#and he followed us all the way to the chip shop

[immortalsins]

never goibg to the club again for real this time

[ahqkas]

Ex bf theo who was really toxic and was a bad bf but after the break up he matures and tries tonget you back?

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THEODORE NOTT HAD ALWAYS BEEN AN ENIGMA, a puzzle that you never quite managed to solve. during your relationship, his brooding silence and sharp wit had initially drawn you in, but over time, they became the very things that chipped away at your happiness. he was toxic — possessive, distant, and emotionally unavailable. the relationship became a series of ups and downs, with moments of passion followed by long stretches of cold indifference. you spent too much time trying to reach him, trying to make him care the way you did, but in the end, it was clear that he wasn't ready to be the person you needed him to be.

the breakup had been inevitable. it was messy and painful, filled with harsh words and lingering regrets. you walked away shattered but determined to heal, to rebuild yourself without the weight of his darkness pulling you down. months passed, and slowly but surely, you began to find your footing again. life moved on, and so did you — or at least, you tried to.

then, one day, theodore showed up in your life again.

it was the warmest day of early september. you were in diagon alley, browsing through the rows of books at flourish and blotts, when you felt that painfully familiar presence behind you. your heart skipped a beat, a mixture of dread and curiosity flooding your senses. you turned, and there he was, standing awkwardly near the entrance, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

theodore looked different. although he was still the tall, slender figure with the same piercing eyes that once made your heart race, something had changed. his posture was more relaxed, his expression softer. gone was the constant scowl that used to mar his handsome features, replaced now with what seemed like genuine vulnerability.

“hey,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, almost hesitant.

you blinked slowly, caught off guard by his presence. “theo?”

he shifted on his feet, glancing around the shop before meeting your gaze again. the use of his nickname by you stirred up unforgettable memories inside him. “can we talk? in private,”

you nodded at his request hesitantly and followed the boy, now who seemed like a man. he hurt you badly, and there was no reason for him to talk to you ever again, so why was he seeking you now?

theo’s quiet voice broke the silence between the two of you as you stood in a smaller aisle of the shop. “i’ve been thinking about you — a lot,” he admitted. “there’s something i have to say to you or i’ll go mad.”

you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to expect. theodore had never been one to easily admit fault, and seeing him now, looking almost remorseful, was jarring. part of you wanted to turn and walk away, to avoid reopening old wounds, but another part — the part that once loved him truly and deeply — wanted to hear what he had to say.

“i know now i was a terrible boyfriend,” he began, his eyes not leaving yours. “i treated you horribly, and i don’t deserve your forgiveness. but i’ve changed. i know it’s hard to believe, but i’ve spent a lot of time thinking about everything i did wrong, everything i took for granted.”

he paused, as if searching for the right words. “i’ve been working on myself, trying to understand why i was the way i was. i didn’t realize how much i needed to grow up until you were gone.”

his words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. you could hear the sincerity in his voice, see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t easy to let go of the past. too many memories of broken promises and hurtful words still lingered in your mind.

“theo, i . . .” you hesitated, unsure how to respond. “i’m glad you’ve been working on yourself, really, but i don’t know if i can just forget everything that happened. you hurt me, a lot.”

he nodded and his eyes found comfort on your hands. “i know. and i don’t expect you to just take me back. i just wanted you to know that i’m sorry for how i was. truly. and . . . if there’s ever a chance, even a small one, that we could try again . . . i would do everything differently. i would be better for you.”

theodore nott’s words were raw, unfiltered, and they hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. this wasn’t the theodore you had known — the one who hid behind sarcasm and anger. this was someone who had faced his demons and was trying, really trying, to be a better man. but could you trust him? could you risk your heart again after everything that had happened?

“i need time, theo,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “i can’t just jump back into something that hurt me so much.”

the slytherin nodded again, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “i understand. i’ll wait as long as it takes. and if you never want to try again, i’ll respect that too. i just needed you to know that i’m sorry, and that i’m here if you ever want to give us another chance.”

with that, he turned to leave, but not before giving you one last, lingering look — a look filled with all the things he had never been able to say before.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | New Glasses

AO3

John finds you reclining on the couch. Bowl of popcorn chips resting on your stomach and mask, cool and slimy, on your face.

“So, we not going on a date tonight?”

The casual way he drops the statement belies the gravity of it.

The moment it takes to process through your exhausted brain is the only moment of peace for the rest of the night.

Jumping to your feet the chips go flying as your mask slides off your face and into the now empty bowl.

“It’s Monday!” You shout as you stare at him in horror. “Fuck, I will be ready in ten minutes.”

Before you can sink to your knees to clean up your mess John takes you by the hand and deposits you at your room. With a smiling kiss to your cheek he promises to clean up the mess and turn off the TV.

You wipe your face with a makeup wipe and panic spin before shouting down the hall.

“John! What should I wear?”

“Closed toed shoes and layers dove,” he shouted back.

“Layers and clothes toed shoes,” you mutter to yourself on repeat as you start digging around for a clean pair of jeans and a set of matching socks.

“Oh, and no makeup if you feel comfortable. It will melt off.”

His loud voice and words make you pause.

“What the hell are we doing that would cause my make up to melt off?” You ask the empty room.

Eleven minutes later you are knotting the laces of your shoes and pushing off the couch to follow John to his car. It’s practical, how like him. He catches sight of your small smirk at his vehicle.

“What? Not as fancy as Johnny’s?”

Busting out laughing you drop a hand onto his shoulder for support. Johnny had the oldest, ugliest truck you had ever seen.

He smiles down at you, cheeks pulling up to cause crinkles around his eyes. You loved when he smiled that big, with his whole face. It made your heart so happy.

John walked you to the passanger door, opening it for you with a bow and a wink.

“My lady.”

You give a curtsey with your imaginary skirt before rolling your eyes and climbing in and buckling your seat belt.

“So, John, what is the silliest situation you have ever ended up in because of your job?”

“Let me think,” he focuses on driving as he does. “Had to be the time I told the president of US a crass joke.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” You gape at him from the opposite seat.

“Was playing bodyguard at a conference, there was only one man in the room while we were waiting for the VIP and I made a joke to break the tension.”

“What did he do?” You prompt, there has to be more to this conversation.

“He looked at me odd before busting out in laughter. I didn’t realize my mistake until the meeting started and he got introduced to the room. We made eye contact and I have never felt my face go that red before,” John offers you a hand to hold between the seats.

You take it, enjoying the roughness of his palms and the width of his fingers between yours.

“What about you?” John asks.

“What about me what?”

“Tell me the silliest interaction you have had working as a barista.”

“Whew, that might take all night. Top of mind though, was the guy who showed up at the wrong coffee shop for a first date.”

“How long did it take him to figure it out?”

“An hour,” you emphasize the last word. “He thought he had been stood up.”

John laughed at the man’s misfortune. The drive went on like that, trading stories back and forth until John pulled up outside of a pretty nondescript building with a large overhead door that cars typically went through. No cars would fit through this one though, the opening showed tables and decorative glass pieces.

“You know I didn’t ask before but what are we doing on this date?” You ask as you stare at the beautiful and intricate works of blown glass.

“We are making some blown glass pieces. You can do an ornament for Christmas or a cup,” John steps from the car with a finger up to ask for your patience.

Appreciating the way he moves you watch him round the car. Smiling up at him as he opens the door you take the offered hand, sliding the fingers of your left hand into his. Entering the spacious building you look around at the orbs hanging artfully along one wall.

“Hi guys, welcome in. Do you have an appointment?” A young woman with blonde beach waves greats you, eyes jumping straight to John.

You can’t blame her, he is an attractive man, despite the funny facial hair decisions he makes sometimes.

“We do, the couples hour under the last name Price?”

You almost didn’t catch it but he tilted your hand to so she couldn’t see your lack of ring. Smiling up at him he winks at you when he glances from the receptionist. Two small taps to your nose confirm your understanding.

“Okay, are you wanting to do an ornament or a cup?” The blonde asks in a slightly more subdued tone.

“Cup for me, love?”

John turns to you.

“Cup for me as well please.”

“Okay, you can pick up to two colors and whether or not you want a band on your cup. Al will be with you shortly.”

You pull John to look over your options. The date doesn’t leave a lot of room for talking, but warm glances while standing at the furnace, slowly working with Al to keep the slug of molten glass spinning. Whoever decided on when to have newbies help with this process understood the lack of skill the average John would have.

Glad you avoided putting on make-up on John’s recommendation, you wipe at the back of your neck where sweat has started to collect. Once the cups were settled into the annealing oven, you did find stepping from the studio a startling refreshing experience.

“I had fun John. Thank you,” you infuse as much warmth and honesty into your words as you can manage.

He pulls your interlocked hands to his lips, dropping a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Bonus is that I get to take you out again when they are ready for pickup,” he lifts both brows at you from under his hat.

“All that means is I get to spend more time with you. What a hardship,” you roll your eyes as your sarcasm lands.

John scoops you close with a spin.

“Come on brat, let’s get you some food. I know you didn’t eat enough today.” He nuzzles his beard into the space between your shoulder and chin.

You squeal and pull away, “Hey, I resemble that remark!”

He smiles again, wide and full at you.

“Get in the car love.”

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Hi hi hii! I hope all is well with you :3 I really enjoy your Boothill fics, they bring me so much joy! If it's possible, could I request something?

I've had this idea in my mind about mechanic!reader overworking themselves, not eating, sleeping, or hydrating as they should be as they can forget to tend to their own needs at times...(sadly you can't solely sustain yourself on candy and sugar)

Then Boothill comes to visit them and finds mechanic!reader in an exhausted state, basically forcing them to eat actual food and rest up.

a/n: 1.8k w.count - cw!!: mentions of being awake a long time and not eating!!

boothill just finished up two different jobs he was on, one solo and another pitching in to help a pal that was conveniently in the area. after such hard and capable work, he figures he's owed a quick pass by your shop. that, and something in the back of his head was nagging at him to swing by- and it wasn't because of his neuro-chip.

stepping through the shop's entrance, the door pushes open and the bell above the door chimes. before he can open his jaw and call out to you, searching you out in the premise, he instead starts yelling in shocked noises.

from above, a small mass of something emerges from the shadows of the ceiling. the exposed pipes that line the walls are the perfect place for something small, like critters or rodents, to trek and hide on.

the cowboy half expected a racoon or something to land on his head. what he didn't expect was the feeling of metal bashing into his face instead of a mass of fur and talons.

"son of a-!" he almost fully curses. taking two steps back in lieu of the 'attack', he raises his hand and grabs the metal clinging onto his face and hair. "get offa' me!" he hisses.

the sound of familiar beeps has him using his grip a bit more carefully. working on cooling down his insides that had been fired up into a friendzy, boothill successfully pulls ore off of his face to look at him properly.

"the hell do you think you're doin', eh lil fella?" the little assistant robot that usually stuck to you like glue flails in the air as boothill holds him between his finger and thumb by the sides of his rectangular head.

the expression the robot has on its face was accompanied by it's flinging arms and legs: [＞﹏＜]!!

"ey, ey, ey, lil dude, chill out."

boothill marches to the desk that acts less like a reception desk and more like a display counter. setting ore down, its flailing stops but the squeezed expression stays put. the cyborg bend at the waist, laying one of his arms over the counter to get- more or less- eyelevel with the little helper with the other going to his hip.

"okay, what's the problem. where's your fixer?" boothill asks. its a joke between the two of you that you act more like ore's guardian than owner. so, in regard to your identity, to ore you became his 'fixer'. ore points one of its metal coated arms behind him and one of its legs stomps. "in that back?" ore nods. "alright, let's go check on 'em shall we?"

ore, instead of taking a ride on boothill's shoulder or being carried in his palm, hops from the counter and rushes around through the doorways that you always keep propped open during shop hours. boothill struts his way through the shop, leisurely following the fella.

as he makes his way through the shop, boothill finally notes the lack of noise he's so used to hearing. no knocking on metal, or drilling of tools. no hint of work, not even your murmuring echoed through the building. it was just quiet.

well now he's just starting to worry.

adding a half-step to his stride, boothill follows the beeping provided from ore and finds himself coming through the cracked doors of your far back work room.

ore is already up on your desk thanks to your installation of small metal-sheeted pullies you made for it. its standing by your head that rests on your arms, folded over your desktop. both of its arms push against your skull, fretting in digital sounds.

walking in, boothill makes his way to your back, placing a gentle touch to the space between your shoulders. his free hand pushes against your desktop, leaning over to try and see if your face was peeking out of your arm pillow situation at all. you were out like a light, but you should be sleeping in bed.

"ey, sugar," boothill softly calls. his hand rubs against your back, rustling your shirt to try gently coaxing you awake. it gets him no where. "hey," he tries again. with a bit of a harsher shake of your shoulder, you bolt upwards. with a gasp from both you and boothill, ore stumbles backward onto its metal backend from the force in which you eject him from your skull. you whip your head back and forth, blinking wearily and rapidly before you finally register boothill's arrival.

"the hell, when did you get here?" your voice is groggy and rushed, and if the ranger hadn't just jostled you awake from your desk, he'd find it pretty cute.

"does it matter? why the hell you sleepin' at your desk? you have a bed."

"what? oh, no, it's fine." you rub your palms into your eyes, blinking back the black splotches it causes when you pull them away. "i just dozed off in the middle of something."

"uh huh." boothill is unconvienced. "you wouldn't be neglectin' your needs just for some work, now would yah?"

"what? no. no, i'm fine. perfectly healthy."

"i didn't ask if you were healthy." you don't offer him anything more and he sighs. shifting his weight, he puts on hand on his hip. "ore," he beckons the robot and it answers with a beep. "when's the last time your fixer here took care of themself?" there's a spinning dial on his digital screened face before a number pops up.

[21 hours ago !!]

boothill's jaw drops in disbelief.

your jaw drops in betrayal.

you jump from your stool, palms against your worktable while ore's 'face' lights up with exclamation points [!!!!!] before scampering away from your ire.

"are you serious right now?" boothill bites as you look over your shoulder at him. his arms are crossed, and a frown settles on his lips. it's rare you're on the receiving end of a scolding since it's usually you telling him off for being reckless or the like when he comes in for repairs. you kind of hate it to be honest.

