#and I promise I’m working on the next one!!!!

[burningembers91]

A Game of Cat and Mouse - The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Follow Up Piece to: Freak of Nature On Display

Synopsis: Tired of being followed by the man in the grey suit, you decide the turn the tables

Warnings: Stalking, voyeurism, mentions of masturbation, the Salesman being kind of a sub

He was following you again. The man in the grey suit with the brown leather briefcase that probably cost more than you earned in a month. You clocked him about 100 yards back, his reflection visible in a shop window. You didn’t know how long you’d been playing this game of cat and mouse for. Any normal person would have been terrified at the prospect of being stalked, but there was something about the man who followed you that you found undeniably attractive. The day after he’d paid for your coffee, he was back out on the park bench, watching you from afar. You pretended not to notice him, going about your work as if he wasn’t there. Some days however, he would sit with you, making idle conversation as you watched the world pass by. You knew he followed you home, and one night you saw him sitting outside the restaurant across from you apartment. He noticed you too and raised his glass of soju in acknowledgement.

What was it that drew him to you? You weren’t anything special, weren’t anyone important. You were just you. You led a mundane life, filled with days that were all pretty much the same. Perhaps that was why you liked your new stalker; he injected the excitement that was so desperately missing from your world. You knew nothing about him, not even his name, but you were sure he knew lots about you.

You weren’t far from your apartment now, only two more minutes and you be safely behind your door. But you were tired of being safe; you wanted to see your grey suited man again, wanted to hear his voice, wanted to watch the wild way his almond eyes explored your body. You ducked round a corner, backtracking through an alleyway that ran down the side of your apartment. You could see your grey suited man from behind now, an angle you’d never seen before. He looked good from behind, with perfect posture, and an ass that looked great in his suit. He stopped, noticing you were no longer in front of him. you couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see the confused expression that flitted across his perfect features. Sneaking up behind him, you waited until you were inches away from him before whispering into his ear. “I guess this time I’m the cat, and you’re the mouse.”

He swivelled around to meet you, his eyes blazing with an expression you couldn’t read. “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve, Mr Grey Suit,” you smiled, watching his eyes widen as he took you in. No one had ever bested him before, but you’d managed to outsmart him today. “Clever girl,” he purred, “I enjoy our little game.” You’d left him speechless that day at the coffee house, and today was no exception. You were so much more than he ever could have dreamed of, so suited to his needs and desires that he wasn’t sure he could hold back much longer. He liked playing with your mind, but he longed to play with your body too. He wanted to feel you squirm against him, wanted to hear you moan for him as he figured out how far he could push you. “Will you be dining across the street tonight?” you asked, fiddling with the top button of your shirt. He shifted in his Prada loafers, a flash of hunger in his eyes. “Potentially,” he mused, “or perhaps I might find an alternative option to satisfy my tastes.” You both knew he was lying; he was far too hooked on you to get his kicks elsewhere. “Shame,” you pouted, knowing you had him right where you wanted him. “I was going to give you a little show. Maybe next time.” With that, you turned on your heel and left your grey-suited man standing dumbstruck in the street.

That night, he was in his usual spot outside the restaurant. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Your grey suited stalker was becoming predictable now. But, you’d promised him a show, and a show he would get. You nudged the curtain open just a touch, enough that he could see you from where he was sitting.

He watched you from across the street, saw you move the curtain and give him full view of your figure. You were wearing nothing but a tiny silk robe, the dusty mauve colour the perfect contrast against your skin. You unbelted the robe achingly slowly, and he could feel his erection pushing against the fabric of his pants. The robe fell to the floor, and you stood in a matching lingerie set, your fingers running up and down your body. You were teasing him, toying with him. He’d never been teased before, and he aching cock responded to you in a way he’d never felt before. he shifted in his seat, desperate to quell the rising sensation of unbearable lust. He watched you slip your bra strap down, watched as you slowly lowered the cup just enough to show him the faintest outline of your breast. He audibly groaned, downing his glass of soju to quieten his desire. If he knocked on the door, would you let him in? He’d never been at the mercy of someone before, always being the one who played with people. But you seemed to enjoy torturing him. As if reading his mind, you shook your head, your finger delicately tracing your nipple. No, you wouldn’t let him in tonight. But he’d need you soon, otherwise he might go insane.

That night he pleasured himself to the image of you in your apartment, the delicate lingerie so perfectly contouring your curves. He’d have you soon, there was no doubt about that. You were a tease, but he hadn’t fully shown you what he was capable of yet.

[verstappenverse]

Pairing: Camgirl!Reader x Obsessed!Max

Authors Note: NSFW still working on the details for the upcoming fic but having fun with the concept. Let me know what you think or send any additional ideas 😉

Max can’t remember how he found your page—maybe it was a suggested post on Instagram, or maybe some random link caught his attention. It doesn’t matter how it started, what matters is that now he’s addicted.

At first it's just curiosity, he wasn’t the type to watch cam streams or really spend any time on adult content, but something about you was different. You weren’t like the over-the-top, hyper-curated content he’d expect from this kind of thing. You were sweet, soft-spoken, almost shy in the way you interacted with the camera. And Max sitting alone in his Monaco penthouse couldn’t look away.

He tells himself it’s just a passing distraction, a way to unwind, but then he starts getting… attached. His obsession grows quietly at first. He subscribes to your page, buys your exclusive content, and sets notifications for your streams. It doesn’t matter if he’s at a racetrack, a sponsor event, or a hotel halfway across the world - when you post about your next stream, he checks the time difference and tries to plan his schedule around it.

The first time someone else drops a high tip and you thank them by name, Max feels it. That sharp, irrational sting of jealousy. He knows it’s stupid, he’s one of thousands of viewers, but the way you smile for them? It makes him want to punch a wall. So he does the only thing that makes sense - he outbids them.

When you say his username in that soft, teasing tone and add “Thank you so much, you’re incredible!”—it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to his chest.

It starts small a few high donations here and there, but soon enough he finds himself spending more of his income on you than he’d ever care to admit. From there it spirals, he’s tipping more, requesting more, even messaging you privately. You respond graciously of course, you always do, but Max convinces himself that your replies to him are different. More personal.

Custom videos, private streams - whatever gets him a little closer to feeling like he’s the only one you’re looking at. He tells himself it’s harmless. He can afford it after all.

It doesn’t take long before his obsession starts creeping into the rest of his life. Between races, he’s refreshing your page to see if you’ve posted. During long-haul flights, he’s watching your videos on repeat. Even at the paddock while his team is running simulations or tweaking the car setup he catches himself checking for notifications.

There are nights he barely sleeps staying up to catch you live, even if he has an early training session the next day. Between races he’ll watch your older streams on repeat, memorising the way you speak, the way you smile. Max knows he’s in too deep, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

His spending ramps up. When someone else tries to steal the spotlight in your chat, he doesn’t just outbid them—he obliterates them. He’s dropping tips that make everyone else look like amateurs, just to keep your attention squarely on him. And it works. His messages get bolder and more desperate too.

I can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look in my bed.

It’s torture watching you touch yourself, knowing I could make you feel so much better.

Tell me I’m your favourite, just once.

You should be sitting on my lap right now instead of talking to them.

Do you know how hard it is to sit here and watch you, knowing I can’t touch you?

The things I’d do to you if you were mine… you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. Your lips part in surprise at that one, and you quickly cover your flustered reaction with a laugh. “Well, that’s… quite the statement,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. I never make promises I can’t keep.

But it’s not enough.

The idea of being just another fan starts to gnaw at him. Max Verstappen isn’t “just another” anything. But Max is nothing if not competitive, and the idea of being just another fan doesn’t sit well with him for long. He’s used to winning, to being first, to having the best. He wants to be the one you think about when the stream ends.

He wants to know you in ways the others never could. Where you live, what you liked to do when the camera was off, whether anyone in your life treated you as well as you deserved.

What would it take for me to get your attention?

And when you reply, laughing softly, “You’ve already got it,” it’s game over for him.

Max is playing a dangerous game. Balancing his life as one of the most recognisable athletes in the world with his growing obsession for someone who doesn’t even know who he really is. But that’s the thing about Max - when he wants something he gets it. And right now, there’s nothing in the world he wants more than you.

[scarletwinterxx]

thank your stars all you want but I'll always be the lucky one - choi seungcheol scenario

hellooo~ i am soooo not done with the proposal scenarios😅 this one is a request, hope i did it justice. and yes I did cry again while writing this. Happy new year!🤍

you can listen to your universe by rico blanco for maximum feels. this was insipired by this song🥺

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The soft glow of morning sunlight streams through the windows of Seungcheol’s apartment, the familiar scent of his cologne lingering in the air. You stretch lazily in bed, savoring the warmth of the cozy blankets and the faint murmur of the city outside.

It’s a routine you’ve grown used to after nearly seven years together—his home has become yours in every way except officially.

Seungcheol had left early for the gym, promising to grab your favorite smoothies on his way back. The two of you had settled into this comfortable rhythm, a dance of affection and understanding that made your friends tease you mercilessly. “You’re practically married already,” they’d say, rolling their eyes at how well you two knew each other’s quirks.

Still, in the quiet corners of your heart, you sometimes wondered why he hadn’t taken the next step. Not that you were in a rush—you loved him, and you knew he loved you. But the idea lingered, like a melody waiting to be completed.

Mid-morning, a knock at the door pulls you from your musings. You pad to the door, opening it to find a delivery man holding a small, nondescript package.

“For Choi Seungcheol?” he asks.

“That’s him,” you reply, signing for the box. It’s light, plain, and gives no indication of what’s inside. You place it on the kitchen counter and send Seungcheol a quick text: A package came for you. Should I open it?

His response is almost immediate. Don’t open it! I’ll deal with it when I’m back. Thanks, babe.

His urgency makes you chuckle. It’s rare for him to be this insistent. Shrugging, you leave the package untouched and go about your day, but curiosity itches at the back of your mind.

When Seungcheol returns, he’s casual—too casual, you think. His eyes dart to the counter where the package rests, and he quickly sweeps it up. “Thanks for letting me know,” he says, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Sure,” you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s in it?”

“Just some gym stuff,” he lies, his tone a little too breezy. You know him well enough to catch the slight shift in his demeanor.

Over the next few days, you notice odd behavior. Seungcheol becomes extra cautious, sometimes darting out of the room with his phone or quickly closing drawers when you walk in.

It’s adorable but also maddening. You’re good at sniffing out surprises, and whatever he’s hiding, it’s big.

The breaking point comes during dinner one night. The two of you are seated across from each other, candles flickering between you. He’s unusually fidgety, his fork clinking against the plate as he tries—and fails—to make eye contact.

“Seungcheol,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him as he pokes at his steak. His fidgeting is driving you insane. “Spit it out.”

“What?” he replies, looking up with wide, innocent eyes that you know all too well aren’t innocent at all.

“You’re acting weird.” You lean forward, pointing your fork at him. “I can tell you’re hiding something. Just say it.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he insists, but his voice cracks slightly. “Can’t a guy just enjoy dinner with his girlfriend without being interrogated?”

“Not when he’s sweating bullets,” you deadpan, crossing your arms.

He laughs nervously and takes a big gulp of water. “It’s just… I’m thinking about work stuff.”

“Liar,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe it’s gym stuff,” he says, grinning in that way he does when he’s trying to distract you. “I’m planning a new workout routine.”

“Seungcheol, I know every workout routine you’ve ever done. Don’t test me.”

He groans, dropping his fork onto his plate and dramatically rubbing his face. “Can you trust me on this one? I promise you'll love it and will hate me if I tell you right now. I’ve been working very hard on, can you be kind enough to spare me for now. I pinky promise you'll know soon enough"

You blink at him, stunned by his sudden honesty.

Then, a small smile creeps onto your lips. “Fine,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “But I’m only letting this go because you look like you might combust if I keep pushing.”

He lets out a loud sigh of relief, muttering a quiet, “Thank you.” standing up from his seat to go to you, giving your head a kiss.

The rest of the evening is pleasant, even though you can’t help but notice how Seungcheol keeps stealing glances at you, a secretive smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It’s enough to make your curiosity burn, but you keep your promise and drop the subject—for now.

A week later, the snow falling heavy covering the streets with sheets of white. You love the snow, you've always love cold weathers more even though your body doesn't. Anything below 80° makes you shiver.

Your boyfriend knows this, he learned early on your relationship that you get cold easily so he always brings a jacket for you. Now you own his hoodies, a shared asset.

The air outside is crisp as Seungcheol insists on taking you on an evening walk through a quiet park. It's all covered in snow making the whole scene look magical.

Winter lights hang from the trees, casting a warm glow over the snow-dusted path. He holds your gloved hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he leads you to a secluded gazebo overlooking a frozen lake.

“Why here?” you ask, smiling at his excited energy. “It’s freezing.”

“It’s romantic,” he replies, winking. “Just trust me.”

You shake your head, amused. “I’m starting to think you’re up to something.”

“Me? Up to something?” He grins mischievously

You look up at the sky, it's dark enough to see the stars. Living in the city, it's a rare sight so you close your eyes and send a quick wish to the heavens like you always do when you see a star. Meanwhile Seungcheol watches you, a smile forming on his lips and his heart thumping hard in his chest

With your eyes still closed, you feel Seungcheol lean closer to you. He kisses your cheeks eliciting a giggle from you

“You’re being extra sweet tonight, did you do something?” you tease

“I’m always sweet,” he counters, feigning offense.

He seems restless, though, his leg bouncing slightly.

“Are you cold?” you ask, concerned.

“No, no. Just... thinking.”

You narrow your eyes. “About what?”

He looks at you, his gaze so intense it makes your heart skip. “About how lucky I am to have you.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh, nudging him playfully. “What’s with the cheesy lines tonight?”

He chuckles but doesn’t answer, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple instead. Then another on your cheek. And one on your lips. His kisses grow deeper, hotter, until the cold around you feels irrelevant.

“Cheol,” you murmur against his lips, half-laughing, half-serious, “what are you doing?”

“Loving you,” he whispers, his voice low and warm.

Despite his sweetness, you’re still clueless about his plan.

When he finally pulls back, he takes both your hands, holding them tightly. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

You tilt your head, your curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

He drops to one knee in front of you, and your heart stutters. “You don't know how hard it was to keep this from you, every time you ask I almost wanted to tell you but I wanted everything to be perfect” He pulls a small velvet box from his coat pocket, opening it to reveal a glittering diamond ring.

Your mouth falls open, your breath caught in your chest.

“You are my everything,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “The one who makes my world brighter, warmer, better. Whenever I think about the future, I can only see us. You. Stealing all of my hoodies, cooking breakfast for us, me bringing home your favorite smoothie on the weekend. To be honest, I don't really need any wishes because I'm already the lucky one. But will you make me the luckiest man and let me be your husband?”

Your lips jut out, quivering as tears fall down your cheeks. You can't even form words right now so you just nod frantically, unable to speak. He slips the ring onto your finger, and you throw yourself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you whisper as he kisses you again, deeper this time, stealing the breath from your lungs.

He smiles against your lips. “I take it that’s a yes?”

“Of course, it’s a yes,” you reply, pulling him closer. “You big, cheesy romantic.”

He laughs, his forehead resting against yours. “Told you, you'll love my suprise”

And you do. With the stars above, the quiet of the snowy park, and the warmth of his love, you know you’ve found your universe in him.

[vibelladonna]

Hi!!! I love your stories, they really make my day better!! I have an idea about Crow×Y/N, if this order is not interesting to you, sorry for the disturbance!!

Is it possible to react to the fact that Y/N began to avoid Crow because of fear of unrequited love and rejection, but in the end Crow catches up with us and interrogates us why we behave so strangely and confess our feelings to him

Sorry if this order is very boring but in any case good luck to you!!

❛ 𝒷𝓊��𝒹𝑒𝓃 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝑔𝓃! 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You've been avoiding Crow lately, too afraid to face your growing feelings for him. But when he finally catches up with you, he demands to know why you've been acting so strangely, forcing you to confront the truth.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Anonymous asked! I really like the idea of fear of unrequited love and rejection—definitely something I’d feel in that kind of situation. Also, for some reason, the ask box isn’t showing up on my phone, but it’s working fine on my laptop! I’ll be posting a few fics this week—probably no more than three. 

Sorry for the absence; I’ve been taking a mental break, catching up on sleep, and getting ready to head back to campus for the spring semester next week. But don’t worry, I’ll still be working on fics during the weekends or whenever I have free time!

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Angst, Unrequited Love, Emotional Tension, Hurt/Comfort, Confession, Avoidance, Self-Doubt, Internal Struggle, Miscommunication, and Fluff (towards the end—I’m not heartless)! Also, some spicy moments to add in!

It had been two weeks since you mentioned the research options for your major—the ones you promised would keep you busy, even distracted. You’d told Crowe that your time would be consumed with textbooks and endless articles, diving into opportunities related to your major. But as the days passed, something felt off. The absence of your usual messages, your familiar presence in the hallways, and the sound of your voice in class slowly began to gnaw at him. 

Crowe had reached out several times. Texts, DMs, and even a couple of voicemails. Yet, there was nothing. No replies. 

It wasn’t like you to shut him out.

You were always upfront—maybe too upfront at times—but that brutal honesty was something Crowe genuinely admired about you. And now? Silence. Complete, unnerving silence.

His mind kept returning to the same question: What happened?

"Have you heard from them?" Crowe asked his voice tight with concern. Brittney Claire—better known as Brit—had been the first to ask about you, her tall, tan figure framed against the backdrop of the student lounge one evening when she approached him. Her usually narrowed, indifferent eyes were now clouded with worry.

"No," Brit replied, her brow furrowing as she gave him a puzzled look. "Not since they said they were diving into research. You sure you’ve been trying to reach them?"

Crowe’s grip on the strap of his bag tightened, his fingers digging into the material as he suppressed his frustration. "Of course I have. More than once. They haven’t even texted me back, and you know that’s not like them."

Brit raised an eyebrow, her gaze scanning him for a beat before her face morphed into something unreadable. "Weird," she muttered, her voice laced with suspicion. "I thought you were always the one in the know, Crowe. You two are closer than anyone else. You should know where they are."

The comment hit harder than he expected. It wasn’t about being in the loop, or being ‘close’—it was about making sure you were okay.

Brit took a step back, her expression softening as she saw the tension in Crowe’s shoulders. She sighed, exhaling deeply as if weighing the situation in her mind. "I can tell you're worried," she said, her tone gentler now. "Want me to help you track them down?"

Crowe shook his head immediately, a quiet, unspoken tension hanging in the space between them. "No. I’ll find them myself."

And he would. Crowe was never one to back down, especially when it came to you. He knew better than anyone that you didn’t just vanish without a reason, without something pulling you away.

Something was wrong.

And he was going to find out what it was—no matter what it took.

Crowe didn’t waste any time before setting out for your usual spots—those places where he knew you’d be if you weren’t anywhere else. First, he hit the quiet corner in the library where you both spent hours lost in books, your heads bent low over pages in comfortable silence. 

Then, he headed to the small café where late-night study sessions were more the norm than the exception, the place where caffeine-fueled discussions lingered well past midnight. 

Lastly, he checked the campus bench you’d both claimed as your own, the one that had become a quiet sanctuary, a place for shared moments and unspoken understanding. But after hours of searching, there was no sign of you. No flicker of movement, no trace of your presence. 

The sky was darkening as Crowe made his way back to his dorm, his steps slow and deliberate, each one echoing the frustration he couldn’t shake. His mind replayed every moment, every conversation, trying to find something, anything, that could explain where you were. He pulled his phone from his pocket, a small distraction from the weight of his thoughts. It buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down at the new message from Brittney.

Britt: Still no word from them, huh?

Crowe: Nope. Can’t find them anywhere on campus. It’s like they vanished.

Britt: Wow. I can't help but feel like they're avoiding us.

Crowe’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening around the phone. He froze in his tracks. The thought of you avoiding him felt wrong, so foreign it stung. The words on the screen replayed in his head, each one sinking deeper into his chest.

Avoiding them? Avoiding him? Was that really what was happening? Was that what this was about?

He wasn’t blind. He could feel it too—the subtle yet undeniable shift between you and him. Maybe it had been slow, so gradual that it had escaped his notice at first, creeping in like a shadow until it had grown large enough to demand attention. Or maybe it had always been there, lingering just beneath the surface, like an undercurrent quietly pulling at the edges of everything. 

But whatever it was, it had become a wall. A barrier neither of you could ignore. And the more he thought about it, the more it became clear that it wasn’t some external force—it was a wall *you* had built. It was as if you had crafted it with your own hands, piece by piece, and now it loomed between you two, tall and impenetrable. 

He couldn’t understand why it was there, or why you hadn’t said anything about it. The silence only deepened his confusion, turning it into something more tangible, something he couldn’t shake off. Every attempt to breach it seemed futile, like reaching for something just out of his grasp. 

With each passing day, the weight of the uncertainty pressed down on him, a burden that grew heavier with every thought, every glance exchanged in passing, every conversation that no longer felt like it used to. It gnawed at him relentlessly, demanding answers he didn’t have. He couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that nothing had changed. 

Something had to happend. 

Something had to give. He felt it in his bones, knew it with a certainty he couldn’t ignore. And as much as he tried to deny it, he knew it had to happen the last time he had seen you.

Two weeks ago. The night had started like any other. You and Crowe had settled into your usual study spot in the back corner of the library—your quiet sanctuary, where the world outside felt distant, far away. It was familiar. Comfortable. The soft hum of overhead lights was the only sound, broken only by the occasional rustling of pages as you both worked in your own quiet spaces. 

The books were scattered across the table, the glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as you juggled between tabs. Crowe sat across from you, flipping through his notes with the same casual air he always had, the same easygoing demeanor he had perfected over the years. 

But there was something different that night. 

Even though everything looked the same, and felt the same, there was a tension in the air—a subtle crackling energy, just beneath the surface. It had been there for a while now, but on that night, it had reached a breaking point.

You were buried in your research, absorbing every detail of your thesis like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed when Crowe’s voice broke through your concentration, sounding unusually thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future recently,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet intensity that was different from his usual playful tone.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his for a brief second before you quickly looked away. “Oh?” you murmured, distracted as you tried to focus on the data in front of you. You weren’t expecting this turn in the conversation. Crowe didn’t usually get into those heavy ‘future’ talks unless he was in a reflective mood, and even then, it was usually all about abstract goals or vague aspirations. 

Nothing serious. 

“Yeah,” Crowe continued, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as though bracing himself for something weightier. His voice softened, carrying an introspective tone that felt rare for him. “You know, we’re already in our third year, right? Time’s flying faster than I ever expected. And… I’ve been thinking, by the time I graduate, I want to have things a bit more figured out. Like, I want to be in a solid relationship. Someone to share things with, someone who’s… there.” 

His words hit you like an unexpected gust of cold air, leaving you momentarily stunned. You blinked, once, twice, the weight of his admission sinking in slowly but steadily. 

A relationship? 

Crowe—the same Crowe who treated most connections with a kind of playful fun—is talking about settling down? The concept felt alien, foreign, and yet it lodged itself uncomfortably in your chest. 

