and hang up, sighing. You miss him so much, but it shouldn’t be long. He’ll be back soon, and everything will go back to normal. Right?

Chapter Three

Wrong. It wasn’t long, he came back soon enough alright. But nothing felt the same after that mission. He came back looking worn out, the bags under his eyes heavier, his usual neatly tied up hair now let down. After every mission, no matter how big or small, Suguru always kissed you - all tongue and teeth, like a man who had been away at war. But this time, he barely returned your excited hug, and didn’t even bother trying to kiss you back when you locked your lips with his. 

“Riko died. She was fucking murdered. I could do nothing about it,” he says, his voice breaking at the end. You gently rub his back, trying your best to comfort him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault, Suguru. You tried your best… but fuck, that’s… that’s really messed up,” you fumble your words, unsure of what to say. He always knew what to say to comfort you, but you often struggled to do the same for him. 

“The worst part? They don’t even care. They’re just looking for a new vessel. Some people were cheering when I came back with Riko’s dead body. They don’t care about any of us, we’re just tools and weapons,” his voice is strained, you can tell he’s close to tears. You continue to rub his back and hug him as close as you can.

“Fuck jujutsu society. Nanami and I are starting an emo band, you can join. Or be our manager,” he chuckles weakly at your attempt to lighten the mood. 

“She didn’t even want to merge. She was just a kid, she wanted to hang out with her friends, go to school, do things kids do. She really wanted to meet you too… fuck this is just so....” 

“Shh, it’s not your fault, Sugu. You’re a child too, even if they don’t treat you like one here. I wanted to meet her too, really. You did your best, baby. I’m just happy you and Gojo are alive, at least,” You kiss his cheek softly, trying your best to console him.

“I love you. So much. Please don’t die,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck.

“I love you more, and no I won’t die,” you smile a little as you run your fingers through his hair. 

Riko’s death was like the precursor to all the terrible things that were to come in your life. Less than a month later, your junior Haibara died during a mission. It was so unexpected to all of you, but logically speaking, sending two first years to fight a curse like that was a recipe for someone dying. It was all such a cruel fucking joke. Haibara was always the friend that made sure no one was left behind, only for him to get left behind first. The higher ups explained his death in such a callous manner too, “It’s normal for jujutsu sorcerers to die during missions,” or “This is an opportunity for Nanami to take on more solo missions,” like a teenage boy wasn’t killed because of them handing out missions so carelessly. The incident weighed everyone’s mood down. Nanami stopped showing up to the music room, and Shoko barely smiled.

Things between you and Suguru took a hit too. It was subtle at first, he was just more withdrawn. So were you, especially after Haibara died. He wouldn’t plan dates as often and he would sometimes forget small things, like what drink you usually get on the side. You brushed it off as him being overwhelmed from everything that has happened ,or just an honest mistake. It soon grew into something you couldn’t ignore, an uneasy gut feeling that things were starting to fizzle out between you two. It was always the little things, the way he turned the other way when you slept in the bed and stopped offering to carry your bags. He would hold your hand and kiss you sometimes, but the affection felt hollow, like it was a boyfriendly obligation he had to follow. Was there someone else on his mind? Was he bored of you? Insecurity gnawed at your insides as you suspiciously glared at everyone he interacted with. Suguru could never do that, it’s just not like him, is it?

“Doing long distance is soooo hard,” Shoko sighs, pocketing her phone after hanging up. Utahime graduated and moved to Kyoto, and Shoko tries to spend as much time calling her as humanly possible. You and Suguru lived so close, but why did he feel so distant? 

“Hey, Shoko, can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm. What is it babe?” She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and motions you to take one.

“What does it mean when your partner just feels… distant?” You light the cigarette as Shoko frowns at your question. You take a drag of the comforting tobacco flavor as Shoko sighs and looks up at the night sky. 

“Best case scenario, they’re going through some personal stuff. Worst case scenario, they’re cheating on you. Either way, they’re probably mentally checked out from the relationship,” Shoko says as you hand her the lit cigarette and her lighter. “Is this about Geto?” She asks, putting it to her lips. You nod slowly, sighing.

“I don’t know what’s up with him. It just feels like he’s sick of me and I have no idea if he’s cheating, it doesn’t seem like something he would do, but it’s just… I don’t know.”

“If I find out he’s cheating on you, I’m going to light his fuckass bangs on fire with this lighter,” She says, throwing the lighter up in her hand and catching it. You chuckle at her words, but it does nothing to shrink the pit of worry in your stomach.

“Cheating or not, that’s a generational fumble. You should confront him, you know? Just let him know things aren’t okay. Have you done that already?” You shake your head, not knowing what to say. You already knew things weren’t okay, but if you don’t tell him, you could gaslight yourself a little longer into thinking you were just overreacting. 

“I’ll tell him,” you say, laying a head on Shoko’s shoulder. She wraps an arm around you, taking another drag.

“No matter what, I’m always here for you, y/n. If he cheated on you, I’ll fuck up his life. Put hair removal cream in his shampoo. If he hasn’t, but if things go badly somehow, I’ll be here for you. If everything is fine, I’ll still be here for you,” she says comfortingly. Her gaze softens as you look up at her from her shoulder. She puts the cigarette to your lips and presses a kiss onto your forehead, gently brushing your hair back. You nearly cried at Shoko’s sweet gesture, so deprived of comfort and affection. Shoko was always so good to you, calm and reliable, always by your side with a pack of reds and a lighter. She wiped your tears away when you cried over stupid things, held you when you needed it, when your literal boyfriend is ignoring you. Did you make the wrong choice picking Suguru? You curse internally for thinking that way, you shouldn’t! Shoko is taken and she is literally your best friend, she is like family, right?

Despite telling Shoko you would confront Suguru, you never got around to it. Instead, you just started to pull away from him slowly. You stopped trying to initiate kisses and ate lunch with Shoko or Nanami instead of him. You stopped falling asleep in his bed, or hanging out in his room to do homework. The worst part was that he barely seemed to notice, never questioning you when you left him. A few weeks later, he started to pretend like you were someone he never met, gaze lowering every time you passed him in the hallways.

 It felt like the past year with Suguru was just some stupid fever dream your exhausted brain came up with to cope with your miserable life. It all ended so quickly, and so painfully, like being pushed off from the highest point of a rollercoaster. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate him for what happened, how could you? How could you, when he looked heartbreakingly beautiful as ever, with his sad eyes that never met yours anymore? How could you hate him now, when he had made you feel so precious, when he had touched you like he meant it? How could you bring yourself to hate someone that you have loved since you laid your eyes on them? You were never the type to believe in miracles, but you wished on every clover, every dandelion, every star, hoping that things would magically go back to the way they used to be.

Sure enough, like it was some kind of divine intervention, you hear Suguru’s velvety smooth voice call your name, abruptly cutting through the silence in the empty hallways as you walk back from classes alone. You had never walked alone anywhere the year before, Suguru always had one arm around your waist while holding your books with the other. He would lean down every five seconds to peck your cheek or forehead. Your heart clenches at the memory as you feel tears welling in your eyes. 

You turn around to see the painfully familiar face, painted with an unreadable expression. He looked tired, his complexion pale with dark shadows around his eyes. His cheeks were hollower and the clothes that fit him like a glove now hung loose on his shoulders. You wondered if he was eating okay. 

“All of a sudden?” You ask. 

“I… sorry. I just wanted to study together tonight… f it’s okay with you of course. I just wanted to talk about some things.”

You already knew what those things were. You knew you had already lost Suguru, you were just about to hear it from his mouth that night. You knew it had to be done, even if it hurt. You just couldn’t live any longer in a limbo of whether you still meant something to him or not.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll drop by. I don’t really want to study, can we just… talk? Or hang out?” You miss when you cuddled for hours in his bed, kissing messily as some boring movie played in the background. You missed when you two laughed till you nearly peed yourselves at some dumb story Gojo would excitedly narrate when he came over to hang out with you two. You missed him so badly, the version of him that made you smile when you didn’t want to, the version that you fought with, the version that cried in your arms, the version that kissed you like you would disappear any moment. Fuck, you would take any version of Suguru, good or bad. It felt like you had none of him to hold onto as yours, right now, and that hurt like a bitch.

“Yeah, of course. We can just hang out. Just you and me… you can stay the night too. If you want. Only if you want to,” he offers hesitantly. For a second you felt like you were dreaming again, and any moment, you’re going to wake up with tears streaming down your face. Maybe things were indeed going back to normal. Maybe you had just been paranoid. Maybe he wants you again, the way he used to. Had he been with someone else? Was he sick of the other person and decided to come back to you? Honestly, you had no clue. You were confused and hurt, but none of that mattered in the moment.

The night seemed to take forever to arrive. You nervously check your hair in the mirror as you moisturise your lips with some chapstick. Why did you even care what you looked like? It wasn’t like Suguru was looking. It had been months since you two even kissed. Were you two even together at this point? Logically speaking, it wasn’t like you two broke up. But it also made no sense that you were still dating each other. You put on your shoes, bending down to lace them up. Suguru always tied your laces for you when he was around, even when you insisted he didn’t. ‘Can’t let my pretty girl lift a finger,’ he had said. You swallow uneasily at the memory, wondering how you two ended up like this.

You finally knock on his door nervously after pacing around outside for a good ten minutes. The door opens with a creaking noise and Suguru manages to force a polite smile. 

“Hi, come inside, hope you don’t mind the mess.” It was a strange thing for him to say, you had always remembered his room was being spotless, not a thing out of place. You walk inside, and the space is still neat, but not as orderly as you last saw it. Your eyes scan the room to take a seat. It didn’t feel right to plop on his bed face first like you used to anymore.

“You can sit on my bed, I’m sorry the covers are a bit rumpled,” he says, leaning down to smooth out the sheets. You sit down once he’s done, and he follows you shortly, sitting across you. It was so awkward, you had never sat across Suguru before. Not when you ate lunch together, not during your study sessions, and not even on those semi fancy dinner dates you went on. He always had you by his side to hold your hand under the table and steal quick kisses.

“You wanted to talk about something?” You prod, dreading his answer. Tension hung thick in the air like a blanket of smog. It was suffocating.

“Yeah… I mean, nothing in particular…” he trailed off. Did he miss you? Why didn’t he talk to you sooner? Did his side chick dump him?

“All of a sudden? What is this about? I thought we weren’t… you know… I don’t know, are we even friends, Geto?”

“Please call me Suguru, or Sugu. Or whatever you used to call me. Geto is weird,” 

“Is it now? Do I know you like that?” You feel the anger bubbling inside you. How could he pretend like everything was okay?

“My tongue has been down your throat more times than I can count, so yes, you do know me like that.”