"it's fineee," you draw out, huffing as you run your hand over your face. you have a headache, and standing up so quickly didn't help.

boothill clicks his tongue. clearly you were in no mood to listen. it dawns on him that ore's little attack from the entrance was probably him trying to persuade potential clientele away so you could rest. but seeing boothill come through the doors, the robot instead took his arrival as his saving grace.

boothill is a hardened galaxy ranger. but he also happens to be a big softie too.

"have it your way," the cowboy shrugs before pushing you away from your workstation by your shoulder. getting just enough distance between you and your job, he bends at his knees, hooks one of his arms around your side and hoists you up. you find yourself face first against his back with his tattered, red scarf brushing your cheek.

you feel and hear the contraptions and hinges in his body hiss and work to accomodate your weight over his shoulder.

"boothill!" you push your palms against the dip of his back, pushing your body up as much as you can as he starts carting you off.

"ore, be a lil' helper and grab your fixer something to put in their stomach. one of them small shakes or somethin' will do." ore, with its marching orders, obeys and dashes off once again. you almost regret that you programmed ore to obey boothill too.

in truth, boothill would prefer food in your stomach, but ore is about 2 fists tall. a prepackaged supplement from your fridge will have to suffice.

you don't fight him as much as he expected as he marches to your room where he rolls you off his shoulder and onto your mattress. landing with a soft thud, you dont have time to recover before he's throwing a pillow from the floor at your face.

"umph! hey, quit it!" you hiss, pushing the pillow aside. the ranger takes a seat at the foot of your bed as you shuffle to sit up and bring your legs in so he doesn't crush them. his knees are perched apart and his arms crossed. he watches the door, saying nothing, waiting for ore to come in. "are you really upset about this?"

"do i seem happy?" he shoots back.

"you dont need to get lippy with me," you bite as he rolls his eyes.

"i apparently do. not taking care of yourself properly? you can't be doing that, sugar." his scolding tone softens the more he talks. seeing how high strung he is about this, you feel almost guilty. you start picking at the fabric of your shirt.

ore soon brings you in something to consume that's better than nothing at all and helps sooth the post-sleep irritation in your throat. you didn't realize how scratchy it felt until you were forced to.

you're not sure when it happens, but at some point boothill has you laying down properly in your bed with a new change of clothes. and not too much later, you're sleeping before you could even try to fight back.

ore takes the empty container that was once full of your meal substitute and trots off to discard of it. boothill sits at the edge of your bed, where he's been planted the whole time. the cowboy observes you from a lean, his elbows resting on his metal knees.

you're breathing easy, which is good, but he still grimaces at the tiredness gathered under your closed, relaxed eyes. with your face washed of muck and soot, he can see your fatigue clearer.

boothill groans quietly, lowering his head as one of his hands comes to brush the hair off the side of his face and ruffle the strands together, definitely knotting it up. when he brings his hand back down, he winces when some strands pull from his scalp- his whole head is sensitive, so he should've known better.

when it seems like you're down for the count and won't wake up the moment he leaves you alone, boothill stands from your bed. the blanket is rumpled from where he's been sitting, and the impression of his presence is visible to his one good eye. oddly, it's comforting.

lifting his hat, he swings it down off his head and sets it gently on your bed side table that's littered with all sorts of odd and ends. along with a barely working alarm clock that has one of the digital numbers flickering in and out. you'll have to rewire that soon. he leaves it with you as he dismisses himself to let you rest.

beyond your bedroom, ore beeps and bops with noises as boothill sits at the reception desk. his legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on the desk with his arms crossed as he... talks? with ore.

any customer that walks in is met with a mean glare and a harsh 'get out' before he's shooing them out the door.

his nine-mililmeter is only on the desk next to him for some.... extra incentive.

a/n pt.2: i tried incorporating a few of ore's expressions with emoticons. is that lame? too cheesy? who knows. i love that little robot tho. [anyways sorry this rq took so long anon hnnnnng]

[starcurtain]

Following Topaz's explanation that Cornerstones are made to fill the hole in the user's heart, what "hole" in Aven's heart do you think his drag queen powers are meant to fill? Especially since Topaz remarks he's the only one with such showy powers

Still trying to catch up with all the messages in the inbox; sorry to everyone for taking a million years to respond.

So cunty, and for what???

Anyway, first, when Jade talks about the Stonehearts' "voids," the alternate reading above that word is actually "ambition." And she mentions that the reason she risked reaching out to Firefly is that she views herself as similar to Firefly--Jade is someone with an unfulfilled wish.

I think there's enough here to suggest that the Stonehearts' voids are not quite what we would normally think of when hearing the word "void"--rather than being best understood as something removed or something lost, their voids seem to be "something desired." An unfulfilled goal. An unmet need. A burning ambition. A secret wish. They all have somewhere they want to get to, and they've signed on-board with Diamond's Preservation project because his power is the fastest way--maybe the only way--to get there.

The implication here, by the way, is that the Stonehearts are acting out the very act of Preservation itself with Diamond. The goal of Qlipoth is for the universe to be saved, an unshakeable resolution to stop Destruction's wanton obliteration. Thus, Preservation itself can be understood as "A desire that must be continuously protected and relentlessly pursued." To live. To endure.

In using the power of an emanator to protect and provide the Stonehearts with ways to pursue their own desires, we replicate in miniature the exact resolve and endless pursuit of perseverance that Qlipoth is acting out in the broader universe. The will of Preservation empowers the Stonehearts--and in turn, the Stonehearts swear an oath to aid in Preservation's mission. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement, and it also simultaneously imitates Jade's shop perfectly: I'll give you exactly what you want, if you give me what I need.

I should clarify that I don't actually think the cornerstones themselves fill the Stonehearts' voids. Rather, they seem to me to be a tangible symbol of the oath between Diamond and the Stonehearts--"I'll give you this power to fulfill your deepest wish, if you work for me." Jade suggests that the power of the cornerstones provides Stonehearts with the means to fill their voids (I.e., having superpowers makes it possible for you to pursue your wish), so I think their individual cornerstone abilities are best understood as "The exact power I need to achieve my particular goal."

So what does that say about Aventurine's "showy" transformation?

Pretty much all the rest of this is just going to be my personal speculation, but I'd say the most telling glimpse we get into why Aventurine's power is so "visual" comes from these lines with the future "Aventurine" in 2.1:

There's two completely contradictory desires being expressed here: Aventurine's life "is the chip he's most eager to lay down" and "always has been"--that is, he genuinely wants to die. He isn't just willing to gamble with his life, he's eager to. The future "Aventurine" also says real Aventurine wants to be "polished up" (to be controlled and molded by others) and "cuffed with red-hot chains" (to be made powerless and not responsible for making his own decisions, to be punished).

But conversely, the real Aventurine also wants to be perceived as "a smooth operator" and "the solid gold deal-maker who doesn't waste a drop of sweat." He wants to be in charge of his image. He wants to be the one who controls the narrative and defines how others think of him. He wants to be "spotlit center stage"--to command the eyes of the world. In short, we could say that Aventurine wants his death (and conversely, his life) to mean something.

From these conflicting desires, I think you can derive a few totally opposite but equally valid interpretations of why Aventurine's cornerstone power is so "visual":

A combat-oriented transformation is another means to seek death.

Jade's power is scary, but she isn't using it to literally launch herself into fights. Topaz's seems to be similar--something that might allow her to win over her opponents in some way (she was about to use it in Belobog to no-sell the Trailblazer), but she clarifies directly that it is not a "transformation." Aventurine just literally turns into a boss enemy and goes straight out on to the battlefield.

In the fight, he doesn't even use shields. (Now whether that's something he never does because the cornerstone powers don't actually come with shields while in his monster form, if he couldn't use shields because his cornerstone was broken, or if he just chose not to use shields in this fight to give Trailblazer and Co. a fighting chance, only time will tell. However, it might be worth noting that his empowered Apocalyptic Shadow form doesn't come with shields either, despite having other new mechanics.)

The point is, this form, while looking cool and seeming strong, is actually a gamble in and of itself. To go out onto the battlefield, where you might not actually be the strongest combatant, is always a risk. And I think this is the kind of risk that Aventurine manifests continually in his life. He is constantly creating opportunities for his own luck to fail. His unfulfilled desire, the "ambition" he was desperate enough to join the Stonehearts to pursue--as his original goal to save his people is completely gone, his only current goal might actually just be a chance to die. His powers may manifest as a combat-oriented transformation because that is just one more way to throw himself into the crossfire.

In fact, this is exactly what Sugilite accuses him of in Jade's myriad celestia:

You didn't need to snatch his wig this hard, Sugilite. (Also I need you all to know I originally wrote "You didn't need to come for him this hard, Sugilite," but then I realized how unfortunate that wording was, so...)

You could even argue that the fact Aventurine's transformation comes with a mask that obscures his entire face is a sign that we're supposed to see this form as dehumanizing.

The facial features are completely obscured and asymmetrical, there's no mouth, his fingers have become claws--despite his body staying mostly human-shaped, it's obviously intended to hint at something monstrous, subsuming his original identity behind a violent facade.

Kakavasha disappears entirely behind "Aventurine" when he transforms, becoming a faceless enemy at the risk of (perhaps in hopes of) entirely losing himself. Maybe every transformation lets Aventurine throw himself closer and closer to the edge of death--and perhaps, before Penacony, only death could ever have filled the "void."

But, on the complete opposite hand (because Aventurine is always both sides of the coin), we could also argue the other end of the spectrum entirely:

A combat-oriented transformation is a show of force.

This screencap brought to you by Mr. Rubhen925 of Youtube.

Aventurine's entire life has been marred by disenfranchisement, by violations of his basic human rights, freedoms, and agency. At every turn, he has been victimized by others more powerful than himself: his childhood consisted of his clan being relentlessly hounded and hunted to extinction by the Katicans, having their food constantly stolen, their meager belongings burned to the ground, and each one of his family members systematically slaughtered, often in front of his eyes.

After his childhood, he was bought and sold as chattel for pennies, branded like an animal, and forced into a fight where to he had to beat other innocent people to death just to keep himself alive, all for the entertainment of the masses. Even Jade, who promised to help him achieve his goals, treats him like a business investment more than a friend.

In Penacony, we watch everyone he talks to degrade and ostracize him. Even though Aventurine led him into doing it, Sunday tortures and re-traumatizes him live for our entertainment.

Even more that, we see Aventurine constantly struggling with the question of whether his life is really his own or whether his blessing from Gaiathra means that his entire existence has been predetermined, his fate sealed in blood and sand from the very moment of his birth, utterly inescapable.

No matter how Aventurine tries to portray himself as the ultimate winner, he's only ever the "final" victor--being the only one left standing at the end is meaningless if on the road to getting there, you were treated like fate's favorite punching bag. Winning in the end is utterly pointless if on the road to winning, you still lost it all first, from the things you loved to your personal freedom.

What does a person who has been made powerless again and again truly desire? What void do you seek to fill if life has denied you your agency over and over?

Power. Dominance. The ability to literally strike back at those who've wronged you. The strength to intimidate and force people into a corner the way you've been intimidated and forced before.

If we say that Aventurine's "void" is not a literal desire for the release of death, then it might make sense for the "void" to instead to be a frantic desire to gain control over his circumstances. To be the one finally in charge of deciding his own fate.

Particularly in light of his character story which tells us that Kakavasha's original goal for joining the Stonehearts was to save his people, the desire to take on an impressive form that screams "I'm powerful" and has the ability to physically enact vengeance on others feels directly aligned. And it remains aligned even after the reveal that the Avgins are all gone--once more fate strips Kakavasha of his power to make a difference in the world, to achieve what he truly dreams of.

The Apocalyptic Shadow version of his boss fight is called "Desperate Diceroller."

How angry he must be, deep down. How hateful the world must seem. How sad it is to feel that way.

If destiny won't let you out of the cage, your only choice is to grow claws to tear it open.

Okay, but WHY so much swag though?

Are the peacock feathers and spandex really necessary?

Listen. Everyone talks about Ratio having "gifted kid" syndrome, but I'm here to tell you that Aventurine is actually a burnt out gifted kid extraordinaire.

He's literally, canonically, explicitly the chosen one of his people.

From the moment of his birth, his mother and sister--and presumably others in his clan even--were telling him that he was their clan's most precious treasure and that he would lead them to prosperity and safety.

He carried this weight even after fleeing from the massacre, all through his childhood and teenage years, through slavery and abuse, putting his very life on the line to join the IPC in hopes of finally fulfilling the destiny his mother and sister promised he could.

He was supposed to save them. That was his meaning. That was his purpose in life.

But he was too late.

The fate he was born for, raised believing, and risked everything to achieve... is still incomplete.

So, for all that talk about suicide and power-seeking, my real answer is this: Aventurine's "void" is his unfulfilled destiny.

His whole existence has been predetermined, his life's journey laid out in prophecy and blessings from the very beginning. Yet what he thought was his fate betrayed him, and where you head after becoming an unsuccessful chosen one is a question without answer.

His thoughts constantly circle around how he is a "failure" and a "loser."

When you have no sense of purpose, when your life has no meaning, when what you are still seeking is the role you were supposed to have from the moment of your birth: the glorious destiny of being a savior, being the "happiness" of your people, being the hero...

Of course you crave the spectacle. Of course you long for the spotlight--you long to be recognized. Because Kakavasha's the chosen one. "Spotlit center stage" is where he's supposed to be--in the leading role that was stolen from him.

I think that Aventurine's cornerstone transformation is so flashy because, at the core, it represents a longing to truly be the "precious wealth" of the Avgin that his sister promised him he would be. It represents his desire to transform from a useless, "discarded" person into a larger-than-life version of himself. (Hey, fun fact, out of every official depiction of Aventurine, his boss model wears the only outfit in which his slave brand is not naturally visible.) He literally transforms into a supernatural being, capable of seizing others' fates in his hands. It represents the power he needed to save his people and himself. Its extreme flashiness screams for attention, demands to be witnessed as something beyond a helpless human.

It's almost as if Aventurine is a child writing a wish-fulfillment story where he transforms into a hyper-glamorous, all-powerful masked superhero who is capable of saving the day and winning against his enemies every time.