You cleared your throat, more to buy time than anything else, carefully composing your response. “That’s… ambitious,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt, though there was a sharpness to your words that you couldn’t quite dull. Your eyes stayed glued to the screen in front of you, a half-hearted barrier between the two of you. The flickering light cast an impassive glow over your face, but inside, your emotions churned in a quiet storm of confusion and irritation.  

Crowe didn’t seem fazed—or maybe he was just good at masking it. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, searching for something unsaid. Then he shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his expression stayed contemplative. “I don’t know if it’s ambitious,” he said after a pause, his tone lighter but no less sincere.

“I mean, it just feels… right. We spend so much time trying to figure out majors, careers, all the practical stuff, but at the end of the day, I want someone to share the milestones with, you know? Graduating, finding a job, moving somewhere new… I don’t want to do all that alone.”

His words pulled at something deep and unwelcome inside you, a stirring that you couldn’t quite name.

Irritation, yes—but mixed with something softer, more vulnerable, something that whispered of fear and longing.

The idea of Crowe sharing those moments, those significant pieces of his life, with someone else clawed at the carefully constructed walls you’d built around your thoughts.  

“Isn’t that kind of distracting?” you asked, keeping your tone deliberately neutral, though there was an edge to your voice you couldn’t fully mask. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather focus on making sure you’ve got everything in place first before worrying about… all that?”

Crowe tilted his head, his expression thoughtful now, as though weighing your words. “Maybe,” he admitted, his gaze softening as he spoke. “But I don’t think it’s about having everything perfect. Life’s always messy, you know? I just think it’d be nice to have someone who gets it, who’s there to celebrate the wins and help carry the weight when things aren’t so great.”

He said it so earnestly, so casually, that it made your chest ache. Crowe—so confident, so carefree—talking about sharing his life with someone as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

And yet, for you, the very idea felt impossible, like a weight pressing down on something fragile inside you. 

You forced a small, humorless laugh, hoping it masked the way your pulse quickened. “You make it sound so simple,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “Like finding the right person is just another thing to check off the list.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow at your tone, but his smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened. “It’s not simple,” he said quietly. “But I think it’s worth it. Don’t you?” 

The question hung between you, heavy and unspoken, as if he were asking something far deeper than his words implied. And for the briefest moment, you wondered if he already knew your answer.

It was like you were looking at something through a window that you couldn’t reach—this whole world of connections, of intimacy, of people who could be close to you in ways that didn’t make sense to you. Maybe that was the problem. 

You didn’t really get it. 

You didn’t need it.

You let out a breath, trying to steady yourself, and forced your attention back to the work in front of you. “I don’t know about that,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “I think I’d rather focus on things that I can actually control.”

There was a brief pause as Crowe looked at you, his gaze shifting. You could see the curiosity flicker across his face, but he didn’t press. Instead, he shifted slightly in his seat. “Like your thesis?” he asked, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You nodded quickly, relieved that the conversation was shifting to familiar ground. “Yeah,” you said, a little more briskly than you meant to. “I’m thinking about neuropsychology—studying the effects of plants on the brain. There’s so much to dive into. I’ll be swamped for a while.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the shift in topic. “Sounds intense. You sure you’re okay with taking on that much work?” He was leaning forward now, his tone lighter but with an edge of concern.

You offered a quick smile, trying to hide the irritation that lingered beneath the surface. “Yeah. I can handle it. Besides, it’s something to keep me occupied, right?” The words came out a little too dismissive, a little too defensive. 

But you weren’t about to admit that you were irritated—especially not to him.

Crowe nodded, but there was something unreadable in his expression as he pulled back, falling into a more relaxed posture. He didn’t seem to press the issue further, and the silence between you grew. 

It wasn’t the comfortable silence that usually settled over the two of you; instead, it was filled with strange tension. That was the last conversation you’d had. Since then, the silence had stretched on, thick and unyielding.

Crowe stared down at his phone screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He'd sent you another message—another question, another attempt to bridge the gap. The usual routine had gone on for two weeks now: he'd reach out, you’d read it, and leave him on read. No replies. Nothing.

Crowe: We need to talk.

He stared at the text, as the three little dots appeared and disappeared, signaling that you'd seen it but hadn’t bothered to respond.

This time, something felt different.

The pit in his stomach had grown heavier, gnawing at him with each unread message that followed. We need to talk was simple enough. He wasn’t expecting an essay, just a sign of life. He’d gotten used to the silence, but now it was starting to feel like something was seriously wrong.

Each message, each time he saw you’d opened it but not replied, made him worry more. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. What happened? Why weren’t you talking to him?

Crowe: Please, just let me know you’re okay.

That message had been sent hours ago. And yet, still nothing. He stared at his phone in disbelief as his frustration built, a mixture of concern and something else he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was fear. Fear of whatever was keeping you away from him.

He had tried everything. Texts. Calls. Even showing up at your usual spots: the library, the cafe, your dorm. Every time, nothing. Your absence was unsettling, but the worst part? The silence that surrounded him, like you were intentionally shutting him out.

Crowe sat in the student council room, reviewing papers, His phone buzzed again, but it wasn’t from you. It was from Brittney.

Britt: Still nothing? You’ve been trying for days. You okay?

He rubbed his temples, rereading the message. No. I’m not okay. I need to figure this out.

Crowe’s mind raced as he trudged across campus, his pace uneven, his steps quick and deliberate. The cool evening air bit at his skin, but the sting was nothing compared to the ache of frustration twisting in his chest. 

For two weeks now, his messages had gone unanswered—a deafening silence where there used to be light and warmth. Each time he saw that familiar “read” receipt pop up without a reply, it hit him like a sucker punch, leaving him reeling in confusion and hurt.  

He couldn’t piece together what had gone wrong. What had he said? What had he done? It felt like you’d vanished behind an invisible wall, one he didn’t know how to break down. He clenched his fists as he replayed the situation over and over, searching for clues he might have missed.  

Crowe: I’m worried about you. Please respond.

His messages were a litany of concern, a trail of breadcrumbs leading back to his growing desperation. The most recent ones hadn’t even been opened. That unread status haunted him, the silence stretching out between you like a thick fog, impenetrable and cold.  

He left the campus library, his latest attempt to find you failing. His bag felt unnaturally heavy, burdened by more than just books. Instead of heading straight to the bus stop, his feet carried him toward the campus greenhouse—a detour he often took when his mind felt too crowded. 

The greenhouse was typically locked this late, reserved only for students with keys. Yet when he tested the handle, it gave way. His pulse quickened as he slipped inside, pausing just long enough to turn the lock behind him.

The quiet click echoed in the humid, earthy air as if sealing him in with the weight of his thoughts.

The rich scent of soil and greenery enveloped him, mingling with the faint sweetness of blooming flowers. Rows of plants stretched before him, neatly arranged under the muted glow of hanging grow lights. Dew clung to leaves, sparkling faintly in the dim light, while vines traced languid patterns along wooden trellises. The indoor greenhouse was alive in its quiet way, untouched by the busy outside world.

He moved cautiously down the tiled paths, the soft rhythm of his footsteps blending with the distant hum of machinery and the occasional drip of water. The tranquility should have been soothing, but tonight it felt oppressive, amplifying the ache that had settled in his chest. 

This had been your sanctuary once. He could still picture you here—curled up on a bench, book in hand, the golden light casting a soft glow over your features. You had always seemed at home among the plants, as though the gentle stillness of the greenhouse mirrored something deep within you. 

But it had been two weeks now. 

Two weeks of searching, of hoping, of finding only emptiness where you used to be. Each familiar corner he passed seemed to taunt him with your absence, the memory of you lingering like the faint, fading scent of flowers.

Crowe sighed, ready to turn back, when a soft sound broke through the stillness. Footsteps. Light, deliberate, almost hesitant.  

His heart jumped, a flicker of hope sparking as he turned—and there you were.  

You stood near the far wall, surrounded by rows of delicate plants, their green tendrils climbing along lattices like silent witnesses. Your back was to him, your posture slightly hunched as you scribbled something in a small notebook. The sight of you, after weeks of absence, stopped him in his tracks.  

You weren’t the picture of confidence he was used to—sharp-eyed and self-assured, quick with a remark or an unshakable glance. Instead, there was a fragility in the way you stood, as if the weight of something unseen pressed heavily on your shoulders. Your usual energy seemed dimmed, your movements slower, your presence quieter.  

He froze, his throat tightening. The relief of seeing you mingled with an ache he couldn’t name. He’d imagined this moment so many times, playing out conversations in his mind, planning what he’d say. But now that you were here, just a few steps away, he felt unmoored.  

The silence stretched between you, thick and uncertain. He wanted to call out to you, to say your name, but the words lodged in his throat. He wanted to reach out, but something in your demeanor held him back—something almost sacred in your solitude.  

Then, as if sensing his gaze, you turned your head slightly, just enough for your eyes to meet his. For a moment, the world stopped.  

Your expression was unreadable, but your eyes told him everything. They looked tired, shadowed with a weight you hadn’t shared, a depth of exhaustion that even your usual composure couldn’t mask. There was an emptiness there, a hollow ache that mirrored the one in his chest.  

Crowe opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He could only stand there, caught in the stillness of the moment, hoping you wouldn’t disappear again.  

Here’s the revised version:  

“Crowe…” You called out, your voice tinged with surprise and a hint of weariness. Your widened eyes betrayed a subtle attempt to mask the dark circles beneath them. “Hey! I haven’t seen you in forever…” Your words tapered off as your attention shifted to a nearby potted plant. Lifting it delicately, you turned it in your hands, inspecting its leaves. “I’ve been busy—almost done with my bio project,” you added, a faint glimmer of pride flickering in your tone.  

Crowe stepped closer, his gaze narrowing with concern. “What? I thought you were focusing on stuff for your major,” he said, crossing his arms as he watched you.  

“I am,” you replied matter-of-factly, not looking at him as you set the plant down and moved to the next one. “If I can show the professor my research and notes, I might have a shot at getting into the advanced program.”  

Crowe’s frown deepened as he trailed behind you through the rows of greenery. “So this is what you’ve been up to? Holing yourself up in the greenhouse since the last time we hung out?”  

“Pretty much,” you said without missing a beat, brushing your fingers over the delicate leaves of another plant. “It’s amazing in here. Did you know some plants can grow perfectly well without direct sunlight?” The question left your lips effortlessly, your voice infused with an enthusiasm Crowe hadn’t heard in a while.  

The greenhouse air was thick and humid, imbued with the earthy scent of soil and vegetation. Rows of plants, thriving in various stages of growth, surrounded you both, their shadows shifting under the soft glow of artificial grow lights. The hum of machinery underscored the space, a quiet reminder of the technology keeping this verdant haven alive.  

As you wandered deeper, Crowe’s eyes scanned the surroundings until something caught his attention—a small corner transformed into a makeshift workstation. Papers were strewn across the desk, dense with notes and diagrams. A microscope occupied one corner, and a row of glass beakers filled with vibrant liquids gleamed under the lights.  

Nearby, a neatly folded blanket rested and pillow on a couch alongside a half-empty thermos and an open textbook. Crowe stopped in his tracks, realization hitting him. “Wait… have you been sleeping here?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.  

You paused for a moment, glancing back at him. “Only when I need to finish something urgent, it’s only been one night,” you said defensively, turning back to your work.  

Crowe was filled with concern as he watched you move with quiet determination. His voice softened, almost pleading. “You need to take a break, you know. You can’t keep running on fumes like this.”

You didn’t look up, your focus fixed on a delicate orchid in need of pruning. “I’m fine, Crowe,” you replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with the back of your hand. Your voice was calm, but the tightness in your posture betrayed you. “I just need to finish this. The professor trusted me with the key while she was on vacation. She wanted me to keep an eye on the plants, so I need to take advantage of the time.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, glancing around the space. “Really? This room?”  

“It’s an indoor greenhouse,” you corrected, leaning over the desk to jot something in a notebook. Your tone was matter-of-fact, but Crowe’s sigh carried the weight of words unsaid.  

“What did I do wrong?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You froze mid-sentence, pen hovering over the page. Slowly, you turned to face him, guilt flickering in your eyes like the max-out lamp on the desk beside you. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

Crowe stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking faintly beneath his shoes. “Then why does it feel like I did? Did I offend you somehow?”  

“No,” you said quickly, your gaze darting away.  

He pressed on, his voice firm but not unkind. “Then what is it? What’s going on with you?”

“I told you, nothing,” you snapped, irritation creeping into your tone as you turned back to your open notebook, pretending to be absorbed in its pages.

Crowe’s frown deepened. “Nothing?” he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Right now, it feels like you’d rather talk to these plants than me.”

You straightened, finally meeting his gaze with a sharp look. “I didn’t say that—”

He cut you off, his frustration spilling over. “You’ve been locked away in this room—”

“Indoor greenhouse,” you interrupted a touch of defensiveness in your voice.

“Fine. Indoor greenhouse,” he shot back. “While I’ve been searching for you all over campus, worried out of my mind. Do you have any idea what went through my head? I thought something had happened to you. I was this close to filing a missing person report—hell, I almost called the police.”

His words landed heavily, the rawness in his voice stopping you in your tracks.  

“Why?” you asked, barely above a whisper.  

“What do you mean why?” he countered, his confusion evident.

“Why do you care?” Your voice cracked slightly, though you tried to mask it with a pointed edge. “I’m perfectly fine, Crowe. Or should I say Jericho Ichabod—known for being a pain in the ass who doesn’t know when to leave me alone…”

You trailed off, avoiding his gaze as silence settled between you like a heavy fog. For a moment, all that filled the room was the rhythmic drip of condensation falling onto a metal tray, a haunting reminder of the tension lingering between you both.

Crowe’s jaw tightened, his silhouette imposing against the faint glow of the lamp. Yet his eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, softened with an intensity that made your heartache. “I care,” he said quietly, each word deliberate and weighted with emotion. “Because you matter to me. More than you seem to realize.”

The words hit you like a jolt, your hand instinctively seeking the edge of the desk for support. The rhythm of your hands tending to the plants—the careful snip of pruning shears, the gentle brushing of leaves—had always been your refuge, your shield. Now, it felt paper-thin against the storm of emotions his words unleashed. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, not yet.

 Instead, you turned back to the orchid in front of you, its delicate white petals trembling faintly in the stagnant air. Perhaps its quiet, fragile beauty could offer you the clarity you desperately needed.

"Okay. You found me. Now you can leave. Satisfied?" Your voice was firm, but the undercurrent of vulnerability was unmistakable.

Crowe didn’t flinch at your sharpness. Instead, he took a measured step closer, his gaze never wavering. He could see through you—through the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the desk’s edge as if it could anchor you, and the faint tremor in your voice. Every detail told him more than your words ever could.

“Don’t push me away,” he said, his tone resolute as he closed the distance between you. There was no room for argument in his voice, no hesitation in his movements.

You let out an exasperated sigh, your free hand rising to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” you muttered, exhaustion creeping into your voice. 

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” you snapped, the frustration breaking through as your body trembled faintly from a volatile mix of fear, fatigue, and something you didn’t want to name. Your gaze locked on him, irritation sparking in your eyes, but only for a moment. Something softened—just enough for him to catch it.

Crowe’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the change, no matter how subtle. He was used to your fiery tone, your biting words, and the walls you built so meticulously. But this? This was different. There was a crack in your armor, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before—or maybe hadn’t allowed himself to see.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ve always been good at reading you. I was just too stubborn to notice.”

A scoff escaped your lips, and you tried to glare at him, but the sight of his infuriatingly smug smirk only fueled your irritation. “Oh, spare me that look,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you turned back to the potted plant. “You sound so cocky right now. It’s irritating, you know that, right?”

Crowe let out a deep sigh, his shoulders relaxing just slightly though the tension lingered in his stance. Despite the sharpness of your words, his expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability betraying his resolve. His gaze held yours, unwavering and searching. “What’s irritating,” he began, his voice low and threaded with something almost pleading, “is how you bury yourself in these plants and shut everyone out.” 

His eyes flicked toward the sprawling greenery that surrounded you as if accusing them of stealing your attention. “You’d rather lose yourself in them than face what’s right in front of you.” 

The weight of his words hung in the air, but you refused to let them settle. Your instinct was to flee, to escape the tightening web of emotions he was weaving. Turning slightly, you made a move to step away, your eyes darting toward the shelves of plants that lined the room, hoping for some distraction to anchor you. 

But Crowe was quicker. 

With a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted into your path, his body a deliberate barrier, solid and immovable. The swiftness of his actions left you no room to maneuver. You took a reflexive step back, only to feel the cold edge of the desk press into your lower back. 

Crowe loomed closer, his presence suffocating in its intensity. His hands came down on either side of you, palms flat against the desk, framing you with an authority that made escape impossible. The subtle tension in his arms betrayed his restraint, his effort to control the storm beneath his calm exterior. His proximity brought the faint scent of rain and earth, grounding and disarming all at once. His breath was steady, but the fire in his eyes made your pulse quicken.

“Stop walking away from me,” he said, his voice quiet but unyielding. His proximity was overwhelming, the heat of his presence wrapping around you like a vice. 

Your heart pounded as you met his gaze, the storm in his eyes mirroring your own. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you whispered, though the words lacked conviction. 

“Because you matter,” he said again, softer this time but no less intense. "And I'm not going anywhere until you believe it."

“I do not want you.” Your voice was sharp, trembling with restrained anger. “Just leave, please.” 

You stood firm, glaring at Crowe, yet your body betrayed your nerves—hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms. He remained rooted in place, his tall frame looming over you, the dim light casting sharp angles across his face. His presence was suffocating, an immovable barrier that trapped you against the desk behind you. 

“No. I will not. Please, just talk to me,” Crowe’s voice was low but resolute, carrying the weight of someone who wasn’t going to let this moment slip away. His tone was steady, like a calm storm brewing beneath the surface. “Whatever it is… you don’t have to hide it from me. I’m here for you.”

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch, your carefully built walls trembling under the force of his presence. You took a shaky breath, your resolve faltering. “Jericho—”

He cut you off, moving closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can’t just force me away,” he said firmly, his tone unwavering. The distance between you seemed to vanish in an instant, and his proximity felt suffocating, but not in the way you expected. It wasn’t fear or frustration—it was the sharp, overwhelming realization that he saw through you. 

Your lips parted, searching for words that refused to come. “Please, Jericho,” you murmured, your voice breaking as the tension between you coiled tighter, threatening to snap. 

He leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate and careful, as though he knew he was treading on fragile ground. His head dipped until his face was only inches from yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and his gaze burned with a fierce determination that left you feeling utterly exposed, as though every unspoken thought and hidden feeling you harbored was now laid bare before him. 

“I won’t let you push me away,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with steel. His hand rose, hesitating for a moment before brushing against your cheek, his touch featherlight. His fingers trailed along your jawline with a gentleness that sent a shiver through you. It wasn’t just his touch—it was the way he looked at you like he was piecing together something he had only just started to understand.

Your instinct was to retreat, to shut him out like you always had, but you couldn’t move. You were caught, your body betraying you as your heart raced and your mind screamed at you to say something. 

“I’m far too busy for this—” you stammered, grasping at the only excuse you could find. But even as the words left your lips, you knew how weak they sounded, how unconvincing. They were a shield made of glass, and Crowe saw straight through it.  

His expression softened, but his determination remained unshaken. “Do you love me?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but cutting through the air like a knife. The question left you frozen, your chest tightening as if the world had stopped spinning.  

You stared at him, your mind racing, but there was nowhere to hide. His gaze held yours, unyielding, and in that moment, you knew he had already figured it out. 

He wasn’t asking because he didn’t know—he was asking because he wanted you to say it.  

“Jericho…” you whispered, his name barely audible as it escaped your lips. You tried to look away, but his hand cupped your cheek gently, guiding you back to face him. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he said softly, his tone impossibly tender, but there was a gravity to his words that made your throat tighten. “I need to hear it. From you.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of his question suffocating yet electrifying. And as you stared into his eyes, so full of quiet intensity, you realized there was no way out—only through.

He was so close, too close.

The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver coursing through your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His voice, low and edged with a weight you couldn’t quite place, wrapped around you, constricting your thoughts. The question hung in the air like a thunderclap, reverberating in the space between you and him, stealing the breath from your lungs.  

The indoor greenhouse seemed to shrink, the walls pressing inward as the gravity of his words settled over you. Your heart stuttered, then raced, pounding against your ribs with a force that made your chest ache. The air grew dense, thick with the kind of tension that threatened to pull you under, to drown you in its unrelenting grasp.  

"That's—why would—How—" The words stumbled out of you, clumsy and fractured, like they were trying to claw their way past the rising storm inside your mind. But they faltered, leaving you grasping at nothing, caught in a silence that felt deafening.  

You stared up at him, eyes wide and searching, your mind blank and racing all at once. You were frozen, caught like a deer in headlights, powerless under the weight of his gaze.  

“Jericho—” you started, but your voice faltered, barely a whisper, your plea cut short as his own words sliced through the air.  

“Do you love me?” he asked again, this time softer, yet somehow more insistent, like he was peeling back a layer of armor you didn’t realize you were wearing.  

The world seemed to tilt, the ground beneath you unsteady as his question echoed in your ears. Your breath hitched, catching somewhere in your throat as the air in your lungs grew impossibly thin. Your heart hammered wildly, a chaotic rhythm that you were certain he could feel in the charged space between you.  

You wanted to look away, to break free from the intensity of his gaze, but you couldn’t. His eyes held you captive, locking you in place, stripping you bare of pretense, and leaving you exposed. The words trembled on the edge of your lips, aching to escape, but you pressed them back, swallowing them down with a trembling resolve.  

Not yet. Not now. 

Not when you weren’t even sure yourself.  

"Jericho, please stop." The words fell from your lips, fragile and unsteady, betraying the vulnerability you’d fought so hard to keep hidden. You hated how your voice trembled, how it quaked under the weight of your emotions.  

His expression shifted, the faintest flicker of hurt flashing across his features before his voice came, steady yet raw, cutting through the silence like a blade.  

“Is it because you don’t believe I can love you?” Crowe asked, his tone carrying quiet desperation, as though the question itself cost him something to voice.  The words hit you like a blow, unraveling the fragile threads of composure you’d clung to. His presence was suffocating, his question heavy with a truth you weren’t ready to confront.  

“Because I love you,” Crowe began, his voice trembling slightly, raw with sincerity. “I love you so much that I’ll do as you wish. If you don’t love me, all you have to do is say it. Say the words, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll go home and pretend this never happened—for your sake, not mine. I will do that for you.” His voice cracked, but he pressed on, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “But first, you have to say it. You have to tell me you don’t love me.”  

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, pressing against your chest like an unbearable burden.  

“You have to tell me I’m a horrible friend,” Crowe continued, his tone growing more desperate. “Call me out of my name, say anything to show you don’t love me. Please—just say it.”  

His plea echoed in the silence, raw and unfiltered. The two of you stood frozen, your eyes locked in an exchange that said more than words ever could.  