“But it hasn’t been that way for long enough, don’t you think? I’m not sure you ever enjoyed any of that,” you look away, your throat tightening up . “Did your new girlfriend dump your ass? Is that why you came crawling back to me?”

“My new girlf- what are you talking about? I thought you didn’t want to kiss me anymore, so I stopped bothering.”

“I didn’t want to kiss you? Did I tell you that? You pulled away, so I did too. You didn’t even bother talking to me until months later. You acted like we were strangers despite having your ‘tongue down my throat more times than you can count’ or whatever. Just go ask someone else to hang out with you, since you clearly have soooo many options, and I’m clearly no one to you!” You were sad, you were angry. But more than anything, you were scared that you were right about the fact that Suguru was no longer yours. Maybe he was never yours to begin with. 

“Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about? I was never with anyone else, are you fucking crazy? You really think I would do that to you? I love you, and I meant it every fucking time I have said it. Do you know how hard it is for me to-” 

“Hard for you? You’re the one who stopped putting in effort!” You cut him off. You couldn’t do this anymore. Why was he pretending to care all of a sudden? 

“I’m sorry. I missed you, and I’ve just been thinking about a lot of things… I’m sorry for what I did. I have always loved you. I just… there is a lot on my mind,” he says, taking your hand and pulling you into his arms. You melt in his arms, inhaling his familiar scent. You know these are just excuses but maybe if you closed your eyes and pretended they weren’t, it would hurt a little less.

“Why don’t you ever tell me what you’re thinking about anymore? Is there someone else?” You mumble against his chest.

“How many times do I have to tell you that there is no one else? I promise. I’m not that kind of person. I just… have been thinking… about stuff…” he trails off.

“Stuff like what?” He had always told you everything, overshared every minor detail of his life with you. He wanted to tell you what he was thinking about, he wanted your validation for his ideas. But he knew deep down that if he told you what has really been on his mind, you would shut him down immediately, and he would lose you forever. 

“About… well… my career and stuff… my ideologies, what I want from life, and stuff like that,” he says, breaking the hug to look at your face.

“Has that been stressing you out that much? Is that why you have been ignoring me? You should have talked to me about it,” your voice is softer now, the anger melting away. 

“It’s not… it’s not something I can just tell anyone,” he looks down. You frown at his words, frustrated again.

“Am I ‘just anyone’ to you?” You demand.

“That’s not what I mean… I just don’t think I want to be a jujutsu sorcerer anymore. I don’t really care about protecting the weak. It’s not my responsibility… I just can’t do that anymore,” he rambles, fiddling with the hem of his shirt mindlessly. You reach out to take one of his hands in yours, bringing it to your lips to place a small kiss on it.

“Hey, that’s completely fine. You are allowed to have your own hopes and dreams, you can do whatever you want with your life. I don’t even know what I want to do. We’re so young, Suguru. I’ll support you no matter what,” you give him a small smile as you rub your thumb across his knuckles. He sighs and forces a small smile at your words.

I’ll support you no matter what, No, the fuck you wouldn’t, he thought. He wanted them all gone, the weak. He hated the entitlement of the weak, demanding protection without regard for the lives of the strong. The strong aren’t always invincible superheroes, sometimes they are sixteen year olds with hopes and dreams, forced to risk their lives fighting battles they are destined to lose. Who were they risking their lives for? For the weak? Did the weak even deserve to live? He lost Riko, he nearly lost Satoru, he lost Haibara. Who was next? You? Him? He would do anything to protect you, his friends, and honestly, anyone in need. But Suguru was sick of being used. The weak create curses, and they can’t even clean up their mess. They don’t deserve to live. 

“Do you think it’s your responsibility to protect the weak?” He asks you suddenly. You look at him confused.

“I don’t know. You were the one who kept saying that. But maybe we were born with certain abilities because we are meant to use them for the greater good, you know?”

“Greater good, huh?” He half sneers at your words. “Would you die for the greater good?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. Is the greater good guaranteed? Who is benefitting from this greater good? There are many things to think about,” You respond, still a bit confused at his rhetoric questions.

“What if the monkeys benefit from this greater good?”

“Monkeys? Like baboons?” You’re more confused than ever.

“Forget it,” he says, sighing as he looks down. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? I’m here to listen to all your career worries. You’re only in high school, don’t think so much,” He smiles at your words, plopping down on his bed. You just didn’t understand. It wasn’t as simple as choosing career paths, but he couldn’t tell you that. He motions you to lay down next to him, and you do so, a little uncertain. He technically said he loved you and there was no one else, but you still had more questions than answers about where you stood in his life after this conversation.

“Can we sleep together tonight? I missed falling asleep with you.” Your heart flutters a little at his words. It has been so long, you two barely spoke for months. His bed felt like both a lover’s and a stranger’s, and you were unsure of whether his presence felt cold or comforting. 

“Yeah, of course, I missed you too.” Your voice comes out hoarse and strained, like your conscience was fighting your heart when you said those words.

“You can borrow one of my shirts to sleep in, I have the one you always liked to steal,” he says casually. Your heart feels heavy as you walk to his closet. How could he act like everything was normal? Maybe it was normal. Were you the one overreacting?

His closet is a mess. You wondered for a second if the closet might be Gojo’s or someone else’s, because Suguru was always so organized. Was he okay? You were so hurt by his actions that it never crossed your mind that he may not be doing so well. You wanted to ask him, hold him, comfort him, but you weren’t sure if it was your place to do so. You made a mental note to ask Gojo to check in with Suguru. 

You quickly find the shirt you used to wear, big and grey with an ugly green dinosaur on it. He had always made fun of you for taking his ugliest shirt when he had so many others you could choose from. You smile a little at the memory as you quickly change into it, his clean and musky scent enveloping you. 

“The shirt is so hideous,” says Suguru as you turn around. You weren’t sure if him acting like you had travelled back in time was infuriating, or if it made you want to throw yourself in his arms and kiss him. It was all so overwhelming and confusing, and before you know it, tears stream down your face as you choke down uncontrollable sobs. Suguru jolts from his bed at the sight, rushing to comfort you. 

“I just, I can’t… I missed you so fucking much,” You sob

“Shh.. It’s okay, I’m here now. I missed you too. So fucking much,”

“I still love you,” you mumble into his chest, clenching the fabric of his shirt in your hands.

“I have always loved you. I always will. And there was no one else. Ever. There never will be, I promise,” he whispers as he kisses the top of your head gently. You pull your head away from his chest to look up into his eyes. You aren’t sure you believe his words, but you want to, so fucking badly. You want to believe that everything was okay now that he was holding you in his arms and his lips were so close to yours that you could taste the mint from his toothpaste in the air.

“Can I kiss you? Or is it too-,” your words are cut off as he presses his mouth onto yours, still holding you tight. Tears start running down your cheeks once again as you kiss him back, it has been so long, way too long for both you and him. He picks you off the ground, and carries you to his bed, still kissing you as he did so. Is this one of those miserable wet dreams? You thought for a second. It all felt too good to be true, the weight of his body on yours as he kisses you in his bed, the smell of his floral shampoo as his hair falls loose around your face from above. You savor the feeling, digging your fingers into his back, pulling him closer as you kiss him with fervour.

You fall asleep in his arms in a few hours, but Suguru lay wide awake. He needs them gone. Every single entitled weakling. What if he lost you one day as you risked your life for those filthy monkeys who can’t even use jujutsu? He couldn’t take it any longer. He was sick of living in a world like this, and it was his responsibility to change it. As you had said earlier, if we are born with an ability, we are meant to use it, for the greater good, right? He was definitely born with the ability to make the world a better place. He was skilled, he was strong, and charismatic. He looks at you one last time, your face glowing in the moonlight as you sighed softly in your sleep. 

“Forgive me, pretty girl. I’m doing this for you, for us. For the greater good. I love you so much, baby,” he whispers, pressing a feather light kiss on your lips, careful not to wake you up. 

Just like that, he was gone.

chapter four

a/n: they make me wanna kms istg. this chapter was a bit longer hope that's okay! writing this was so hard, i lowkey got emotional in some parts and this gave me literal war flashbacks of my own toxic relationships lmao💀

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

7k bingo 🪩 I'd pick Joel Miller for all the squares... mygodthat man he weakens me. but now I'm choosing "unexpected turn-on"? thank u 💗

.⋆｡Like a Watermelon｡⋆.

7k follower celebration bingo

Joel Miller x plus size reader

Things can go very wrong after the end of the world, but apparently for Joel, things can also go very right when your thighs are involved

Warnings: held at gunpoint, vague allusions to sexual assault but nothing happens, death, canon violence, age difference (Joel is in his late 40s but reader’s age isn’t specified), implied smut, reader suffocating someone with her thighs, pre-TLOU s1, Joel is a freak WC: 788 Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

At this point, you should really just expect something will go wrong every time you venture beyond the insurmountable walls of the Boston QZ. Perhaps you should’ve thought about even more back-up plans, or maybe not even have left the ‘comfort’ of your bed despite it being a ratty mattress in a corner of a dilapidated apartment.

The barrel of the gun that was pressed to the back of your head kept pushing you forwards and back as your captor moved, arguing with his companions about what to do with an almost 50 year old smuggler and his glorified assistant (though you would argue later that you were the true brains of the operation given how this whole thing was Joel’s fault in the first place). Your hands had gone numb behind your back a few minutes before from how tightly they had been tied. You kept your eyes trained on your own companion, glaring at him as harshly as you could in a way you hoped would express the sheer frustration you felt in this moment. Joel, for his part, had somehow shuffled to within arm’s reach of a pvc pipe that the three men had overlooked in their mad scramble to isolate you.

Your eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t.’

He met your silent protest by extending his arm just enough to brush the hardened plastic, damn him for not being tied up like you were. ‘I have to’ he would’ve said if he could have. You winced when the gun pressed even harder into your scalp as the man behind you insisted that they ‘kill the old one’ which he was really saying something else that you really didn’t have the stomach to think about right that second. 

Joel’s jaw tightened and you braced yourself for what was about to happen, cursing him out in your head for the inevitable injuries you were about to expose yourself to.

Just as they finally reached a decision, kill both of you and take your shit, he dove for the pipe and you dropped to the floor, flipping over onto your back and kicking upwards, dislodging the gun from the man’s hand and successfully sending it flying to the other side of the room.

Joel swung his body around, using his weight to slam the pipe into the stomach of the man closest to him. The man above you was frozen, giving you a split second before he fully realised what was happening. His knees buckled with a sharp kick to his shins and before he could even hit the ground, you had wrapped your thighs around his head and squeezed as hard as you could.