Unlike Jade and Topaz, Aventurine can't hide his deepest desire. It was always going to be a "transformation," because Aventurine's unanswered wish is to be someone better than himself.

His "void," his deepest unachieved ambition--it's written right there, all over his body.

Aventurine's cornerstone power is a story he's telling himself about the person he was supposed to be.

But as Acheron claims, that's life itself.

Aventurine doesn't feel like he has any control over his journey's ultimate destination.

He doesn't know where's he's headed or what the purpose of it all is. But...

Jade explicitly describes the Ten Stonehearts and Diamond's endeavor as a "journey" as well:

Because Preservation represents the continuance of life itself, and the Stonehearts with their endless "voids"--Aventurine with his soul-deep longing to become someone better than himself--represent all of us very real human beings, trying our best to find our own "cornerstones," to gain the means to finally, finally achieve our own sweet dreams.

[bohemianblasphemy]

Comfortable?

Billy Butcher x fem!reader

A massive thank you to @enchantedflameandflower for the inspo <3

Contains: one bed trope, butcher and reader being dumb and liking each other, reader wearing Butchers Hawaiian shirt to bed,unprotected sex, poorly written smut!!!

The latest mission had been a major bust.

Infiltrating Vought Tower was either going to end in success or failure, unfortunately the latter being the result.

An alarm had been tripped, all thanks to Hughie losing his footing trying to be quiet. The Boys barely got away as Homelander was hot on their trail, but ultimately losing them as the group split up in hiding.

Butcher and yourself managed to disappear, taking the Cadillac and running off to the rural outskirts of town.

The car ride was silent- trying to find somewhere to lay low for God knows how long.

“You alright?” Butcher asked lowly, breaking the silence gazing at you as you came down from your adrenaline rush. You gave him a quick nod before peering out of the car window- keeping a lookout for any danger that could approach us.

He eyeballed you, seeing the anxiety in your fidgety behaviour as he reached out to tentatively pat your shoulder. “Don’t have to be on alert, we’re okay yeah?” He reassured you, giving it a slight squeeze.

His touch- however innocent it was- made your skin prick up in goosebumps.

…..

“Sweetie we all see it, it’s not a bad thing! You both like each other… you should do something about it.” Annie nudged you with her elbow as you shared a bottle of liquor together.

“I’ve seen the way Butcher looks at you, he doesn’t look at anyone else like that.”

You just scoffed, taking another swig of the burning liquid. “Fuck no, Annie- I don’t like him like that, absolutely not, nuh uh.”

It was as if Annie was talking to a brick wall, but she’s not one to back down easily as she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so… you both will see it eventually.”

……

As you looked back at him- he gave a half hearted smile, before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the road, his hand on your shoulder moving back to the steering wheel.

“What’re we gonna do now?” You broke the silence once again.

“Next motel we come across, we’ll set up in there. I have a feelin’ we will be there for a few days.”

A few days.

Another nod of acknowledgment from you and the car fell silent again, the heavy sense of unknown tension hovering over you both.

The evening sky started to show, the horizon sporting its warm glow as the sun began to set over the picturesque landscape as the Cadillac pulled into the motel car park.

The building was outdated - broken bricks that had been painted over with chipped white paint and graffiti, broken glass and lost items on the concrete.

“This is-“ you tried to say a positive thing about the place.

“A shithole. But it’s better than nothin’. Let’s see if we can get some rooms.” Butcher shut his car door and carried himself over to reception, you quickly following behind him.

The reception desk was furnished with ripped up pamphlets about activities and tours, all of which were dating back to the 80s as you read them.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist was far from enthusiastic, not bothering to look up from the computer from her online shopping session.

“Two rooms please… best ya got in the place.” He requested, giving his signature smirk.

“Only have one room available.” She replied, their gaze falling on the two of you.

Your eyes widened, the blood rushed to your cheeks.

“Nah that ain’t gonna work-“

“It’s the one room or fuck off.” The lady pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag, exhaling the smoke into the stale air.

Butcher took a deep breath, scrunching his eyes closed in frustration before turning to you. Your flushed cheeks were obvious to him, but he didn’t bring attention to them.

“You right with sharin’, love?” He grumbled, sending a tight lipped smile your way.

“Y-yeah, fine- it’s fine.” You nodded, swaying back and forth on the balls of your feet.

The receptionist slammed the key on the counter.

“I hope you enjoy your stay.” She mumbled sarcastically, Billy taking the keys and muttering ‘Cunt’ under his breath before gesturing you to follow him to when you will both be staying.

Billy’s hand fumbled with the keys, opening the creaky wooden door to reveal the plain, cigarette smoke stained walls with paintings hung crookedly, a brown two seater couch with faded leather and another door leading to the bathroom- but it was clean and simple, all that you both needed.

That was until you both realised there was only one bed.

“I’m on the couch, you take the bed.” He pushed past you and placed his things on an arm chair in the corner.

“No, don’t worry I’ll do the couch-“

“Don’t be fuckin’ daft, I ain’t lettin’ ya sleep on the couch. I’ll be right.”

You wouldn’t back down, looking at the bed- it was big enough for the both of you, and you weren’t gonna let him have an uncomfortable nights sleep on an old couch with broken springs in it.

“We can share…” you offered quietly, which caused Billy to freeze as he unpacked. His brown eyes flickered between the bed and you. Something stirred in his gut about sharing with you that he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Alright, just don’t think any funny business yeah?” He teased, thinking it would ease the tension between them but it made the air even thicker around the room.

“Ha, wouldn’t dream of it!” You replied, mentally facepalming at how cringeworthy you sounded- the room becoming quiet and awkward.

“I’m… gonna shower, I’ll be back in a moment.” You went to your pack, trying to find a shirt that you had kept spare - to no avail.

“Shit- fucking shit.” You muttered, sighing frustratedly. “I haven’t got anything to change into…”

Billy chuckled, going through his bag and pulling out one of his spare Hawaiian shirts he always kept on him, adorned with tropical flowers.

“Have this love, just don’t be gettin’ shit all over it.” He joked.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna-“

“Don’t be an idiot, just take the fuckin shirt.”

He was final in his words, raising his brows as he waiting for you to take the it from his hand- which you did, muttering a quick thank you and bee lining to the bathroom.

His eyes followed you, the thoughts of how you’d look in his shirt when you’d come out of that room made him anxious, excited even- thinking of your wet hair draped on your shoulders, the material of his shirt hanging off your shoulders, barely covering your-

Get it together Butcher…

He mentally chastised himself, not allowing himself to think like that about you- but it was so fucking hard not to as he started to wind down for the evening, kicking off his shoes and removing his jeans, leaving him in his boxer shorts and shirt- moving to lay on one side of the bed; trying to distract his mind with whatever was playing on the TV.

The feel of the hot soapy water on your skin was what you needed after the long day, feeling the dirt and stress melt off your body as the shower cascaded down.

You couldn’t help but this of the man in that room next to you, imagining the possibilities of what the night could bring- thinking of his strong hands gripping you-

No. No.

As you finished up in the shower and dried yourself off, you draped butchers shirt over your torso and buttoned it up, pulling up your underwear and turning to check yourself out in the mirror.

It was soft, the length of it falling just below your ass- it smelt distinctly like him and it drove you insane.

Your hand reached the handle, the door squeaking open to see Billy laying on the bed as his head swung to the sound of the door hinges.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he muttered, his eyes running over your form, drinking in how you looked in his shirt.

god it was gonna be hard for him to keep his hands off you.

You looked at him from across the way, feeling that same tension from before starting to thicken the air again.

“Thank you again…” you muttered, making your way to the bed and lying down next to him.

He grumbled in response, trying not let his eyes linger over you for too long.

The two of you sat in awkward silence, your eyes glued to the tv as you both tried to squash down the ringing desire that overrode your thoughts.

His eyes however kept glancing at you, completely mesmerised by how you looked in his clothes.

“You comfortable?” He remarked quietly, a different contrast to what you were used to with him. You nodded, smiling at him as you turned to acknowledge him as he returned a soft smile.

You couldn’t take it, the weird tension was too much to have it continue like this.

You moved your leg to touch his just that little bit- to feel his warmth, to let him know that you felt how he did. His body tensed up, exhaling a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

Billy relaxed as he felt the warmth of your thigh, his large palm hesitantly hovering over your skin before placing it gently on you- his calloused hand a stark contrast to your soft skin. His touch caused your skin to prickle, goosebumps raising up as he started to slowly move it along your thigh, a shaky breath escaping his lips as he glanced at you.

“Y/N…” he breathed out, causing you to swivel your head up to see his eyes at the sound of your name.

“Yeah?”

The distance between you both was agonising, so close yet so far; your hunger for each other was too strong as the string of restraint began to break.

His eyes averted to your plush lips, watching you mirror his actions.

“Fuck…” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Fuck indeed…” you replied, your lips just ghosting over his- making him breathe out in a fluster.

“We shouldn’t be doing this-“ you whispered back, feeling his hot breath on your face.

“But if we don’t I’m going to go crazy…” Billy cut you off, bringing his hand from your thigh to your face.

A few moments passed of just staring at each other with unbearable lust, before that string of restraint snapped- Billy muttering “fuck it” under his breath before pressing his lips on yours, pulling you toward him so he could hold you in his lap.

Pulling you up so you could straddle his hips, the kiss never broke- your tongues and teeth clashing in a fiery embrace.

Soft moans filling the room as his hands roamed your thighs, moving them up to grip and spanking your ass, the sound echoing off the walls.

“Fuck Billy…” you moaned into his mouth from his hands impact, causing him to chuckle.

“Oh you liked that didn’t ya?” He bit your bottom lip playfully before doing it again, coaxing the same reaction from you.

Your hands pulled at his hair as you slowly grinned against his hardened clothed cock, earning a groan from him.

“Bloody hell sweetheart, if I don’t fuck ya now I’m gonna explode…” he chuckled lowly, pressing his lips against your neck- sucking down on yours sensitive skin.

“God please- please fuck me…” you whined desperately, going to remove his shirt off of your body.

“Nuh uh- leave that on.” He protested, pushing you on your back, splayed out on the mattress beneath him as he moved to sit on his knees above you.

He looked at you below him- your kiss bitten lips and hair splayed on the mattress beneath you.

“You are a sight for sore eyes love…” he smirked, hooking his fingers to pull down your underwear- flinging them to the floor as he took in the sight of your glistening core. Billy licked his lips in anticipation, dragging his fingers along your cunt.

“Billy… please I need to feel you.” you whispered breathlessly, your hips rocking against his digits. “So desperate huh?” He grinned, pulling his fingers away from you and sucking your wetness off of them.

“So sweet… and all mine.” He growled, pulling his boxers down to reveal his hard cock, spitting in his palm and pumping his hand along his length, grunting at the pleasure.

Your mouth fell open at the sight and his possessive words, watching as he spread your thighs further apart, shuffling in closer to drag his length along your sopping cunt, enlisting a moan from your lips.

“Can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy…” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, hearing your whiney moans as he teases your entrance before filling you up deliciously, pushing himself inside you with a groan.

“Oh fuck Billy!” You moaned, gripping onto his shoulders as you adjusted to the sensation. Billy slowly moves his hips against yours, listening as he heard your soft gasps, little whimpers as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.

“God you feel fuckin’ incredible…” he praised, watching your face contort in pleasured expressions.

One of your hands grappled onto his back, digging your nails into the blades of his shoulders- your other hand reaching down to rub your swollen clit, making the sensation all the more satisfying as he continued his unfaltering pace, the slapping of skin and the sinful moans bounced off the walls. “D-don’t stop- oh my god…”

He groaned at how good you felt, looked and sounded - his senses in overdrive as he came close to his peak, his cock twitching inside you, feeling your silky walls pulsating around him.

“G-gonna cum- fuck…”

After a few final thrusts, his head fell forward and his face screwed up as he came deep inside your cunt, a deep growl erupting deep from his chest.

Your orgasm washed over you, crying out his name and digging your nails further into his skin, your thighs quivering as you came down from your high.

Billy looked down at your flustered, perfectly flustered features- leaning down to kiss your pouted lips.

“You have-“ he took a breath, chuckling softly. “No idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that… with ya.”

You looked up at him, letting out a quiet giggle. “Me too, shit I’ve been missing out on that?” You smiled at him, making his heart flutter.

“That is just the tip of the iceberg love, and we have all night to make up for it…” he teased, placing another kiss to your lips- knowing that it was going to be an eventful evening.

[togegiri]

✎ᝰ ❛ THIS SWEETNESS IS JUST MADE FOR YOU ❜ — yuuta okkotsu. toge inumaki. megumi fushiguro. yuuji itadori.

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ content. The many woe's of being inlove is valentines day, so what kind of sweet treat do they make for you?

₊˚⊹ ᰔ warnings. gender neutral reader. you/your and they/them pronouns is used. (name) will be used. petnames is used (my love - yuuta , darling - megumi , my sunflower - yuuji). tooth rottening fluff.

note. kind off early for valentines day but I wanted to write it anyways! happy early valentines day people <33

— THE PREPARED TYPE. 乙骨憂太 | okkotsu yuuta

[ "happy valentines day (name), here you go, usually girls give out the chocolates but I wanted to do the giving! I didn't want to buy just chocolates so I made chocolate chip cookies! I hope you love them my love.. y- you don't mind if I call you my love right?" ]

A gentleman to the boot. A week before valentines he has already been planning on what to get for you. He wanted to give you something meaningful that you'll love. Thus the idea of baking cookies came in.

A chocolate chip cookie to be exact. Although he doesn't know baking that much, he asked for his friends' help, pandas, toge, maki. Although when he asks for their help all he gets is “I don't know how to bake,” or “bonito flakes” in toge's language. 

Thus he opted to get baking lessons which was worth it because he learned how to bake cakes, and different types of desserts that he can surprise you for any occasion.

While in the baking lessons he was a little slow but the teacher didn't mind at all. He had to apologize a lot due to the small clumsy mistakes he does but nonetheless he was able to learn through his mistakes.

He gifts you the chocolate chip cookie with a white paper bag and light pink ribbons and laces. He tried his best to make the packaging look adorable which ended up to be cute and great! 