For a mere second, your gaze locked onto Crowe’s, your mind spiraling into chaos. Thoughts crashed and tangled in your head, an unrelenting storm you couldn’t silence. Your heart clenched, each agonizing beat echoing through your chest like a dull, relentless ache. Tears brimmed in your eyes, threatening to spill, blurring your vision. But they couldn’t obscure the pain carved into his face—the rawness, the unguarded ache that mirrored your own.  

Your throat tightened as emotions warred within you. You wanted to shout at him—to scream that he was a fool, reckless and naïve for loving you, for entrusting his heart so willingly into hands you weren’t sure could hold it. A bitter part of you itched to turn and walk away, to put an insurmountable distance between you, to bury this moment so deeply in your memory that it would never have the power to resurface.  

And yet... his face. That look.  

It stopped you cold.  

His dark skin seemed to glow under the dim light, his deep blue eyes shimmering with an unspoken plea. The loose braid draped over his right shoulder swayed slightly as he shifted, and a few wayward strands framed his face, carelessly tucked behind his ear but now slipping free to shadow his gaze. He stood just inches from you, head tilted downward, his presence overwhelming in its intimacy.  

It shattered you.  

The vulnerability in his expression, the quiet desperation painted across his features, and the faint tremor in his breath pulled at you, unraveling every thought of escape. His hope, fragile yet unyielding, clung to you like a lifeline, binding your feet to the ground.  

Your hand rose instinctively, trembling as it hovered in the space between you. Hesitation held you captive for a moment longer before you closed the gap, your palm pressing gently against his chest.  

Beneath your touch, you felt it—his heart.  

It beat unevenly, a raw and unsteady rhythm, a testament to the weight of the moment. That rhythm echoed the truth of what he had laid bare before you, fragile and precious as if daring you to break it.  

And you, stood there, caught in a fragile silence, suspended between everything you wanted to say and everything you feared to admit. Your voice, when it came, was soft, fractured, barely more than a whisper. “...I can’t.”  

The words slipped from your lips, fragile and small, but they carried the weight of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.  

Crowe’s breath hitched, his entire frame trembling under your touch. The silence between you deepened, heavy with the unspoken truth, and the tears that finally spilled down your cheeks mirrored the storm raging inside you.

He took your trembling hand in his, his thumb brushing delicately over your knuckles in slow, comforting circles. The warmth of his touch was steady, but his heart hammered in his chest, betraying the calm façade he was trying to maintain. The words you had spoken hung heavy in the air, their weight pressing down on him.  

“…you can’t?” His voice was soft, and gentle, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between you. Yet, there was a quiet desperation in his tone, an unspoken plea for clarity, for something to hold on to amidst the confusion.  

Your eyes fluttered shut, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. It burned with a mixture of pain, hope, and an emotion you couldn’t name—something you couldn’t allow yourself to name. Your entire body trembled, caught in a storm of emotions too overwhelming to contain.  

A shaky breath slipped past your lips, your chest rising and falling unevenly. Your free hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching it as though it were the only thing anchoring you to reality. The weight of your unsaid words felt unbearable, pressing against your throat, yet when you finally spoke, your voice was no more than a whisper.  

“I’m not what you want,” you admitted, each word laced with anguish. “You don’t wish for a life with me. I see it in the way you look past me... in the things you don’t say.”  

His brows furrowed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. The silence stretched between you, broken only by the unsteady rhythm of your breathing.  

“I didn’t care to tell you,” you continued, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “Where we were... what we’ve shared... it’s enough to show. Isn’t it?”  

Your grip on his shirt tightened as if holding on might keep your heart from breaking apart. “I don’t...” The words caught in your throat, suffocating you with their weight. You faltered, unable to finish. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to fall, as the vulnerability you’d fought so hard to suppress came pouring through the cracks in your resolve.  

Crowe’s heart clenched painfully with every word you spoke, each syllable carving deep into his soul. The sight of you so conflicted, so hurt, was unbearable. It was as if the weight of your pain had reached out and wrapped itself around his chest, squeezing tightly until he could scarcely breathe. 

“That’s not true…” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. The gentle firmness of his tone carried a quiet desperation, a plea hidden beneath his words. His fingers reached out, trembling ever so slightly, as he cupped your chin. His touch was tender like he feared you might shatter under his hand. Slowly, he guided your gaze to meet his, needing you to see the depth of his sincerity. His own eyes, usually so steady, now brimmed with a mixture of determination and vulnerability.

“I do want a future with you,” he said, his voice cracking ever so faintly, betraying the storm of emotions swirling just beneath his carefully composed exterior. His hands trembled slightly, fingers curling into fists at his sides as if bracing himself against an unseen force. “I don’t care where we are, as long as it’s with you.”  

His gaze faltered for a heartbeat, his lashes lowering as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The weight of the words he was about to utter seemed to press down on him like an anchor, pulling him deeper into the vulnerability he had tried so hard to avoid. Lifting his eyes again, he locked onto yours with a piercing intensity, the oceanic blue depths searching your face for a flicker of reassurance, of hope, anything that might ease the ache of uncertainty in his chest.  

“But I need to know…” His voice cracked, trembling as if it might break under the weight of the question. “Do you want a future with me?”  

The air between you thickened, heavy with the tension of unspoken fears and fragile truths. For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Even the faint rustle of the wind outside stilled, as though the universe itself held its breath, waiting for your answer. His eyes—vulnerable, pleading—bore into yours, searching desperately for something he couldn’t bring himself to articulate. His jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, a muscle feathering in his cheek, betraying the storm within.  

And then it broke.

“I do! I love you!” The words tore from you, raw and unrestrained, your voice shaking with the force of emotions you could no longer contain. Your hands flew to your face, trembling as tears spilled over your cheeks in hot, stinging rivers. Each tear carried the weight of all you had suppressed—the love too overwhelming to admit, the fear of losing him, the doubts you had wrestled with in the quiet hours of the night.  

Your chest heaved with each breath, a desperate attempt to steady yourself as you took a trembling step closer. “I’ve always wanted to be with…” you sobbed, your voice cracking with the vulnerability you had fought so hard to keep hidden. The admission felt like tearing down walls you had spent years building, leaving you exposed, bare, and utterly honest.  

Crowe’s breath caught, his chest tightening at the sight of you unraveling. He gently cradled your face, his thumb brushing away the hot tears as they fell, his heart torn between elation and heartbreak. He’d longed to hear those words, but seeing you like this—so broken, so unsure—left him feeling utterly helpless.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, enveloping you in a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped around you like a shield, as if he could hold you together with sheer will alone. His lips pressed softly against your hair as he murmured, “I’m yours,” his voice steady now, “Always.”  

But your body stiffened against him, and you pushed him away, your touch hesitant, almost apologetic. The distance you forced between you felt like a knife twisting in his chest. 

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. The word was small and quiet, but it carried the weight of a storm. “I don’t want you here with me.” Your voice wavered, each word like glass splintering in your throat. “I… I’m not worth it, Jericho. I never was, and I never will be.”

You looked away, your hands trembling as you struggled to explain. “You and I… we’re too different. Your life—it’s so full of light. And me? I’m just… I’m a shadow. A burden. Every day, you’re so kind, and so patient, and I don’t know why. What do you even see in me? What do you want from me?”

Crowe’s heart broke into pieces at your words, the cracks spreading like ice on a frozen lake. His hands shot out to grip your arms firmly but gently, grounding you as he fought to steady his voice. 

“How can you say that?!” he exclaimed, his tone carrying a sharp edge of pain. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he searched your face, desperate to make you see what he saw. “You are worth everything to me! Everything.”

His grip tightened, not to restrain, but to hold you steady, as if he feared you might slip away entirely. “I don’t want anything from you. I never have. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath, trying to push down the swell of frustration and sadness that threatened to consume him. “Why do you think you’re a burden to me? Don’t you see? You’re not. You never were. You’re my world. And if I have to spend every single day proving that to you, I will. But please…” His voice softened, his forehead resting against yours. “Please don’t push me away.” 

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by his words, by the intensity of his gaze, by the unwavering devotion in his voice. 

For the first time, you let yourself feel the enormity of his love—a love that terrified you as much as it comforted you. "Stop it," you whispered, but your voice trembled, barely a breath against the thick air that seemed to surround you both. 

The tears came fast, hot, and uncontrollable, burning as they streaked down your face. You tried to pull away, to escape the overwhelming rush of emotions flooding you—emotions you couldn’t bear to face. 

Why was this happening? Why couldn't he just leave you alone?

You didn’t want to look at him anymore. The pain in your chest tightened, a suffocating weight that threatened to drown you. You didn't want to hear him confess how he felt, didn't want to let yourself believe for even a second that it could be real. You couldn’t afford to give yourself any false hope, not now. 

“It’s... I—” Your voice cracked, faltering as the words tangled in your throat. It was as if everything inside you was shattering, and no matter how hard you tried to hold it together, it all slipped through your fingers. 

You couldn’t think. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

And you couldn’t say what needed to be said, not when every part of you screamed to get away from him, to make him leave. Make him stop looking at you like that, as if you mattered as if you weren't just a burden.

He could see it in your eyes—the desperation, the fear, the overwhelming need to push him away. And yet, despite every effort you made, he didn’t understand. 

Why couldn’t you see?

He refused to let go of your arms, his grip tightening with a gentle yet unyielding force that pulled you closer until your bodies were pressed together in the most intimate way possible. He refused to let you turn away, refusing to let you hide from him.

“No,” he murmured, his voice soft but unwavering, searching your face, his eyes piercing through the walls you’d built around yourself. “Tell me, why do you think you’re a burden to me...?” His voice softened, yet there was a quiet strength in it as if he needed you to hear this, to understand that this wasn’t just about him—this was about you, too.

You fought desperately to keep the sobs from breaking free, but with each word he spoke, your resolve unraveled, crumbling into a thousand fragile pieces. It felt unfair—the rawness of what he was making you confront, the painful truths he was forcing you to voice, truths you’d hidden deep inside, locked away where no one could see them.

The weight of everything pressing down on you became too much, and the tears finally fell, unbidden and unchecked. They streaked down your face, each one like a silent confession, and the words that followed were sharp, jagged, and full of the hurt you’d buried for so long. 

"I...I’m always too much. I’m...I’m not enough... That’s all I’ve ever been."

He couldn’t understand why you believed it—why you thought you were too much when all he saw was someone who was everything. But the anguish in your voice told him this was no simple admission; this was a revelation, raw and real. Without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his arms unyielding, encircling you in a protective embrace. His chest pressed against your trembling body, his warmth a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside.

"You’re never too much," he said, his voice thick with conviction, with a fire that burned through the pain. "You’re always more than enough."

He rested his chin on your head, the words settling between you both like a fragile promise, as he felt the weight of your tears soaking into his shirt, your body shaking with the intensity of your emotions. 

In his arms, you felt exposed, your vulnerability laid bare in a way that terrified you. Every tremor in your body was a reminder of how small and helpless you felt, and it made you want to pull away. But Crowe held you tight, his embrace a lifeline that both soothed and shattered your heart.

You buried your face against his chest, unable to stop the flood of emotion, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke through your tears.

"You’re an idiot," you choked out, your words soaked in sorrow, self-doubt, and shame. 

Crowe let out a soft, almost tender chuckle, his fingers gently threading through your hair as he held you even closer. "Maybe I am an idiot," he murmured, the weight of your pain heavy in his words. "But I’m an idiot in love with you."

His confession hung in the air, and your heart skipped, the words reverberating in your mind like a distant echo, soft and haunting. 

In love with you...

It was a truth that seemed too unreal to accept, but your heart fluttered painfully in your chest, trapped by the weight of it. It felt as though it were desperately trying to break free, like a bird clawing at the bars of its cage, yearning to take flight but held back by everything you’d ever believed about yourself.

And yet, in his arms, something shifted. The ache didn’t vanish, but it softened, mingling with a strange, bittersweet warmth—hope and despair tangled together, impossible to untangle.

With a shuddering breath, you clung to Crowe, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for some tangible connection that would ground you, that would prove the words he spoke were more than just fleeting assurances. You needed to believe them, to feel the truth in them like a lifeline, even if every part of you doubted your worth.

"Why…?" you whispered, your voice barely audible as the vulnerability in your tone betrayed the fortress you’d built around your emotions. It quivered, heavy with a question you had long tried to suppress. "Why are you even in love with me...?"  

The air seemed to hold its breath.  

He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. His response wasn’t in words—at least, not at first. Instead, it was in the way his hands slid with unspoken reverence along your thighs, warm and deliberate, his touch leaving a trail of electricity that ignited every nerve in its path. His fingers curled slightly, anchoring you to him, as if you might disappear if he let go.  

He leaned in closer—closer than you thought possible, his movements smooth and deliberate, as though every inch he bridged between you had been planned in his mind a thousand times before. The faintest brush of his breath ghosted against your cheek, and then your lips, leaving you breathless before he even touched you.  

With a soft but insistent motion, he lifted you onto the edge of the desk, the cool surface grounding you amidst the rising storm inside. His hands remained steady, one firm at the curve of your waist, the other lingering on your thigh, his thumb tracing gentle circles that felt almost reverent. The act wasn’t rushed, nor hesitant—it was as though he were grounding himself, tethering both of you in this shared moment.  

Your faces aligned, the closeness so profound you could see every detail in his expression—the way his eyes held yours, unwavering, filled with something raw and consuming. That intensity rooted you in place, stealing the air from your lungs and replacing it with the weight of his longing.  

"Because," he finally murmured, his voice low and full of conviction, "loving you isn’t a choice. It’s like breathing—unconscious, instinctual, something I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to."  

The words hit you like a tidal wave, and as his lips hovered millimeters from yours, “There are so many reasons I love you..." His voice was soft, a low murmur that seemed to echo in the silence between you. 

His sincerity cut through the space, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "You're so kind, so gentle... even the parts of you try to hide from everyone else."

Your chest tightened, every word he spoke seemed to reach deeper, stripping away the layers of doubt and fear you had built up over the years. But there was more—there was so much more that you weren’t prepared to hear.

He paused, his breath catching, and for a moment, it seemed like the weight of his emotions almost took him off guard. He exhaled slowly, his words coming out, "You're beautiful, smart, strong... and," he hesitated for a beat, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heartache. "From the moment I saw you trying to protect yourself, even when it looked like everything was going against you... when those guys tried to hurt you, and I ran in, only to get beat up myself—but the way you smiled after... after you had avoided me for so long... I realized then that I had fallen for you. Desperately. I love you more than I can say."

His confession knocked the breath from your lungs. Your heart stuttered in your chest, your mind reeling with the intensity of his words. He had seen that moment—the one you thought you could bury forever. The moment when you’d been cornered, vulnerable, and yet, somehow, you found the courage to stand your ground. 

He had seen it all, no matter how long you avoid him, and still, he loves you. 

Tears welled in your eyes, but they fell freely now, no longer hidden behind the walls you’d spent so long building. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, the emotional tidal wave crashing through you, leaving you breathless. Your hands remained clutching his shirt as if letting go would mean losing this feeling, this unspoken truth you didn’t know you needed.

"And my heart calls for your name. Every day…" you mumbled, your voice trembling under the weight of emotions you’d tried to suppress for what felt like forever. "No matter how many times I tried to stop it, it didn’t listen to me."

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening as it met yours, though worry flickered at the edges. His lips curled into that familiar, dumb smile, the one that always seemed to deflect his deeper emotions. But his voice betrayed him, low and tinged with a concern that sent your stomach into knots. "If that's true, then why have you been avoiding me?"

The space between you was electric, the kind of silence that pulled at your chest, threatening to unravel you completely. You bit your lip, hesitating as your fingers brushed against the leaves of a nearby plant—something to ground you amidst the chaos inside. When you finally spoke, the words barely rose above the suffocating warmth of the greenhouse. "I didn’t know what to say."

His brows drew together, his smile faltering into something more genuine, more raw. "What do you mean? You’ve never had trouble talking to me before," he said, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that made your chest ache.

You shook your head slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze this time, even though it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. "It’s different now," you admitted, your voice breaking slightly.

Crowe’s eyes searched yours, desperate to understand. "What’s different?" 

You took a shaky breath, the humid air thick in your lungs as though the weight of the moment mirrored the dense foliage surrounding you. His presence was overwhelming—the faint scent of his cologne, the way his fingers fidgeted as if resisting the urge to reach out to you. 

It all only made it harder to speak, but you forced the words out anyway, your voice fragile, each syllable trembling with the weight of unspoken truths.

"Because I…" you began, swallowing hard. "I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel like you owe me something. You’ve always been so… you. Full of ambition, full of drive, building these milestones for yourself that are so much bigger than anything I could ever imagine for me. I don’t want to… I don’t want to be something you’re burdened by." The confession tumbled out like rocks, sharp and heavy, scraping against your throat.

Crowe’s eyes softened, his dumb smile fading into something far more sincere. "A burden?" he echoed, as though the very thought was absurd. Slowly, he reached out, his hand hovering for just a moment before brushing against yours. "You think… that’s what you are to me?"

You shook your head quickly, even as your eyes burned with the threat of tears. "I’m scared, Crowe. Scared that one day, you’ll look at me and realize you deserve someone who doesn’t second-guess everything. Someone who can keep up with you."

He leaned even closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. "You don’t get it, do you?" he murmured, his voice low and earnest. "Every time I look at you, I don’t see a burden. I see someone I want to protect, someone I want to be around. Even when you overwork yourself, even when you’re too hard on yourself—hell, especially then."

His words made your chest tighten, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "But why? Why do you care so much? I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve that."

Crowe chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief, and that dumb, lopsided smile returned. "You don’t have to do anything to deserve it. It’s just you. And you’re worth every second of it."

You swallowed hard, his words sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into deep water. His gaze never wavered, holding you captive in its intensity. Slowly, he stepped closer, each movement deliberate, as if he were drawn by an unseen force he could no longer resist. His hand, strong and steady, found yours, his fingers curling fully around your own in a gesture so simple yet so profound. 

“And for the record,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air between you, “you’re the reason I’ve been able to keep going. So stop thinking I’m looking out for you because I feel like I have to. I’m looking out for you because…” His words trailed off for a heartbeat, his breath brushing your skin, before he finished with a raw vulnerability that left no room for doubt. “...you’re my reason.”

The world seemed to pause, the weight of his confession pressing against you like the tide before it crashed to shore. 

You barely had time to process it before he closed the remaining distance. His lips met yours in a rush of fervent need and quiet tenderness, a perfect contradiction that stole the breath from your lungs. The kiss was a confession in itself, fierce in its certainty yet impossibly gentle, as though he feared you might slip away if he wasn’t careful. 

His hands moved, one sliding up to cup the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, the other resting firmly at the small of your back, pulling you closer still. His touch was unyielding yet reverent like a vow made flesh. In that instant, all the doubts and fears you’d carried crumbled, falling away like ash in the wind. 

His kiss whispered truths your heart had longed to believe: that you were wanted, needed—not out of duty or pity, but for exactly who you were.

When the kiss finally broke, it wasn’t an ending but a breath—a moment to steady the hurricane of emotions swirling between you. Your lips tingled, your skin alight with the memory of his touch, and your heart felt as if it might burst from the sheer intensity of it all. A laugh bubbled up unbidden, light, and full of wonder, even as tears clung to your lashes, threatening to spill. This time, they weren’t born of sadness but of something brighter, fuller, more beautiful than words could hold.

Crowe’s forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space you now shared. His eyes searched yours, unguarded, their depths brimming with affection so profound it made your chest ache. 

You closed your eyes, allowing the warmth of his presence to wash over you, grounding you, anchoring you. “I wanted to tell you that I was afraid... afraid of being rejected,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice shaky but full of truth. “But I still wanted you to know." The words felt like a release, as though admitting them was finally freeing you from the weight that had been so familiar. 

“This... this burden, of never feeling perfect enough... it’s been with me my whole life.” The words escaped in a near whisper, barely audible, but Crowe caught them. He stood so close that his presence felt like a storm, powerful and inescapable, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place.

His hand lifted with deliberate slowness as if savoring the space between you before his fingers brushed against your cheek. The warmth of his touch was gentle but firm, commanding your attention in a way that made your heart stutter. 

He tilted your chin upward, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw as his eyes locked with yours.  

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, vibrating with an emotion that reached into your very core. You couldn’t look away, trapped by the sincerity and hunger that burned in his deep blue eyes. “You’re perfect to me. All of you—the fears, the flaws, the cracks you think make you weak. They’re everything I want. Everything I need.”

Your lips parted, the protest forming on your tongue—words meant to warn him, to remind him of the risks of being with you—but they never found the air. He leaned in, his forehead just brushing yours, his breath warm and intoxicating as his lips hovered over yours.  

“…The door’s locked,” he whispered, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth, “and there aren’t any cameras in here. No one’s going to interrupt us.”  

The promise in his words hung heavy, a shield against the world outside. But his nearness, his unrelenting presence, stole the air from your lungs. His lips found your neck with an aching tenderness, trailing a line of fire across your skin that left you trembling. His hands slid to your waist, unyielding, guiding you backward until the desk’s edge pressed against the backs of your thighs.  

“Crowe,” you breathed, your hands resting against his chest, trembling in the heat of the moment, a last, fragile barrier against the pull between you. “We can’t—”

He cut you off with a kiss, gentle at first, teasing, as if tasting the hesitation in your words. His lips were soft, coaxing, but with a hunger that grew the instant your resistance faltered. The kiss deepened, and the world seemed to tilt, the gravity of him drawing you in with an undeniable force. 

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushing against yours with each word, his voice was a low, quiet storm, vibrating through your senses.

“We can,” he whispered, his breath warm and intoxicating against your skin. His hands moved to your hips, firm and confident, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. His movements were fluid, a control that felt almost predatory, but also purposeful, as if he knew exactly what you needed before you did. 

"Just this once, please—let me show you," he murmured, his words a promise, a challenge. His tone was unwavering, leaving no room for doubt. 

He carried you, each step deliberate, each movement smooth and unhurried, like a predator securing its prey—except this felt different. This wasn’t a conquest; it was an invitation, of surrender and longing. As he set you down on the couch, the soft cushion beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, the tension that radiated off him like an electric charge.

You leaned back into the plush fabric, the weight of his presence pressing against your senses, his fingers moving with practiced precision, undoing the buttons of his vest one by one, each motion slow, deliberate. He let the clothing fall to the floor, the sound of it landing barely audible over the pounding of your heart. 

The air between you thickened with anticipation, the pull between you undeniable, each movement a promise, a slow unraveling of everything you had thought was impossible. And yet, here you were, caught in the storm of him, your breath quickening, the crowd of your desires finally, relentlessly, yearning for his touch.

The sound of his long-sleeved shirt buttons coming undone echoed in the stillness of the greenhouse, each one a deliberate step toward vulnerability. His shirt hung open, revealing the faint lines of muscle and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He stood before you, unguarded, his raw vulnerability on display.

His gaze bore into yours, dark and intense, as if every unspoken word between you had finally come to life. "You don't know how long I've dreamed of this," Crowe murmured, his voice thick with yearning, each syllable laced with a deep hunger for the moment that had been building between you both. "To be here with you, to love you without restraint—no games, no walls, just this, just us."