He thrashed in your hold but you only held on tighter, the fat of your legs effectively cutting off his oxygen. You could see the blur of Joel’s body from the corner of your eye while the punches to your outer thighs began to slow. You locked your ankles together and suddenly there was a sickening crunch from between your legs and the man went limp.

“Fuck.” You groaned, letting the man’s body flop to the side as Joel finished off the last man with a particularly brutal strike to his head with the now broken pipe. 

His body sagged as the silence settled over you. He took a second, rubbing his face harshly before he straightened up.“Turn over.” He ordered but helped you sit up anyway, taking your weight against his shoulder, fishing a knife from the dead man’s belt and cutting you free. 

“We are never going with your plans again.” You rubbed at the friction burn on your wrists, your fingers tingling painfully as your circulation returned. “Joel?” You twisted around. He was silently looking at the body next to you, his expression unreadable. 

“Hey man, this wasn’t your fault, I’m sor-“

He surged forwards, slamming his lips against yours, almost knocking you over before you grabbed at his biceps. His teeth sank into your bottom lip, almost drawing blood.

“What’s-“

“I didn’t know you could do that.” He groaned against your lips, hands flying to the button on your jeans. “Need to feel your legs around my head.”

“Joel-“ Your jeans were yanked down your legs before he tugged you forwards, your knees bracketing his head. “Is this really the place?” 

He growled. “Sit down. Now.” Thick fingers hooked into your panties and pulled them to the side. “Crush my fucking head like a watermelon.” 

You hovered there for a moment, looking around the room before meeting his gaze again, his pupils blown so wide you could see yourself reflected in the black. 

“Fuck it.” You muttered and dropped yourself down. Maybe not everything goes wrong every time you leave.

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Joel Miller

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[amya-da-dc]

Just one more - Batboys

Word Count: 2.1k

Characters: Dick Grayson , Jason Todd , Tim Drake , Damian Wayne , Duke Thomas

req here

Summary: Your not starting over, your continuing, thats what healing is

A/N: I don’t remember exactly what drugs Jasons mom OD’d on but because of it I think he’d be strongly against literally any kind of substance out there and I will die on this hill

Dick Grayson

He’d stopped by your apartment with takeout and used the spare key when you didn’t answer. Keys jangled in the lock, door creaked open, and—He froze halfway through putting the takeout on the counter.

The patio door was cracked open. A sliver of breeze drifted in, laced with something unmistakable.

Burnt. Bitter. Familiar.

He set the food down, slow. Walked to the sliding door. Opened it quietly.

You were leaning against the railing when he saw the ember glow.

He didn’t say anything at first.

You didn’t look at him. Just took another drag. Exhaled like you were hoping it’d take the guilt with it.

“…Hey,” he said softly.

“Thought you were working late,” you muttered.

“I was.” His voice was gentle, but edged. “Then I got this weird craving for pad thai and lying in your lap. Crazy, right?”

You turned your face away. “Don’t start, Dick.”

“I’m not starting. I’m just—” he ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking to the cigarette. “—watching someone I love hurt themselves again.”

Your shoulders tensed.

“You said you quit.”

Silence.

The city buzzed far below. Car horns. Distant sirens. The occasional laugh. The kind of night that demanded quiet reflection. Or reckless choices.

You flicked ash off the side of your arm. “I wasn’t gonna do it again. I just… needed one.” You didn’t dare look at him.

“I thought you threw them out,” he said, not accusatory—just sad.

“I did.”

“Then how…?”

“I bought a new pack.”

Another beat of silence. And then, softly— “Why?”

You finally looked at him.

His eyes weren’t angry. They were worried. Genuinely. And that made it worse.

You shrugged helplessly. “It’s been a long week. I couldn’t sleep. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.”

He nodded slowly. “And so you lit a match.”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not mad,” he said gently. “But… you promised. Not for me—for you.”

“I know.”

He reached over and plucked the cigarette from your fingers, snuffing it against the brick wall without breaking eye contact.

Then he wrapped his arms around you. Pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I’m here, you know. When it gets bad. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You pause. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

Dick exhaled, slow. His palm came up to gently press against your cheek.

“Babe,” he whispered. “You could burn down the world, and I’d still choose you. But that doesn’t mean I want to watch you go up in flames.”

You blinked fast, burying your face in his chest. “I’ll try again,” you whispered.

“Good,” he said. “Because you’re worth the effort.”

Jason Todd

“You said you quit.”

His voice didn’t come from in front of you—it came from behind. Flat. Calm. A warning.

You jumped, half-spinning on your rooftop perch to see him emerging from the shadows.

“Jesus, Jay—”

“Don’t deflect.”

He crossed the roof in three strides, pulling the cigarette from your mouth and flicking it off the edge without blinking.

“Hey—!”

Jason held up a hand. “Don’t hey me. You said you quit.”

“I did. I’m just— it’s just one.”

“No. It’s not.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “It’s never just one. That’s the lie. That’s the hook. And you’re smarter than that.”

You scoffed and turned away, folding your arms. “Why do you even care?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Jason stared at you like you’d just slapped him.

“Because I love you,” he said flatly. “Because I’ve watched people kill themselves slowly. Because I’ve stood over too many graves thinking if only they’d tried harder. And I will not do that for you.”

You blinked. “I’m not dying, Jason.”

He gave a bitter smile. “Not yet.”

You deflated. “I wasn’t gonna—” you started, but the words fell apart. “It was just one.”

“Yeah, and Lazarus pits are just fancy bathtubs,” he snapped.

You winced.

He took a breath. Tried again. “You’re better than this,” he murmured. “And you don’t have to prove it to me. Just… prove it to yourself.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” And then, quieter: “Let me help next time. Don’t hide it. Don’t hide you.”

You nodded. Slowly.

And when he kissed your forehead, it wasn’t rough or rushed—it was heartbreakingly gentle.

Silence hung heavy.

Jason stepped forward, pulled the pack from your jacket, thumbed through it like it might bite.

He didn’t throw them. Didn’t yell. Just stared at them for a long moment. Then pocketed them.

“If you’re gonna self-destruct,” he said, voice low, “don’t do it quietly. Don’t do it where I can’t pull you back.”

Your eyes finally met his. “I’m sorry.”

Jason sighed, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “I know.”

You guys get back to his safe house and walk in. Then he turned and dumped the pack in the sink. Ran the water.

“You’re not starting from scratch,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re just picking up where we left off.”

And damn if that didn’t make you cry harder than anything else.

Tim Drake

Tim didn’t mean to catch you, he wasn’t watching for you to mess up.

He was just coming back early from a stakeout. Hoodie pulled over his head, energy drink in hand, the weight of a long night still on his shoulders.

He saw the glow first. A flick of orange against the dark. Balcony light off. Just you and the stars and the smoke.

Tim didn’t knock. Just slid the door open and stood there.

“Seriously?”

The sound of his voice made you flinch. You turned, guilt already blooming. “Tim—”

“You said you were done. You promised.”

“I know. I just…” You hesitated. “I needed something to take the edge off.”

He crossed his arms. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to cheat your way through the hard parts. You don’t get to lie about it, then ask me to trust you.”

You winced. “It’s not a lie. I really was trying.”

Tim sighed. The anger drained from his face—replaced by something heavier. Sadder.

He walked over to stand next to you, not saying anything for a moment.

After a minute, he held out his hand.

You gave him the cigarette.

He put it out.

“…Is it the stress?” he asked quietly.

Your breath hitched. “…Yeah.”

He nodded. “Okay.” Just that, then silence again.

“Okay?”

“You’re human,” he said. “You slip. I just… I wish you slipped into me instead. I’m right here.”

He’s quiet for a moment, you can see the gears turning in his head. “Work? Family? Me?”

“No. God, no. It’s not you. It’s just—everything. My head doesn’t stop. It spins and spins and sometimes… smoking slows it down.”

Tim nodded. “I get that.”

You blinked. “You do?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “You know how much caffeine I drink to keep from falling apart?”

“…Fair.”

“I’m not judging you,” he said, softer now. “I’m scared for you.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t want to look weak.”

“You’re never weak for feeling something,” Tim said. “Only for pretending you don’t.”

He reached out and gently put his arm around your shoulders. “I know what addiction does. I’ve seen it destroy people. I don’t want it to get its claws in you.”

“…Okay,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Help me quit again?”

“Always,” Tim said. And when he pulled you in, it felt like home.

Damian Wayne

He smelled it before he saw it.

Damian turned the corner of the manor grounds, heading for the greenhouse — and stopped dead.

There you were, leaning half-out of his bedroom window, smoke curling lazily around you. Facing the stars.

He quickly made his way through the manor and up the stairs, you didn’t even hear him come in.

“Beloved.” The word cracked like a whip. “…What are you doing?”

Your stomach dropped. “Nothing,” you said quickly, hiding your hand.

He narrowed his eyes. Walked slowly toward you. Reached out and pulled the cigarette from your fingers.

He looked at it. Then at you.

“You said you quit.” You won’t look at him but you can hear the hurt in his voice.

“I know,” you muttered, shame bubbling.

“You promised.”

“I know.”

“Was your word a falsehood, then?” he asked, voice low. Controlled. “You promised me.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I didn’t plan to—I just…”You swallowed hard. “I had a bad day.”

Damian’s jaw twitched. “We all have bad days,” he said. “You are not alone in that.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why?” he snapped. “Do you think less of me when I fall?”

“No! I—”

He stepped closer, eyes soft. “…Then do not think I will love you less for falling, either.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, quietly— “Was it me?”

Your head snapped up.

“What?”

“Did I upset you? Did I say something? Fail to support you properly?”

“No—Dami, no. This isn’t your fault. God. This is me.”

He looked uncertain. Like his footing had slipped.

You stepped forward and put your hands on his shoulders.“You are the one person who makes me feel steady. I’m sorry. I messed up. I shouldn’t have. I just… didn’t know how to say I was having a bad day.”

“Next time, say it.”

You nodded.

Damian reached into his coat pocket. Pulled out a small silver coin. Pressed it into your palm. “A replacement. Flip this when you crave one. Let the sound remind you that control is yours.”

You curled your fingers around it. “I’m sorry.”

He brushed his lips over your temple. “I will not lose you to a flame,” he whispered.

“You won’t.”

“…Good. Because if you die, I will kill you.”

You laughed, choked and teary. “Noted.”

Duke Thomas

It started with a knock.

Duke didn’t even wait for you to answer. Just nudged your door open. “You home?” He spent a few minutes looking around for you before he saw.

You were outside the apartment, sitting on the back steps, hoodie pulled over your head, smoke curling like a ghost in the dark.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just sat beside you. Quiet.

You quickly snuffed the cigarette out under your shoe. You knew it was too late, he’d seen.