He also bought you some pink tulips. The day of the valentines day he was worried you wont like the cookies he baked or worse your allergic to something in the cookie. So he had to ask in advance if your allergic to anything before he gave it to you.

When he gave the cutely packaged cookies and the tulips he gave you an awkward smile. As you feel your body feel hot as he blushed a little seeing you take the cutely packaged gift and the pink tulips.

“Oh uh… umm since you said you dont have any allergies h- here! happy valentines,” he gives it to you as he awkwardly chuckles feeling pink dust forming in his cheek. Slowly you take the cutely packaged sweet treat, “I hope you love it how much I loved making it for you.”

“thank you yuuta,” you smiled, giving him a small peck in the kiss, making his eyes widen. His whole face covered with his blush, “your welcome my love,” he gave you a kiss back. Yuuta feels as if his mouth has been overfilled with the sweetness of the chocolates as he looks at you. He truly is a lovesick fool isn't he?

— THE AWKWARD TYPE. 狗巻棘 | inumaki toge 

[ “uhh… k- kelp… tuna tuna,” ] 

He's a hopeless romantic. Although quite awkward as I'd like to think when he's in love, he'll love hard to the point he feels nervous and shy around them. He had to take three shopping trips in three whole days because he feels as if the things he bought are not too worthy for you.

Unlike yuuta he just followed a youtube tutorial and winged it the day before valentine. It was a lot of trial and error. Yes he woke up panda just to force panda to try the first failure of his creation.

Panda thought he was poisoning him after eating all of his onigiri. Yes the cursed corpse puked it out after. Toge has to be up all night to make those chocolate soufflés for you. The ending was a messy kitchen, a panda who looks like he's about to enter heaven and see Jesus, and a perfectly done chocolate soufflés.

He wrapped it in a minimalistic way, a red wrapper and a pink ribbon on the chocolate soufflés and made a small cute note on it drawing a chibi of yourself and him holding hands. 

He hopes the chocolate soufflés were to your liking and the love letter reaches through your heart. He'll hide under his collar once you get the gifts he has given you. He wants to run away, kiss you, or give you a kiss then run away after! 

In short he doesn't know what to do and just short circuits but tries his best to stay where he is as you took his declaration of love.

As you take the valentines gift you smile at him seeing the love letter attached to the wrapped treats. He blushed a little trying to hide his face with his collar as you read the letter he wrote.

Dear (name),

I love you, I know I can say it aloud like anybody can. I do hope my actions can speak through the words I badly wanna say. I love you dearly. 

You smile at him, bringing him to a hug. The cursed speech user's eyes widen at this as he awkwardly hugs you back putting his head on your shoulder feeling his whole face hot and embarrassed. “I love you too toge!” He nodded his head as he hugged you tightly making you giggle hugging him back tightly. 

Words may not be said but actions are much louder to toge's love for you. 

— THE COOL HEADED TYPE. 伏黒恵 | fushiguro megumi 

[ “I hope this isn't much, I hope you aren't disappointed, I'm not much of a flower type of guy but I hope this love letter will suffice, happy valentines day d-.. ahem! darling..” ] 

He knows how to bake and is a perfect boyfriend at this point. Although he's quite stoic and a private person you loved him nonetheless. As for valentines day presents he already planned them in advance.

He personally doesn't like giving flowers but prefers to give you a love letter or love notes. He made some chocolate truffles for you but when gojo saw him baking he immediately annoyed megumi to let him join baking which he denied multiple times.

Gojo ended up eating some of the truffles as megumi forced him out of the kitchen. The way he decorated the packaging was a simplistic style. A cute pink wrapper with red ribbons decorating it. As he gave it to you, same with the cutely decorated letter scented with his favorite perfume.

Particularly he wasn't embarrassed more on the nervous side, afterall he value what your likes and dislikes and wants the best for you. 

“Tell me if you don't like it, I'm gonna remake the one you like, okay?” he says making you chuckle as you take the gifts he gave for you, “silly megumi, I'd eat it even if I'm allergic to it if it came from you,” 

The raven haired male chuckles, “stop being an idiot I would never let you eat something you're allergic too,” you grin as he gives you a small peck in the cheek as you hugged him close. 

— THE SUNSHINE TYPE. 虎杖悠仁 | itadori yuuji

[ “I got you tons of things, if I'm being truthful I almost forgot about it so I kinda panicked and bought lots of things! I hope you like what I get for you, my sunflower!” ] 

He almost forgot about it until nobara asked what he'll get for you. His eyes widened as he looked at nobara in panic as the brunette girl looked at him in defeat. He forced the girl to help him as nobara fighted for her life to not be in yuuji's shit. 

Ended up helping him in the end as they looked around a patissier shop where he ended up buying brownies for you. He also requested for the workers to wrap it in a super duper cute way! pink wrapper, red ribbons, with white frills, and cute heart designs on it.

He also bought you a cute hello kitty plushie, a bouquet rose and a letter. Yuuji Itadori is going all out for this because he felt guilty and almost forgot about it. He will say it to you too once he gives his presents to you. Apologizing, looking like a kicked puppy.

You chuckled as you let it go, making the boy grin and pepper you with kisses.

“I’m still sorry I almost forgot about it…” yuuji whined hugging you close nuzzling his head onto your shoulder making you chuckle, “it's fine, I still love you yuuji, I don't mind if you forgot about it,” the pink haired male pouts. “That's not good, if I forget any event I'm gonna be angry at myself for that because I want to shower you with all my love.”

“You already do those yuuji, everyday you shower me with your love,”

“that's true I still want you to know I love you with every anniversary, valentines day, birthday, christmas—”

“yeah, yeah, I got it yuuji,” 

He chuckles, hugging you closer, loving the warmth you two make.

“Good!” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Sugar Tonight 2

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

*sorry for misnumbering

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The man catches you by surprise as he appears. You’re busy scraping out the bottom of the toaster as he stands silently at the counter. You smile over at him and call out for him to bear with you for a moment. You’re not sure how you didn’t hear him, even as you tried to chip away at the burnt crumbs. Xander never cleans it. 

“Hi, sir, sorry.” You dry off your hands as you approach. “Black coffee.” 

You punch in his order and he waits patiently to tap his smartwatch on the machine. He doesn’t say a word as you pour him a cup. It’s typical but unsettling nonetheless. 

“Oh, er, I think... I think last time there was a mix-up.” You say as you put his cup on the counter. He ignores you and goes to grab a sleeve and a lid. You follow as you dig around in your apron pocket. “Uh, sir, I think you gave me the wrong tip.” 

You bring the folded bill out of your pocket and hold it out. He doesn’t even look at it. Instead, his dark eyes bore into you. Oh. That’s scary. 

“No. I didn’t.” 

That’s it. He’s already halfway around before you can process his words. His tone hangs in the air and lingers even as the door opens and closes across the atrium. You rescind your arm and open up the bill. 

It’s a lot of money. You could use it but it just feels so wrong. You can’t help but feel indebted. Maybe because you’re used to bending over backwards for each cent. You’ll be smart. Put it away for an emergency. Those always seem to find you at the worst moment. 

Your shift comes to an end as the city skyline softens beneath the amber glow of sunrise. Dayani takes the keys and sends you off. You’re tempted to grab a coffee to go before you leave but you can’t. You need sleep. 

You come out onto the street and take your usual route. You cut behind the corner shop and around the short alleyway. As you come out on the other side, a shadow appears, as if splitting from the brick, and falls into step beside you. 

You stumble and glance over at the stranger. It’s that man. The one who always wears black and orders the same shade of coffee. 

“I don’t make mistakes,” he says. 

You’re too addled to respond. How did he find you? How did he know you’d come this way? 

You stop but only for a moment as he grabs your arm and lurches you forward. You whimper and struggle to keep in stride. His grip is tight and his fingertips jab painfully. 

“Sir? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--” 

“You shouldn’t take shortcuts,” he reprimands, eyes set ahead of him as he drags you down your usual path. “It’s dangerous.” 

“Oh, ouch, sorry. I—what's happening?” You squeak as confusion muddles your thoughts. 

“Anyone could sneak up on you.” He doesn’t falter. You can hardly keep your feet moving as your adrenaline floods through your veins and narrows your vision. You glance around helplessly but the few bodies on the street don’t spare you a single look. 

“I’m sorry. Again. But—ow. Do you want your money back?” You try to shrug him off as he turns down your street. 

He’s silent as he marches on. He stops you in front of your building and angles you to face it. He keeps a hold of you. 

“Should be in this building. Locks janky. Any asshole can climb the fire escape.” He points along the side. “Or carry in an empty pizza box behind the elderly old lady who’s too helpful for her own good.” 

You wince and hold the air in your chest. “Sir?” 

“Night shift. Alone. That’s third. Stupid,” he snarls. 

“Sir, I—I have roommates and... and there’s cameras.” 

“And assholes wear masks or don’t give a shit,” he growls. 

You whine as he squeezes and you touch his hand. “Ow, please, you’re hurting me.” 

He shifts and looks down at his hand. He gives one last squeeze and releases you. He drops his arm straight and faces you. 

“Lots of men out there would hurt you worse.” 

You shake your head at him. You don’t understand. You’re not stupid. You’ve lived in the city long enough. 

“You leave just before eleven. At least you have the sense to stay in streetlights then. But you keep your head down and don’t look where you’re going,” he rebukes. “You don’t see your own shadow or the second one making sure no one else notices you.” 

You pout and flutter your lashes. The fear slowly rises up from your stomach to your chest until you’re choked dumb. His mouth slants. 

“You should use that money for a can of mace. Maybe a taser.” He squares his shoulders and looks you up and down. “Or maybe I’ll just keep my eye on you.” 

You flounder, lips twitching, and he puts his back to you. He stalks off without another word or another look. You watch him until he’s only a speck in the cityscape. 

What the heck was that? 

[slightlygaywritesslightlytoomuch]

Olivia benson x fem!reader

FREE PALESTINE

Angst

(Credit to owner)

The scent of burnt coffee and regret hung heavy in the air of Olivia's apartment. Two years. Two whole years had passed since the fight, a stupid, petty argument that escalated into a chasm Olivia never thought you'd willingly jump into. You called her a workaholic, her nights spent hunched over case files a constant reminder of how little time she had for anything else. You, with your fiery spirit and infectious laugh, deserved more than that. Olivia, in a fit of exhaustion and frustration, had thrown it back, words laced with the bitterness of a job that chipped away at her soul piece by piece. "Then maybe you should find someone who has time for you!"

You slammed the door on your way out, the echo of it reverberating in Olivia's ears long after you were gone. She called, texted, left desperate messages on your voicemail, hoping, praying you wouldn't disappear like smoke. But disappear you did. No forwarding address, no trace on social media, your phone number disconnected. You vanished like a ghost, leaving behind a gaping hole in Olivia's life.

The days blurred into weeks, weeks into months. Olivia threw herself into work, the familiar sting of righteous anger and the hunt for justice a poor substitute for the warmth of your hand in hers. She saw traces of you everywhere – in the coffee shop where you always ordered your extra-sweet cappuccino, in the park where you used to steal glances at the stray dogs, in the bookstore where you'd lose yourself in detective novels. Each time, a jolt of hope would momentarily flicker, only to be extinguished by the crushing reality of your absence.

Then came the call. It was a cold, rainy November night, the city slick with the first kiss of winter. Elliot's voice crackled through the line, a raw urgency in his tone. "Liv, you gotta get down here. Warehouse raid. Russian mob. We found girls."

Olivia's throat went dry. Human trafficking. It was an all too familiar story, a stain on the city's soul. But the case didn't register fully, not yet. All she could think about was girls, young lives stolen, innocence shattered.

The warehouse was a desolate, concrete tomb. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the despairing whimpers that echoed from behind the heavy metal doors. Olivia and the team kicked them down, a cacophony of shouts and flashing lights filling the cavernous space.

The girls were everywhere. Huddled in corners, eyes wide with terror, their bodies frail shadows under layers of grime. As Olivia moved through the room, a primal instinct kicked in, a fierce protectiveness that burned through the years of jaded detachment. She knelt before a young girl, barely a teenager, tears tracing dirty streaks down her pale cheeks. The girl flinched instinctively, eyes downcast.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Olivia murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "We're here to help you now."

A gruff voice interrupted. "Liv, you need to see this."

Elliot stood by a makeshift bed in a back room, his face grim. Olivia followed his gaze. There, on the threadbare mattress, lay a figure draped in a tattered blanket. It was you.

The blood drained from Olivia's face. Your face, pale and gaunt, was framed by matted hair. Your once vibrant eyes were closed, your breathing shallow. A choked sob escaped her lips. How? Why?

Elliot noticed her reaction, his eyes instantly filled with understanding. "We need to get her to the hospital," he said, his voice gruff but kind.

The sterile white of the hospital room felt like a slap. Olivia sat by your bedside, a vigil kept through the long night. Machines beeped rhythmically, a constant reminder of your fragility. Hours turned into days, and finally, your eyelids fluttered open.

Confusion clouded your gaze for a moment before recognition dawned. Your eyes widened, a flicker of fear giving way to disbelief. "Olivia?"

Her voice was a hoarse whisper, but to Olivia, it was a symphony. "Yeah, it's me. You're safe now."

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. You tried to speak, but your voice was weak. Olivia leaned closer, catching your words.

"You left," you rasped, your voice tinged with accusation.

Olivia flinched. "I..." she started, the words catching in her throat. Shame and regret were a bitter cocktail in her mouth.

"Don't," you cut her off, a flicker of your old fire returning. "Just... tell me what happened."

It poured out of her then, a torrent of words – the fight, the desperation, the months spent searching for you. You listened in silence, With a tear slipping down her cheek, Olivia reached out and grasped your hand, her touch sending a jolt through you. The years of separation melted away, replaced by a raw vulnerability that left you breathless.

"I was so stupid, Y/N," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Work consumed me, and I took you for granted. I never thought you'd leave."

You squeezed her hand back, a silent understanding passing between you. The hurt of the fight was still there, a dull ache in your chest, but seeing Olivia like this, broken and filled with remorse, softened the blow.

"I said some pretty awful things too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have stormed out like that."