The weight of his words washed over you, the raw emotion in his voice striking a chord deep within. You could feel the air crackling with something undeniable, something that had been brewing for longer than either of you had admitted. His proximity, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, made it hard to breathe. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, every beat erratic, every second stretching between the two of you.

His lips crashed against yours once more, but this time it wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release. Each movement, every brush of his lips against yours, was a confession, a surrender of everything he had kept locked away. His mouth moved with a fervor that left you breathless, as though he was desperate to pour out everything he had been holding inside. 

His hand slid slowly up your thigh, warm and sure, sending an electric shock through your body. The touch was both possessive and gentle as if he was claiming you yet cherishing you all at once. He shifted slightly, tilting you back with an ease that made your pulse spike, deepening the kiss further, and pushing you to the edge of your control.

A sharp breath left your lips, your hands trembling as you placed them against his chest, trying to regain some semblance of space. "Crowe, we can't do this here," you whispered urgently, voice barely audible, but filled with a tension that threatened to break. You attempted to pull his hand away, but his grip only tightened, firm and unwavering, pulling you closer.

His eyes locked onto yours darkened with desire, yet there was something else there—a rawness, a vulnerability that you hadn't seen before. 

"Don’t move," he commanded softly, yet there was a quiet power in his voice that made your heart race even more. His touch never faltered, never wavered. "Not now. Not when I’ve waited so long for you to say the truth.”

The weight of his words, coupled with the heat of his body against yours, held you in place—trapped, but not unwilling. Every inch of you ached with the yearning he had revealed, the long-suppressed need to be close to you, to love you, to finally let go of everything that had kept him distant.

His forehead rested softly against yours, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine as it brushed against your lips. Your senses were overwhelmed by the moment, your gaze drifting downward as the dim, ethereal light of the indoor greenhouse wrapped around him like a cloak. 

Shadows danced across his dark brown skin, accentuating the depth of his features, and his deep blue eyes held you in an almost hypnotic gaze. His hair had come loose from its braid, falling around his face with a carefree messiness that made his presence feel all the more magnetic. 

The undone buttons of his shirt revealed just enough of his toned chest, the closeness between you thick with an unspoken intensity.

His eyes briefly flicked down to your legs, lingering for a moment before he returned to meet your gaze. Without a word, he moved closer, gently parting your legs with a subtle gesture that spoke volumes of his intention. 

"For you to not feel like a burden," he whispered, his voice a soft blend of desire and reassurance, "I need to show you, don't I?"

The words lingered between you, charged with emotion as he moved even closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that made your heart race. 

"After tonight," he continued, his voice steady yet tender, "you'll never feel like that again." His words, though simple, held a weight that made your breath catch, a quiet vow to erase every doubt and every insecurity that had ever haunted you.

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

[mads-hemmo]

It’s Nice to Have a Friend - Jschlatt

Part 3

Reader has been lonely their whole life. They have never been in a relationship. They don’t understand why no one will love them but their best friend, Schlatt has always been in love with them.

Part 1

Part 2

Schlatt lets you both in. “What are you doing here?” He asks Ted.

“I’ve been on a roadtrip with Tucker and I just dropped him off. I thought while I was in New York, I would come visit my buddy, Schlatt,” Ted says.

“Why didn’t you at least call first?” Schlatt asks.

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I just didn’t think you would be having company.” Ted turns to look at you.

“Oh I can go home, so you two can spend some time together,” you say. You are still wearing your backpack full of your sleepover necessities, so it would be easy to just leave.

“Nonsense. We can all hang out together. What did you crazy kids have planned anyways?”

Schlatt gives you a look like he wants to keep some things between you two. That thing being the coloring books in your backpack. “We were going to order some sushi. Not sure what else,” you tell Ted.

Ted nods. “That sounds great. I’m just excited to get to know Schlatt’s best friend.”

“Let’s go to the living room,” Schlatt says. The three of you take a seat on his couch while he orders the sushi on DoorDash.

“So (Y/N), what do you do for work?” Ted asks you.

“I’m a hairdresser.”

“Oh cool. Did you dye your own hair? I like the blue tips.”

“Oh yeah I did. Thank you. I have a pretty lenient schedule. Gives me more time to do my various hobbies.”

“What are your various hobbies then?” Ted asks, focusing on you.

“Oh god. I have so many. I crochet, I read, I play piano and I recently started coloring,” you tell him.

“Interesting. How do you have time to do all that?”

“I create my own schedule so I can work as many or as little hours as I choose. I’ve been at my shop for a while so they let me do what I want,” you tell Ted.

“That’s one thing I like about YouTube. I can pretty much work whenever I please.”

“Yeah it’s good for you since you barely upload,” Schlatt replies.

You let out a laugh. Ted looks between the two of you. “I upload. I just don’t want to spoil my viewers and make them get bored of the incredible content I make.”

“I must admit. As one of your viewers, it’s a little treat when you actually post,” you tell him.

He gives you a big smile. “Thank you. I’m glad to know I have such good looking viewers,” Ted winks at you.

Schlatt narrows his eyes at Ted as you blush a bit. “So Ted, how was your road trip?” Schlatt asks, getting the attention off of you.

“It was really fun. Tucker and I just drove around the US, exploring random places. Have you ever taken a road trip?” Ted asks you.

“Unless you count me helping Schlatt move back to New York. Not really. I’ve never really had the time or the money to do so,” you admit. Schlatt had promised you a trip to Japan at some point. However, you told him you wanted to raise the money yourself. You knew Schlatt would pay for everything, but you didn’t want to use him.

“You should go on one! They are a lot of fun! You could join me on my next one. I’ll even let Schlatt come along,”

“They don’t want to ride in your old truck. They might fall through the hole in the passage seat,” Schlatt chimes in.

“I’m not that tiny,” you pout.

“And I’m not huge, Toots,” Schlatt says. You flip him off.

The doorbell rings, alerting you all that the sushi had finally arrived. Schlatt gets up to answer the door. Ted turns to face you. “My truck does not have a huge hole and you’re welcome to ride in it any time,” he tells you, loud enough for Schlatt to still hear him.

Schlatt returns and places the sushi on the coffee table. “I got a lot of different rolls so we can all just share. That’s usually what (Y/N) and I do anyways,” he says.

“Awesome. Thanks Schlatt,” Ted says. “What was Schlatt like as a kid?”

“Not much different than he is now. He has always been quiet, but also Incredibly funny. He also was just as loyal and dependable as he is now. I have always been proud to call him my best friend,” you admit. Even though it may be sappy, you never pass up the opportunity to brag on your best friend. You had said similar things to Paige at work. You hated being single some days, but you hated Schlatt being single even more. He’s such a great guy who deserves to be loved by someone.

“Wow, don't get all soft, Toots. Don’t let them lie to you, I’ve always been an asshole. They’re the one who’s all those things and so much more,” Schlatt says, making your heart skip a beat. When he says things like this, it makes you jealous of his future partner. You know he’s going to be such a great husband to his spouse.

“You do seem really great (Y/N). I’m glad I got to meet you tonight,” Ted tells you. You feel your cheeks getting redder. Ted is obviously flirting with you right? You weren’t the best at judging if people were flirting, but you felt like he was. Ted is a very good looking guy and one of Schlatt’s friends so maybe you should flirt back.

“You seem really great yourself, Ted. Glad that you interrupted our hangout,” you tell him.

“Ted, were you planning on staying the night?” Schlatt asks.

“I was hoping I could. I have my bags in the car,” Ted says.

“That’s fine. It’s just (Y/N) was going to spend the night and they usually sleep in the guest bed.”

“I can sleep on the couch. I am tiny after all,” you say. Schlatt’s couch is comfortable and you don’t mind.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch. Ted can sleep on the couch.”

“How about Ted takes the guest room and we can share your bed? We used to do it all the time when we were kids. I always stay on my side of the bed so it won't be an issue,” you offer.

Schlatt doesn’t look convinced. “Or we can share the guest bed,” Ted says to you.

“(Y/N), that’s a great idea. We did it all the time as kids. Why not as adults? What’s the worst that could happen?” Schlatt says.

The three of you decide to watch a movie. Schlatt lets you choose and Ted agrees. That is how you end up watching Tangled. Even though you don’t know Ted very well, you don’t let that stop you from singing along. You smile to yourself when you hear Schlatt humming to himself. The singing keeps you awake. A few times during the movie, your hand accidentally touches Ted’s as you both grab for some sushi. He lets you have it every time.

After the movie, you all get ready for bed. “Night Schlatt, Night (Y/N), sleep tight,” Ted says, before going to the guest room.

“Good night, Ted. It was nice meeting you,” you tell him, going to Schlatt’s room.

“Ted’s single right?” You ask Schlatt, while washing your face in his on suite bathroom.

“Yeah, why?” He asks.

“Just wondering. Did you see how he was flirting with me tonight? Maybe he was just being nice, but it really seemed like he was flirting with me.”

“I think he was just being nice, Bub. He has a flirty personality.”

You sigh. “You’re probably right. I just thought maybe. He’s your friend, so he’s obviously a good guy. He’s also pretty attractive.”

Schlatt just looks at you. “He lives way too far away. You don’t want your first boyfriend living across the country. You need someone who you can go on dates with and that will spoil you here.”

You just nod. “You’re right. I was just being optimistic. Thank you for always looking out for me.” You kiss him on the cheek as you walk back into his room. You miss the way his entire face turns red and the way he stays paralyzed for a second.

He takes a deep breath and walks into the room. You have already tucked yourself in. You have unintentionally put yourself on the opposite side that Schlatt usually sleeps. He makes his way into the bed and lays beside you.

“You know you can take your shirt off. It’s not like it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you tell him. He nods, before pulling his shirt off. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” he lets out.

“Awesome. I sleep like a rock, so don’t worry about me cuddling you in the middle of the night. Also sorry if I snore,” you tell him.

He laughs slightly. “It’s okay. I’m sure I snore as well.”

“Night Jay.”

“Night Toots,” he says. After a little while when he thinks you are asleep, he mutters softly, “I love you.” Before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You lay still, pretending to be asleep. Surely he means it in a friendly way, right? You choose to ignore it and drift off to sleep.

A/N: ahhh I love writing this story!! Parts might start being not as frequent as I have to go back to work next week. Boo!! Anyways thank you so much for enjoying this! Let me know what you think!

[lavnder311]

Forced Proximity

Synopsis: In which the strongest and reader confess their feelings.

Themes: female reader, mutual pining, longing, HEAVY TENSION, some conflict, friends-to-lovers. Fluff, little bit of angst, kinda slow burn. Didn’t proofread but if you find something it’s definitely your eyes or screen 🙏 enjoy !

wc: 3.9k

—————————————————————————

When the news about floods and heavy rain rang through the halls of Jujutsu High, you never expected it to be much of an issue. Matter of fact, you thought it was like every other day during the Tsuyu season. Sighing, you took a look out the window from your classroom, coffee in hand, dreading the moment work is over before you’re drenched in rain.

You weren’t a teacher at Jujutsu High for long, only opting to take up the role since your long time friend and colleague, Gojo Satoru, was gone on missions quite often. When he came back, he was often tired and had discoloration around his eyes from the lack of rest, only for him to continue his work as normal, always putting a smile for his students in class. With you teaching, it gave him that time to rest a little extra before training his students one-on-one.

It wasn’t exactly a decision he agreed to, as he believed it was a burden he- as the strongest- should carry. It took many months before he finally considered your proposal. After all, you’d be safe at Jujutsu High, instead of fighting off curses in who knows where, right?

——————————————————————————

“Oh come on Satoru,” you pleaded, reaching up to his eye level before being stopped by his infinity.

“Promise sweets,” he said with a dramatic sigh, reaching out to ruffle your hair before swiftly and effortlessly dodging your swat at his hand. “I’m fine. I’m the strongest, after all!” He flashed you a grin, his tone both playful and self-assured. He took out some candy from his pocket, popping it into his mouth before putting another right above your lips, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “C’mon, I know you want it.”

You frustratedly sighed, taking the candy and throwing it in the nearest trash bin. Crossing your arms, you gave him a pointed look as he quickly frowned, furrowing his brows in response. “Satoru, I’m bring serious. You can’t even tell me the last time you had 7-8 hours of rest. Or eaten a proper, nutritious, meal.” Emphasizing the last sentence, knowing he loves his sweets. (Of course the candy- not you. Right?) “Let me do this for you.” You pleaded, shoulders hanging in defeat.

His movements faltered for the slightest second before tilting his head back, humming in thought. “Well, I guess it’d be a nice vacation for you. Safer part of the job, no fighting curses, just keeping me company, aren’t ya?” His smirk all too knowing.

Sighing, you softly shook your head and rolled your eyes before giving him a look of worry. “I just.. I want to look out for you,”

He piped up in interest before swallowing another piece of candy he kept safely hidden. “Looking after the strongest will only get ya so far,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “But why?” He asked, his tone shifting to genuine curiosity.

Now that, you couldn’t- wouldn’t- answer. Your friendship with Satoru was.. complicated. It was like walking a fine line between comfort and tension, one moment full of stolen glances and playful teasing, the next filled with casual flirtations- though, you were never really sure if that was just his way with everyone.

Most of the time, it was just Satoru pretending everything was fine when you knew he needed a break. He never let anyone see how much he carried, always wearing that smile. Most of the time, it was you two sitting atop of Jujutsu High, watching the sunset or laughing at a horror movie with stupid plots. Sometimes it was quiet walks to cafes or his favorite candy shops.

But right now? Now you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to make a decision. You glanced at him, hesitation in your tongue. Finally, you sighed and muttered, “Because you’re an absolute idiot.”

——————————————————————————

“Attention all still at Jujutsu High,” a voice echoed through halls and classrooms, about 40 minutes after students resigned to their homes or designated rooms. “Weather conditions are not safe. I repeat, weather conditions are not safe. Please stay indoors until further notice.”

The thunder was almost impossible to miss, lightning making its way through the clouds, and heavy rain painting all that is Jujutsu High. Clearly, you weren’t going anywhere.

“Looks like I’m stuck,” you muttered, glaring out the rain-slick window. The storm outside almost seemed theatrical in its ferocity. Each flap of thunder rattled the walls of Jujutsu High, as if the world itself wanted to remind you that you couldn’t go anywhere.

A knock came from your door, an all too familiar one. Raising a brow, you sat up on your desk, crossing one leg over the other. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” A voice chimed in as the door opened. A voice too familiar, too smooth and unmistakably teasing.

You softly smiled seeing him come through the door, noticing he decided to opt into more casual clothing rather than his usual uniform and black blindfold.

“Satoru,” you greeted, your voice steady, though your heart did a little flip at the sight of him. It was almost unfair how effortlessly good he looked, even in casual clothes. A black coat paired with a white shirt underneath and black pants tailored to fit his lengthy figure. His hair, usually spiked and tall, looked softer- almost as though he hadn’t bothered fixing it before coming to see you.

He closed the door behind him with an air on nonchalance, leaning back as he crossed his arms. “Missed me already, sweets?” He teased, his lips curling into a lazy grin.

“You mean in the forty minutes since we last spoke?” You quipped, resting your chin in your hand, playfully grinning at him. “I’m not sure if I could have bared any longer without you.” You teased right back, your tone light but betraying a flicker of something deeper.

Satoru’s grin widened, his ego soaking up the attention as he leaned casually against your desk. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist me. I’m the highlight of everyone’s day as the strongest, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, but the playful glint in his expression made it impossible to look away. “Highlight? More like a recurring inconvenience.”

“Ouch.” He placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “And here I thought we were bonding. Guess I’ll just take my charm elsewhere.”

You chuckled, putting your hands up in defense. “Don’t let me stop you.” You replied, though the words lacked bite. If anything, the thought of him leaving sent a pang of disappointment through you. You quickly masked it with a smirk, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

But Satoru didn’t move. He stayed rooted in his place, his usual easy grin faltering just slightly. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than it should have, softening in a way that felt almost too intimate. The playful banter that defined so many of your interactions seemed to melt away, leaving something raw and unspoken.

“Actually,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, “I think I’ll stick around.”

There was a weight to his words, a vulnerability that didn’t match his usual carefree demeanor. His tone lacked the teasing lilt you’d grown so used to, and it caught you off guard.

You glanced up at him, expecting another sly remark, but what you found instead made your chest tighten. His eyes, visible beneath his tinted glasses, were fixed on you- not with his usual amusement, but with a kind of longing he didn’t bother to hide. The storm outside roared, but in the silence between you, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

For a second, you thought he might say something else, something you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. But instead, he shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair in what felt like an attempt to break the tension.

“I mean, who else is going to put up with me in a storm like this?” He added, the teasing edge returning to his voice, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You let out a shaky breath, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your own emotions swirling just as chaotically as the weather outside. “Lucky me,” you managed, keeping your tone light even as your heart raced.

He smiled faintly, but it wasn’t his usual playful smirk. It was softer, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. And as he leaned casually against the edge of your desk, the space between you felt charged. Like both of you were waiting for something to happen- a shy confession, a flirt, maybe even something more- something neither of you dared to name.

Thunder shook the walls of Jujutsu High, causing your desk to slightly tremble. The sound echoed in the silence, as if the storm itself was urging something to break.

Suddenly clearing your throat, you forced yourself to look away, breaking the eye contact that held you captive.

“Well!” You quipped, trying to shake off the heaviness in the air. Satoru’s gaze was no longer on you, but rather the rain outside. His features were softened against the dim light, his jaw- that was usually relaxed and quick to smile, tightened for just a moment- barely noticeable if you hadn’t been watching him so closely.

“You’re unusually quiet,” you ventured, your tone light but curious. It wasn’t like him to let silences linger, especially not around you.

He let out a low hum, finally turning his head toward you. “Just thinking sweets,” he said, his voice smoother now, though something about it felt guarded.

“Thinking?” you echoed, raising a brow. “That’s a dangerous pastime for someone like you.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny,” he murmured, taking a step closer to your desk, his fingers brushing the wood as if testing its solidity—or maybe just grounding himself. “But even I have my moments.”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. The Satoru you knew was always confident, always teasing, always larger than life. But now, under the weight of the storm, there was something quieter about him, something you weren’t used to seeing.

“Care to share?” you asked softly, folding your arms across your chest.

He hesitated, just for a second, his hand stilling on your desk. His glasses reflected the flicker of lightning outside, masking his eyes, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze all the same.

“Not much to share,” he said finally, though his tone lacked its usual bravado. “Just wondering how many more storms we’ll have to sit through before someone…” He trailed off, his smirk fading into something softer, almost wistful. “…does something about it.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, at the way they felt so much bigger than the weather outside. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, drowned out by the thunder that rattled the walls once more.

“Maybe… hypothetically,” you began, your voice softer now, as if testing the waters, “a little push could help. You know, fire things up, I suppose.”

Satoru’s lips quirked into a small smile, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something that made your cheeks burn. “A little push, huh?” he echoed, his tone low and teasing, though there was an edge to it, like he was daring you to say more.

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure under the weight of his stare. “I mean, sometimes things just… need a spark to get going. Isn’t that what storms are for?”

His fingers drummed lightly against the desk, his gaze never leaving you. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Playing with fire can be dangerous.”

“Maybe,” you countered, leaning back slightly to put some space between you, though the tension still thrummed in the air. “But isn’t that what makes it exciting?”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the words hanging between you like the crackle of lightning in the storm. His smile faded into something softer, something that felt almost too raw to look at.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. His words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and unshakable. “The storm.. it wouldn’t be easy.”

His gaze, fixed on you, was softer now, stripped of its usual teasing confidence. It was as if he wasn’t just talking about the weather anymore, and the weight of his unspoken thoughts sent a ripple of unease and anticipation through you.

You swallowed, your heart racing as you tried to decipher the layers behind his words. “No,” you replied quietly, your voice barely steady. “It wouldn’t be easy. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth facing.”

His lips parted slightly, as though your response had caught him off guard. For once, he didn’t have a quick comeback, no smirk to hide behind. Instead, he shifted, stepping just a little closer, the space between you shrinking with each beat of the thunder outside.

“Sometimes storms destroy everything in their path,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost beneath the rain hammering against the windows. “And sometimes… they make things clearer. Wash it all clean.”

You felt your breath hitch at the rawness in his tone, the vulnerability he rarely allowed to show. “Which one is this?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a hint of challenge but also something more—hope.

He hesitated, his fingers curling into a loose fist as though he were holding himself back. “That depends,” he said finally, his gaze never wavering from yours. “On whether you think it’s worth the risk.”

Every word, every glance, felt like it could tip the fragile balance you were both clinging to. “I do,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And for the briefest of moments, Satoru looked like he might close the distance entirely, the hesitation in his eyes giving way to something fierce, something undeniable.

The storm outside roared, the thunder cracking loud enough to rattle the glass panes, but neither of you flinched. Instead, the silence between you seemed louder, charged with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t find the courage to voice.

“You’re serious,” he murmured, almost to himself, the faintest edge of disbelief in his tone. His hand moved instinctively, brushing against the desk before retreating, as if he wasn’t sure whether to close the gap between you or hold himself back.

“Would I have said it if I wasn’t?” you countered, your voice steadier than you felt.

His gaze searched yours, his usual cocky exterior stripped away, leaving nothing but raw vulnerability. It was rare to see him like this, rare for him to let the mask slip. And yet, here he was, standing before you as if the storm outside had laid him bare.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice barely audible, almost swallowed by the rain.

“Get what?” you pressed, your heart hammering in your chest.

He exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “That I’m not afraid of the storm out there,” he said, nodding toward the rain-soaked window. “I’m afraid of the one in here.” His hand moved, just slightly, as if to gesture to the space between you, the unspoken feelings that hung like static in the air.

“I’ll be busy almost all the time, and the little time I do get, it’s to rest and train my students..” he began, worry filling his eyes. “And where would that leave time for you? For us?”

The confession hit you like a bolt of lightning, sudden and blinding. Your throat tightened as you tried to find the words, but nothing came.

“Satoru…” you started, but the sound of his name on your lips made him flinch, as if it carried too much weight, too much meaning.

He looked away, the flicker of worry in his eyes dimming as if he’d said too much. “It’s not fair to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost drowned out by the rain. “To expect you to be okay with… scraps of my time, with someone who can’t even promise to be around when it matters most.”

Your chest ached at the way his voice cracked on the last word, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. He wasn’t just pushing you away—he was scared. Scared of letting you in, of not being enough.

“Satoru,” you repeated, the sound of his name pulling his gaze back to yours. His expression faltered, the weight of his insecurities etched into every line of his face.

“Don’t,” he murmured, his hand lifting as though to stop you, but he didn’t pull away when you stepped closer.

“You don’t get to decide what’s fair for me,” you said firmly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “I know what this is—what we are. And I don’t care how busy you are, or how little time you think you have. I care about you, Satoru. Isn’t that enough?”

His eyes widened, his composure slipping further as the tension between you reached a breaking point. The storm outside seemed to echo the chaos in your chest, the thunder roaring like an unspoken promise waiting to be fulfilled.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said, a faint, shaky laugh escaping him. But there was no mistaking the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his hand finally reached out to rest on the edge of your desk, inches from yours.