“…Bad day?” he asked gently.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

He nodded like he understood. Because he did.

After a long silence, he said, “You remember that night you stayed up with me after I got benched from patrol?”

You look at him with a question on your face.

“You made me tea. Played that dumb playlist. Watched Moana with me three times.”

You smiled faintly. “I remember.”

He nudged you with his shoulder. “Let me return the favor. You don’t have to do this to feel okay. I promise.”

You looked at him. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m not happy,” he said, gently. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded. “…Okay… I wanted to be done with this,” you mumbled. “I just… I don’t know how to stop needing it.”

Duke nodded. “That’s fair,” he said quietly. “You know what I need when I get that low?”

You glanced over.

He held up a brown paper bag and opened it. Inside was chocolate milk, your favorite sandwich, and a roll of sour candy.

“Next time you feel like lighting up,” he said, nudging your shoulder, “call me. I’ll bring snacks and bad movies and we’ll punch a pillow together.”

You gave a watery laugh.

“And if you do it anyway… I’ll still show up. Just like now.”

“Even if I disappoint you?”

He smiled, slow. Warm. “Baby,” he said, “you don’t lose me that easy.”

You took his hand and headed inside. And for the first time all day, you felt lighter.

[lolitakirstein]

Mini-golf

Synopsis: Toji, megumi and y/n go out for a round of mini golf. Fluff ensues.

WC: 1000

Mini golf

"This is so ridiculous," Toji grumbles as he picks up the neon colored golf ball from the bushes. To make it even more irritating, he can hear you and Megumi laughing behind him.

"Daddy, you gotta keep it on the bright green." Megumi giggles.

"Yeah, toji. It's mini golf, not a driving range," you add.

"Well, it's driving me fucking insane, something is wrong with this ball," Toji snaps back, sending you and Megumi into another fit of laughter.

"Daddy said a swear!" Megumi shouts for the rest of the occupants on the course to hear.

Toji could think of a million things he'd rather be doing than playing mini golf, but his son had insisted on going to the local course for his birthday. Being a good father, Toji had reluctantly agreed, although he was a little more willing when Megumi suggested inviting you along.

Maybe he was playing up his frustration a bit to watch you and his son laugh, but he had hoped he wouldn't be a total loser at something as simple as mini golf.

"My turn!" Megumi announces, skipping to the next hole.

"Hold on a second, Tiger Woods," you stop him before he can put, crouching behind him and flipping his putter the right way. "Now line it up with the hole, pull it straight back, and hit it."

Megumi stuck his tongue between his lips in concentration, brows scrunching, and struck the ball.

"Nice one!" you cheer. The three of you watch as the ball goes down the turf and sinks right in the hole.

Toji watches as you and his now 5-year-old son dance around hand in hand in celebration.

"Did you see that, Dad! I did it!"

"That's my boy, takes after his old man," he says.

"Toji, you're plus 15 and this is only the 3rd hole," you smirk, getting a nice eye roll from the big brute. You hate to admit it, but it's somewhat amusing to watch a 6'2", buff man like Toji amble around a mini golf course.

"I can't help it,  this putter isn't made for men!" He replies, setting his ball down and trying to line up his next shot.

"It doesn't look like the club's the problem as much as your big tits are," you tease over his shoulder. Toji looks down at his chest, and sure enough, his muscular pectorals inhibit his ability to have better precision.

"Hey!" he barks, jerking his head over his shoulder to scowl at you. "It's my BICEPS!"