Olivia's eyes met yours, a flicker of hope igniting within them. "Can you ever forgive me?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken longing. You looked at the woman you once loved, the woman you realized you never truly stopped loving. The past two years had been a nightmare, a desolate wasteland devoid of her warmth.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was small, intimate, a silent promise.

"I already have," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

A choked sob escaped Olivia's lips as she leaned forward, burying her face in the crook of your neck. Tears streamed down her face, hot against your skin. You held her close, whispering words of comfort, the silence of the hospital room broken only by the soft beeps of the machines and the rhythm of your intertwined breaths.

As the days turned into weeks, you recovered slowly, your body healing alongside the fractured pieces of your relationship with Olivia. The nights were filled with whispered confessions, apologies, and the tentative rebuilding of trust. You spoke about your ordeal, the horrors you witnessed at the hands of your captors, the despair that threatened to consume you.

Olivia listened patiently, her arms wrapped around you, a silent shield against the encroaching darkness. She held you close as you cried, her presence a source of strength and solace.

When you were finally released from the hospital, Olivia took you back to her apartment. It felt different, the emptiness replaced by a sense of cautious optimism. There were nights you'd lie awake, the echo of the past lingering in the air, but Olivia was always there, a comforting presence by your side.

One evening, as you sipped tea on the fire escape, the city lights twinkling below, Olivia turned to you, her eyes filled with a newfound determination.

"We'll get through this, together," she said, her voice firm. "You and me."

You met her gaze, a smile gracing your lips. "Together," you echoed, the simple word holding the promise of a future rebuilt, stronger and more cherished than ever before. The fight that tore you apart had left its scars, but it had also shown you the strength of your bond, a love that even the darkest of nights couldn't extinguish.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie | Part 1: The Convenience Store

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Eijiro Kirishima x Femme Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Tension, Hero Situations, Eijiro Kirishima is a Pro Hero

Link to My Master List 😬

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie

Part 1: The Convenience Store

It is a rainy Tuesday night and you are absolutely exhausted from work. On your way home to your apartment, you decide to stop by a local bodega for some junk food. You have been looking forward to binge watching a trashy reality TV show all day long, and some potato chips would be the perfect snack to munch on as you enjoy the juicy TV drama.

The bodega’s glass sliding door opens with a squeak as you hastily fold up your dripping umbrella. You shiver as the cool store AC hits your wet skin, and goose bumps flare across your bare arms. The day had started out deceptively warm, and you hadn’t dressed for the weather. You are deeply regretting the choice to wear the navy sleeveless dress that is now clinging to your body and dripping a puddle onto the dull bodega carpet. Oh well – you will be home in just a few minutes and will be able to step into a hot shower soon enough.

You grab a shopping basket and wander the aisles, eager to satiate your cravings for salty crisps. The store is unusually empty for the hour – the sudden rain must have kept most people inside. The only other people present are the elderly cashier, and a man pursuing the energy drinks in one of the freezers. The other patron is keenly focused on a bottle of purple Gatorade - intently reading the ingredient list on the drink’s packaging. You pay no attention to this other customer as you locate the snack aisle and load up your basket with chip bags boasting a variety of fun flavors (BBQ chips?? Yes please!). The aisles are tall – stacked ceiling high with boxes and bags containing every flavor of chip one could imagine.

SMASH! A loud crash reverberates throughout the tiny store, followed by the sound of small objects scattering across the vinyl floor. A deep voice booms out: “This is a hold up. Give me all the money in that register. And make it quick – I don’t think either of us wants any trouble.” You freeze; blood running cold in your veins as you quickly put the pieces of the situation together.

“I swear old man – I’ve got a special quirk that will make your life all kinds of painful unless you Hand. Over. The. Cash.”

You move slowly along the aisle, looking for a gap in the snack shelves so you can better assess the situation. Through a small space between cereal boxes, the situation comes into view – the man that you had seen shopping for sports drinks is now standing menacingly over the check out counter. He is around six feet tall with sharp features; a simple black domino mask obscured his eyes. Clad entirely in black, he stands with his right arm gripping the linoleum countertop, the other poised grotesquely above the cashier’s balding head. It takes you a moment to put together exactly what you were seeing – the villain’s right arm was a gigantic crab claw! If the situation weren’t so tense, you would have died from laughter. The scene is ridiculous – the man’s arm (claw) is twice the length of a typical human arm and had a bright, shiny red hue. This kind of mutation quirk always gives you a start – the unnatural way the man’s body blends seamlessly with the extra large claw is uncanny.

            The shop cashier looks up at the villain with terror in his eyes. He seems absolutely frozen on the spot as the masked robber clicks his claw menacingly. With a start, you notice that the inside of the claw is wickedly sharp. The villain flashes it dangerously towards the cashier’s neck to drive a sense of urgency.

            You assess your options. Your quirk isn’t particularly powerful, but it definitely has some use here. If you could just get a little bit closer to the situation, you could probably use it to distract the villain long enough to get the cashier out of harm’s way. You stretch out your hand to activate your quirk, but stopped dead when you feel a warm, rough hand clamp around your mouth from behind.

You try to scream, but the sound comes out muffled. Adrenaline floods your veins as you prepared to fight for your life. You hadn’t heard someone sneak up behind you, and you squirm in an effort to get away. An arm reaches out to steady you, and it’s owner whispers: “Sorry to startle you – I’m here to help.” The soft, gravely voice sends a fresh wave of goose bumps down your chilled skin. You turn to see one of the year’s top heroes - the Red Riot - crouched over you in the snack aisle. You’d recognize that trademark red spiky hair anywhere. Your body starts to relax a bit – things are under control and a hero is here!

Over the past few years, Red Riot has been making quite a name for himself in the media as a dependable, chivalrous hero. You’ve often watched his battles and rescues play out on the television – not only was he a skilled hero, but also he was kind and genuine. His interviews were your favorite – he always found such nice things to say about his teammates and the people he rescued. And he wasn’t bad to look at either.

He’s clearly not on duty – his usual simple costume has been traded in for a black t-shirt, jeans and a soft red hoodie. Your heart skips a beat. He’s so totally hot. When he realizes you’re not going to scream and give away his position to the villain, he releases you from his embrace. He smiles reassuringly, and the warmth of his grins reaches his eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of this.” He promises.

For a second there, you completely forgot about the convenience store hold up occurring feet away from where the two of you were crouched. Your senses are clouded by the closeness of Red Riot, who is still holding you steady with his muscular arms. When he realizes his touch is lingering a bit longer than necessary, he quickly pulls away. He shifts to peer over your shoulder through the small cereal box window. The movement brings him ever so slightly closer to you, and you find yourself inhaling the sweet scent of clean laundry. You lean the tiniest bit closer to him.

But back to the situation at hand – you can hear the crab clawed villain barking commands at the cashier. He wants all the money from the register as well as a roll of lotto tickets. He must be either extremely overconfident or incredibly good at crime – because this man is taking his time! Red Riot scowls as he watches the scene unfold. You can see his body tensing as he prepares for a confrontation. With a look of determination, he turns to you and whispers “stay quiet and out of sight. I’m going to go distract the villain and try to de-escalate the situation. If things get physical – run. There’s a dumpling shop across the street – get someone there to call the police.”

His red eyes bore into your own. There’s something so intense and hot about him. You feel a strange connection pulling you closer to this man, closer to the heat of his body.

            “W-wait.” You whisper. “I can help!”

            You point to the man with the crab claw – he still has the Gatorade bottle in the pocket of his pants. To his left you see a palette of energy drinks waiting to be restocked. “With my quirk I can control small amounts of liquid. I can distract him by levitating all those energy drinks at once. I’ll suspend them in the air and bring them all crashing down on top of him, giving you time to get the cashier out of harm’s way.”

            Red Riot smiles appreciatively. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger like that. I’ll handle this on my own. Just keep quiet and get across the street, okay?”

            You make a face. You don’t understand why he won’t let you help. After all, the villain seems untrained and unfocused. His claw hand can’t do much damage to a bunch of small, moving targets.

            “Trust me.” Red Riot reaches for your hand. He places the pads of your fingers on his palm. You can feel him activating his hardening quirk beneath your fingers as his skin slowly becomes rougher. “I was built for this.”

            You nod, unable to argue. His quirk makes his skin feel smooth and strong like the bark of an oak tree. You press your fingers lightly into the center of his hand, but there’s no give. Reflexively, he closes his fingers around your own, causing electricity to shoot through your hand at the intimate touch. Red Riot’s eyes widen, an apology already at his lips. You quickly slip your hand out from his grasp.

“Good luck, Red Riot.” You tap the hardened skin on his forearm. “You’re right – definitely built for this.”

            He grins, seemingly basking in the compliment.

            “That’s right – just leave this to me!” He whispers back. “Stay safe, okay?”

Red Riot army crawls down the aisle. You watch as he slowly steps out from behind the shelves and approaches the counter confidently, grabbing a bag of BBQ chips on the way. The poor cashier is now filling a grocery bag with money from the register as the crab armed villain hulks over him, sneering and clicking his claw. The villain doesn’t even seem to hear Red Riot approaching him from behind.

            In two strides, Red Riot closes the distance and reaches out to tap the villain on his crabby shoulder.

            “Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the counter. Other people want to check out.” As he says this, he pointedly tosses his bag of chips onto the shiny linoleum counter.

            The crab villain whirls around, face full of fury. His eyes widen and his face contorts in fury when he realizes whom he’s talking to. The villain wastes no time – he propels himself away from the counter, whirling his deadly sharp arm towards Red Riot.

Crack!

The arm makes contact with Red Riot’s rock hard skin. The hero smiles smugly, his right arm taking the brunt of the blow.

“Why don’t we take this down a notch, sir? I’m clearly a match for your quirk, and the police are already on their way. There’s no need to fight, we can just talk - ”

            The villain moves surprisingly swiftly, shifting around Red Riot’s outstretched arm and reaching to position his claw around Red Riot’s neck. The hero’s facial expression shifts to surprise – he wasn’t expecting a villain with such a cumbersome quirk to be able to move so languidly. The crab villain slowly starts to press down his claw around the hero’s neck. Red Riot is making a face that clearly says “Oh, shit.”

You turn and desperately reach your hand through the gap in the cereal box display, pointing your fingertips at the villain and willing your Quirk to activate. Almost instantly, the Gatorade bottle resting half full in the villain’s back pocket lifts into the air as all of the liquid rushes towards the top of the container. You focus all of your concentration on the bottle.

Unfortunately, you never had a lot of opportunity to train and refine your quirk as you had pursued an educational track that prioritized tech and computer skills over quirk competence. However, you had a grasp on the fundamentals of how your quirk worked – and you figured if you could just distract the crab villain for a moment, you could give Red Riot a chance to regroup.

The villain pressed his sharp claw further around Red Riot’s neck. You could hear an ominous cracking notice – and you hoped desperately that the sound wasn’t the hero’s thick skin crumbling beneath his assailant’s grasp. You began to feel a sickening mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins and you try to renew your concentration. The liquid inside the bottle begins to boil – the water fizzing and popping in the small confined space. You shakily will the bottle to float up and behind the villain’s head.

Red Riot uses his hardened hands to try to break the villain’s grasp, but the crabby grip holds fast. The villain is intensely focused on trying to crush Red Riot’s windpipe, and so he is completely taken by surprise when the bottle of Gatorade explodes and hits the back of his head with a splash of scalding purple liquid. The villain howls in pain – both hands reflexively flying to cradle the back of his burned head. In his pain and fury, he unwittingly releases Red Riot from his grasp. The red headed hero is quick to take advantage of the situation – dropping to the ground and sweeping a strong leg beneath the villain’s own. The crab-clawed villain comes crashing to the ground with a large “thud.”

Red Riot wastes no time, dropping on top of the villain to pin disproportionate arms to the ground.

“Sir, you’re under arrest for armed robbery and for engaging in combat with a licensed hero. The police will be here shortly to take your statement - but in the meantime please stop resisting.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Red Riot continues to hold the villain tightly to the ground. Behind the counter’s register, the convenience store clerk still stands frozen, holding a wad of bills in bills in a vice-like grip.

You hear the metallic slide of the store’s automatic doors followed by several pairs of heavy boots off to your right. Within a few seconds, a team of police officers comes into view, their starched blue shirts bright in the florescent lighting.

At the sight of the police, the crab villain finally seems to give up fighting – his body sagging to the ground beneath Red Riot. The hero holds his position, eyeing the villain’s mutant arm warily. Even from a distance, you can tell his hardening quirk is still activated – he isn’t taking any chances.

“Great job, Red Riot! We’ll take it from here.” A tall officer with a glinting badge steps forward and uses a length of metal cord to bind the villain’s large clawed arm. “We’ve been after this guy for weeks!”

Red Riot smiles as he steps back and lets the police team capture his assailant. He turns and meets your eyes through the space in the cereal box wall. He grins at you, his dark eyes wink a quick “thanks” in your direction as he detectives whisk him away for questioning.

“Miss – are you alright?” You let out a small squeak of surprise, turning to find a short female officer with a tight bun of dark hair coming around the corner of the aisle. You look down at yourself – crouching like a wild animal in a soggy, rain-drenched dress.

“I’ve definitely had better days.” You laugh, allowing the policewoman to help you to your feet. You feel the adrenaline slowly start to melt away, leaving you feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded. You can’t think of the last time you used your quirk, so you’re sure the little stunt you pulled to save Red Riot has impacted your stamina.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened here?” The officer asks, motioning for you to follow her to the front of the store where the crab villain is being checked for weapons.

“No, not at all!” You wrap your arms around yourself and attempt to bring some warmth back into your body.          

The police had a lot of questions. Apparently this villain had been evading them for quite sometime. He had been robbing convenience stores across several cities. He was quick, efficient, and sometimes even deadly – having injured half a dozen clerks and store patrons in his mad pursuit of cash.

“We heard that you used your quirk to get Red Riot out of a spot of trouble.” The policewoman with the bun taps a pen to a pad of paper thoughtfully. Her tone isn’t accusatory; she’s just stating facts. “The unsanctioned use of a quirk in combat is illegal, but since you were put in a potentially life threatening situation and you were in under the supervision of a pro hero, the Good Samaritan law should cover your actions today.”