“Maybe it is,” you replied, your voice steady despite the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. “Maybe you’re the one making it complicated.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the vulnerability in his eyes giving way to something warmer, something that made your breath catch. His hand shifted, fingers brushing against yours—hesitant, tentative, like he was afraid to cross the line but couldn’t stop himself.

His fingers lingered against yours, warm and tentative, before he finally laced them together. The subtle touch sent a jolt through you, more powerful than any thunder outside. His grip tightened slightly, as though he feared letting go would mean losing something he couldn’t afford to.

“You really think it’s that easy?” he asked, his voice quieter now, yet laced with an edge of disbelief.

“I think you’re worth it,” you said simply, the words carrying more conviction than you thought possible. “I’m not asking for perfect. I’m asking for real—for you. Isn’t that enough?”

He let out a breath he didn’t seem to realize he was holding, his free hand brushing through his hair in a rare display of vulnerability. The usual smirk that would have accompanied your boldness was nowhere to be found. Instead, his lips parted slightly, his brows furrowed, as though trying to comprehend the weight of your words.

“You have no idea what you’re signing up for,” he muttered, shaking his head. But his fingers stayed locked with yours, betraying the battle between his mind and his heart. “It’s messy. I’m messy.”

“Then I guess I’ll learn to handle messy,” you replied without hesitation, stepping closer. The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, the storm outside a mere echo to the one building between you. “You don’t have to do this alone, Satoru.”

His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “You’re not making this easy,” he said, his voice wavering.

“Good,” you said, your tone soft but resolute. “Because the things that matter never are.”

For a moment, his expression cracked, his usual cool façade shattering under the intensity of your gaze. His hand let go of the desk and rose slowly, hesitantly, as if unsure of its place. But then his fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch featherlight, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he pressed too hard.

“Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?” he asked, but there was no malice in his words, only a quiet reverence that made your heart skip.

“Because someone has to be,” you whispered, leaning into his touch without thinking.

The silence stretched between you, charged and trembling, until he finally broke it. “You’re going to ruin me,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk returning to his lips.

“Maybe,” you said, your voice a little breathless. “But isn’t that what makes it exciting?”

And then, before either of you could second-guess it, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that felt both hesitant and inevitable, like the meeting of two storms destined to collide.

His lips were warm against yours, soft and deliberate, like he was testing the waters of something he had fought against for too long. The world outside seemed to dissolve—the thunder, the rain, even the walls of Jujutsu High—leaving only the two of you in the center of it all.

When he pulled back, it was barely an inch, his forehead resting against yours as his breath mingled with your own. His hand still cradled your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your skin as though grounding himself in the reality of this moment.

“I’m not sure what’s scarier,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “The storm outside or how much I don’t want to let you go.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled softly, your hand reaching up to cover his where it rested against your cheek. “Then don’t,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the chaos of feelings threatening to overwhelm you.

He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as though he was surrendering to something he’d fought for too long. “You make it sound so easy,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest smile.

“It doesn’t have to be hard,” you replied, letting your fingers trail down to intertwine with his again. “We’ll figure it out—together. Like we always have.”

The vulnerability in his eyes was replaced by something lighter, something hopeful, and it made your chest tighten. For once, Satoru Gojo—the strongest sorcerer you knew—looked like a man who believed he could rely on someone else.

“Together,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a promise.

The sound of thunder rumbled again, but this time it felt distant, less intrusive. Satoru straightened, his hand slipping from your face but staying firmly locked with yours.

“Well, we’ve already survived one storm,” he said, his usual teasing tone creeping back as he gestured to the window. “What’s a few more, right?”

You chuckled, shaking your head at him. “Always so dramatic.”

His grin widened, though it didn’t quite mask the sincerity lingering in his eyes. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Unfortunately, I wouldn’t.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the storm outside gradually fading into a softer rhythm. It wasn’t a resolution to everything—there were still obstacles ahead, uncertainties and fears to navigate—but it felt like the beginning of something real.

Satoru squeezed your hand, pulling you toward the door with a newfound ease in his step. “Come on,” he said, flashing you a playful smirk. “Let’s see if we can find something to eat before the next storm rolls in. And maybe you can tell me how you plan to ‘handle messy.’”

You laughed, letting him lead the way. “Oh, you’ll see.”

And as the two of you walked down the hall, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, the storms were worth it after all.

——————————————————————————

Ugh it’s been so long since I’ve written and I’ve been so invested with my job. Anyways, here’s this piece for Gojo! 🩷

[redpill-tfs]

Red Wave

January 1st, 2025

Yo, so I started this Red Wave trial thing today. The docs said it’s supposed to, like, make your brain work better or something. Was told to track my thoughts in this journal thing. Honestly, I’m just here for the cash. I’m not buying into any of their science-y shit. Took the first pill this morning. Feel normal so far. Guess we’ll see if this stuff actually does anything.

Since I was told to describe myself a bit, I guess I might as well if I want that cash they promised. Name's Blake. I'm 26 and work at a local manufacturing company in the finance department. It's a pretty chill gig. Don't gotta wear a suit either which is good. Didn't even wear one to my graduation and I don't plan on starting now.

Anyway bro, I'm also a proud atheist. Never got into politics, but I guess I'm more liberal. I mean, just let people do what they want, right?

February 10th, 2025

Alright, not gonna lie, I’ve been feeling kinda sharp lately. Like, my head’s clearer, and I’m getting more stuff done at work. My boss Emily even said my presentation didn’t totally suck, which is rare. Oh, and I actually ironed my shirt today before work. Don’t know why—just felt like I should look decent. Weird, right? Maybe these pills aren’t total BS. I don't know why, but I've been thinking of wearing a tie to work...

March 12th, 2025

So get this, man: I bought a suit over the weekend. A whole grownup suit and a tie to go with it. I dunno know why, but I just felt like stepping up my game for my presentation at work today. And man did I look good. I got so many compliments on my fit. It honestly felt really good. My bros thought it was weird and so do I, but now that I have it I guess I'll use it at another presentation in the future.

April 15th, 2025

Something weird is going on. I heard some chick at work talking about her church today. Instead of scoffing and rolling my eyes, it made me, like, think a little. Like I got curious about it. I don't know what's going on, but I might have to check it out sometime.

Speaking of work, I've been wearing a tie more and more. It feels... right. People seem to notice too. I get so many compliments about them. I went back to the store and pick out a whole bunch of different colors. I may be the only guy in the department wearing one, but standing out isn't a bad thing I guess.

May 18th, 2025

Alright, so… I went to church today. Yeah, me. Blake, the proud atheist. Walked past St. Mark’s on the way to grab Starbuck's, and something just made me stop and go in. The music was kind of awesome, and the pastor’s talk about purpose hit me harder than I expected. I don’t even know what’s happening to me, but I’m starting to think there’s more to life than what I’ve been living. I might go back next week to see what I've been missing, but I'm not sure yet.

June 30th, 2025

This morning, I prayed. Like, actually prayed to God. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, but it felt… good. I’ve also started reading bits of the Bible over the past week. There’s some deep stuff in there. Work’s going great, too. I’ve been mentoring one of the new guys, and Emily says she’s impressed with my leadership. Suits are now my everyday thing. Who knew dressing sharp could feel so right?

July 23rd, 2025

I’ve been pulling away from my old friends. Their whole sarcastic, edgy vibe just doesn’t sit right with me anymore. Instead, I’ve been hanging out with people from church who share my interest in self-improvement and faith. I’m even thinking about joining a volunteer group at the church. Life feels more meaningful now. My mind still feels so clear too. I don't know what this pill is doing to me, but it's working.

August 11th, 2025

I’ve been reflecting on some big ideas lately: responsibility, tradition, family values. They make so much sense now. I’ve also started watching a few commentators online who align with these views. Their logic is compelling. Honestly, I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. It’s like a veil has been lifted. Why should abortion be legal? Why should we violate the second amendment with gun control laws? Why do gays think thy can decide how the rest of us live our lives? So many questions I'm learning the answers to. I never paid much attention to politics, but maybe I should.

September 7th, 2025

Sunday service has become the cornerstone of my week. I’ve officially joined St. Mark’s and volunteered for their community outreach. Pastor Williams’s guidance has been invaluable. I’m entirely committed to this new path. My wardrobe, my habits, even my worldview have all transformed. I’m proud of the man I’ve become. I've said this a million times already, but it just feels right.

October 20th, 2025

Today is my birthday, and reflecting on this past year astounds me. My former self seems like a stranger. I’ve embraced faith, order, and purpose, and it just feels right. I got my hair cut to be a lot shorter than I once had it as a special birthday gift to myself. It feels more appropriate for my new image.

I had some friends from bible study over for a small party. I wore my best suit for the occasion. We played games, ate good food, and prayed of course. There was a riveting debate on the role of faith in politics. All in all, it was a good time. I can't believe how much my life has changed just in 10 months.

November 30th, 2025

Today was the final day of the trial. The scientist leading the study asked me all sorts of questions, from my conservative views to my faith in God and my new sense of style. I'm not sure what it all has to do with a mental focus pill, but I didn't feel like asking questions. I'm sure they know what they're doing. Anyways, I better get going. St. Mark's is having an event today to celebrate God and all of His glory. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

December 1st, 2025

The Red Wave trial has concluded with a 100% conversion rate among participants. Subjects exhibited profound and permanent shifts in personality, behavior, and worldview. Pre-trial skepticism and liberal inclinations were entirely replaced with conservative, faith-based identities. This case highlights the pill's efficacy in aligning individuals with structured, traditional conservative values. Further research will examine long-term societal impacts of widespread application. More subjects needed.

[steveseddie]

helping hand

written for round one of @steddiebingo and the 12 days of Christmas mini-event | prompts: help & thigh fucking | rating: e | wc: 2,1k | no cw | tags: eddie lives, sharing a bed, hand jobs, thigh fucking, cuddling

read on ao3

According to Wayne, Eddie can sleep through anything.

It’s why he was late to school pretty much every day. That and the fact that he didn’t give a shit about it– but mostly because he always slept through his alarm clock.

But the thing is that to sleep through anything he needs to be asleep to begin with. And right now he can’t fall asleep because Steve hasn’t stopped tossing and turning in the past hour.

When Eddie comes close to falling asleep for what feels like the hundredth time only for Steve to twist around again, he can’t help but let out a frustrated sigh.

Steve freezes as he’s fixing the blanket around him. “Um, did I wake you?” he asks in a tiny voice.

“I’d have to be asleep for you to wake me up, big boy.”

Running his hands down his face, Steve groans. “Shit, sorry, man.”

“‘S fine, Stevie.” He gives Steve a sidelong glance. Thanks to the moonlight filtering through the window he can see that he’s frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just– Can’t sleep.”

“I got that much, dude,” Eddie says with a snort. He hesitates, biting his lip nervously. “Um, is it because of me?”

It might’ve been Steve who suggested they shared his bed tonight, but maybe he changed his mind or maybe he only did it because he was trying to be polite and he expected Eddie to turn down the offer–

Steve frantically shakes his head. “No! No–”

Eddie isn’t convinced. “Are you sure? Because I can go–”

“No,” Steve says, more firmly this time. “Eddie, I promise, I’m just restless, s’all.”

Eddie relaxes. “Okay, yeah, I get that. It happens to me a lot, especially after– you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs in sympathy. “So what do you do? When it happens?”

“Uh–” Eddie hesitates, a little worried that answering truthfully might make sharing a bed a bit awkward. Oh fuck it, he thinks. It was Steve who asked. “I usually just– you know, jerk off.”

Steve inhales sharply. He lets out a tiny, “Oh.”

And there’s the awkwardness.

Before Eddie can offer to take the couch again, Steve asks, “Does that, um– does that work for you?”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Oh, like a charm. Makes me sleep like a baby.”

“I could use some of that,” Steve sighs longingly.

Eddie agrees– he’s noticed the black smudges under Steve’s eyes. “Well, I could, uh– go to the bathroom for a while if you want to–”

Steve sputters. “I’m not gonna ask you to go to the bathroom so I can jerk off!”

“Fine, then you can go to the bathroom. I’ll cover my ears, I promise,” Eddie says, trying to act casual but the truth is that if Steve actually took him up on the offer, Eddie’s brain would melt out of his ears just from knowing Steve is jerking off in the next room.

“Jesus, how loud do you think I am, man?” Steve asks with an incredulous laugh.

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve given it much thought.” He has given it plenty of thought actually but Steve doesn’t need to know that. “Just trying to be helpful here, Stevie.”

“There’s something else you could do if you want to help,” Steve whispers after a short silence. He sounds strangely shy, nervous. He can’t possibly mean–

“Steve,” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice leveled. “Are you asking me to get you off?”

There’s a short moment where Steve doesn’t say anything and Eddie worries that he just made things even more awkward by assuming that’s what he meant, but before he can spiral he hears Steve’s soft reply. “Maybe.”

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters out loud though mostly to himself but Steve hears it anyway and lets out a panicked yelp.

“Christ, you know what? That was stupid.”

“Steve–”

But Steve ignores him, rolling on his side, away from Eddie, and as far as he can without falling off the bed. “Forget I said anything, you don’t have to–”

“I want to!” Eddie blurts out, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Uh, if– if it will help you.”

“Eddie, I can’t ask you to do that,” Steve says, still facing away from Eddie.

“I’m offering,” he says. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens to him and it definitely won’t be happening twice but he wants it– God, does he want it– so he moves closer, putting his hand on Steve’s waist, hearing his sharp intake of breath. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

Steve’s entire body shudders. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Please, Eddie.”

Oh, shit.

Just the thought of doing this is enough to make Eddie’s blood rush downward, making his dick half hard so he’s careful to keep his hips angled away from Steve’s back as he scoots closer to him, moving his hand from Steve’s waist to his lower stomach, feeling his skin erupt in goosebumps beneath his touch.

“I got you, Stevie,” he whispers, fingers moving down, playing with Steve’s happy trail. He’s already panting and Eddie still hasn’t even touched him.

Jesus fucking Christ, he needs to touch him.

He slides his hand lower until his knuckles bump against Steve’s cock over his boxers. “You’re already half hard, sweetheart? Is this what was actually keeping you up?”

Steve lets out a low moan. He didn’t ask Eddie for a running commentary, just a helping hand, but Eddie can’t stop himself. He’s a loud guy through and through, so unless Steve tells him to shut up, he’ll keep running his mouth. Steve seems to be into it anyway.

He lazily strokes Steve’s cock over his boxers to get him to full hardness. Fuck, he’s big, Eddie thinks. He can’t wait to feel Steve’s hot skin–

“Can I touch you?” Eddie whispers into his ear.

“Yes, yeah,” Steve agrees quickly.

So Eddie slips his hand inside Steve’s boxers, sighing happily when he wraps his fingers around his hard length.

The touch makes Steve throw his head back with a groan, almost smashing it against Eddie’s nose. Thankfully he doesn’t, even though not even a bloody nose would make Eddie give up the chance to get Steve off.

However he does prop himself up with the arm he isn’t using to touch Steve so his head rests against Eddie’s shoulder so as to not risk an injury– and because it allows him to peer over Steve’s shoulder and watch how his hand looks wrapped around his cock.

And God the sight gets Eddie to full hardness, making his mouth water.

He starts stroking him slowly, gathering the precum from the tip and smearing it down and around Steve’s cock but it’s not enough.

When he lets go entirely, Steve whines, hips thrusting forward, chasing after Eddie’s touch.

Eddie shushes him gently. “‘M not going anywhere, sweetheart. Here, spit,” he says, holding his hand close to Steve’s mouth. He does as he’s told without hesitation. Eddie can’t stop himself from kissing Steve’s nape. “Good boy.”

“Oh, G-god,” Steve moans brokenly. It trails off into a high-pitched whine when Eddie wraps his hand around him again, the slide of his hand smoother now from Steve’s spit.

He pumps him loosely. “Better?”

“Y–yeah,” Steve manages, panting now.

The elastic of his boxers makes Eddie’s movements a little clumsy but Steve fixes it by jerkily shoving them down. While doing that, his ass presses back against Eddie’s front and there’s no way for him to hide that he’s fully hard in his own boxers.

But instead of shoving Eddie away or calling him out on it, Steve groans and shuffles back until Eddie’s chest presses against his back and Eddie’s cock is nestled against Steve’s now naked ass.

“Fucking– fuck,” Eddie chokes out, momentarily stopping his hand so he can get his breathing over control.

“Eddie–” Steve whines, his hips twitching and fucking his cock into Eddie’s fist. It pushes his ass back against Eddie’s crotch, which does little to help Eddie focus.

“‘M here, baby,” Eddie whispers, his teeth clamped over his lip. Steve’s hips are still moving–

But he starts stroking him again, reminding himself that this is about Steve.

“Oh God, yes,” he moans loudly.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be loud,” Eddie mutters in awe.

Steve lets out a choked laugh. “I thought– I thought you didn’t give it much– oh fuck, much thought.”

“I fucking lied,” Eddie admits with a scoff.

“I– I lied too,” Steve says, his breath coming faster when Eddie tightens his grip. “You were the reason, fuck– the reason why I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking, oh God– thinking about how I wanted to be doing this instead.”

Something hot burns in Eddie’s stomach. “Well, sweetheart. All you had to do was ask.”

“Can– can I ask for something else?” Steve says shyly despite him currently grinding his ass against Eddie in an obscene way.

“Anything.”

“Fuck my thighs?” He asks, twisting his neck so he can look at Eddie, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils blown wide.

Eddie is pretty sure his brain momentarily short circuits.

When he doesn’t reply right away, Steve blindly reaches behind him, his hand connecting with Eddie’s hip. He clumsily tugs on his boxers, trying to get them off.

It snaps Eddie out of it. “Yes, yeah, fucking– yeah,” he mutters, momentarily letting go of Steve so he can shove his boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach.

He gives himself a few strokes– to take the edge off and to spread the precum along his length until his cock is wet and shiny.

“Come here,” Steve says and Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice. He shuffles closer, angling the head of his dick forward, lining it up so it slides between Steve’s thighs.

And when it does, they both moan loudly at the same time.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths then reaches for Steve’s cock. The inside of Steve’s thighs is so warm and soft and he knows he’s not gonna last long, but he’ll make sure to make Steve come.

He makes sure his grip is tighter this time, his movements faster. He times them with his own thrusts, his cock sliding wetly in and out Steve’s meaty thighs.

“You feel fucking perfect, Steve,” Eddie groans, pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder blade. The praise makes Steve whimper, his cock pulsing in Eddie’s hand. “You gonna come, sweetheart?”

Breathing coming faster, Steve manages, “Yeah– yeah. So fuckin’ close.”

“Me too, baby,” he admits. It doesn’t surprise him, he’s currently experiencing the hottest moment of his entire existence.

The closer he gets, the more his movements turn clumsier, more desperate– desperate to come, to make Steve come.

It’s when Eddie gives Steve’s shoulder a playful little bite at the same time that he twists his hand on the upstroke that Steve’s back arches and he moans loud and shaky as his cock pulses hotly into his hand.

Steve’s noises as he comes and the way his thighs tighten around Eddie’s cock are enough to bring him over the edge after only a few more thrusts and he paints Steve’s legs with cum.

They lay like that for a few seconds, catching their breath. Eddie starts to drift off, feeling tired and floaty.

“So you think you can fall asleep now?” He asks, breaking the silence.

Steve lets out a soft little giggle. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Eddie grins triumphantly. “Happy to be of service, Your Majesty,” he says with a twist of his cum-covered hand.

Steve’s nose wrinkles as his eyes land on it, but there’s a trace of fond amusement in the look he throws at Eddie over his shoulder. He grabs a handful of tissues from his nightstand and uses them to clean Eddie’s hand and himself before they both shove their boxers back on and get back under the covers.

Eddie rolls to his side. “Before you fall asleep and because I know it’ll keep me up if I don’t ask– was that like, just a hookup or do you like, like me?” He grimaces, burying his face into a pillow. “God, I sound like a twelve year old.”

Steve laughs, but not unkindly. “I like you, Eddie,” he says, and when Eddie lifts his head to look at him, Steve leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s sleep and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Smiling, Eddie nods. That’s fine by him.

Steve turns around, facing away again and Eddie wraps his arm around him, burrowing his face into the back of his neck.

They’re both asleep in a matter of seconds.

[amkyor]

K. BAKUGO SHORT STORY ᡣ𐭩

Unwanted Eyebrow Slit:

It was a rare, relaxed day off for the heroes. The usual chaos of missions and hero work had subsided, so Bakugo had reluctantly agreed to hang out with his friends.

Kirishima, Denki, Mina, Sero, and Jirou were all at Sero's apartment, chowing down on snacks, playing video games, and chatting about life.

To most, it was the perfect setting for some downtime, but for Bakugo, a day spent with anyone other than himself wasn’t exactly his idea of fun.

Still, he tried to make the best of it. Kirishima kept him entertained with his loud, boisterous laugh and high-energy stories, Denki kept cracking jokes (often at Bakugo’s expense), and Mina was, as always, enthusiastic about everything they did.

Sero was quietly chilling with his music, while Jirou and Bakugo exchanged sarcastic remarks, much like usual.

But things were about to take an unexpected turn when Denki, in his usual mischievous manner, came up with an idea.

“Hey, Bakugo!” Denki called across the room while the group was lounging. “Let me shave your brows. You know, just to make them perfect.”

Bakugo looked up from his phone, his gaze sharp. “What the hell, weirdo? I’m not letting you touch my damn brows.”

Denki grinned, unfazed by Bakugo’s obvious annoyance. “Come on! You’d look awesome with perfect brows, I promise! Just a little trim, and maybe—just maybe—a shape-up?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

The argument seemed like it would end there, but Denki wasn’t one to back down so easily.

Bakugo, his usual stubborn self, ignored the suggestion and let the conversation drop.

Soon, everyone was back to their own thing, and Bakugo, as usual, found himself retreating to the couch, his arms crossed as he tried to block out the noise.

Minutes passed, and before he knew it, Bakugo’s eyelids grew heavy.

He fought it for a while, but eventually, his exhaustion overtook him, and he fell asleep on the couch, completely unaware of Denki’s next move.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Denki whispered to Sero, who was sitting nearby, trying to suppress his laughter. “While he’s asleep, I’m going to do it. I’ll just fix the brows. He’ll never know.”

Sero, always the voice of reason (though not always the one to follow it), gave Denki a skeptical look. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Trust me, it’ll be fine,” Denki said with a mischievous grin. “He’s asleep! What’s the worst that could happen?”

With Denki’s confidence (and Sero’s reluctance) in place, Denki snuck over to Bakugo’s sleeping form. He carefully took out his razor and began working on Bakugo’s brows, trimming the hairs lightly.

For a moment, everything seemed to be going fine. But Denki, distracted by his own excitement, didn’t notice the way he was shaping the brow.

In his eagerness, he accidentally took too much off the top of one of Bakugo’s brows, and before he could correct it, the razor slipped, creating a noticeable slit in the hair.

“Agh, shit!” Denki muttered under his breath. “This is not good.”