You roll your eyes, watching him hunch over the small putter, amused.

~~~

"Next time we're going bowling," Toji says when he finally hits his ball into the final hole.

"Ah, someone's a sore loser," you pat him on the shoulder. The three of you are exiting into the parking lot. Megumi is chatting to himself in front of you, walking to Toji's Truck, riding the high of winning.

Your car's a few aisles over so you start to part ways until Toji grabs your wrist, causing you to look up at him with a confused expression.

"Thanks for coming, it means alot." he says softly, not meeting your eyes but you can feel the sincerity in his words.

You smile. "I had fun, thank you for inviting me."

He slowly rubs his thumb on the inside of your wrist. "No...i mean it...he-- doesn't get a lot of interaction with women, mostly just children, or me, or Shiu. It's..nice having him around some--" he breaks off, gesturing to you with his hand. "Uhh."

"Feminine energy," you arch your brow, finishing his sentence.

He huffs a laugh, "Yeah."

"Wouldn't want him to be too much of a brute...like some men," you smirk, earning a chuckle from the tall man.

"Maybe next time I can show you underneath all this brute strength, he says, arrogantly flexing his bicep, "I'm actually a nice guy."

"I'd like that. Good night Toji." you spin on your heel and make your way to your car, a soft flutter in your stomach.

Once in your car, you’re flipping through your phone to find a good song, when there's a knock on your window. You jump but quickly breathe a sigh of relief when you notice toji standing at your door with Megumi in his arms waving, his truck idling beside you.

You open your door, confused. "Yeah?"

"Megs didn't say bye and he was gonna run away if I didn't let him," Toji says, letting his squirming son out of his arms.

Megumi climbs into the car seat,  wrapping his small arms around your neck. "Bye y/n. thanks for playing with me"

"Oh, I had so much fun, you’re the best putt putter I've ever seen!" you press you’re mouth to his head, plant a quick kiss before murmuring "unlike your dad"

You both laugh.

"Alright wrap it up, you two." toji rolls his eyes. "Give her a kiss goodnight and let's go birthday boy.

Megumi quickly smacks a soft kiss on your cheek and scrambles out of the car, "Night, y/n"

"Night sweetheart," you say back as you watch toji lift him back into his truck. He turns back to look at you.

Theres an odd pause, before he shrugs and says, "Well I guess while I'm here."

He ducks into your car; your breath catches. His large frame presses gently against yours. The scent of laundry detergent and a deep woody cologne engulf your senses. His lips touch softly against your soft cheek. One second...two seconds..three...

It takes everything in you not to turn into him once he pulls away, wanting to smash your lips into his.

He stands to his full height, a confident smile on his face when he sees the soft blush on your cheek. "Good night, darling."

With that, he closes your car door, returns to his truck, and drives off. Leaving you flustered.

~~

"This stays between us," toji says, slipping a 10 dollar bill into toji little shirt pocket.

"Why couldn't you ask y/n to come with us yourself?" Megumi asks.

"Because... she wouldn't say no to you. Plus, you wanted her to come, didn't you? You like y/n."

"Yeah but.."

"Listen, just help your old man out." toji ruffles his hair. "We're a team."

"Maybe if you were a better putter, she would've kissed you back," Megumi said under his breath.

Toji frowns, not even 24 hours into being 5 years old, and his son's already getting an attitude.

[snow-flake-writes]

Pairing: Lee Yongbok Felix x Female!American!Reader

Fandom: Stray Kids

➽─────────❥

⚠️NOTICE⚠️

This is not an AU. This is real life time, year 2025, and Felix is part of Stray Kids, the K-Pop band. It’s an Idol x fan relationship!

Anything and everything in this story is MADE UP, except for Stray Kids, the members, and their events.

This story does NOT portray Felix in any way. Although I’ll be trying to write his personality the best that I can, none of this means he has, or will, act/say/be those ways. Keep in mind that this is a FICTIONAL story.

This story is mostly to satisfy my lonely heart, so the reader’s personality may be going off of my own, as well as her backstory. But I’m going to try to be as vague as I possibly can, so it can be a reader-insert.

All message screenshots are FAKE. I tried my best to make them look legit lol.

Also, just a fair warning that I have become a fan of Stray kids a few weeks ago…so I apologize if any information is wrong! Don’t hurt me please…

If I ever become friends with this man in the future, please don’t tell him I wrote this…T-T

‼️WARNINGS‼️

As I had said earlier, this story is mostly for me, so there will be some things that might be triggering that the reader has gone through. THIS IS A WAY TO HELP ME COPE.

Just know that none of it will be explicit, I promise. No details, just mentions.

These triggers include….sexual harassment, discomfort, androphobia?, anxiety, self-hatred, trauma, nightmares, depression, conflicted thoughts, and fear.

If you are uncomfortable with any of these topics, then please don’t read(I will make sure to put warnings in each chapter if its needed). And take care of yourself <3

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Summary:

Y/N lived a rather boring and busy life. Living in her early twenties, she had realized that now was the time she’d be really starting her journey…and a struggle it is. She learns how to be an adult, juggling jobs and learning to be independent. However, when more and more weight begins to fall on her shoulders, something from above seems to send someone right in her path, just to make things a little easier.

It’s safe to say she doesn’t regret showing off some clothing on her social media.

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Masterlist || Part 1 | …

-ˋˏ ༻☀️༺ ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ ༻☀️༺ ˎˊ-

Time. It was never on her side. No matter how much she tried to catch up, there was always something that held her back. And that something is what she’s been trying to figure out. How can you fight something you don’t even know? Ever since she was in high school, she feels time has been her worst enemy. Especially when she’s woken up by her alarm—blaring and alert.

Y/N stares at the ceiling above her, back pressed against the soft padding of her mattress. The alarm was shut off with a quick reflex, just by a few seconds of It breaking the silence. It’s her only day off of the week, and here she lies at 8:30 in the morning. It’s an alarm she had set in her phone every morning, no matter if she worked or not.

Why did she do this to herself? Well, her sleep schedule hasn’t always been the best. She thought it best to use an alarm to get her up at a decent time, hoping it’d fix her sleep-in routines. That doesn’t seem to be the case, since she always turns it off right away and goes back to sleep anyway.

How responsible.

On most mornings like this, especially on her day off, she’d go back to sleep, eager to dream a bit more about things that will never be a reality. Instead, she finds herself staring at the textured ceiling, her thoughts spiraling about nothing in particular. It’s her day off for the week, she should sleep in as long as she wants, eat good food, and maybe work on some art projects she thinks about constantly but is always too lazy to do.

Working three jobs isn’t easy. Granted she makes sure she’s not working more hours then she should each day, but it still takes up most of her time of the day, barely allowing her to do the things she wants to do. Which is why she ends up staying up till one or two in the morning.

A long sigh leaves her lips, her mind telling her to get up and do something. After some silent contemplation, she sits up. A wave of dizziness hits her from moving too fast, but it's gone within seconds, and she slowly pulls off her blankets to get out of bed.

Her morning routine isn’t anything special. Get out of bed, find some clothes to wear—or stick with her pajamas, go to the restroom, brush her hair and teeth, and that's about it. She’s quite lazy, so there’s not much else she finds to be important. Besides, chores, of course.

Last but not least, Y/N finally sits down to go through all of her social media. She tends to do that as soon as her eyes open in the morning. Spending about thirty minutes scrolling endlessly on her phone to give her some time to officially wake up. But this morning, she hadn’t even touched the device, besides turning the alarm off.

Running a hand over her tired face, she taps on each app she often uses, checking over notifications and seeing if any of her friends have contacted her. Not much activity, as expected. What should she expect? She only has two best friends who live in her town, while her other friends are online. Lonely, right?

Well, she finds that having a smaller circle has more connection then a bigger one.

The last app she checks is instagram. She has a couple accounts, one for art, another for personal stuff, and so on. Seeing that she has a few notifications from her personal account, she clicks on it without hesitation.

Y/N blinks at the screen, seeing the many likes on a post she did a couple days ago. Ah…she had almost forgotten about that post. It was a professional picture she got done with the new hoodie she had bought—Stray Kids merch.

Stray Kids. A k-pop group she had started to like about a few weeks ago. More like a little obsessed over. Not in a creepy way, of course, but enough that she finds herself scrolling through the many reels about the boy band till two in the morning. She’s not at fault, though. The reels just pop up on her page, and she has no choice but to endlessly watch them.

Either way, it’s a hoodie of Bbokari. A yellow chick that represents one of the Stray Kids members, Lee Yongbok Felix. Her favorite out of all of the members, to be specific.

She isn’t sure why, but she thinks it's the long hair. It does things to her. It’s that, or his deep voice. Y/N honestly finds him to be a very talented person. All of the members are. But as she watches more videos about them, she learns more and more of each member. They are kind, care about their fans, and work so hard.

It’s…admirable.

Y/N reads through the few comments, many of which are from people she doesn’t even know, but clearly fans of Stray Kids. Some are complimenting how it fits her well—even though she’s not even showing her whole outfit—and some are just talking about what merch they have.

One notification in particular grabs her attention, however. She may have woken up a few hours ago, but she must be tired, right?

Because, there is absolutely no way a verified person liked her post. No, not just any verified account—Lee fucking Felix.

Y/N had to look away from the screen for a moment, asking herself if this was actually real. Maybe it’s someone impersonating him? She knows every celebrity has one of those on social media. But if that's the case, they wouldn’t be verified, right…? Her irises glance back down at her phone, finding it to be the same it was earlier.

Yup. This is real.

A giddy grin creeps onto her features, teeth showing and all, and her feet practically kick in pure excitement. This was a dream come true. A piece of her heart that craved this.

Of course, she wasn’t expecting anything like this, not from any member. She’s one fan of a million, how could she be noticed out of all of them? Well, here it is, right in front of her face.

And now that she’s really looking, she notices she had received a message, too, during the night. Thinking it’s a scam message or something from a friend, her thumb taps on the icon.

No, that wasn’t it at all.

In fact, Y/N quite literally almost dropped her phone in pure shock. Sure, an idol liking her post was surprising and somewhat delusional, but it’s legit. However, a message from them, too?

There’s absolutely no way this is even possible. She must still be asleep.

Y/N couldn’t bring herself to tap on the message and read the whole thing, too nervous to find it to be all fake in the end. Despite moving restlessly in her seat in excitement and shock, she still felt that she was getting her hopes up.

Finally, after a long minute of contemplation…she clicks on the message.

FELIX

[Forwarded your post]

”Thank you for your support 😊It means the world to us.”

Y/N is sure she needs to go to the hospital, because it feels as though her heart stopped. Felix from Stray Kids, a very famous k-pop boy band, had messaged her, a broke young woman who happens to have found out about them recently.

There’s no way this is real.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Fifty Four - Radio Static

Part Fifty Three

Warning: Brief Internalized Homophobia Tones

———

Log open, loading. 

Mission Report, Cybertronian timescale, cycle 247, rotation 7, Decepticon High Command, The Nemesis, space above New Kaon.

Order given by Lord Megatron of Tarn, Champion of Kaon, Ruler of New Kaon, and scourge of Cybertron.

Mission, to find and utterly destroy those who presently stand between the everlasting war and the potential for peace. Mission assigned to multiple entities, REDACTED. Unknown status on multiple entities, mission silence requested.

If the mission failed, exile was recommended and enforced by third-in-command. Whether on New Kaon or in outer-spaces. 

Those participating in missions are scheduled for multiple check-ins through cycle 240, every six rotations. 

An estimated seventy check-ins expected, actual check-ins logged at fourteen.

All stemming from REDACTED aboard the Peaceful Tyranny, full mission guidelines not given to REDACTED, remain the tertiary option. On standby.  

Primary operator, marked MIA.

Mission logged, unsuccessful and unnecessary, Treaty of Unity, signed on cycle 0, rotation 9 by the United Cybertron Government. Certified by the Intergalactic Council. 

Mission log closed, scheduled to be deleted on Cycle 1359, rotation 2. 

Log closed.

—

Guard duty was boring, worse than boring in moments like these when there was so much going on. The shockwave had knocked out most team comms, so he could only talk to those close at hand for the moment. Which normally wouldn’t be so bad, but one of them with the literal leader of the free world. 

And that was stressful enough, without the watchful eye of his commander at his back. No, instead he kept scanning the street for invisible threats.