 You feel the last bit of energy absolutely drain out of you and you reach out to grab a nearby store shelf for support. Illegal? The thought of breaking the law hadn’t even crossed your mind. You had just acted on pure instinct when you saw Red Riot in trouble. You start to shiver more violently as the weight of what you’ve done fully sinks in. The policewoman quickly waves to another officer and you find yourself being guided to a chair.

“Miss - it seems like you’re in shock. Please take some deep breaths and we’ll get you to a hospital shortly to get checked out, alright?” The officer pats your hand kindly and pockets her notepad. She walks out of view to call a medical team with her colleagues and you are momentarily left alone in the corner of the store. You stare at the ground, your head feeling fuzzy and cold. It was so stupid to use your quirk so recklessly like that! You admonish yourself silently. You’re sure that Red Riot could have gotten himself out of that bad situation given time – he was a top hero after all! You were just so worried and eager to help…

A soft material engulfs your shoulders. “You’re freezing! Here – take my sweatshirt.” You turn and see Red Riot standing behind you, his strong hands pressing his large red hoodie around your shoulders. He smooths the plush material around you, and you shiver at the contact.

“I couldn’t possibly take this!” You said weakly despite your body hungrily leaning into the warmth of his touch and the offered piece of clothing.

“It’s too late – it’s already yours. Consider it a thank you for saving me back there.” Red Riot grins, showing off a row of pointed teeth. You gratefully accept the gift – tucking your arms into the floppy sleeves. You’re practically swimming in sweatshirt.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.” You look down, ashamed. “You had the situation under control, and it was irresponsible to use my quirk like that. You even told me not to help earlier.” You shake your head, and then blush when you realize you’re probably showering the chivalrous hero in raindrops.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that at all! While it’s true that a Pro can always break out of a tough spot, someone once told me that ‘meddling where you don’t need to is the essence of a hero.’ You moved without thinking to help me when I needed it. That took guts.” His grin widens. “I’m so lucky that such a strong person was looking out for me from the cereal section.”

You laugh, cheeks blushing at the compliment. He’s just so…handsome, grinning roguishly at you with his deep, dark eyes.

“Your quirk is really strong, too. What was that – liquid manipulation? Have you ever trained your quirk?” You’re taken aback by the sincerity of his interest in your small little quirk.

“Not really – I had the standard quirk class in elementary school where we are evaluated and learn how to control the basics of each of our quirks. Beyond that, I never had much interest in it. I can make small amounts of liquid float, boil and freeze. It’s not particularly powerful, but I can make a mean pot of soup with it.” You smile, appreciating the attention you’re receiving from the hero. “I went to a specialty high school focused on business and marketing, so I pretty much avoided any quirk training or hero-focused track. Exploding that little Gatorade bottle was probably the crux of my power.”

“Well it was incredible! I feel like you’re really underselling yourself – I see so much potential in you and your quirk. With just a little training, I think you could really do some damage.” Red Riot says excitedly, talking animatedly with his hands. You laugh, picturing yourself in some ridiculous hero suit parading around the city splashing boiling water on legions of seafood-themed villains.

“Surprisingly, the hero life is just not for me!” You grin before a wave of shivers wracks through your body. Is this from shock? Or is it the damp cold of your rain soaked dress finally catching your attention.

Red Riot instantly notices your discomfort and shakes his head thoughtfully before saying: “Stay here a minute, I have an idea.” He scampers away and you’re left alone again. You focus on taking a few deep, calming breaths as you zip the hoodie up to your chin. You inhale deeply and realize that the red fabric smells comforting and sweet – a combination of mint and cedar wood. You deeply breathe in the scent of Red Riot, and you feel your panic ebb away. You’re steeped in exhaustion as you slouch against the hard plastic chair.

A moment later, Red Riot re-appears, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup. “I made you some peppermint tea.” He says shyly, holding out the hot cup. “It always makes me feel better after a fight – I thought it might do the same for you.”

You take the cup gratefully and tip it back for a sip. He holds out a hand to stop you. “Careful, it’s hot. Give it a second to cool so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“Thank you so much, Red Riot. I really appreciate all you’ve done today.” You’re too tired to care that you sound like a fan girl.

“Hey, call me Eijiro. After what we’ve been through together, we should be on a first name basis.” To your surprise, his cheeks tint pink as he shares his first name. You smile softly and share your own nickname. He repeats it back to you, seeming to like the way your name rolls on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you Eijiro.” You feel the warmth of the tea sinking into your icy hands.

“So what were you buying here at the store anyway? Let me go get you a cart and – oh, hold on!” He absentmindedly leans in close to you, reaching out to pull a stray wet strand of hair away from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. “We should really get you a hair dryer or something!” He laughs, “You’re still soaking wet!” Despite just having met, the touch is so intimate and familiar. You lean towards him, wanting him to touch you again with his strong, capable hero fingertips.

“Red Riot – the press is outside waiting to interview you.” A police officer calls over, snapping you both back to reality. “They’re eager to hear about how you apprehended the villain. For the sake of her privacy, let’s leave this young lady’s roll in the capture out of it.”

Eijiro snaps to attention, his hand still hovering close to your face. He turns to give the officer a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me! I’ll be right there.”

He moves to look at you again. His eyes are wide and his expression intrigued. “They’re going to take you to the hospital to make sure everything looks okay. They’ll probably keep you overnight for observation until you’re out of shock. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you, cutie.” He stands to walk out of the store. “Thanks for saving my life – I hope to hear from you soon!”

And with a wave, he strides away towards the press team waiting outside. You look down into your tea, confused and quietly delighted at his hope to hear from you. You have absolutely no idea how you would ever contact him again, but the sentiment and the term of endearment he had used is sweet. Ever the chivalrous hero.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of tests and scans and interviews with police officers and doctors alike. Despite your protests, an ambulance whisks you away to the closest hospital and you are kept under observation just as Red Riot - Eijiro ­- had predicted. The staff is courteous and sweet, praising you for your roll in the incident when the police officers tip them off. You’re given comfortable clothes to borrow and access to a hot shower adjacent to your hospital room.

When you finally sink into the hospital bed, it’s pitch black outside. You flick on the grainy old TV that’s mounted above your bed and flick through the channels until you stop to see a familiar face on the local news.

Red Riot is smiling down at you from the TV set, his eyes warm as he answers the questions of various reporters.

“I was just shopping for some ramen when I noticed the villain. Weird coincidence that I just happened to be at the same store as him!” The hero laughs, rubbing his hand behind his head. “I’m thankful to the store patrons and the clerk who stayed calm as I handled the situation.”

“Red Riot – did you have any difficulty subduing the victim?”

Eijiro pauses to think for a moment before carefully saying “There was a moment that he had the drop on me, but a really cute shopper distracted him for me and allowed me to get the upper hand.”

“You’re so humble, Red Riot. I’m sure you had everything under control.”

Eijiro shakes his head. “I don’t want to encourage recklessness, but I do want to make it clear that you don’t need to be a Pro to be someone’s hero. The woman who helped me today – her bravery and willingness to act even when things were scary is what true heroism looks like. I’m grateful to her, and I hope that I’ll be able to see her again soon.”

The reporters continue to fawn over Red Riot for a few more minutes – peppering him with more questions that he cheekily answers. He avoids revealing any additional details about you despite the reporter’s needling and prodding. Soon the news broadcast ends, and the anchor appears on screen and starts discussing upcoming movie releases.

You sit with your mouth gaping open. Had you really made such a lasting impression on the sturdy hero? You feel your heartbeat increase at the thought, causing the heart monitors strapped to your chest to peep and whir. A nurse appears at your side in an instant, and you bashfully explain to her that you are fine – just a bit overexcited from the day’s events. Once she is assuaged, you return to flipping through channels before settling on reruns of The Bachelor. This wasn’t the soapy TV series you had been looking forward to all day, but it was as close as you are going to get at this point. You let the show run and before long you are dozing in the propped up hospital bed, dreaming of seafood villains and heroes with bright hair and dark, endless eyes.

When you’re finally ready to check out from the hospital the next day, the nurse at the front desk presents you with your belongings. Your wallet, your high heeled work shoes, and an extra large bright red hoodie. “Oh – I forgot about this.” You gratefully accept the sweatshirt and shrug it on. It swings around you like a trench coat, fluffy and warm. You can still smell traces of cedar wood on the collar.

You walk out of the hospital and into a surprisingly sunny day, metallic sliding doors parting for you as you exit. You sink your hands into the hoodie’s overlarge pockets and are surprised to feel a rectangular square object tucked into the deep right pocket. Had Eijiro left a piece of gum in his hoodie? You fish it out with your index and pointer fingers – it’s a small folded up piece of paper ripped from a notepad. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it’s branded with the convenience store’s faded logo. You guess it was ripped from the clerk’s register notepad.

Curious, you unfold the small wad of paper. Written hastily across the note is a messy scrawl of digits and the words: Would love to take you to dinner some time, cutie. Thanks for rescuing me. – Eijiro.

            Oh my God. He gave you his number. A warm blush creeps up your face as your eyes run across the note over and over again. What a crazy 24 hours it has been! You reach into your purse to grab your phone. With shaky hands you add “Eijiro Kirishima” as a contact in your phone, adding a few rock emojis and a bright red crab emoji beside his name. He’d probably find that hilarious.

            You draft up a fresh text to the red headed hero and type: “In need of rescuing tonight – the villain: hunger and boredom. In need of a hero who knows the perfect ramen spot.” You hit send and hold your breath. What if he’s on patrol tonight? You worry. What if he was just being nice and doesn’t actually see you again?

            Your worries are totally baseless, because within seconds you have a reply: “I’m more than up for this mission – meet me in front of the convenience store at 8. Wear the sweatshirt so I’ll recognize you in the crowd?” He ends it with a winking emoji and your heartbeat quickens. You officially have a date set with Eijiro Kirishima – the Red Riot.

Your hero.

Thanks so much for reading!!!

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

Other Kirishima Stories:

Headcannon: Kirishima LOVES wearing Bakugo's clothes.

🦈❤️Boyfriend!Kirishima ❤️🦈

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima (A18+ - MDNI!!!) 💋

Link to My Master List 😬

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ timeless whispers; 

              jamal musiala ────── 

    A friendship so tight, the lines between love and loyalty blur—but what happens when what's been unsaid for years is finally revealed?

⭑  wordcount : four thousand four hundred thirty-seven.

⭑  notes : sorry its a bit long but it took me a hot minute to edit this down to under 5k ;-;

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Jamal Musiala had always been a thread woven into the fabric of your life, stitched so tightly that you couldn’t remember a time before him. He was in every memory that mattered, his laughter tangled up with yours, his presence as constant as the grey English skies overhead.

There's the summer when you were eight, when the humidity was unbearable, the kind that made the pavements soft and sticky beneath your trainers. You’d both tried to build a den at the bottom of your garden using old bedsheets and bits of wood from the shed. It had been going well—until Jamal decided it needed a second floor. The entire thing collapsed within minutes, sending you both sprawling into the grass, sheets tangled around your limbs. You’d groaned dramatically, but Jamal just lay there laughing, the sun catching in his dark curls.

Later his mum brought out ice lollies, you both sat cross-legged on the patio, the melted juice running down your wrists, arguing over who would win the Premier League that season. He was convinced it would be Chelsea. You, just to wind him up, would say Manchester United. It was the same argument every summer, neither of you ever backing down.

But football wasn’t just something you talked about—it was everything. You played until the street lights flickered on, your school shoes scuffed from kicking the ball. The small pitch by the park became your second home, the place where Jamal’s feet moved like magic, where his skill made even the older kids stop and stare. It never surprised you—watching him play had always felt like watching something special, something bigger than just kickabouts in the park.

“One day, I’m going to be out there!” He’d said, lying on his bedroom floor, his head resting on his folded arms. The TV was on, the blue glow of the screen flickering across his face.

You’d snorted, flicking a crisp at him. “Yeah? Don’t forget about me when you’re off being famous?”

Jamal caught the crisp mid-air, popping it into his mouth with a smirk. “Hey, you could always come along. Be my agent? Or my personal bodyguard. You’re proper scary when you’re mad.” Causing you to nudge him with your foot. 

So, when Chelsea’s academy did call, it felt inevitable. 

You still remember those afternoons at the academy. The smell of freshly cut grass mixed with the tang of sweat and the distant hum of whistles from other pitches. You’d sometimes tag along, a book in your lap you barely paid attention to, as your eyes followed Jamal’s every move. He was mesmerizing. The way he weaved through defenders, his deft touches on the ball, the way he’d glance your way after scoring.

And then there were the stolen moments after his training sessions. The two of you would walk to the corner shop, sharing a single bag of crisps as he recounted every highlight, every frustration, every dream.

“You’re going to be a superstar one day,” You’d say, half-teasing but mostly proud.

He’d laugh, shrugging it off. “Guess that would make you my number one fan.”

And just like that, your heart would betray you.

Skipping beats and filling your chest with a warmth you couldn’t explain. But you never told him. How could you? You couldn’t even admit it to yourself at first.

He was your best friend. The boy who let you do his hair when you were younger, who stayed up all night watching horror films with you despite hating them, who always made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

You lived in a world of denial until one match day. The crowd roared as Jamal dribbled past a defender and chipped the ball effortlessly into the net. He turned, grinning, his gaze scanning the stands until it landed on you. That smile—bright, unguarded, like it was meant just for you—unraveled something deep inside. You clapped along with everyone else, but your heart ached with the weight of what you now knew. You liked him. Not in the casual, childish way, but in a way that terrified you.

For months, you kept it to yourself. The fear of ruining everything paralyzed you. But as summer stretched on and your time together grew quieter, more comfortable, the words pressed against your lips, desperate to be spoken.

-

One sunny afternoon, you decided you couldn’t hold it in any longer. The two of you were in the park near your neighborhood, sitting on the old splintering bench that had been “yours” for as long as you could remember. Jamal was bouncing a football absentmindedly against his foot, the rhythmic thud blending with the chatter of children playing nearby. You’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times in your head, but now that it was here, your palms were clammy, and your chest felt too tight.