Sero, now fully awake and witnessing the disaster unfold, couldn’t help but snicker. “Dude, you messed up big time.”

Denki panicked. “I—I didn’t mean to! What do I do? What do I do?”

Jirou, hearing the commotion from across the room, looked over and raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is going on over there?”

“I screwed up his brow,” Denki confessed, looking completely defeated. “I was trying to make them perfect, but now he’s got an eyebrow slit!”

Everyone stared at the damage, unsure of how to fix it, but it was too late.

Bakugo stirred in his sleep, a low groan escaping his lips as he shifted on the couch.

“Shit, he’s waking up!” Denki hissed, quickly stepping back.

Bakugo’s eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times, groggily sitting up. “What the hell is going on?” His voice was rough, still thick with sleep.

Rubbing his eyes, Bakugo stood up and walked to the bathroom, unaware of his new eyebrow situation.

As he caught his reflection in the mirror, his eyes immediately zeroed in on the small gap in his brow.

“What the fuck?” He scowled, reaching up to touch it, his fingers feeling the hairless slit. His irritation flared instantly. “Who the hell touched my face? Denki!!”

The others could hear Bakugo’s angry yells from across the apartment, and they all exchanged looks.

Denki tried to make himself as small as possible, but it was clear there was no escaping this one.

“I swear to god, Denki, I’m going to—”

“I didn’t mean it!” Denki sputtered, but Bakugo was too angry to care.

The fire in his eyes was palpable, and the others knew they’d be lucky if Bakugo didn’t blow the whole place up in his rage.

The argument continued for a while, with Bakugo pacing around and ranting about the “damn idiots” he had to deal with.

Finally, after a tense few minutes, Bakugo decided he was done with the ordeal.

“Whatever,” he muttered, storming off to his bedroom to cool down, refusing to even look at Denki.

After some time, Bakugo lay back down on the couch, his hand subconsciously resting over his eyebrow, attempting to hide the slit.

He closed his eyes, trying to push the incident from his mind, but it was a little hard to forget.

---

Later that evening, Bakugo finally went home to his girlfriend’s place.

He’d tried to forget about the eyebrow incident, but it still lingered in the back of his mind.

As he stepped into the apartment, the familiar scent of dinner cooking wafted through the air.

He could hear the faint sound of sizzling from the kitchen, and it was a welcome comfort.

“Hey, hun,” You called from the kitchen, smiling brightly as you saw him come in. “How was the hangout?”

“Same old,” Bakugo mumbled, but as he walked further into the room, he instinctively raised his hand to cover his face, trying to hide the slit.

You noticed, of course. Your eyes narrowed in playful curiosity. “What’s with the hand, huh?"

Bakugo stiffened, his face turning a bit red. “Its nothing, dont worry about it.”

You raised an eyebrow, walking over to him, and gently moved his hand away from his face. And that’s when you saw it.

“What the…?” You blinked, your eyes widening slightly as you saw the eyebrow slit. “Bakugo, you’ve got a new look going on, huh?”

He groaned, clearly embarrassed. “Don’t even start with me. It’s stupid—Denki messed with my brows while I was sleeping, and now look at it! I swear, I’m never getting near him again.”

You couldn’t help the small, amused smile that tugged at your lips. “Hm..."

Bakugo raised a brow at your small curious hum as you placed a finger on your chin. "What?"

"It actually doesn't look half bad." You spoke, making your hand on your hip.

Bakugo furrowed his brow, clearly confused. “The hell do you mean?! It’s messed up! It looks like I’m some kind of idiot.”

You gently placed a hand on his chest, looking up at him with a teasing grin.

“No, really. I think it suits you. It makes you look… edgy.” You winked, clearly enjoying the reaction you were getting from him.

Bakugo blinked, his eyes wide for a moment before he growled, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Tch, whatever. It’s not like I asked for it.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, your smile softening as you pulled away. “I think it looks great. Honestly, it’s kind of... sexy. Just gives you this rugged vibe.” You teased.

For a moment, Bakugo stood there, unsure of how to respond. He hadn’t expected that reaction—he thought you'd laugh or scold him for looking “weird.”

But as the truth of your words sank in, a small, amused smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah? Well, don’t get used to it. This shit’s never happening again.”

You chuckled softly, running your fingers through his hair. “I like it, though. You should keep it."

Bakugo grumbled under his breath but couldn’t help the way his heart warmed at the compliment. Maybe this eyebrow slit wasn’t so bad after all.

The eyebrow slit:

FANFIC RECOMMENDATION ᡣ𐭩

Adult Bakugo x Female Reader Fanfic

[deantfwinchester]

Gingerly

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader, same timeline

This one is set not long before the events of "A New Chapter" - before Reader & Sarah pick out Halloween costumes :)

Summary: Early mornings in the first trimester present a new set of challenges for the growing Miller family. Joel does his best to find remedies for their dilemma.

Warnings: pregnancy, so many euphemisms for vomit, so beware

A/N: this one isn't very long. it's lowkey a prequel to the one I'm posting next. Very similar stories at two different points in their lives. <3

Word Count: 1.8k.

____________________________________________________________

You’re spending longer than usual this morning hugging the porcelain. It didn’t take long after discovering your pregnancy for the morning sickness to kick in, and it’s a killer. This is happening more often than you’d like, but at least it’s over pretty quickly most days — just a little eviction of last night’s dinner to make room for breakfast, apparently. Isn’t this kid supposed to make you hungrier? What’s their deal?

Today’s a little different, and you’re left retching long enough to impact your punctuality to work. Gotta send a text to some coworkers to get your class covered. You hate it, but it’s not exactly a willpower game at this point — this kid wants all of yesterday’s food GONE, but your stomach is putting up a fight. Unfortunately, you’re the one losing.

Joel’s wandering anxiously in and out of the bathroom, worrying like hell. He’s going back and forth between sitting with you and rubbing your back —he’d pulled your hair up for you after the first evacuation — and checking on Sarah, making sure she gets ready for school. He’d hovered for a while until the two of you heard Sarah come downstairs, and you insisted he go get her some breakfast, just please don’t tell you what it is. He’s in and out as Sarah eats, and she pops in to check on you and tell you she made him sit down for a minute and eat something too. You shoot her the most grateful smile you can muster on the green-around-the-gills visage you’re sporting at the moment. He’s got a full day ahead as well, and you’d been worrying right back… from your position on the bathroom tile, at least. 

When they’ve both finished breakfast, Joel returns to your side, waiting until the last possible second to leave before Sarah’s late for school. You assure him it’s not a big deal, you’ll be okay in a little while. He knows this, and that it’s normal, but it breaks his heart to leave you there on the floor.

“How ‘bout I drop Sarah off and come right back? Tommy can get everybody started at the site, and I’ll just stay long enough to get you to work,” he questions, placing the back of his hand to your cheek to check your temperature again “just to make sure that’s all it is!” before sighing and tucking some loose hair behind your ear. You shake your head slowly, trying to minimize the nausea. 

“There’s not really anything for you to do, sweetie. As much as having you here with me afterward makes me feel better, we can’t both be late to work every day for the next month. Maybe longer than that. I’ll probably be fine by the time you get back anyway. Just be a wasted trip.” You huff at the end, hoping the nausea is reaching its end for this morning and you can get up and get ready to leave.

Joel looks at you with a pained expression and cringes at the word month. Just seeing you dealing with this the last few weeks has been agonizing for him — he doesn’t even want to imagine how it feels. 

“No such thing as a wasted trip when it comes to you, darlin’. ‘S my job, you know that,” he responds, with a sympathetic smile, and continues before you can rebut. “But alright, I’m goin’. Promise you’ll text me if you’re feelin’ any worse?,” he lifts a pinky to you, and you hook yours right back, turning your cheek when he tries to kiss your lips. You chuckle at his disappointment when his own lips meet your cheek.

“Gross, you do not wanna kiss me right now,” you laugh through. He begs to differ but understands your reluctance. He tells you to hang tight for just a minute before he finally leaves, and returns with an armful of supplies. Next to you on the floor are a water bottle, some plain crackers, some tylenol, and something with bubbles to settle your stomach. 

He asks you to “please try and eat a little somethin’ before you leave, baby”, to which you nod and assure him you’ll do your best, trying to get him satisfied as possible and light a fire under him before Sarah’s late for school. He bends down, kisses the top of your head, squeezes your shoulder, and heads out the door to meet Sarah in his truck. 

______________________________________________________________

Joel's texting to check on you around the time you get off the floor. You’re nibbling the crackers he left and trying small sips of water like he asked — which he’s reminded you of again — but you’re struggling with it.  He calls you as you’re packing your things to leave. 

“Hey sweetheart, how you feelin’? Get any of those crackers down for me?” he inquires.

“I’m fine, just about to leave. I ate a couple of them, and I’ll bring them with me,” you respond, trying and failing to keep the exhaustion from your voice. He pauses for a moment.

“Level with me, baby. You don’t sound up for it, you sure we don’t need to talk to the doctor? I can come home, we can go today, I’ll just—” but you cut him off before he can spiral any further.

“Joel. You’re sweet, and I know you’re worried, but it’s not any worse than normal. It’s just sticking around longer today. Yes, I’m still a little,,, blech,,, but it’ll be gone in a bit. I’ll make some tea before I leave, that’ll help,” you affirm. He lets out a sigh that tells you he’s not convinced, but resigned to the fact you’re going to work regardless. Soon enough, he arrives at the site and asks you to keep him updated, which you promise and wish him a good day and an “i love you” to get you both through the day. 

______________________________________________________________

You get to work right before the switch to 2nd period, still not feeling great, but stable enough to drive there safely and get your kids started on something to keep them busy. Today’s a good day for a documentary, a worksheet, and a dark classroom. The kids will thank you for it anyway, but somehow still need something every three minutes. That’s at least one thing that won’t be unfamiliar when the baby arrives — even though you have high schoolers. 

You shoot Joel a text, letting him know you got to work okay, and that you’ve chosen something to help you take it (slightly) easy today. You hope this message will ease his mind so he can get back to work as well.

Joel responds with a brief message in the affirmative, but he’s still worried sick. He’s seen you deal with this each day for the last couple of weeks, but this morning your voice was shaking and your face was ashen. What if this isn’t just today? What if it’s getting worse? He's afraid you’ll end up dehydrated or won’t bother to eat enough at work. You struggle with remembering lunch on days you feel good, he knows you won’t even bother today, and it’s eating at him while he works. 

He decides to surprise you at lunch time with something filling that won’t upset your stomach, and that’ll entice you to eat. He wants to make sure you’re fed today, and that there are some more options at the ready — for your sake and his own. He does a little research and stops by the grocery store to grab an array of plain foods and a bunch of liquids. By the time he leaves there are multiple types of crackers in tow, applesauce packets, a few bone broths, some of your favorite juices and teas, a bag of ginger candies plus a jar of ginger gummy vitamins, and more. He’s no technology wiz, but the man can google up a storm when the need arises. 

He rolls up to your classroom’s back door when he knows it’s time for lunch and texts you, grabbing his things and stepping out of the truck to meet you. You walk out to find him with a big bottle of cold gatorade and a takeout bag hanging from his fingers. You muse that the pretty big gatorade bottle looks normal-sized in Joel's large, gentle hands. You don’t even take anything from his grasp before you lean forward into his chest and wrap your arms around his waist. He smiles, and wordlessly puts his chin atop your head before wrapping his free arm around you, rubbing lightly up and down your back.

Neither of you has to say a word for him to tell you’re still not feeling 100%, and he’s whispering sweet things while you stand there in his embrace. You hide your face in his chest trying to quell your tears before they start. You know him well enough that this gesture doesn’t exactly surprise you, but he’s so thoughtful that his kindness moves you every damn time. It’s not something you ever felt before Joel, but he’ll never stop trying to get you accustomed, and you know that.

You look up at Joel like he hung the moon, memorizing every warm shade in his bright eyes, hoping your own reflect the appreciation and admiration dancing in your chest. He holds you tight and sits you in the passenger seat of the truck before pulling out the takeout boxes and cracking open your gatorade. The cool, lightly-flavored liquid soothes you in a way water hasn’t quite accomplished today — doesn’t even matter that neither of you knows what “Glacier Freeze” means, it’s effective. 

You lean against his shoulder while you both eat lunch, talking to each other and the baby. Joel laughs and praises you for putting on a movie for your kids before recounting the events of his morning. He shares everything he learned from his research, and even more he heard at the grocery store from a couple of older women who saw him contemplating the ginger options by the prenatal vitamins. You imagine him staring intently at bottles in the pregnancy aisle of the Health & Beauty section and laugh, thinking of how his concentration and concern would’ve made the old ladies he spoke to melt. You’re surprised he didn’t get a cheek pinched at this rate. 

You sit together until the school bell breaks your reverie and you have to kiss him goodbye. He hands you an already prepped ziploc baggie of even more shelf-stable snacks he bought to keep in your desk to settle your stomach as needed. You grin at him again, shaking your head.

“Joel, this is too much trouble. I can’t believe you did all of this just this morning!” you exclaim, before he scoffs and responds. 

“I told you — no such thing as a wasted trip for you, baby.”

[nanamineedstherapy]

Controversial Opinion: The Anti-Sugar Baby Manifesto

Okay, so... does anyone else not want to be Nanami’s sugar baby, Gojo’s dependent, Sukuna’s servant, or insert your favorite emotionally unavailable man’s sidekick?

I’ve read (and loved!) plenty of fics where the reader is in one of these roles. And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying them—power to you if that’s your vibe! But if we’re talking canon or even slightly realistic scenarios… yeah, I just can’t.

Before you start throwing tomatoes 🍅, hear me out. I promise this isn’t a hate post—just my thots.

Alright, buckle up because I’m about to destroy your sugar baby and servant fantasies with my unsolicited, unhinged takes.

Nanami Kento:

You wanna be Ken Doll’s sugar baby? Cute, but be serious. This man is one passive-aggressive comment away from throwing himself into traffic because he hates capitalism that much. He chose exorcisms and certain death over Excel sheets. Excel sheets, babe. If you think he’s gonna work overtime to buy you Versace, you’re delusional.

If I were with him, I’d work harder at my job (I hate corporate too, but not more than I love Nanami) and funnel my salary straight to him. He’d handle it responsibly because I’d just blow it on expensive pens, another PC, and iced tea. But also? I’d keep an emergency fund. Trust no one. Not even your man.

Let’s not forget the workplace romance trope. This man is the epitome of professionalism. He’d never date his coworker, let alone his secretary. Not because you’re not amazing, but because the power imbalance would haunt him. Like, he’d wake up in a cold sweat thinking about HR policies. And I respect that about him bcs same.

Also, please don’t get involved with someone who promises love and then runs to HR if his job’s on the line. (Not Nanami but in general advice.)

The stats don’t lie, and I’m not about to become the next cautionary tale in a LinkedIn post.

Gojo Satoru:

You wanna date Gojo? Cute. Except he wouldn’t date you, let alone spoil you. He wouldn’t date anyone. He’s emotionally constipated, a walking trauma fest, hyperfocused on being the strongest sorcerer alive™️, and allergic to vulnerability.

Most fics turn him into this suave flirt, but let’s be real—canon Gojo struggles with human interaction beyond being a troll. He’s a nerdy dork, so his game is shit even if he wanted to date you.

Y’all write him as this rich sugar daddy, but in reality? He’d spend your entire relationship trolling you, gaslighting you into thinking he’s a “normal guy,” and then disappearing for weeks because he’s busy babysitting teenagers and battling his inner demons.

Also, sugar babies love his money, but be honest—you don’t even like him; you like his black card. Gojo deserves better than being your walking ATM, and you deserve better than a man who’d eat your last snack just because he can.

Gifts are cute, but if he’s doing all the work while I’m chilling? That’s just freeloading.

I'm yet to come across a fic where he takes the time to realize he even wants a relationship, instead of being a pre-established fuckboy who suddenly changes because he found the 'right person.' Let’s be real, that’s not how it works. We shouldn’t glorify men for changing after finding the right person or excuse their past behavior, including any STDs they may have/had.

(Note to self: In future fics, explore his struggle to admit he wants a relationship and the challenges he faces in figuring out how to be in one.)

Haibara Yu:

So, you’re thinking about dating Haibara? Buckle up, ‘cause you’re signing up for a rollercoaster ride where the tracks are constantly under construction. Haibara’s got the energy of someone who just found out about sarcasm, but also the emotional depth of a puddle.

This guy’s all fun and games until you realize he’s like a cat that wants attention, but only on his terms. He’ll say the most unbothered things with that sunshine stare of his, but don’t be fooled. That’s his way of hiding his entire emotional baggage.

One minute, he’s sarcastic and aloof, and the next, he’s unexpectedly clingy, wanting to know if you still like him (even though he’d never admit it). You’ll spend half your time wondering if he actually likes you or if he’s just in a perpetual state of "I’m too cool for this."

Does he care? Absolutly. Expect texts like "I'm fine" followed by a cryptic emoji and zero context.

Dates? Don’t hold your breath. He's too busy trying to be taken seriously.

He’s not a millionaire either. Don’t expect a big grand gesture. His idea of spoiling you? Buying you a drink from the convenience store, giving you stale candy and maybe, just maybe, sending you a playlist of sad songs that “remind him of you.” Yeah, romantic, I know.

He’s not gonna spoil you with gifts, but he’ll share his last pack of gum like it’s the greatest act of love ever. Don’t expect consistency, just an occasional burst of affection sandwiched between long silences and sarcastic banter.

Would he be loyal? Absolutely. Would he constantly second-guess himself and need reassurance that you're not going to leave him because he doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings? Definitely.

Prepare to give him more emotional support than you ever signed up for. Would he adore you? Yes, but he’ll probably think it’s too much work to actually show it. But hey, if you’re into emotional chaos and not knowing where you stand, Haibara’s your guy.

You probably only like him because you know nothing about him.

Ryomen Sukuna:

The “servant/concubine” trope is insane. INSANE. You think Sukuna, the literal King of Curses, is gonna treat you like anything more than a chew toy? The power imbalance isn’t sexy—it’s electric chair. You’d either die mid-hookup (his hands alone could snap you in half) or be tossed into a volcano because you sneezed too loudly.

Be fr—he’d accidentally (or on purpose) kill anyone he sleeps with. The man’s a giant sadist, naturally rough, and has zero chill.

Romance? Nonexistent. Sukuna’s idea of flirting is probably something like, “You’re less annoying than most humans. Barely.” That’s not romantic; that’s verbal abuse with extra steps.

Toji Fushiguro:

This one hurts because Toji’s hot but this man has no money. None. Zero. If you want to date him, you better be ready to cover rent, groceries, and his “post-mission beer fund" because his entire paycheck goes toward sharpening his sword, buying protein powder, and gambling.

Let’s not forget he has a dead wife, and he went off the deep end after her death. Even if you could somehow 'fix' him like the unlicensed therapist you are because you have nothing better to do, he’s a vengeful widower who would leave you randomly for missions—and might not return because he’s driven by the insecurity of proving the Zenins wrong, which would get him killed.

Plus, he’d bring up his dead wife in every argument, saying things like, “She wasn’t this nagging; she didn’t do this or that.” People tend to glorify the dead, and he’d be the prime example of that. How could you compete with the memories of someone his mind has declared perfect?

He’s everyone's wet dream, sure, but do you really wanna date a guy who’d ghost you and leave you with his kid?

And don’t even get me started on his love language. It’s probably, “I killed a guy for you.” That’s cute until the cops show up at your door asking questions.

He might toss you a bone (not like that, calm down), but the idea of me paying for someone who might not even text me back? Pass.

Kamo Choso:

Sweetest man alive. Too pure for this world. But dating him would be like adopting a sad, traumatized puppy who cries every time you leave the room. You’d spend your entire relationship comforting him and Googling “how to help my boyfriend stop mourning his 17 dead brothers.”

He’s too busy laser-focusing on Yuji and going through an identity crisis to even think about being in a relationship. I’d want to protect him, not date him.

Also, his skincare routine is probably better than yours, which is cute until you realize you’ll never be the pretty one in the relationship.

Geto Suguru:

Ah, Babygurl Suguwu. Love him to death (pun intended), but dating him sounds like lifelong therapy.

Do you really wanna date a guy who’s juggling a cult, unresolved trauma, and genocidal tendencies?

His love language is probably “eliminating humanity,” and unless you’re down to join his pyramid scheme of sorcerer supremacy, this is not gonna work.

Also, you will forever be second place to the Gojo-fucking-Satoru.

Be serious. You will never win that chase. He'll leave you mid-sex to go see his 'one & only' babe.

Kashimo Hajime:

Kashimo would date you for the sole purpose of fighting you. He doesn’t want love; he wants violence—he’s looking for someone who can throw hands.

Imagine coming home after a 10-hour shift at work, exhausted, and this man’s standing in your living room like, “I’ve been waiting to test my new technique on you.” No, sir, I want a nap.

And don’t think you can just say no. He’d follow you to the grocery store, the dentist, your grandma’s funeral, like, “We fight now!”

Hiromi Higuruma:

Now, this man’s tempting. Responsible, classy, knows how to argue (a lawyer, duh), but... he’s also on the verge of a midlife crisis.

Do you really wanna date someone who’s one bad day away from snapping? You’d spend most of your time convincing him he’s not a terrible person, and honestly, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for that. Therapy is expensive, and I already have PTSD from my ex.

Also, he’d probably start arguments just to win them. You think you’re ready for that kind of intellectual warfare 24*7?

Shiu Kong:

Do you like mafia drama? Because that’s what you’re signing up for. Mafia life isn’t sexy—it’s stressful.

You’d be dodging bullets, interrogating his “coworkers” about his whereabouts, and wondering if he’s about to betray you for a promotion.

Also, he's an asshole who's going to disappear after he's done with you; go see the scene before Toji died. Hard pass.

Kusakabe Atsuya:

This man is the king of doing the bare minimum. His love language is probably “napping,” and while that’s cute in theory, it’s less cute when he cancels date night because he “forgot” he had to sleep.

Honestly, he’d be a great friend, but as a partner? You’d be babysitting him.

Takuma Ino:

You wanna date Ino? Adorable. But let’s be real, you’re signing up for 24/7 unpaid emotional labor. Ino’s a golden retriever boy who desperately wants validation, and you’d basically be his therapist, hype woman, and emotional punching bag all rolled into one.

He’d shower you with attention (cute, right?) until you realize he’s also incredibly insecure and needs constant reassurance that he’s “doing a good job.” You’d be his number one fan and his HR department.

He’s not rich either. Like, at all. His idea of spoiling you would be buying you snacks from the konbini and taking you to the movies with coupons. Don’t expect luxury here—expect a man who puts in effort but forgets anniversaries because he was too busy stressing about being a sorcerer who no one takes seriously.

Would he adore you? Yes. Would you want to be adored by someone who still Googles “how to ask her out” while you’re already dating? I’ll let you decide.

Final Thots-

At the end of the day, I’d rather have my own independence than rely on someone else to “take care of me.”

I want a partner—not a sugar daddy, not a servant-master dynamic, not a walking red flag, and definitely not a paycheck.

I'd rather have a househusband who's retired and relaxed than an overworked sugar daddy—or worse, a dead one. Is that too much to ask?