He and Chromia stood quietly while Elita and Optimus talked, both scanning the town and streets like they were the enemy. Watching and waiting for the boogeyman to pop out and try to murder them.

Of course, he hadn’t even gotten to see the mysterious boogeyman yet, he’d hardly seen Hot Rod before moving back toward the city limits. Now he was stuck on the steps of their main building, listening to Elita and Optimus drone on. Shooting a glance towards Chromia, she looked almost as bored.

If his damn comm worked, they could be talking, but no, now they just had to stand in an awkward silence while Elita and Optimus conversed. 

“No one has seen the mech since before the race treaty, it has been a thousand years that he’s been MIA. Do you honestly believe it is a coincidence that he has shown up with more pilots from Earth?” Elita’s voice was stressed and his heart twisted in his chest and he took a slow breath.

Glancing over and almost flinching as Optimus’s gaze was already on him, this leader of their planet, who he hardly knew was staring at him very intently, “Sideswipe, how well do you know these new pilots?”

Oh god, how did he describe this safely? Glancing toward Elita briefly, he tried quint his comms again before sighing.

Unable to do anything else, he nodded, trying not to scratch at his implants. It had become a habit, as the skin around them was always dry and flakey now with the prolonged overuse. Irritated.

”Well, that is a bit complicated now, isn’t it?” His voice was slightly high from stress, Elita frowned, “How complicated?” Biting at his lip, he did scratch around his implants then, “Uh, well, none of us were stationed exactly near each other on Earth. So, it’s complicated.” He finished lamely.

The look on Eilta’s face was one he hated to see, sighing he nodded again, “Alright, so these guys are nuts.” Both commanders were staring at him and he groaned, “These are the bots who would do things that needed to be done, but would never ask to be, what was right but not. You know?” Elita swears and Optimus hummed.

Nodding again, Sideswipen shifted his weight a bit, “They would do anything to stop anything from going wrong, and I mean anything. Sure, we’ll all run off to handle Quintessons but these guys are bottom of the barrel crazy. Arcee was one of the youngest female pilots in a generation, same with Hot Rod and that guy will literally set himself on fire, Perceptor wasn’t a pilot until he made himself one and you have to be crazy to put yourself through compatibility." He shuddered.

”And Ratchet isn’t even a pilot, he’s a medic, was my medic and he’s a civilian.” Optimus helped up a hand and he quickly shut up. 

The look on his face, what little of it was visible, was heartbreaking and far from good, “I am afraid to ask, but how young?” Nodding, he sighed, “Well, Roddy is only a year older than me and Sunny and Arcee is a year younger. He became a pilot at sixteen and Arcee became one at eighteen, barely eighteen.” Optimus put his face in his hands for a long time.

He couldn’t help but shift again, “Sir,” He held up a hand and Sideswipe chose to stay quiet, now picking at his gloves instead, Optimus sighed and looked up, “And the civilian, his name?” Nodding a bit, Sides sighed, “Ratchet, sir.” Pain flashed across Elita’s face and Optimus’s eyes seemed distant and older.

Optimus cleared his throat, “Why,” His voice broke and the tone made Sides heart turn from twisted up to just aching, “Why would your planet send someone so small?” He blinked and nodded, sighing.

Here was the bitter truth but it tore at his throat, white lies, skating around the issue.

”You wouldn’t know, would you?” Optimus’s stare didn’t wavier, “I’ve said he was a civilian, that’s what we look like, as civilians. Pilots were designed to defeat the enemy so much larger than ourselves. We were designed to bring the enemy to its knees, but we couldn’t do that while standing at only a few feet tall.” 

It was hard to describe a mech turning green, it wasn’t like people who’d go pale or actually look green, but Optimus’s eyes crinkled in that same way. The way someone would when they were so repulsed they were about to get sick.

They really needed to get their story straight and soon, Prowl would hate this new addition. 

Elita’s eyes though, they were staring straight through him, he never really knew how she managed to do that, “Sideswipe, were you that small? Megatron said that this, Ratchet,” The pain in her voice was brutal, “Could fit on one of our shoulders.” 

Shrugging a bit, he cracks a smile, “Before I was a pilot, I was taller than Ratchet, only by a couple of inches but still taller. He is what we’d call, vertically challenged even among civilians. So is Hound to be fair.” He shrugged a bit, chuckling. Though the looks he was getting weren’t great.

Clearing his throat slightly, he shifts, “Um, I think it would be best to talk this over at a different time, probably when Hound is here? He, Percy, and Ratch know the most about the uh, pilot program.” The look on their faces was evident of their unwillingness to wait but it wasn’t really his place.

Not really waiting for their actual response, he turned back to watch the town, “It’s not my place to talk about it, I’m sorry.” Elita grasped his shoulder and turned him back around, “Sideswipe, you can’t just ignore us. This is serious.” Sighing, he stared at the sky.

”It’s not something I can speak well on, I was a civilian, I became a pilot to defend my planet. That hasn’t changed. We all became pilots to save our planet, wouldn’t you do the same? Didn’t you do the same? Civilians to an army?” He stared before nodding a bit, “Just wait for Hound to get back, once we’re back on Cybertron you can have yet another closed door meeting. Just leave me out of it.” 

He turned away again, sighing shakily while he scanned the streets, “God, I never thought I’d see anyone from home again and the day I do, it's all thrown in our faces how we continue to be different. Maybe I like being different.” Chromia patted his shoulder as Elita and Optimus fell quiet. 

His heart ached, still staring out at the empty streets. 

More of them, sent to die, only to find the exact reasons to live. 

—

His stomach was churning and his heart was racing as he ran, and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to outrun the honest to god truth he’d spilled across the sand to someone he hardly knew or if he was just desperate to know what the explosion had been.

Maybe an unhealthy mix of both.

God, the military just bore into his soul with this one though. He was not ashamed of his relationship with Mirage, far from it, but standing there in front of Cecilia Arnold and telling her had been one of the stupidest things he could have done. Jazz had kept his relationship with Prowl lowkey for weeks after they got there, it had been obvious but this was pathetic. 

He hadn’t even bothered to say hello properly, just hey, you okay, by the way I’m bisexual and ran away. Like a coward.

What he needed to do right now, was focus and push that aside. He would not be ashamed of who he was, especially not who he’d grown to be in his years away from Earth. It had to have been years now, if it was Arcturus two, three, or beyond that. It had to have been years. That first year had felt like forever and the last who knows how long had felt like a breeze.

Taking slow and deep breaths, he slowed to a stop to breath. Glancing back, he couldn’t see the Iliad or the town in the distance, but his plating was buzzing. Rolling his shoulders a bit, he turned and kept walking, stretching out his arms a bit before demagnetizing his gun to check over it.

The green was scratched and worn over the few years he’d had it now, but it was his, and Megatron had been right about it being reliable. Compared to the gun he’s brought from Earth which had simply fallen apart and the emergency replacement that had been shattered, this was indestructible.

Wiping the sand off of it, he sighed and shifted his grip on it lightly, still walking. Waiting.

When the buzzing feeling returned, he walked a few more steps before turning and firing, watching the impact in the sand for a long moment before Mirage visualized and held up his hands, “I come in peace.” Sighing slowly, Hound moved over and offered a hand, “What happened to staying in position?” Mirage cracked a smile and took his hand, “I lost sight of you. Your miles from where you said you were going.” 

Pulling Mirage to his feet, he couldn’t help but smile, “Someone has to find the thing that knocked out our comms.” He paused and squeezed Mirage’s hand, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Mirage’s grin was beautiful, turning, Hound started walking again and shifted his gun, “Just cause I can tell it’s you some of the time, doesn’t mean my vision while your invisible if flawless.” Chuckling, Mirage walked with him, “You shot near me, not at me. It’s different.” Scoffing, Hound shook his head and chuckled a bit.

“I swear, if you were like this during your civil war, I don’t know how you survived it.” Mirage howled with laughter and Hound smiled.

They walked together through the desert, "You know, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why do Cybertronian’s settle in deserts?” Mirage’s laughter didn’t die down, “Because organics like your sorry self can’t live on these worlds as easily, and the dense under-layers can cause energon to grow. Like here and New Kaon.” Humming, he nodded a bit, “Plus the other half a dozen desert worlds I’ve seen.” They both chuckled then.

Then came the glass.

His foot hit it first before he actually noticed it, almost tripping on it as it cracked and broke under his foot, “What the fuck?” And the ship slowly came into view.

It was on fire and Quintessons were crawling out from it, on fire, full of bullet holes, and spilling green across the glass. 

The indent in the ground was deep and the heat from its impact had turned chunks of sand into glass. 

“Holy Primus.” Mirage watched and Hound brought his gun up, placing the last bullets into the dying Quintessons with a scowl. After a few seconds, Mirage helped, dispatching the remaining few but they couldn’t get terribly close to the ship. The sheer heat from it was enough to melt plating but he could see it.

His chest tightened as he moved closer to the disintegrating ship, Mirage took his arm quickly, “What are you doing?” Sighing, he taps his visor, “Getting some footage, I just want to check something.” Mirage stared before nodding and letting go. Sighing slowly, he moved into the wave of heat, staring and capturing the scene for the others.

It was unmistakable to him, it would be unmistakable to them too, “Fuck me.” He murmured, kicking away some of the glass to start throwing sand on the fire.

“Where did this ship even come from?” Mirage moved around it at a safe distance, frowning at the puncture holes in it. It was a small scouting ship, similar to those he saw, “From Earth.” Hound couldn’t help but brush his hands over the bullet holes, the metal rapidly cooling. He was staring, “It was attacking Earth and tried to flee. The same wayward space bridge that brought the other pilots here, brought this here instead of to Quintessa.” Slowly, he watched the areas he’d tried to extinguish reignite and he moved back slowly. 

Turning off the cameras, he sighed, “We have to let it burn down.” Glancing towards Mirage, he saw his dumbfounded face, “What?” Sighing, he climbed slowly from the crater, “We have to let this thing burn down. It’s got too many signs of coming from Earth, from an organic planet Raj’.” Blinking, Mirage looked back at the burning ship and sighed slowly, “I hate to ask, but who won this fight?”

Hound stared, “We just did. They're dead, aren’t they?” Turning away, he closes his eyes for a long moment. Picking up his water pouch, he drank deeply from it. Mirage moved over and rested a hand on his back, “That’s not what I meant.” Sighing, he sets the water pouch back down, “The Quintessons did. They got away, meaning they destroyed whatever they were looking for.” Mirage’s hold on him tightened, then he was pulled close and into a hug.

Keeping his eyes closed, he hugged Mirage tightly.

“How many times did you see something like this? Full of holes and still, struggling?” Sighing, Hound holds onto Mirage, “All the time Raj’, all the time and their losing.” Mirage’s hands brushed up his back and, sighing, he relaxed a fraction, even as the ship popped and bowed from the heat. 

They stood there for a while, listening to the fire. It was an odd comfort, for both of them, to let it burn and take its horrors with it. 

It almost felt like winning, if not the battle then the war.

—

He was sure they had all thought it at different points in the day, at different times and different instances but this really was not how he thought today would go. 

Maybe spend a few hours awake aboard the shuttle and try to recoup sleep he’d missed over the last thirty some odd years of this damn war, but instead he was now on an alien planet with a bunch of aliens.

What was worse was the fact they were treating Deadlock like a criminal, mouth muzzled and hands behind his back. The poor mech wasn’t even armed. 

Now he was on some sort of table being watched over like a child, sitting and frowning at Deadlock. His translator and comms were out for the moment from the shockwave of god only knew what, so he was at least able to ignore some of the squabbling of the mechs around. Keeping an eye on Deadlock was the most important thing.

The murmuring though, that was starting to grate on his nerves a bit. Deadlock glanced up than at something over his shoulder, eyes widening slightly before dropping to the floor.

Whatever it was, wasn’t good. Sighing, Ratchet stood and turned, putting his hands on his hips. Even if these things didn’t understand him now, he’d still scream at them.

Four figures were moving their way, with the large grey one that had so carefully set him on the table moving over to speak with them. Only one of them was recognizable, but barely. 

Sideswipe’s suit looked different, the visor was a new color and glass type all together, while the paint looked so different in the light. Along with his bracers which appeared to be new. Lighter maybe while certainly being longer. His suits cameras landed on him and he straightened slightly, saying something to the large pick bot before being waved over. 