“Jamal,” you said, barely recognizing your own voice. He looked up, his dark eyes curious and a little concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle but laced with worry. He always knew when something was on your mind.

You hesitated, the words clawing at your throat. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He straightened, the football rolling away as he gave you his full attention. “Okay,” he said slowly. “You’re starting to scare me.”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “I think… No, I know I’ve been feeling this way for a while,” you said, stumbling over your words. “I like you, Jamal. More than a friend.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unpolished, a fragile offering. You dared to glance at him, hoping for… something. A smile, a laugh, a spark of recognition. But his expression was unreadable. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out.

“Say something,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of his silence.

He dropped his gaze, his jaw tightening. His hands fidgeted in his lap, his fingers tugging at the loose threads on his shorts. The silence stretched, unbearable and suffocating. When he finally looked up, his eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite place—guilt, regret, maybe both. But still, he said nothing.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave. He wasn’t going to respond. The truth of your feelings lay bare between you, and he couldn’t even give you the courtesy of an answer. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, tears threatening to spill as your chest tightened with the weight of his rejection.

“I should go.” you said abruptly, standing before he could stop you. Your vision blurred, and you turned away, your legs carrying you far from the bench, from the park, from him. The tears came as soon as you were out of sight, hot and unrelenting, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the scene replayed in your mind on an endless loop. You felt foolish—foolish for thinking he might feel the same, foolish for risking your friendship, foolish for believing you could ever be enough for someone like him. 

But even then, as your chest ached with regret and humiliation, you couldn’t bring yourself to wish for anything different. Because falling for Jamal, as painful as it was, still felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But the bleeding didn’t stop there. The following days were a haze of misery. You replayed every moment between you and Jamal, analyzing every laugh, every touch, every shared glance for something—anything—to suggest he might have felt the same. Each memory only deepened the sting. His silence had spoken louder than words ever could.

You ignored his texts, his calls, his attempts to reach out. Seeing his name light up your phone was a dagger to your chest, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost. You couldn’t bear to face him, to hear whatever excuse he’d offer. It wouldn’t change the fact that he hadn’t chosen you.

And then, a week later, the universe delivered its final blow. 

You were scrolling through social media when a mutual friend posted a photo. Jamal, surrounded by suitcases, standing in what was unmistakably an airport terminal. The caption was simple: “Good luck in Germany, Jamal! We’ll miss you.”

Your world stopped. 

You stared at the image, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. He was leaving? He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t said goodbye. He’d just… left. You ignored the tiny voice in your head saying he would have told you if you had picked up any of his calls.

You dropped your phone onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as tears streamed down your face. The ache in your chest felt unbearable, a weight pressing down on you, suffocating you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to forget. But no matter how hard you tried, the memories of him wouldn’t leave you. His laugh, his smile, the way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention—they haunted you, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost.

-

When you applied for the study abroad program in Munich, part of you hoped this would be your escape—your chance to move forward, away from everything tied to him. Munich had always been a dream of yours. The cobblestone streets, the imposing architecture, the vibrant culture, the language—it was all part of a vision you’d long nurtured. This was supposed to be your new beginning, a fresh chapter far from the old hurts. You knew Jamal was here, but that was the last thing you cared to focus on. This time, you weren’t looking to be haunted by the past. You were determined to leave him behind.

This chapter is about what’s best for you. 

It’s hard to believe that nearly a month has passed since you arrived in Munich. In that short time, everything seems to be falling into place. Classes are going better than you anticipated—your professors are engaging, and though the workload is intense, it challenges you in all the right ways. There’s a rhythm to it now, a routine that feels both natural and reassuring. Late-night study sessions at the library, once dreaded, have become a habit—one you’ve come to find unexpectedly rewarding. It’s as if you’re finally settling into the life you’ve always envisioned, building something uniquely yours from the ground up.

Weekends are reserved for exploration, and Munich has proven to be everything you hoped for—and more. Every corner offers something new, from the irresistible food near Marienplatz to shopping the streets of Sendlinger Strasse. You find yourself captivated by the architecture at the Deutsches Museum, losing track of time as you wander through its wonders. It’s as if each day is its own small triumph, a quiet reminder that you’re actively creating the life you’ve always dreamed of.

Thankfully you're not doing it alone. You made some friends around Munich, one being Teni, your roommate. You spend nearly every day together, with study sessions inevitably turning into long, animated conversations about everything from the peculiarities of German grammar to the latest news. Teni, from the UK as well, is here for a study abroad program, pursuing her deep passion for sports reporting. 

In fact, she has Bayern games on all the time, and at first, you tune it out, not really invested in the familiar hum of a sport you once followed closely. But before long, you find yourself checking in more often—not because you’re particularly interested, but because you feel an unexpected pull to stay in the loop. And then, on nights when you’re distracted by the game, you can’t help but notice Jamal on the pitch. But you quickly submerge yourself with something else before you can ponder on him too long.

So, when Teni asked you to come to the game, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. She loved the sport and you two had spent so much time together on numerous escapades, that it would’ve been weird to say no. 

And that’s how you end up here, right in the heart of the Allianz Arena—way too close to the pitch. The roar of the crowd, the bright lights, the hum of anticipation hanging in the air. It’s all a little overwhelming, and for a second, you debate staging an exit. But it’s too late now. You’re here, surrounded by the chaos and excitement, and for some reason, it feels like the past is trying to crawl up from the depths of your mind.

Teni is already snapping pictures for an article she’s working on. You, on the other hand, are content to blend into the background, quietly absorbing it all. And then, as the players jog onto the pitch, your world stops.

Jamal.

You know he’d be here. After all, the lineups have been announced, but no amount of mental preparation can shield you from the rush of emotions that hit the moment the teams take the field. Your heart skips, your breath catches, and for a split second, everything blurs—the arena, the noise, the faces around you—until all you can focus on is him. His presence hits you like an electric current, jolting every nerve in your body.

He’s still the same, yet not—the boy you last saw through teary eyes now stands before you, older, sharper, more refined. Time stretches, and you feel as though the past has pulled you back in, wrapping its arms around you, refusing to let go. You try to shake it off, but it clings tighter.

Your eyes dart to how the Bayern players move with fluid precision, warming up with stretches and sprints, their bodies sharp and focused. The sound of their feet hitting the turf is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, as the intensity builds with each passing minute. The crowd's chants vibrate through the air, and you can feel it in your chest, yet you’re strangely disconnected, caught somewhere between the present and the past.

As the players finish their warm-up, they smile for the cameras, posing with exaggerated ease as they head back inside. You stand just off the pitch, the weight of the moment settling on your shoulders as Teni snaps away, capturing the energy of the scene for her article. The flashes from her camera light up the field, but your focus is elsewhere—on Jamal, standing in the midst of his teammates. They pull him into their group shots, laughing and teasing, their camaraderie effortlessly on display. The smiles are bright, wide, but there's a distance in Jamal, something quiet behind his grin. 

His gaze sweeps over the crowd, and then—almost imperceptibly—his eyes meet yours. Thanks to fate, all you can feel is the weight of his stare, heavy and familiar. For a split second, it’s like nothing has changed—like the years between you don’t exist. His expression falters, just a glimpse of something real. 

Then, just as quickly, he looks away, his attention snapping back to his teammates. The game’s starting soon, and there’s no room for sentimentality. He jogs toward the tunnel, his figure swallowed by the bustle of the stadium, the noise picking up again as the crowd shifts with anticipation. 

You try to focus on the match, the fast pace of the players darting across the pitch, but your mind keeps circling back to him. How? Out of everyone in this stadium, he makes eye contact with you? The thought almost makes you laugh, the absurdity of it. It feels like some strange twist of fate, like destiny had a sick sense of humor. You try to brush it off, but the knot in your chest refuses to loosen, and no matter how much you tell yourself to move on, his presence is still there, hovering in the background.

As the game goes on, you can’t escape the pull of your own thoughts. Teni, meanwhile, is blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, too focused on her notes to notice the way you’re fidgeting, how your attention keeps slipping. It’s not until halftime that she finally raises an eyebrow, sensing something’s off.

“So,” she says, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’re really not paying attention to the game, huh?”

You try to ignore her, shifting in your seat and glancing at the scoreboard, hoping she’ll drop it. “I’m just… processing,” you mutter, hoping that’s enough to satisfy her.

But Teni is persistent. “Processing what? You’ve been out of it the whole time. You’re not really watching the game.” Her eyes narrow, a knowing look creeping into her expression. “What’s going on? You look like you’re somewhere else entirely.”

You wave her off, trying to brush off the tension. “I’m just hungry,” you say. “That’s all. Just need a snack or something.”

Teni gives you a skeptical look, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh, sure,” she says, but then she shrugs, turning her attention back to the game. “Well, I have to stay here and take pictures, but while you’re at it—grab me a pretzel or something. A good one, okay? Not the stuff they sell at the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing slightly. “Alright, alright. I’ll get you the best pretzel in the stadium.” you tease, standing up to leave.

“Make it extra salty,” she calls after you, her focus already back on her work.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head. A simple request, but it’s enough to pull you back into the present. As you walk away, you can feel the buzz of the stadium around you, the weight of Jamal's gaze still lingering, but it’s easier to ignore now—at least for the moment.

You groan in your head as you realize how long the line is. Taking out your phone to scroll through, half-heartedly checking messages, when a new DM pops up on Instagram. You glance at the notification and your heart stops.

You blink, trying to process. It’s not a name you ever expected to reach out again and the message is so vague it almost feels like a prank. 

“Is it really you?” It asks—simple, almost too casual for someone you haven't spoken to in years.

You stare at the screen, unsure of what to make of it, and just as you're about to put the phone down, a second message follows. 

“Meet me after? Please.” You read the message about ten times as if it was incorrect. The directions of where to meet him popping up seconds later.

Your breath catches in your throat, and a strange mix of disbelief and excitement floods over you. It’s him. After all this time, after everything that’s happened, here he is, reaching out like it’s nothing. Your fingers hover over your phone, unsure of what to do. On one hand, you don’t want to see him. Why is he even texting you during halftime? It feels so odd. But on the other hand, you know you can’t just ignore it. There are too many loose ends between you two, too many questions left unanswered. You can't abandon the ship completely without addressing this, without facing whatever it is that still lingers between the two of you.

-

The stadium was still humming with the energy of the game, the final whistle's echo lingering in the cool night air. The crowd thinned, voices blending into a distant murmur, but you barely noticed. Adrenaline coursed through you—not just from the match, but from something else.

Teni hadn’t suspected a thing when you made up an excuse to slip away. She’d been too focused on getting post-match interviews, flipping through her notes, already mapping out her next move.

“I’ll meet you later,” she had said, barely glancing up, her mind occupied with work. “I have to talk to a few people after the game.”

And now, here you were.

When you finally spot him, your steps falter. 

He stands a few paces away, the stadium lights casting a soft glow on his damp curls. His jersey is gone, replaced by a simple hoodie, but he’s still him. The past and present collide in an instant, a heartbeat stretching into eternity.

He turns, as if sensing you, and your eyes meet.

“Hey…” He says, his voice quiet, uncertain.

“Hey.” You echo, gripping the ends of your sleeves, fingers curling into the fabric as you try to steady yourself. “Long time.”

A short laugh escapes him, but there’s no humor in it. His eyes rake over you, searching for something—recognition, maybe. An opening. “Yeah, it has been.”

A pause. A shift in the air between you—charged, heavy. The weight of unspoken words presses against your ribs.

“How long have you been in Munich?” he asks, voice careful, measured.

“A month.”

His brows lift. “A month?” A sharp exhale, a bitter laugh. “And I had no idea.”

You hesitate. You could explain, but would it even matter? Before you can decide, he steps closer. The space between you shrinks, the air between you electric, weighted.

“I’m sorry I never got to clarify everything,” he says, voice dipping lower. “Why I never told you I was leaving.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your arms tighten around yourself, a shield against the memories clawing their way to the surface. “And that’s supposed to make it okay?” Your voice is sharp, bitter. “You disappeared”

His jaw tightens. “I know.”

“You don’t just get to say sorry and expect me to forget.” Your voice wavers, despite the anger simmering beneath it. “You left me with nothing. No explanation. No closure.”

His hands flex at his sides like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how.” he admits, eyes dark with something unreadable.

You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s not good enough.”

“I know,” he says, almost pleading now. “I realized. But I thought—” He stops, swallows. “I assumed you hated me. That you moved on. That forgetting me was the best thing you ever did.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I do hate you.” But the words sound hollow, empty, the anger laced with something far more painful.

His lips curl in to an apologetic smile. “I also never told you how I felt.” He continues, his voice growing even more hesitant. 

You start rolling your eyes as you turn away. "Let’s not do this right now. Just let it be."

But before you can step back, his hand catches your wrist—not forceful, just enough to stop you. When you glance at him, his eyes are pleading, raw with emotion.

"Please," he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve waited years to tell you what I need to say right now. I don’t deserve for you to listen, but… please."

Your breath stutters.

He swallows hard. “I didn’t respond back then because I knew it wouldn’t be fair. Not when I was about to leave.”

The silence stretches between you. The world feels distant, the noise of the city fading as everything shifts around the weight of his words. 

“You don’t get to do that to me.” you snap, voice sharp, shaking.

“I know,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his eyes searching yours. “I know it’s been years. And maybe I don’t have the right to say this now. But seeing you tonight... it felt like the world stopped. Like it always did when you were around.”

Your chest tightens. It’s the same feeling you’ve carried for years—the ache, the unanswered questions, the part of you that never stopped caring. You try to keep your guard up, but the pull of him, of this moment, is undeniable.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “Even when I tried, you were always there. In every city, every match, every late night when I couldn’t sleep. I wondered if you were okay, if you ever thought about me, if you hated me.”

You blink, fighting back the sting in your eyes.

“I should’ve told you back then,” he continues, voice cracking slightly. “But I was scared. Scared that if I said it out loud, leaving would hurt even more. And I was right.”

You press your lips together, trying to hold back everything threatening to spill over.

He exhales, stepping even closer. “If you feel nothing for me, I’ll walk away. Right now.”

Stillness spreads across the night sky. He takes another step saying “If there’s no world where I can fix my mistakes, let me know.” He’s so close now, his warmth seeping into you, his eyes desperate for an answer. 