Anyway, this is just my opinion!

If you love those tropes—go off; that’s totally valid. I’m not yucking anyone’s yum. We all have our preferences, and that’s what makes fandom fun.

No hate, just vibes.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk. I’ll see myself out. 👋

If you still wanna fight, my comments are open, although I will reply like the guy you are fighting for.

[neovillains]

FINDING EQUILIBRIUM · GOJO SATORU

( EPISODE 4 : PURRFECT TIMING ) things have seemed to be going smoothly. gojo manages to reconcile with his friends, even introducing you to them. however, just as things seem to get better, things turn downhill once again. | watch time: 3.2k words.

── chat noir!gojo satoru & student!reader, angst & fluff, friendship reconciliation, confessions & heart ache, featuring geto suguru & shoko ieiri, etc.

note. y'all not ready for the end of season one tbh.

Just as told, Professor Mei Mei had assigned the class a project. It seemed to be easy enough— create a presentation revolving around the different cultural practices that might interfere with different businesses around the world. The professor uploaded the class’s partners online through a QR code, but Gojo was already on his way towards you when the professor instructed all the students to meet with each other before the class ended. Your typical class partner stood up, groaning that she had to leave you while Gojo took her spot. Sliding into the chair, he has a happy smile on his face when he lets out a dragged out groan. “Oh, how I’m happy that you’re my partner.”

“Why?” you chuckle. “So you can throw me all the work?”

Gojo scoffs, pulling out his laptop from his bag and plopping it down with a metallic thud. “Why do you keep making up these lies? I’m not going to leave you hanging.”

For the rest of the twenty minutes in class, you had set up the powerpoint while Gojo researched journal articles to use for the assignment. Simultaneously, the two of you chatted about everything but the project, finding humor in anything and everything as by the end of the class period. By the time the two of you were walking out of class when she dismissed everyone, Professor Mei Mei had her eyes on the both of you. “I hope the two of you actually got some work done with all that talking.”

And in unison, you and Gojo both responded, “We did!”

The two of you both agreed on times that you could meet up and do the assignment. On a handful of days, it was either in your apartment or his. But on various occasions, the two of you decided to meet in the library or at a cafe on campus. There were a handful of times where Gojo had texted you that he was going to be late, but he always assured you that he would be there and that you would not have to do his part. He upheld himself on that promise, always rushing in late and plopping his stuff down. He’d be a panting thing, always looking like a mess, and thus leading you to never question his whereabouts. 

Plus, you were impressed by his work and ideas, not having to reformat and reword things like you would typically need to when you worked on partnered assignments. Gojo constantly reassured that you were in good hands for this assignment and that he wouldn’t let you down, and he held true to that word. 

Today, the two of you were doing the finishing touches on the assignment. You were fixing things up style-wise, centering the titles and assigning designated fonts for everything. You made sure that everything was appeasing to the eye, while he worried about correct citations and fixed up any misspellings and grammar. The two of you were perched at a table in the library, iced coffees sitting on each other’s rights. You reach for your cup, taking a sip of your vanilla iced coffee and typing with your next hand. Gojo was hunched over, squinting at the screen as his mouth opened up a mere centimeter. 

“I think…” he breathes. “I am… done!”

He shuts the screen, the assignment autosaving as he throws himself back in the seat. He stretches his arms, hearing the cracks in his muscles as he stretches. With a huge yawn, he squeezes his eyes shut while you’re still at it. Watching you silently, he chuckles with a shake of his head. “You’re doing too much work.”

“No, I’m not,” you simply retort. “I’m just making sure that everything is presentable.”

“I’m pretty sure it already is,” he sighs. You shake your head, eyes starting to burn but you refuse to wipe them. “No, I still have to do the transitions and animations for the text and pictures.”

“There you go,” he chuckles. “Proving my point.”

“Didn’t you say you were glad to work with such a scholar like me?”

“Yeah,” Gojo says. “But I’m starting to regret it.”

With a sarcastic laugh, you finally shut your laptop screen. “I’ll finish the rest of it later. I’m pooped out.”

The two of you are about to leave, agreeing to go out and get lunch together before heading your separate ways. Walking together out the door, you can’t help but think about how the more you spend time with Gojo, the more your heart flutters. You enjoy getting to know the man, his interests and what he doesn’t like. He’s very easy to talk to, which you aren’t always used to, having to take some time to open up. Today, he wore a sweater that was twice his size and a pair of charcoal gray sweatpants and it was so simple, yet it sparked up a heat inside of you that made you feel embarrassed. 

You feel so abashed, wondering if it’s normal to be experiencing such high school level emotions as someone in their early twenties. Your breathing grows heavy as he draws closer to you, nudging your shoulder as he teases you about something. The both of you had agreed on getting Chinese down in the food court, about the head down when he all of a sudden stopped. He spots two familiar faces. His heart pangs when he sees Geto and Shoko sitting at a table on the other side of the library. His step falters as you walk ahead. When you look back, he says, “Wait up for me? I wanna speak to a few… friends of mine.”

You follow his gaze, ultimately nodding as you walk ahead. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

Gojo doesn’t get it. As Chat Noir, it’s so easy to confront his enemies. To put on a brave face and go against them in a battle of two-on-one. Is it the extra hand that makes it easier? Is it the fact that he’s not alone? He fiddles with his fingers, picking at the dirt inside of his fingernails before inhaling deeply. 

One foot in front of the other, he walks over to their table, his shadow alerting them of his presence. They sit rigid in their seats, looking up at the taller individual as no one says anything for a while. Shoko has to be the one to break the stifling silence between the three of them as Geto turns his gaze away from Gojo. “Do you need something?”

“Can I sit right here for a quick minute?” Shoko looks over at Geto, but Geto’s gaze is still on his laptop, typing away furiously in order to keep his attention off of Gojo. Shoko lets out a sigh, having told Geto that he needed to speak to Gojo in order to get things resolved. However, the boy seemed to be more stubborn than an ass. She motions to the chair, giving Gojo the go ahead with a slight eye roll. “Go ahead.”

When Gojo grabs the chair, he spins it around, leaning against the back of it. His breath trembles as he averts his gaze down to the table instead of directly at them. “I want to apologize—”

Geto scoffs, cutting off Gojo before he can continue. Gojo inwardly curses his best friend for not making this any easier on him, but an apology isn’t supposed to be that— easy. With a deep inhale, Gojo continues, finally looking up to see that both of their eyes are on him. Geto gestures for him to continue with the roll of his hand. “Go on.”

“I want to apologize for the last time we saw each other,” Gojo fiddled with his fingers underneath the table, cracking each and every knuckle until he couldn’t crack anymore. “I—” He had practiced this in his head a thousand times, rehearsing as he knew exactly what to say. He had made plenty of plans and wasted initiatives to meet with them when he could, but always bailed at the very last moment. Now, everything that he mentally prepared himself was gone and out the window of his mind. “—I was lying… I do have something to hide.”

“Oh?” Geto didn’t expect this much from him. An apology, yes, but was he really going to reveal the very thing he was suspecting him to be? Gojo nods, losing some tension in his shoulders. 

“I can’t tell you what though,” Gojo grows more confident, looking the two of them in the eye. “I just… can’t. And I really wish I could. The moment I found out, I wanted to, but—” If he continued on elaborating, Gojo knew they could possibly guess what or badger him to know in more further detail, so he restrained himself. “—I just can’t tell you guys what.”

Finally, he raises his hands to the table, his entire body relaxing. “I’m sorry for constantly ditching you both. I’ll try to be a better friend from now on.”

Shoko looked happy, seemingly approving of his apology. However, Geto was the one he worried for the most. He knew how well his friend could hold a grudge. Both Gojo and Shoko stared at the long-haired man, waiting for his approval. With a deep sigh, Geto dropped his shoulders. “That’s all you could have said from the jump. We would’ve understood.”

“I know,” Gojo elongates his groan. “But I panicked and instead, made everything worse.”

“That you did,” Shoko agrees with a point. 

“Can I treat you guys for dinner as an apology?” Gojo beams, a smile gracing his features. 

“What?” Geto quips. “No lunch?”

“Nah,” Gojo says, standing up. “I actually have to go meet someone for lunch.”

Geto and Shoko give each other a curious glance before raising their eyebrow at Gojo. They saw the person he was with earlier, both questioning to themselves who that possibly could have been. Shoko asks, “Is it that girl you were studying with?”

His eyes widened, not knowing that they had seen them together. He nods. “Yeah, we were working on an assignment together.”

“Mm,” Shoko hums. With the look on his face, Shoko can tell that there’s possibly more than them just simply sharing a class together. Geto and her have both seen the two of them walking alongside each other a couple of times. The way they talked— the way they looked at each other seemed to be something more to it. “Well, I wouldn't want to keep her waiting much longer.”

“Yeah,” Gojo agreed, looking over at Geto. Relief flooded him seeing that his best friends were finally talking to him, and happy with himself for finally doing the hard part. “I’ll see you guys later?”

“Yeah,” Geto agreed, before giving him a pointed look. “That’s if you’re available.”

“I’ll let you both know what’s up,” he grins from ear-to-ear. 

Equilibrium— Gojo remembers learning that word in high school. It’s when two opposing forces or influences are balanced. It was universal amongst the majority of topics and discussions that the word can be applied. However, in that class, he was working on different chemical reactions and how he could bring them to an equal state. He liked the word— different from equivalent or equilateral. The word just had a nice sound to it. But now, he felt like he could apply it to his regular life and how it fit to the occasion. He was trying to find a balance between college, his social life, and being a hero. Never seeming to be able to find enough time to juggle all three. 

However, now, he feels like he’s one step closer. Catching up to you in the courtyard, he jogs in your direction. Hands open like a cat ready to pounce, his palms capture your shoulder as he shouts, “Boo!”

You jump with a high-pitched squeal, turning to see the devil-eyed culprit. You groan, eyebrows frowning as you slapped at his chest. “You asshole!”

“Yeah, yeah, you love me,” Gojo laughs, throwing a hand over your shoulder. He walks at your height, hunched over as his feet clunk on the floor. A shiver runs down your spine at the heat of his body against yours. Your body tenses up and you’re hoping he doesn’t notice. 

“I really don’t,” you grumble, despite the heat rising to your face. 

“Ready for lunch?” His face turned towards you, so close. 

“Mhm,” you nod. “You’re paying.”

You maneuver yourself from his hold, going ahead of him. He chuckles, standing tall as he strolls after you. You didn’t need to run. He was going to pay either way. 

Yeah, Gojo nods. He’s finding equilibrium.

—

At some point, you and Gojo become a regular thing. He doesn’t ask what you’re doing and if you have the time for something, he just messages you that he’d like to do something and tell you to join him, and you’d just agree. Or, he’d ambush you on your way out of classes to seek out your comfort in the library or the campus cafe right next to it. He becomes such a natural occurrence in your life that you don’t even question it, not that you ever did. 

Tonight, he’s invited you out with his friends. The ones you saw in the library— Shoko and Geto, if you’re remembering them correctly. You feel so tense in their presence, watching how fluidly they interact with each other. Shoko’s sitting to your left, elbows on the table as she leans over, silently listening to the two goofballs. She’s glancing at you occasionally, wondering if you’re usually this quiet. You don’t seem that way when you’re with Gojo.

“You alright?” She directs her attention to you. “Or, are you tired of us already?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m good.”

“So,” Shoko begins. “You’re a business major, too, huh? You’re not as obnoxious as the rest of them are. How do you deal with it?”

You snort at her comment, eyes lighting up as you shift towards her. “I disassociate and shut them out from the rest of the world.”

“That’s what you must be doing with Satoru, then. Ignoring his annoying ass.”

“Oh, definitely,” you giggle. Gojo squints his eyes, looking from Shoko to you. He’s enjoying the fact that you’re getting along with her, watching how you’ve come to relax in her presence. You start to laugh before glancing over at him and immediately reverting your attention back to Shoko. Something itches inside of him to interject, no longer listening to Geto when he blurts, “Are you guys talking about me?”

And boldly you say, “Yes, and it’s all about how horrible of a friend you are.”

Gojo pouts, taking your statement seriously as he turns his attention to Shoko. “I thought we got past that. Haven’t you guys forgiven me?”

“Oh my gosh,” Shoko gasps. “She was joking, ‘Toru. Can’t you take those anymore?”

“Oh,” he juts his bottom lip out. The two girls give each other a look before laughing together. The rest of the night goes smoothly, integrating each other’s separate conversations into one. The four of you are loud in the small restaurant, having to be told on multiple occasions to silent down. When the sky gets too dark, you and Gojo say your farewells to Shoko and Geto. 

“It was nice meeting you guys in person,” you wave. “I’ve only heard your names when he was talking about you. It’s good to put names on the faces.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Geto smiles. “It’s good to see ‘Toru talk to someone outside of us.”

Gojo grimaces, groaning at Geto’s statement. “Yeah, whatever. We have classes tomorrow.

“That’s a fucking lie,” Geto snorts, but dismissing the two of you. “Whatever. Good night.”

You don’t remember the last time you’ve ever confessed to someone. In junior high, you believed? But each occasion that you’ve had a crush, you were always the one to cave into your emotions and confess. It’s the same way you're feeling right now, feeling the way your emotions are starting to bubble on your chest, slowly starting to kill you. 

Right now, Gojo’s right next to you as you’re unlocking the door to your apartment, making sure that you get inside safely. You’re fumbling with your keys, but the urge to confess is starting to ruminate and boil over. You’ve gone through your keys for the fourth time before you just finally give up and spin around. “Gojo, can I ask you something?”

It comes out so abrupt that it catches him off guard, making him straighten his posture as he nods. “Yeah, you can ask me anything.”

“I—” Maybe you were getting way too ahead of yourself, reacting immediately to your impulses. “I…”

You take a deep breath, controlling your racing heart. “I don’t know if I’m getting way too ahead of myself, but… I don’t know. I could be reading all the signs wrong and I’ll feel like a complete idiot, and then I’ll feel like a complete idiot, but—”

Gojo’s eyes widen, taking in what you’re saying— through all your rambling and nonsensical words— he can deduce exactly what you’re trying to say. He should be elated because deep down, his heart was begging for the exact same thing. However, fear begins to seep in his heart in regards to your safety. Gojo could give you the love that you needed, but Chat Noir can’t. His two identities would only hold you back, and he wouldn’t be able to give you what you need. 

“—Would you like to go out sometime? As a date.”

You’re waiting so expectantly, pretty eyes that look up with him— a fine mixture of anticipation and nerves. You’ve got a horrible habit of biting your nails, chewing on them and feeling the crunch as you peel at them with your teeth. Your heart starts pounding, beating against your chest in strong attempts to escape. It’s too long of a wait and by the time he calls out your name, it’s a low whisper. His eyes drop and there’s something in his eyes that immediately makes you assume, no. “I— I’m sorry, but…”

Gosh, you cry. I feel so stupid. You shake your head, quick to dismiss it as he calls out name again, telling you to wait. However, you choose to ignore it. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you grab your keys, going to unlock the door. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

With that, you shut the door on Gojo. Tears streaming down your face in utter embarrassment as you curse yourself. But, you could only put the blame back on you. That’s what you get for being too hasty, you chastise yourself. You wipe away the tears as you blindly lead yourself to your bedroom, dropping your bag by the door and diving straight on the bed. 

Outside, Gojo still stands by the door. Cursing at himself for hurting you, he runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the knots. Just like that, that band of equilibrium breaks in two. Two unequal pieces as both solutions start bubbling over. I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. It's all that Gojo can repeat to himself. In the little opening of his bag, Plagg looks up at Gojo with his bright blue eyes. “Why’d you say no? Don’t you like her?”

“I do, I just—” Gojo sighs, giving up. “Just forget it. It’s just one other thing that I was bound to ruin.”

[jeonginslefthand]

Sing me to sleep 🛌 🎤

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader Genre: Angst (with a bit of a happy end) Summary: You have a nightmare and your boyfriend Jisung comforts you the only way he knows how.  Warnings: Depictions of a panic attack A/N: First fic of the year! Just a small drabble of an idea I had in the vault with a New Year’s element (wanted to post this on New Year’s Day but didn’t have enough time to write 😅). Also such a sucker for angst but I barely write it.   Stray kids masterlist

~~~

You wake up breathing heavily, eyes pacing around your bedroom, head spinning as tears fall clouding your eyes. You look toward a sleeping Jisung and touch his arm, hand shaking as you try to find comfort. This wakes Jisung, and he quickly notices you in distress, pulling you closer to him as he strokes your hair.

“Hey hey! What’s wrong baby?” Jisung asks in a soft voice.

“A-a nightmare… y-you were gone… left without saying anything… and nobody knew where you were a-and… people forgot about you a-and…” you say in between sobs and shaky breaths. 

Jisung seems to hold you tighter. “Baby it’s okay. It was just a bad dream. I’m still here right?”

“Y-yeah… b-but it felt so real…” 

“You’ve always had a crazy imagination. And I would never leave you without a good reason.”

You stay silent as Jisung tries to comfort you with his words. You calm down a little bit but tears still flow from your eyes and they don’t seem to stop. Jisung notices you cling to him tighter, like it’s the last time you’ll ever hold him.

“Hey! I know what’ll make you feel better.” Jisung exclaims.

“W-what?” 

Jisung releases your grip from him and walks across the room to grab his guitar. He lays back on the bed next to you, holding the guitar on his chest.

“How about I sing for you? Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep!” Jisung suggests. 

“I don’t know…” you respond. 

“Come on!! Give me a chance. I’ll play… the calmest song you’ve ever heard, okay?” 

“O-okay…” 

“Alright! This is something I was working on last week with Felix. I think you’ll like it!” 

Jisung starts strumming and singing a comforting song that would soon be added to the other unreleased songs he’s shown you. Something about the song speaks to you and you become more focused on his lyrics. You become completely entranced by the music. The softness of Jisung’s voice complementing the soft strokes of the guitar strings puts you back in your dream world. Jisung doesn’t notice that you’ve fallen asleep at first and keeps singing, hoping that his song will give you a better dream for you to wake up to. 

That wouldn’t be the last time Jisung sang your troubles away. Whenever you were stressed or on the verge of freaking out, you would ask Jisung to sing to you at night. Slowly, it became a regular occurrence to the point where you couldn’t sleep without hearing Jisung’s soft voice. 

But that was almost a year ago now.

Now, you find yourself at your friend’s New Year’s Eve party, watching the fireworks outside as the clock hits midnight. It finally hits you that this is your first New Year’s without him. But you try to focus on the bright lights of the fireworks.

BOOM!

You look around at the couples sharing New Year’s kisses. You wish Jisung were here to share that kiss one last time.

BOOM! 

Your mind races back to your big fight with Jisung. The one that would make your nightmare come true.

BOOM!

The back and forth yelling. It felt like you both were completely different people. Letting months of anger and resentment take over both of you. Realizing that the spark between you two was gone. 

BOOM!

He left. Quietly. But not without saying goodbye and kissing your cheek with an “I still love you baby.” Thinking you were fast asleep. But you heard it. You felt it. 

BOOM!

He kept that promise… he didn’t leave without saying goodbye… 

BOOM! 

You wish you never said any of those things to him. You wish you two never had that fight. You wished Jisung was here with you right now telling you everything was okay, that he’s been right next to you all along.

BOOM!

But you know this isn’t a dream. It’s real and he is gone.

You tell your friend you’re not feeling well and catch a taxi back to your apartment. You get to your room and lay in your bed, crying yourself to sleep. You thought you would be completely over Jisung, but part of you still loved him no matter how hard you denied it. 

You pull out your phone and start playing one of Jisung’s songs, hoping you’ll fall asleep to one of them. You’ve been casually keeping up with his recent solo music and wish you dared to tell him how proud you were. All the late nights writing and singing to you were worth it.

You doze off listening to Jisung’s solo album when you faintly hear a knock. You open the door and see who it could be so late at night. But you stood at the door in shock as you couldn’t believe what you saw.

“Before you ask, this isn’t a dream,” Jisung says, holding your favorite flowers and his guitar. “Couldn’t spend New Year’s without you. Let me sing you a song baby, just like old times!”

~~~

If you liked this leave a like, reblog, and/or comment! I appreciate it and thanks for reading!! General taglist is also open! Leave a comment if you'd like to be added

[winchesterwild78]

Unspoken Words pt 5

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, other characters

Warnings: fluff, illness, mild language

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This one is about a single mother with a nonverbal autistic daughter who loves Supernatural. The reader is going to a Supernatural Convention with her daughter and things unfold from there. The daughter character is near and dear to my heart. I have someone very close to me who is nonverbal, but he’s such an amazing kid. 

This chapter got a bit long, but it’s worth it. So much happens in this part. I think it’s one of my favorite parts so far. Enjoy. 

This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Jensen is single in this story. 

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

The next morning we woke up in each other’s arms to the sounds of giggles coming from the foot of the bed. We looked up and saw Lily sitting on the floor, playing with her stuffies. She must have woken up and came into my room, but because Jensen was there she didn’t crawl in the bed like she typically does. 

Jensen smiled at me and I at him, “Good morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep?” I snuggled closer in his arms, inhaling his scent and smiled, “Amazing.” “Good, me too.” He lifted my face and kissed my lips. 

Lily came around to my side of the bed and tugged on me. I turned towards her, Jensen’s arms still lazily lying around my waist. “Good morning, Lily. Are you hungry?” “Eat, please” I smiled, “Okay, baby. Let mommy get up and I’ll cook you something.”

I started to get out of the bed and Jensen pulled me back down. I fell back into him and laughed, “Jensen, I need to get up.” “Not yet, not until you give me a proper kiss.” 

I blushed, turned towards him and we kissed. All the unspoken love and the emotions from the past few days poured into the kiss. 

I climbed out of bed and walked into the kitchen. I started the coffee pot and grabbed the bacon and eggs from the fridge. I pulled the toaster out from under the counter and when I got back up Jensen was standing behind me. 

I jumped, “Jeez, Jensen. You scared the heck out of me. You’re like a stealthy mouse.” He laughed, “They do call me squirrel.” He winked and grabbed a coffee cup. “Need some help, baby?” 

“Sure, if you want to start the bacon. Lily likes it crispy, but not too crispy.” He nodded and started cooking. The two of us moved around the kitchen like a synchronized dance. It felt perfect. 

The first batch of bacon was done and Jensen asked how it was. I grabbed a piece to test it, “Hmmm, I don’t know Ackles. I might have found something you’re not good at.” I ate the bacon and laughed. 

He knew I was joking. He grabbed me around my waist, and spun me around. “Oh really? If it’s that bad I guess I need to kiss the taste out of your mouth.” “Yes please, it’s horrible” I exaggerated my words. 

He started kissing my lips and then down my neck. The sound of our laughter and me squealing filled the kitchen. Without thinking I wiggled around and faced him, breathless I kissed his lips, “I love you.” 

I froze. “Jensen I’m sorry. It just came out.” He cupped my face, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay with it. I promise. I love seeing you happy.”

I looked at him and nodded. I am in love with him, and want to say it all the time, but I also don’t want to make him uncomfortable. 