He moved differently too, “You know Ratch,” finally, something he could understand, “If you wanted to check in, you could have called. You didn’t have to come thirty light years just to see us.” His hand hit the table, palm up and careful.

Deadlock growled behind him, but he waved him off before climbing into Sideswipe’s hand, “It wasn’t exactly the plan to crash on this desert of a world. Where the hell are we?” Sideswipe chuckled, “Nowhere. Literally, the name of the system translates roughly to Nowhere. This is NW-Four. A mining planet and refueling station for organic beings.” Being lifted up, this was far more familiar of a feeling. Less weightless than when Deadlock did it.

“So, did Roddy say this was Arcturus Three’s crew?” Nodding, he sighed, “Yeah kid. We left Earth about two weeks ago.” Sideswipe whistled and tapped his helmet lightly with his free hand, “This is fancy, new face for the trip?” He frowned, muttering, ‘new face’ before turning to look at Deadlock.

Organics were hated and feared among a number of their kind, among the Cybertronian’s. Sighing slowly, he nodded, “Uh, yeah. Got the visor installed to… to match everyone else.” Sideswipe nodded and his visor shifted color, trying to somehow show emotion, at least that’s what Ratchet could tell.

“It looks good, suits you.” Sighing, Sideswipe turned carefully, though didn’t step away, only straightening, “Commanders,” then his voice shifted the the unfamiliar binary he’d come to know as ‘Cybertronian’, of course their translators would work great. Sideswipe nodded and gestured lightly and pointed to the small red-cross on his assistant suit before motioning towards his own chest.

Whatever this conversation was, probably had to do with being a medic.

Instead of trying to process whatever the hell they were saying, he looked to the mechs instead. 

There were two blue ones, a pink one, and the familiar grey one who he'd argued with up until his translator cut out. Two looked much like the female designed suits on Earth, the ones made to sell toys and god only knew what else. The other two however, kept inching closer together, hands barely brushing. Having that same glow about them that Deadlock would get when close to Roddy, it had been described as their electromagnetic fields, but ones that showed their emotions rather than wavelengths. 

It was almost interesting. Glancing up towards the large blue and red one’s face however stopped all those thoughts.

He was staring at him, almost through him, to the point he worried his visor wasn’t frosted enough, but it wasn’t that. It was something more.

Sideswipe nodded slightly and glanced at Ratchet, “Optimus Prime.” He gestured to the large mech, “Leader of Cybertron, uh, Prime is a title. That is Lord High Protector Megatron, head of the United Cybertronian army. This is commander Elita-One and her second in command, Chromia.” Nodding slowly, his mouth was very dry, “Nice to meet you.” He could tell Sideswipe was smirking as he translated, half of them cracked smiles.

The Lord Protector and Prime kept staring at him like he was a ghost.

Glancing back toward Deadlock, he looks to Sideswipe, “Why is Deadlock being detained like an animal?” Sideswipe winced and translated before turning to him, “He was hired to kill my commander before the end of their last war, he’s a credible threat.” He blinked, “He’s unarmed.” Sideswipe shoot his head, “So long as his t-cog functions, that mech is not unarmed.”

Deadlock growled again.

Sighing, Ratchet rested his hands on his head, wanting to drag them down his face but not really able to, “God. Do you even know how long you’ve been lost in space for Simon?” Sideswipe jolted back, like getting slapped and Ratchet teetered in his hand, grasping at his fingers quickly, “Damnit, careful!” Everyone moved in then, he was quickly returned to the table to watch the show.

Elita was on Simon like a shot, holding him up and speaking quickly, shooting a brief glare at Ratchet before continuing to talk. Chromia took point, keeping an eye on Deadlock like he were an actual threat, then the two commanders were holding hands as if it were the only thing that could bring them comfort. Talking quietly to each other.

Throwing his hands up, he turns and returns to the edge of the table closest to Deadlock, shaking his head, “I’m sorry kid, my translators shot till Percy gets back. Damnit, what the hell caused that shockwave?” Deadlock purred, bowing his head slightly and Ratchet couldn’t help but smile.

The kid might have gotten them partially into this crazy mess, but at least it was interesting. 

—

The walk back to town was long and hot, but they went together. Checking in on the Iliad where the recovery team had already towed it and the ring sections away.

He was forever grateful for how fast they seemed to handle things. 

Comms were still down, so him and Mirage just spoke quietly to each other, clearing up some things that they wouldn’t be able to talk about among the others. At least till they got back to Iacon.

Which in itself would be a nightmare now, another three pilots plus Ratchet and this crazed assassin potentially in their small apartment. More space would be needed. A bigger garden would need to happen and probably quickly, who knows how much supplies they actually had and his stomach growled. The alarm to eat had probably gone off a while ago, but today took a little bit more priority than that.

It took a while but the edge of town finally came into sight and so did the chaos with it. 

Prowl had somehow wrangled the new pilots, minus Ratchet, together and was talking with them. Jazz at his elbow like always and he knew that they probably thought they were looking at a ghost.

The usual heaters were starting to be set up as was command of the new scanning gear on top of one of the short buildings was any sign of anything, patting Mirage’s arm he pointed and they kept going, “Hey, Hound!” Roddy poked his head around Prowl, just as Jazz stepped in front of the kid, “Let Hound handle the reports Roddy, you’ll be able to talk to him later.”

Smiling a bit, he kept going, glancing down an alley way he could see the tarps covering the remains of the Iliad and her rings. Sighing slowly, he looked away.

Grounded, much like the Odyssey. Likely to never leave the surface again. At least once it was transported to Cybertron.

Sighing, he leaned lightly into Mirage, their EM’s blending comfortably. Companionably.

He was sure… There would be chaos in a moment. There always were moments like this, whether it was New Kaon or Iacon, or a million other missions they’d run since. It was calm before the next bout of chaos.

———

A/N

I honestly did not think I was going to get this part done for tonight, hence why I did not reblog part 53 till just a few minutes before posting this. But, now I know, when I am struggling with writing, write on my phone and it comes back together again.

I like this part significantly better than the last one, which is one that when Arcturus is done I’ll have to overhaul a LOT. But here is the new chapter “early” technically back on schedule.

So, I hope you all enjoy, the next chapter is going to be very reminiscent of some of the early chapters of Arcturus, so I am looking forward to that and soon our pilots both new and old will be on their way to Cybertron.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

A Code Red Situation

Prompt #18 - Get Out | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mention of Drug Dealer Eddie, Mention of Poor Mews | POV: Gareth | Relationship(s): Gareth & Corroded Coffin, Dustin & Steve | Tags: Set in S2, Very Slight Canon Divergence, Dart Has Siblings, And They Had To End Up Somewhere

"What is it?" Jeff asks, peering into the cardboard box. 

Gareth isn't sure. It was in his trash can, banging around making a racket when he got home from the Halloween party he definitely wasn't invited to. Worth sneaking in, though. Hagan and Hargrove were being assholes, sure, but Steve Harrington left crying while Eddie sold every last ounce of the weed he had. 

It'd been an entertaining night, even before he found this little fella. 

"It's a pollywog," Eddie says. "Right?"

"Awfully big," Goodie answers. "Maybe for a bullfrog?"

"I don't know, it looks weird," Jeff says. "Invasive species, maybe? It makes me feel uneasy."

Gareth looks at the little blob of a thing. Uneasy? It's just a growing tadpole. It has little legs now.

"Do you think it needs water?" Gareth asks.

"Well, it's not dead yet," Goodie says, stating the obvious. "Maybe you should take it to Mr. Clarke."

"From middle school?" He has no interest in going back to middle school, thanks. He's a high schooler now.

"Mr. Dudley definitely isn't taking time to look at your pollywog," Goodie argues, and he's not wrong. The high school biology teacher is dry as dust.

Gareth only brought it to school to show his friends, he hadn't really considered taking it to a teacher. But if it's some sort of new discovery, Mr. Clarke would be a good bet on him getting it into the right hands.

He'll think about it.

It's growing fast. Really fast. It's only been three days, and the thing has gone through a major metamorphosis. It feels too fast to be normal, and now Gareth's a little afraid of it. He finds a more secure cage, because if this thing escapes, he'll totally be fucked. 

He doesn't even know what it is.

Maybe now's the time to take it Mr. Clarke.

Gareth carries it across the school parking lot, running straight into Steve Harrington. Knocking the cage out of his grasp, sending it clattering to the gravel. 

The pollywog screeches, and makes an almost mechanical clicking noise, rattling the cage, beating against the sides violently at being so rudely jostled. 

Then, its face unfurls. Holy fucking shit…did that? That didn't. No goddamn way.

But Harrington visibly recoils in a way that tells Gareth it absolutely did. What a bizarre way to transform. Like it's trying to turn itself inside out from the top down. Fascinating.

Gareth reaches for the cage, but Harrington's faster, snatching it first.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" Harrington demands, yanking the cage from his grasp, despite all Gareth's protests.

"Hey! That's mine!" Gareth argues, but Harrington's just shaking his head.

"No, no, no. Absolutely not," he says, waving his arms around, shaking the poor thing in its cage, pissing it off further.

"Stop, you're scaring it."

"That's the least of my concerns, kid. Trust me. This isn't good. It's not good at all."

Gareth doesn't care. He's not giving him a choice. He found the thing. It's his. Harrington isn't taking it. If he does, Gareth will tell everyone he saw him crying like a little baby on Halloween.

Steve's mumbling under his breath, "I was gonna bring flowers, but I suppose this could break the ice. Goddammit."

Gareth just stares at him. He's so weird. People think Eddie's weird. But he doesn't hold a candle to this.

Steve starts walking towards his car.

"No way, you're not just taking it, I'm coming with you," Gareth demands, following Steve Harrington out towards his car.

Harrington doesn't seem to care one way or another, and Gareth climbs into his BMW.

At Nancy Wheeler's house, Gareth sits there awkwardly as Dustin Henderson intercepts Steve on the way to the door. Gareth remembers him from middle school. He's a couple years younger, but with that big mouth, he's hard to miss.

He just watches them go back and forth until Dustin Henderson grabs the cage from Steve's hand.

What the fuck? Why is everybody so determined to steal this thing? Gareth gets out, ready to defend what's his. 

"Where'd you find Dart?" Henderson asks, sounding indigent.

"Who?" Steve asks.

"Dart," Dustin says again, peering closely into the cage, "Shit. This isn't Dart. There's more than one? Son of a bitch. This is definitely a code red situation."

Gareth looks between them. 

"Henderson, what are you talking about?" Harrington asks.

"We need to kill it," Dustin says. 

"Hey, no!" Gareth yells, charging forward.

"It'll eat your cat. If you let it keep growing it'll eat you, too," Dustin says, then looks up at Steve, cutting a glance at Gareth, lowering his voice, "This is a baby…you know what."

Steve Harrington, "Uh, yeah. I figured that out all by myself, Henderson."

Gareth's getting mad. They're saying things without actually saying anything at all. He wants a straight answer, "What is this thing?"

"You don't want to know," Dustin says, "Go home, Gareth. Get out of here. Pretend you never saw it."

Yeah, right. That's not happening.

Steve Harrington takes the cage from Henderson's hands, "How are we going to dispose of it?" 

Henderson shrugs, "Don't know yet. But we need to. Fast. Then we need to find Dart."

"Dart?" Harrington asks.

"The one that I found. Keep up. I wonder how many more there are roaming around town? This isn't good at all," Dustin says. 

"This one's mine," Gareth says.

Dustin wheels on him, "Mine ate my cat. You don't want it. Trust me."

Yeah, Gareth heard him right the first time, he guesses.

Harrington walks the cage to the trunk of his car, and puts it in. Slamming the lid. The pollywog screams.

"Get in, Henderson."

Gareth takes a step towards the car, but hears the cage violently rattling around in the trunk of the BMW, banging and shrieking.

It stops him in his tracks, "You know, maybe I'll just walk home."

"Good plan," Harrington says, and they pull away from the curb, leaving Gareth standing on the Wheeler's front lawn. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: And then Dustin and Steve proceed on their bonding adventure.

Corroded Coffin is just an older version of The Party. Them getting into the same situation at the same time just seemed funny to me. But they didn't lose theirs. With age, comes better containment skills, I guess. You must learn that in high school, lol.

[nicooole04]

Aching Soul

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Synopsis: Will you still love me I'm no longer beautiful?

w/c: 2.6k

Content: gn!reader, SFW, fluff, time skips, angst (its actually there this time), love at...three years sight??, character death, happy story/sad ending, modern!au, no powers, curses, sorcerers, like plain ole love

a/n: i'm sorry for not getting this out sooner, i spent the past two months without wifi on my laptop because i kept putting in the wrong password

◯

◯

◯

He still remembers it.

The way he’d look out into the venue and among a sea of foreign faces, he’d only see yours. 