We continued cooking, and Jensen kept up the playful banter. It helped and made me feel better. I really didn’t want a repeat of last night. When he finished the bacon I sent him to relax in the living room. 

Lily had moved to playing on the floor. Jensen sat on the couch and scrolled on his phone. I grabbed my phone to send Sarah a text and let her know what’s going on with me. 

Me: Hey girl! I have updates! How are you?

Sarah: Hey! I have updates too, you go first. How’s my Lily girl? How’s Jensen?

Me: She’s doing great. He stayed last night. We had sex, it was amazing..Like REALLY amazing, then I almost screwed it up and told him I loved him. 

Sarah: Wait, you what?! You told him you loved him?! That's huge girl? Did he say it back? What did he say? Oh, and girl I NEED details. 😉

Me: He didn’t say it back. In fact he left afterwards, but he came back. He said he was scared, and I understand. We talked when he came back and now we are making breakfast. So, how’s things going with Steve?

Sarah: Steve is great. Perfect gentleman and our date went great. We ended up back at his place. 

Me: Did you two have sex?! 👀

Sarah: No, not yet, but that’s partly because we didn’t have protection. 😂

Me: Girl….I don’t want a niece or nephew right now. You better be safe.

Sarah: Always. Give my love to Lily. I gotta run. Steve and I are heading into a store. Love you, Y/N.

Me: I will. Have fun, and I love you too. 

“Lily, go wash up. Breakfast is ready.” I called from the kitchen. Jensen stood and stretched. Revealing the bottom of his torso and showing me the soft skin of his navel. I bit my lip thinking about last night. My body still tingled. 

We sat down to eat and I noticed Lily was devouring her bacon. “Lily, honey. Is the bacon that good?” I chuckled. All she said was, “mmm”. 

“Well, baby, Jensen cooked it today. He did good, didn’t he?” 

Lily stopped eating, looked at her plate and then up at Jensen. She climbed out of her chair and walked over to him. 

She stood by his chair and he moved back a bit. Lily walked up to him, placed her hand on his chest and looked at him. I looked at Jensen and he looked at me. I’d never seen her do this before, so I was confused about what she was doing. 

With her hand on his chest, she looked up at him and said, “Love Jensen.” I gasped and so did he. He scooped her up and held her tightly. Kissing the top of her head. Tears fell heavy and fast from my eyes.

“Wow, looks like both my girls love me. I am one lucky man.” His eyes flicked to mine and then down at Lily. She snuggled into his arms, “I love you too, Lily, and (he turned towards me) I love you too.” 

My breath hitched. Lily wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. She let him go and wiggled out of his arms, climbing back in her chair to finish eating. 

Jensen took the opportunity to walk over to me. He took my hands in his and pulled me up to him. “Jensen, you didn’t have to say it.” “I know, sweetheart. I wanted to, because I mean it. I love you and Lily so much. Being with you two is exactly where I’m supposed to be. I love you, Y/N. I’m still scared, but I know we are in this together.” 

A few tears slipped out and Jensen wiped them away with his thumb, “Don’t cry baby. Please. Hearing you say you love me last night and hearing that sweet girl say it made me realize just how precious and rare what we have is. I’m all in baby, for as long as you’ll have me. 

I leaned into his chest, “How does forever sound, Jens?” He chuckled, kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Perfect”. 

Jensen and I fell into a comfortable rhythm over the next few weeks. Lily talked some, but mostly around or to Jensen. 

I had just gotten home from work and Sarah was bringing Lily home later. I jumped in the shower and changed into something more comfortable. Steve and Jensen were coming over dinner and a movie night. Sarah and I were cooking and I was baking dessert. 

Sarah and Steve were spending more and more time together and I could tell she was completely smitten by Steve. I had already told him if he hurt her I would make sure he was never able to have children. Jensen roared when I told him that. Steve looked genuinely scared, Sarah was embarrassed. 

Dinner and the movie went great. Steve and Jensen chatted in the living room while Sarah and I went into the kitchen. Lily was in her favorite spot, on Jensen’s lap. 

“Y/N, Steve invited me back to his place tonight. I’m so nervous.” I smiled, “It’s going to be fine. Just make sure you do what you’re comfortable with, and don’t feel any pressure.” Steve said that too. It’s just been so long since I, well, you know. I don’t want to be bad at it and it ruins what Steve and I have.” “Sarah, I promise it won’t be bad. The first time with someone new is always awkward, but you two will figure it out.” We were hugging when Steve and Jensen walked in the room. “Wow, we let them out of our sight for one minute and we’re already been replaced.” Jensen said laughing. I playfully rolled my eyes, “Nobody can replace her.” I smirked and kissed his lips. 

Steve looked at Sarah, “Are you ready to head out?” He asked softly. She nodded and hugged me. When I pulled her close I whispered, “You’ve got this, and details later.” I squeezed her tight and let her go. 

After Steve and Sarah left Jensen and I snuggled on the couch. “She’s good for him, you know?” Jensen broke the silence. “I hope so. She’s like a sister to me. I can’t stand the thought of her being hurt.” 

Jensen turned me towards him, “Hey, baby. I promise. He was telling me tonight how much he really likes her. They were heading back to his place tonight. If I’m being honest I was surprised they hadn’t already had sex.” My eyes went wide, “What? Why?” Jensen chuckled, “Hey, relax. It’s not what you think. I just know how much Steve likes her.” 

“Well, she really likes him too. I hope tonight is great for both of them.” 

Jensen chuckled softly, “Well, maybe we should head to bed ourselves. I’ve got a couple ideas on how to make tonight great for both of us.” 

“Just a couple? You’re slipping Ackles.” He kissed me and pulled me to the bedroom. 

The next morning we woke up to Lily jumping on the bed. Jensen rolled over and moved so Lily could climb in between us. “Lily, baby. Mama needs more sleep. It’s too early.” “Mama, up.” 

I tried to pull the blanket over my head but she kept pulling it down. “Fine, I’m up.” Jensen chuckled and stretched. The three of us made our way out to the kitchen. 

Jensen made coffee while I fixed a bowl of cereal for Lily. I was about to ask Jensen what he wanted to eat, but he started coughing hard and I looked at him. “Are you okay?” I asked him. 

“Yeah, guess I have a little tickle in my throat.” He coughed again and my brow scrunched. 

I handed him a bottle of water and he nodded, drinking it. 

By the afternoon I could tell Jensen was feeling bad. 

“Jens, are you sure you’re okay? You look like you don’t feel good.” 

“Yeah. I am feeling a little bit bad. I’ll be fine.” 

“Jensen, I think you’re sick.” I took his temperature, much to his dismay and he had a fever. 

I grabbed him some medicine and some water. “You need to rest. Go to bed and I’ll be in there in a minute.” 

“Sweetheart, I should go home if I’m sick. Lily hasn’t been out of the hospital long. I don’t want to make her sick.” 

“You won’t. It’s my job to take care of you. I’d like to think I’m your girlfriend, even if we haven’t made it official.” 

Jensen smiled and cupped my face, “You’re definitely more than that, baby.” 

I smiled and kissed his forehead, “Good, now bed.” 

He smirked, “Yes ma’am.” Jensen crawled back in the bed and I went to check on Lily.

“Sweetie, Jensen isn’t feeling good so he’s in bed. We have to do our best to keep it down so he can rest.” 

Her eyes flicked up at me and filled with concern. She climbed off the couch and ran to my bedroom. 

“Lily, honey. Come back.” Before I could stop her she was standing in the bedroom. “Lily, come on. Let Jensen rest.” 

Tears filled her eyes. Jensen saw her and it broke his heart, “Hey baby girl. I’m okay. Just a little cold.” 

He held his arms out and pulled her in for a hug. She crawled on the bed and sat beside him. 

“Lily, come on.” I tried to get her to leave but she just snuggled down into the bed. 

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Jensen chuckled, “I can’t imagine where she got her stubborn streak from. She’s okay. I promise.” 

I sighed, “Fine Lily, but you have to let him sleep.” She giggled. “I knew you two were gonna be trouble together. She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger.” 

“Since the day we met, right Lily?” Jensen laughed wearily. 

I went back into the living room, grabbed her stuffies and other things. When I walked back into the room the two of them were watching Supernatural together. 

Lily kept looking at Dean on the tv and then back to Jensen. Her smile grew wide. 

“Of course you two are watching this.” I laughed as I handed Lily her things. 

“Do you need anything?” I asked as I placed my hand on Jensen’s forehead. 

“Maybe my other girl snuggled beside me too.” “As much as I’d love to, I need to clean the house and do some laundry. I’ll be back soon to check on you two. Holler if you need anything.” I placed a kiss on his forehead and left. 

A few hours later and 2 loads of laundry I snuck in to check on Jensen and Lily. I found them both asleep. Lily snuggled to Jensen and his arm draped over her. I couldn’t help but snap a picture. 

My heart was so full looking at them. I crept back to the living room and finished folding the laundry. 

Lily woke up and wiggled out from the bed and came into the room with me. 

“Hey baby. Did you have a good nap?” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bedroom, pointing at Jensen. 

I wasn’t sure what was wrong, but I stepped closer to him. Soft snores left his slightly parted lips. 

Lily took my hand and placed it on Jensen. He was soaked. I knew what she was telling me. 

I picked her up and took her out of the room. “He’s okay baby. He’s sweating because his fever is gone. I promise he’s okay.” 

Lily stayed in the living room with me while Jensen slept. A few hours later he was awake and feeling a bit better. I told him what Lily did and he smiled. 

“Look at that. My Lily girl made the fever go away. Thank you baby girl.” 

She smiled. When he started coughing again she looked worried. 

Lily left the room quickly. “Wonder where she’s going.” I said. 

She came back with her moose and squirrel and handed them to Jensen. He smiled. “For me to get better?” She nodded. “Love dada.” 

I gasped. “Did she just..” my voice trailed off. Jensen smiled, “yeah she did.” 

“Jensen, I’m sorry. I…uh…” I started to panic. Everything was happening so fast I was afraid it would scare him off. 

“Hey, Y/N. Take a deep breath. It’s okay.” I took a deep, shaky breath. 

“Besides, I kinda like the sound of that.” 

Over the next week Jensen got better. He’d split his time between my house and his. We’d talked about Lily and I spending nights at his house so today the three of us were heading to pick out some things for Lily’s room at Jensen’s. He wanted her to be comfortable and was willing to get her whatever she wanted for her room. 

“Jensen, please don’t go overboard. She’ll be perfectly happy with a bed and dresser.” 

Jensen chuckled, “I promise I won’t go overboard.” He got a devilish look on his face and I knew I was in trouble. 

The three of us loaded up the car and Jensen headed towards the furniture store he frequented. 

Walking in I gasped softly. “Jensen, I can already tell this place is going to be out of my budget.” 

He stepped closer to me, “Not out of mine.” He kissed my lips and scooped Lily up and walked towards the kids section. 

I laughed, shook my head and followed them. A sales associate approached Jensen and I, “Is there anything particular you two are looking for?” She asked. 

Jensen pointed at Lily, “Whatever she wants.” She looked over at Lily and nodded. 

Lily walked around and Jensen was close by. I hung back and looked around too. I found a cute little bed, simple and perfect. Then I heard Lily squeal. 

My attention was instantly focused on her. She’d found a bed that looked like Cinderella’s carriage. There was a matching side table and dresser. The canopy sparkled under the showroom lights. 

The sales associate walked over and started talking to Jensen. “Seems like your little girl really likes this bed.” 

He chuckled then looked over at me then back to Lily. “Yeah. I think so too.” 

I stepped closer and I shook my head. “Jensen, this is too much. She doesn’t need a princess bed.” 

He walked over and sat beside her on the bed. “Yes she does, because she’s my princess. Isn’t that right Lily?” 

She snuggled close to him. “I’m going to lose this argument, aren’t I?” 

He nodded, “Yep.” 

I sighed and shook my head. “If you say so. I still think it’s too much.” 

He kissed my lips, “Nothing will ever be too much for her or you.” I smiled and kissed him back, “Just try not to spoil her too much.” “No promises, darlin’.” 

Jensen paid for the bedroom set, a new mattress and delivery. He ordered the full size bed instead of the twin because Lily loved snuggles and it’s easier with a bigger bed. 

Before we left a few fans approached him and he took pictures and signed autographs. 

This was the first time I’d been with him since the convention where he was noticed. 

Getting into the car Jensen took my hand in his and kissed the back of it. “I think that was a successful shopping trip, don’t you?” 

I nodded. He knew something was wrong. “Baby, you okay?” “Yeah, it’s still just strange being out in public with you and people approach you. I guess I need to get used to it. 

He nodded in understanding, “I know. It can be a bit much, but I’ll be by your side the whole time.” 

We pulled back up to Jensen’s house and went in. Lily ran to play in the living room while Jensen and I went to the room that was going to be Lily’s. 

“Jensen, this room is huge.” “Nothing but the best for my girl. So I’m thinking of an area rug so she’s not sitting directly on the floor. This floor gets chilly. I’ll take care of all of it. The bedroom set will be here in a few days, so I’ll get my designer here to pick out the rug and other things for the room.” 

I just smiled and nodded. I knew it was pointless to argue. I kissed his lips softly, “You’re amazing, you know that.” He smirked, “I’ve been told a time or two.” 

We cleaned out the room and as I was sweeping the floor Jensen’s phone rang. “Hey, I’ll be back. I’ve got to take this.” I nodded and kept cleaning. 

When he came back into the room he let out a deep sigh. “Hey, we need to talk.” 

I swallowed hard, my heart pounded in my chest, “Sure, what’s going on Jensen?” “Well, a couple of things actually. That was my manager. Apparently someone took pictures of us today and posted them online. Lily’s face was hidden, so that’s good, but your face was not.” 

“Oh, so is your manager telling you to break up with me?” Jensen’s eyes went wide, “What?! No, they just wanted to let me know and wanted to see if I wanted to make a statement about us. That’s what I wanted to ask you, if you were okay with going public or not yet.” 

I sighed and let out the breath I was holding. “Um, I’m okay with whatever you want to do Jensen. This is all so new to me. I don’t want to mess your job up, so I will let you decide. I’m okay with whatever you think is best.” 

“Well, going public or keeping our relationship to ourselves right now have their advantages and disadvantages. If we go public we don’t have to sneak around, but that means your face and name will be in public, and unfortunately at the mercy of some nasty people at times. If we keep this between us, then we continue to keep things private, so not going out as much, and your name stays out of public. If we keep things private that means I attend events and parties alone, and if I’m being honest I don’t want that.”

I took a deep breath, “Let’s do it, Jensen. Let’s go public. I’m terrified, but I know you’re going to be by my side the whole time.” Jensen stepped closer to me and pulled me close, his lips ghosting mine, “You better believe it. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“So, what was the other thing you wanted to talk to me about?” He took a shaky breath, “Well, they bumped up my shooting schedule for one of the series I’m working on. I have to leave next week for California.” 

My heart sank, I got so used to him being at home I almost forgot he worked away from home. “I get it, you’ve got to go when they want you to. Lily and I will miss you like crazy, but we’ll be here waiting for you. Just promise you’ll FaceTime us. I don’t know if I can go long without seeing your handsome face.”

He smiled at me, “Yeah, I promise. I’ll call and FaceTime every single day.” 

The two of us walked into the living room and found Lily coloring and drawing. “You know, the hardest part is going to be telling her you’re leaving. She might try to hide in your suitcase.” We both laughed, but I was worried about her. 

“Well, what if we don’t have to tell her I’m leaving?” I looked at him confused, “Jensen, she’s going to realize you’re gone. Even if she can’t talk she’s going to feel your absence.” “No, what I mean is why don’t you two go with me?” “What?” “Yeah, Y/N, you and Lily go to California with me. When I’m not on set the three of us can explore the area and I can take my girls out in LA.” 

“Really? You want us to go with you?” He nodded enthusiastically, “Yes!” “Well, I’d have to talk to my boss, but I don’t see why not. I think she’d love that. I know I would.” 

He pulled me flush to his body and kissed my lips, “I’d like it too, sweetheart.” 

The next few days we went about our normal lives. Jensen told his manager he was going to go public with our relationship, but he would do it his way. They agreed. Lily was sitting in between Jensen and I on the couch when there was a knock at the front door. 

I got up to answer it, looking out the peephole I gasped. Jensen was by my side quickly, “What’s wrong?” “Um, it’s David. Lily’s father.” 

“What the hell does he want?” “I don’t know. I haven't seen him since I found out I was pregnant. What should I do?” 

“Go ahead and open the door. I’m right here, baby.” I nodded and opened the door. He smirked when I opened the door, “Hey Y/N. Long time. What's it been, 7 years?” “David, what the hell are you doing here?” 

“Well, I saw you on Instagram. I see you went ahead and had the baby. I’m here to meet my daughter.” 

I scoffed, “Your daughter?!  Where the hell have you been the past 7 years of her life?! She’s not your daughter, she’s mine.” I practically growled. 

He looked past me and saw Lily on the couch, “Hey sweetie, it’s daddy. Why don’t you come say hello.” Lily wouldn’t look at him. 

Jensen stood between us, “I think you should leave.” “Who are you, pretty boy?” Jensen’s jaw tightened, “I’m the one that’s been here with Y/N and her daughter. Like I said, I think you should leave.” 

“Not happening until I meet my daughter.” “David, please leave. You’re going to upset Lily. She doesn’t do well with strangers. If you even care about her a little bit you’ll leave.” 

“What do you mean she doesn’t do well around strangers? I’m not a stranger. I’m her father. Lily, come here baby. Come to daddy.” 

I could see Jensen’s jaw get tighter. Lily ran to Jensen’s leg and grabbed him. “Dada up.” 

David looked at me and then Jensen, “What’s wrong with her?” “She’s autistic, David and doesn’t talk much. Please leave.” 

“Wow, what did you do to her that caused this?” Tears fell from my eyes, “I didn’t do anything, she was born this way you asshole.” 

Lily buried her face in Jensen’s neck and clung tightly to him. Jensen stepped between David and I, “Let me ask you something. If you're her father then tell me when is her birthday? What about her favorite TV show, color? How does she like her bacon? What’s her favorite stuffy? A REAL father would be able to answer all of that. You aren’t her father, you’re just the man who knocked up her mother and then left. Now, I’m not going to ask you again to leave.” 

David scoffed, “You know what, you can have both of them. I never wanted her and she’s just an easy lay. Good luck with her.” He turned on his heels and walked away. 

I closed the door and let out the breath I was holding and the tears fell. Lily clung to Jensen, “My daddy.” “Yes, baby. I’m your daddy and I love you beyond the stars.” 

“Speaking of which, Y/N, let’s make that announcement now. I’m ready if you are.” I nodded. He picked a picture he took of us, both of us looking at the camera and smiling, and another picture of us kissing. “Are these two okay with you?” I smiled and nodded, “Perfect, Jensen.” 

He posted both photos to Instagram, tagging me, and captioned it with: I can’t believe I get to call you mine. I love you beyond the stars, Y/N. Now and forever. 🥰 💗

When my phone went off I smiled and commented: “You better believe it. Now and forever, Jens.” 

He smiled, looked at me and kissed my lips. “There, now there is no mistaking who my heart belongs to. I love you, Y/N.” “I love you too, Jensen.” 

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[sparkp18]

I doodled some more Decepticons :3

Lineart under the cut!!

this is what happens when I don’t have classes ppl you get daily posts from me !!

Lowkey I’m mostly happy with Megs and Shockwave (you might get a full body one of these days) but Sounders needs some work methinks

In a week I’m probably gonna disappear back to the ether smh but till then… what should I do next??? I take requests :3 (can’t promise I’ll fulfill em but I’ll take em!!)

[tiaa28]

THE FALLS preview

TattooArtist!Rafe x OFC

Warnings: tattoo needles? Awkwardness, exposed chest? idk

“We might have to pull your bra to the side–.” Rafe stops mid-sentence as he swivels back to face me, his eyes glancing down to my exposed chest. “Oh.” The expression on his face is a mixture of nonchalance and dumbfoundedness. 

I can feel the blood rushing to my face, my cheeks redden instantly and I yank the t-shirt back down into place. “I wasn’t wearing one prior to this.” I cringe defensively. 

“No, no.” Rafe tries to reassure me as he waves the awkwardness away. “I just wasn’t planning on–” he cuts himself off, “I can work around the shirt. It’s alright.” 

I hurriedly pull the shirt back up, making sure to not expose myself completely this time. Rafe gently maneuvers the shirt to the side. “This is transfer gel,” he informs me, his voice matter of fact as he squeezes a small amount out onto the tip of his finger, rubbing it lightly across my rib cage and under the curve of my breast. 

It takes everything in my power to stop myself from shivering at the gentle touch. “Next is the stencil. We can change the placement or whatever you want, okay? Just make sure to let me know.”  

“Okay.” I nod, taking in a stabilizing breath to calm my nerves. He then lays the transfer paper down carefully, trying his best to make it even while dealing with the shirt in his way. After another few anxiety-riddled seconds that seemed to stretch into an eternity, I decided to just do it.  

I abruptly pull the shirt up completely, and he pauses his movements. “You don’t have to if you aren’t comfortable. I promise I can make this work.”  

“I’m fine,” I reassure him, concealing the nervousness in my tone. My eyes drift up into the ceiling in an attempt to avoid his piercing blue eyes. And those eyelashes. My god, they’re perfect too.  

Keeping one hand on my rib cage to steady the tattoo stencil, he reaches behind him to pull a curtain closed, concealing us from any prying eyes. “This better?” He questions, smiling down at me softly. 

“Yeah,” I huff in relief, “thank you.”  

After peeling back the stencil, he hands me a mirror to make sure I like the placement. After reassuring him at least four times, he finally agrees that it looks great.  

“Do you want me to count down?” Rafe asks in an attempt to extend me mercy, rolling his stool to the side of me. His tray is set up already with the tattoo gun wrapped up and the ink in their caps. He also has some paper towels and another kind of gel laid out.  

Now or never, Delilah.  

“Just do it.” I shake my head with determination, “Counting down is gonna freak me out more.”  

He moves closer to me, the gun dangerously close to my skin as he holds it above me. “Okay, okay.” He grins, “Think of something fun and nice.”  

“Fun and nice?” I can’t help but scoff as I bring my eyes down to him, “You literally have a needle right below uh–” My voice comes out in a hushed whisper, my gaze quickly ducking away again. I can almost see the smirk spreading over his mouth, “right there…” I trail off, unable to say the word out loud to him.

Rafe merely lets out a laugh and steps on the pedal, starting up the machine. I grip tightly onto the shirt and close my eyes in anticipation. 

I can feel him lean down closer, his hot breath fanning against my skin, and it isn’t helping the thumping of my heart. “Take a few deep breaths,” he murmurs, “I’ll take care of you, promise.”  

My lungs rapidly expand and deflate three times before I feel the incessant burn of the needle piercing my skin.  

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart.” His praises are sweet as they fall off his tongue. “You alright? Need me to stop or anything?”

The buzzing of the machine has my stomach lurching with anxiety, but I shake my head no. “I’m fine, I promise. It’s not too bad.”