He remembers all the times he tried to teach you how to play his bass. How he’d prop the instrument up on your lap and listen to your horrid plucking of the strings.

No matter. 

That’s why he remembered it.

He could never forget the times he dragged you through city alleys and rooftops just to show you the special parts of the city.

You used to tell him how he was your sun.

You pointed out every time he stood in the light how his skin glowed like diamonds. 

He remembers telling you about your grace–your body.

He never let you forget your own beauty.

He used to think he could never forget. 

He could.

They told him he would.

Fortunately, he never let that get to him.

No, Gojo could never forget the moment in time he knew you were his.

He was thirsty.

He remembers that little detail because it was the reason he missed his flight.

He remembers the actual encounter vaguely now.

Only a few details remain.

But it wasn’t when you met, no.

It was actually during the three years he spent abroad that he realized you were meant to be.

On that fateful day, he, Geto, and Ieiri were headed to the airport for a business move for his band abroad. It was meant to take five years.

Unfortunately, because of Gojo’s unquenchable thirst, he and the group missed the flight. Luckily, they were able to exchange their tickets for the same flight a few hours later.

He remembers sitting near the gate with Geto on his left and Ieiri on his right.

“I can’t believe you did this. Really, Satoru, this is embarrassing.”

He wishes he could forget Geto’s scolding.

“Don’t be dull, only we know about this little mishap,” he lounged back in the tight chair.

The plastic cup sitting tightly within his hand.

Gojo never actually finished that damn cup.

In fact.

He never even took a sip. 

“Only us, huh? You do know we were supposed to attend a meeting. Because of the time change, it was supposed to start thirty minutes ago.”

Gojo felt the only appropriate thing to do was to stick out his tongue playfully, completely ignoring the issue.

Geto rolled his eyes, sitting back in his own chair.

“Y’know, they had vending machines here. You could’ve just gotten a drink here and we wouldn’t have been late.”

Ieiri’s voice was drawn out at his side. 

He knew how much she was aching to light a cig.

Airports didn’t allow that inside though and they’d already wasted too much time for her to go out.

“But I was thirsty then,” Gojo whined.

“Uh-huh. You sure seemed thirsty.”

She countered.

After that, the tension Gojo caused died down.

They did get on their flight and made it to their destination. 

Though.

Gojo still couldn’t forget you.

And he would continue to think about you for the next few months, even.

It wasn’t easy. 

Every coffee machine reminded him of you.

Every bottle of water, every bag of ice.

It all reminded him of your stupidly fake smile and annoyingly cute laugh.

Until one day.

One day.

He woke up.

He woke up and got a cup of coffee.

He didn’t ponder over how you’d grind the beans or what creamer you’d add. 

He didn’t ask himself if you preferred caramel frappes or mocha.

He didn’t think about you.

He had a glass of water without questioning how much ice you’d put in it.

He was able to go about his days without picturing your face on the body of every barista he’s met since.

The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months.

Soon enough, it’d been a year since Gojo thought about you.

And he was fine with it.

Sure, you were attractive and you made him laugh a few times, but you were like every other barista.

You just had a decent level of charisma.

Gojo thought nothing of it.

He hated himself for forgetting.

Eventually though, it changed.

He had just gotten out of the studio for the day when one of his managers suggested going out that weekend.

Gojo was never one to say no to a good time.

He ended up dragging Geto and Ieiri along for the ride.

They went out to a bar first. 

Not Gojo’s first choice but they did have good fries so he indulged.

Afterwards, they shuffled down the street to an arcade. 

Gojo remembers that fondly because he took the cake in pretty much every game.

Any game he lost was either because of Geto beating him or him letting Ieiri win for appearances.

Just as the night was coming to a close, his manager suggested going to one more place.

It was cheesy, Gojo used to think. 

Some nearly run down building just around the block.

He would’ve missed it had it not been for the teal and magenta sign hanging above the window.

“A fortune teller?”

Ieiri made the comment first.

“Not just fortunes,” Leon started, “They also do tarot and palm readings.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Ieiri could be a pessimist sometimes.

Gojo appreciated the contrast to his own saccharine optimism.

“You nervous?” Geto piped up.

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol from the bar talking or if this was just his best friend stepping away from his usual cautious attitude.

“What do I have to be nervous for?” Ieiri asked.

Gojo wanted to be the fearless one.

The one who’d step through without cautions or reservations.

But there was something.

Something that was holding him back.

At the time, he didn’t realize it was the opposite.

It was pulling him painfully hard inside.

“It’s just the future. What’s the harm?” 

Luckily, Gojo could fake his fear enough; it looped back around and became courage. 

He was the first to take a step. 

Gojo remembers wrapping his hand around the cool metal handle.

He remembers having to tug a little to get it open.

Inside, it was warm.

Both in temperature and in looks.

The room itself was a nice change from the outside chill of night. 

But the furniture and decor was warm and welcoming. Dark tones that felt like fire. 

An array of colorful decor filled the room. 

Gojo took notes of the various skulls decorating the lobby.

The cards hanging from the ceiling.

Crystal balls sat on pedestals.

It was strange, but slightly comforting.

At least.

That’s how Gojo remembered it.

Against the right wall sat a purple corduroy sofa with brown pillows and a teal throw blanket.

On that sat a woman with long blonde dreadlocks.

She smiled up from her seat, teeth gold and silver with a few gaps.

“I’ve been expecting you,” those were her first words.

“How original,” Ieiri rolled her eyes as she leaned against the door.

The woman simply smiled.

“I don’t take offense to that, Shoko,” the woman’s eyes crinkled at the corners. 

Gojo remembers the sound of her earrings jingling with the movement.

“...how did you…?”

Ieiri never finished that question.

“I am, however, offended it took you this long to come visit me,” she stood up. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the sound of her voice mimicking the crunch of heavy boots over gravel.

Or if it was the sight of her bones popping like a midnight campfire.

Maybe it was her smell: mothballs, smoke, and cheap perfume.

It was some combination that had Gojo intrigued.

Or maybe it was none of that.

Maybe it was just pure curiosity. 

Unrivaled intrigue that had Gojo following the strange woman around the counter and through an archway covered in green plastic beads.

He didn’t hide his glance to the painted-over door hinges, the gold peeking through to watch him pass.

The hallway was narrow and long, with multiple white doors on either side.

Some of them were painted.

Some of them were not.

Some of them had chips in the paint.

Some of them had dents in the knobs.

The one Gojo walked through was black.

Solid.

Dark.

Imposing.

It was a door.

Just a door.

And yet he could never forget the change to his life that happened afterwards.

“This is the room you want,” the psychic said.

It was.

But it wasn’t.

Gojo couldn’t explain why he walked through that black door.

He couldn’t explain how uncomfortably comfortable the weak wooden chair felt beneath him.

He couldn’t explain the smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he beckoned Geto, Ieiri, and Leon into the room. 

“Sit, sit, come sit,” the fortune teller took her seat across from Gojo, with his friends on either side.

The room stayed silent for a while.

Gojo remembered the silence.

He remembered the brown of her eyes darting between the four of them.

He remembered they landed on Geto.

“Suguru Geto,” how she knew his name, Gojo didn’t know. 

The woman stretched her thin, pale hand out for Geto to take it.

Reluctantly.

Her eyes shut once he did, and her thumbs ran over the back of his own.

“A fine young man. Well-mannered, intelligent, sympathetic.”

All wonderful qualities of course.

“Almost too selfless.”

She nodded at him, “Be careful or you’ll bleed for the same people who cut you open.”

She didn’t offer anything else to him.

She didn’t need to.

Gojo watched her release Geto to ponder over her cryptic words.

She was quick to turn to Ieiri, take her hands in the same motherly way and smooth her thumb over her knuckles.

“Shoko Ieiri, you’re a brilliant young lady. Too smart for your own good sometimes.”

Ieiri raised a brow.

“Don’t be so smart you lose sight of what matters. Some things will be taken and you’ll never be able to get them back. No matter how much you try to smoke it out.”

“What…?”

Fortunes, huh?

This was supposed to be their future.

Vague and ambiguous.

How were they supposed to learn anything from this?

Fortune tellers were supposed to read your palms, tell you how old you’d be when you got married.

Tell you how many kids you’d have and if your life would amount to something.

They were supposed to be joke visits you take with your bandmates and manager after months of nonstop press releases and studio time.

It was supposed to be fun.

This was supposed to be funny.

But it wasn’t.

Gojo remembers just how unfunny it was to hear Leon’s ‘future’ was to be forgotten in someone else’s story.

He couldn’t forget how quick his turn came.

The smooth, aged texture of her thumbs grazing his knuckles. 

The light press of her nails to his palm.

The way her lids fluttered shut over her eyes.

The breath she inhaled.

He remembers the shape of her lips as she spoke his name.

“Satoru Gojo.”

He remembers the settle of apprehension in the air.

The looks on his friends' faces.

“You will die first and young.”

Ieiri shot up from her seat, rocking the table.

“What kind of bullshit is that?” 

“It’s simply the fortune, Shoko, I have no control over what I read–.”

“Over what you read? I knew something was up when we got here,” Ieiri pushed her chair in, gesturing for the three men to arise.

Gojo was the last to stand.

“You’re just some sketchy con artist who likes to play with people’s feelings. ‘The fortune’ my ass.”

It was hard to forget all the insults and jabs Ieiri threw as they left the shop, marching through the late night air. 

Leon was the first to leave, apologizing to the group for wasting their night.

Geto, as usual, was the one to calm him down.

Soon, it was just those three.

Gliding down the street with liquor in their bellies and frustration in their veins.

Ieiri was still angry on Gojo’s behalf, kicking her toes against the asphalt.

But.

Was that fair?

Gojo asked himself at that moment.

He still does.

Was it fair to let Ieiri be mad over his fortune?

If it was even true.

If it was.

Why should he sulk about it?

When had he ever been known to sulk?

Never.

Not over anything.

Well.

Maybe one thing.

Gojo told Ieiri not to be upset.

That it was all in good fun and that even if the fortune was true, everyone was going to die regardless.

That just meant he needed to live life to the fullest.

To appreciate every decision he’s made and every decision he would make.

Still, there was one choice he couldn’t die to regret.

It was strange.

Not the coffee beans or the hot aromas or the lukewarm greetings or the iced waters could remind him.

Remind him of you.

And yet what did remind him was the possibility that he may die without ever getting to tell you

“Thank you.”

Three years of never seeing you and you still look the same.

Your eyes were still beaming with a professionalism that threatened passion.

Your smile still glowed pristine bordering on piqued.

Your laugh still sounded practiced with a hint of pleasure.

You were still you.

He was still jus’ him.

For a while anyways.

He wondered how he could ever be fine to forget you.

How he could forget exchanging vows in mid-July.

How he could forget the hot summer nights spent wrapped in your arms.

The times he pulled you onto his stage in the middle of a set, how you lit it up even more so.

How could he forget you? 

An angel he channeled in the new age.

How?

You weren’t just some barista with good charisma.

You weren’t just some polite employee he forgot to thank for three years.

You weren’t just someone he could so easily stop thinking about.

But he did.

Or rather, he forgot how to.

You still told him things of course, reminded him of your past together. 

Your life together.

The crazy days and city lights. 

The late night jazz he’d let echo through your house. 

How you’d play together with a child-like joy.

But his brain was failing him.

Huntington’s they said.

Diagnosed at thirty-three.

Thirty-three years of knowing you.

Of loving you.

Of seeing the world with you, doing it all.

But it was as they say.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

Gojo couldn’t remember how many times he asked if you would still love him when he was left with nothing but his aching soul.

He knew you would.

That’s why it hurt to ask.

It hurt to see you get to know him just for it to be in vain.

Just to watch the years pass by and himself with it. 

He used to beg late at night when you were sleeping.

He prayed to be able to bring you to Heaven with him one day.

One day when he wasn’t young but old and wrinkled and standing happily by your side.

He begged that someone would let you in.

When he could still be your sun and shine like diamonds for you.

He used to think you’d grow to hate him. 

He thought after decades of marriage and years of treatments, you’d grow to hate him for keeping you here. 

He felt like you’d stop loving him because he was too weak to love you back. 

Eventually, he realized the truth. 

How could you hate him? 

You’re alive.

(part one)

p.s. any feedback is appreciated

p.p.s. i put the password in correctly on my phone, tablet, and ps but somehow my laptop is where i forgot????