“Tell me to go.” His gaze flickers to your lips. 

 You inhale sharply, the sound barely audible, but he catches it. His name slips from your lips in a whisper. “Jamal.”

You lock eyes with him, and the universe halts. In the depth of his gaze, you see everything—the years, the silence, the regrets—and yet, all that matters is right here, right now. You feel the familiar weight of his presence, the way his gaze pulls you in, a magnetic force that makes everything else vanish. The tears fall before you even realize they’ve started, tracing paths down your cheeks.

Without thinking, you step into him, your hands trembling as you grip his hoodie, pulling him closer, as if you could erase all the distance between you with that one movement. His arms encircle you, holding you tight, steadying you as you bury your face against him. You’re not sure who’s shaking more, but it doesn’t matter. 

He pulls you close—so close it steals your breath. His arms wrap around you, strong and sure, as if he’s afraid to let you go again. Your arms tighten around him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie as the years collapse into this single, trembling moment.

He exhales into your hair, his body shaking slightly. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the dampness of his curls against you, the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

It won’t be easy. You both know that. The wounds, the past, the things that need healing—they won’t disappear overnight. But somehow, in each other's arms, there is no doubt. Together, you can overcome the time lost, the mistakes made, and everything that’s stood in your way. Because this was never meant to be forgotten. Just waiting, tucked away, until it was the correct time to fight. And this time, no one’s wanting to let go.

Neither of you speak. There are no words for this. Just the quiet hum of the world around you, soft and steady, as if time itself is holding its breath.

Maybe it never was.

© gul4bjamoons 

[erwinsvow]

had the worst day ever😭 i need some shy!reader and rafe

im so sorry baby hope this makes you feel better ♡

bad days always felt the same—never ending, dragging on and on while you're too tired, bones exhausted and muscles weeping. your head hurts from the overthinking, and though you're hardly one to get mad about silly things, today you are—mad. it must be something you've picked up from your boyfriend.

everything feels unfair, feels wrong or like it's about to go wrong. you can't even describe it if someone were to ask, but you know your boyfriend will ask, and that you need to get an answer ready since he doesn't settle for your silence, even though today you'd really wish he would.

from the morning that started off late to the afternoon that dragged on, the barista that messed up your order and then was rude to you about it, nothing was going your way. the coffee had just been the tipping point—that was the one thing meant to cheer you up.

when you drag your tired body and achy head to tannyhill, you stop to glance in the mirror in the hallway.

this was your tipping point, how messy your hair was, smudged mascara from when you cried in your car outside the coffee shop and the nail you chipped slamming the door. everything sucked, and though rafe always made it better, you didn't even want to see him when you looked like this.

you want to turn around and go home, but your feet still drag you to rafe's bedroom. your brain knows he'll make you feel better, though it takes everything in your willpower to open the door.

"hey, kid. how was your day?" the second he asks, glancing up from his laptop to look up at you, you burst into tears. he rushes over, putting his hands on your shoulders to keep you upright, to calm you down. "woah, what the hell. what's wrong?"

words don't come out, just sobs. you don't think rafe's ever seen you like this before, but it doesn't take him long to bring you into a hug, and you cry against his chest until his shirt is all wet.

"what's goin' on, baby? someone do somethin'? huh?" rafe is a problem solver at his core—but you know there's no one person to blame for today, except maybe yourself. though you wouldn't mind a little roughhousing, you don't think rafe's gonna be open to beating you up. your words come out slurred in a mumble of tears.

you rattle off your day in between sobs, and when he sits you down on his bed, he's a little less concerned because at least you're okay.

"c'mon," he says, and you lean against his shoulder. "get it all out and then y'can take a hot shower. i'll get dinner. s'gonna be fine."

though you're not saying many words, and a part of you had thought he'd be upset that you cry over every little thing, everything rafe says and does makes you feel better. when you sniffle, moving to wipe your tears, he holds your face in his hands, running a thumb across your cheek to wipe them away. you lean into his hand.

"s-sorry about your shirt."

"don't worry 'bout that, kid. you feelin' better?"

"a little."

"c'mon, clothes off. let's go shower. water as hot as you want it." you perk up, even laughing a little—rafe thinks the water you use will scald your skin.

"really?" you question, smiling up at him.

"really."

"thanks, rafe."

"yeah." he follows you to the shower, and though it didn't take many words or much time, you feel better already.

[w2soneshots]

Toddler -W2S

words: 0.7k+

warnings: none.

summary: you and Harry enjoy a holiday in Dubai with your toddler.

notes: Currently got major baby fever so here's some dad bog content🤭. Enjoy!💓

Liked by wroetoshaw and 1,017,349 others

y/username: living the dream☀️🌊 @wroetoshaw

-comments-

gkbarry_: you look incredible get in my bed

-> y/username: 🛏️🏃‍♀️

faithloisak: enjoy my lovelys🫶🏼

taliamar: cutest family ever!🥹💗

y/nfanpage21: I love this sm

user2104853: the third photo is adorable🩵

Over a year and a half ago me and Harry welcomed our little boy into the world. So far it's been incredible and I've enjoyed every minute of being his mum, even through the tough parts his little smile would make the hardships completely disappear in an instant. Harry is also an amazing dad, it's like he was born for the role. A few months ago Harry surprised me with a week long trip to Dubai, and what is our first holiday as a family of three. I was extremely excited and almost immediately called Faith to get advice on what I should pack for Ollie, which is what we ended up naming him.

We arrived two days ago and are already having the best time. Yesterday we spent all day at the beach then went for a nice dinner, in which Ollie slept in his buggy the entire time. Today we're going to the Dubai aquarium, getting some lunch and going shopping. I woke up to the sound of giggling, I pried myself from Harry's grasp and reached forward to grab the smiling baby from his travel cot. I placed him between me and Harry in the bed then drifted back off to sleep. I woke up an hour later, reached over to the nightstand and grabbed my phone to see a message from Harry saying he'd gone out to grab some breakfast from downstairs. I got up and took a picture of Ollie surrounded by the white fluffy bed sheets.

y/username just posted a new story!

I quickly got dressed while Ollie slept and Harry soon came back with breakfast. When we were all ready we left the hotel to head to the aquarium. We rented a car the first day we arrived, since Ollie has to sit in a car seat plus we'll be spending much less on Ubers. I drove (since Harry despises driving) and we were soon parked outside.

Harry pulled the exited toddler from his seat, and we headed inside. Ollie seemed to be absolutely mesmerised by the sea creatures (especially the 'big scary sharks'). When we'd walked around the entire aquarium we left to go get some lunch since we were all hungry and Ollie was getting quite restless and in desperate need of a nap. We went back to the car to grab the buggy from the boot then walked to one of the nearby restaurants.

We sat down to eat our lunch as Ollie soundly slept. As me and Harry finished up our food Ollie woke up, now full of energy and hungry. We'd ordered him some plain chips so he ate them along with some fresh fruit. Which they seem to have lots of here, probably because of the hot weather.

Then we paid and made our way to Dubai mall, which thankfully has air conditioning. I happily looked through some shops while Harry followed me with the buggy. "Almost done?" Harry asked, very clearly bored. I turned around and shook my head jokingly "almost." I said with a smile. "M- mummy?" Ollie babbled. "Yes baby?" I replied squatting down in front of him. "I wanna go- the pool." He smiled. Harry chuckled and I glanced up at him "ok, let's go." I said and a look of pure excitement spread across his face.

Liked by wroetoshaw and 719,238 others

y/username: my toddlers new fixation: sharks😂🤍

-comments-

tobjizzle: looks like so much fun! Hope you're having a great time guys❤️

-> y/username: we are ty uncle jizzle💞

faithloisak: so stinking cute🥺

y/nfanpage21: the mum fits are👌🏼

user50172932: those burgers omfg

When we arrived back at the hotel we got straight into our swimming costumes and headed down to the pool. We found some deck chairs and put our things down, then (after smothering Ollie in suncream) all three of us got into the pool.

y/username just posted a new story!

Later... "I'm so lucky." Harry whispered, as we lay in bed and Ollie lightly snored in his cot. I smiled "you're so cute." He pulled me into a sweet kiss "I mean it, I'm so lucky to have you and Ol, I love you both so much." "And we’re so lucky to have you Haz."

[alwaysurvalentine]

the luck I've had can make a good man turn bad - fic

Written for Day 5 of @steddieangstyaugust - prompt: Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want by the Smiths - word count: 4.1k (this one got away from me) - cw: some cussing, allusions to parents fighting in another room, allusions to money issues, bullying mentioned (nothing graphic)

enjoy! 💛

When Eddie is five years old, his Uncle Wayne takes him to the aquarium. He talks the entire car ride, reading out the road signs they pass and counting the dashes in the road. He’s so excited that he doesn’t have to play the Quiet Game on the way there that he doesn’t even question it when Wayne comes to pick him up.

Eddie’s Mama helped him pack a bag and said he gets to stay with his Uncle Wayne the whole weekend, he’s so excited! Uncle Wayne always lets him stay up late and tells the best bedtime stories. 

They’ve been on the road for a couple hours when they end up in a city. Uncle Wayne says it’s Louisville, but all Eddie can focus on is the tallest buildings he’s ever seen his whole life. They can fit millions of people in there! When he voices this, Wayne says only a couple thousand are in there. Which is basically the same thing - but Eddie’s not gonna correct his math when he sees them pulling into a Denny’s parking lot.

“We get to have Denny’s?! You’re the bestest!!!!” Eddie’s already unbuckling his belt by the time Wayne’s at his door, opening it to help him out. “Can I get pancakes? Please, please, please!” 

Another chuckle and a shake of the head is his response from Wayne, who’s holding out a hand for Eddie to grab. They cross the parking lot together, Eddie skipping with a toothy grin. 

“Well, go on then, find us a table.” At his uncle’s words, Eddie’s brown eyes scan the room. There’s a few tables next to the windows, but most of those already have people there - and then he sees it. The best table ever. It’s closer to the middle of the room but it’s got two booth seats opposite each other. Perfect for him and his Uncle Wayne! He darts over without saying anything and Wayne follows, slower, but still with a quirk of his lip that Eddie’s Mama said means he’s smiling.

He can’t read the whole menu, but he finds chocolate chip pancakes based on the picture on the side - which he points to when he orders from the nice lady named Sarah. When it’s Wayne’s turn to order he just gets nasty coffee. (Eddie snuck a sip of his mama’s cup once - it tastes like dirt.) 

~

“WHAT is THAT?” Eddie yells - tiny finger pointed at the whale shark swimming above them. A couple of people around them turn to look at him when he yells, but Wayne doesn’t seem bothered - pointing at the words on the wall. 

“This says it’s a whale shark. They’re the biggest sharks in the ocean.”

“What’s the ocean?” 

~

There’s a stuffed whale shark in the gift shop when they’re leaving. Eddie’s seen so many fish today, but none of them were nearly as cool as the whale shark. His eyes find it, and before he knows it his legs have carried him over to the stack of them. A couple friendly clown fish sit nearby, but nothing interests him as much as the whale shark. It looks like it’s the size of his bed, but he doesn’t care - he has to take this home. Mama and him can lay on it when she sings him to sleep and he can cuddle up with it when Mama and Dad get loud in the living room. 

“Eddie? What’d you find?” Eddie grins up at Wayne, smiling big enough to cause his dimples to show. He’s holding on to one of the sharks now, and he was right, it’s bigger than he is. The tail is bent slightly on the ground with his arms wrapped around its sewn gills. 

“I love him. Can we get him Uncle Wayne? Mama would love him! I know he’s not as big as the real thing but this will help her believe me when I tell her it was the size of a car! Dad might even like him, since sharks are the coolest animal.” 

As Eddie rambles, Wayne checks the price tag dangling off of the shark’s front fin. He knew his nephew was going to ask for something from the gift shop, and if this had been a planned visit instead of a quick phone call from Eddie’s mom type of visit, he might’ve had the money. But as it was, the only thing he knew for sure he could afford was the tiny key chain he’d grabbed on his way over to find Eddie. Now it’s just trying to convince Eddie that the keychain is just as cool.

~

Eddie’s pouting in his car seat, brown eyes focused on the trees outside instead of singing along to the station Wayne turned on to the radio. He did buy the keychain but that didn’t stop the tears that streamed down Eddie’s face for the first 30 minutes of the ride. The tears have stopped, but Wayne’s heart breaks at each quiet sniffle coming from the back seat.

***

Uncle Wayne is at the door again. Except this time Eddie’s ten years old and he’s the one that called. He can’t stand being in the house all alone. His mom passed four years ago and his dad’s never been the same - not that he was a stand up guy to begin with. Good old dad said he was going out to “shoot some pool with a couple of buddies”, and while this would normally be fine, Eddie’s run out of Kraft mac and cheese to eat.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne. Sorry I had to call, I was just thinking I haven’t stayed over in a little while. Would it be okay-”

“Where’s Al?” As always, his uncle cuts straight to the chase. His voice is gruff, but Eddie’s had plenty of practice now in reading his uncle and can hear the concern laced in his words. 

He scuffs his converse against the floor and shrugs. “I dunno. He said he was gonna play pool with some guys.” Eddie looks up again to see Wayne looking around the trailer. He should’ve cleaned up after he called him; the dirty dishes in the sink and the trashcan full of candy wrappers says more than he meant to share. 

“Eddie, how-”

“Just forget it. I shouldn’t have called - it was stupid.” Brown eyes meet Wayne’s green ones defiantly, daring him to finish the sentence. 

“Alright, c’mon boy. Let’s go get Denny’s.”

~

The pancakes on Eddie’s plate are drowned in syrup, chocolate chips smeared across the top of them. A cup of black coffee sits in front of Wayne.

“What time does school start on Monday?”

A disbelieving smile starts to spread on Eddie’s face. “I can stay with you all weekend?!”

Wayne nods and sips his coffee, a small smile of his own hidden by the lip of the cup. “We’ll leave a note for your dad, but yeah. I don’t see why not.”

~

Unfortunately, Al Munson is at home when they get back, and with him comes the end of all of Eddie’s weekend plans. Al pitches a fit, sends Eddie to his room so he and Wayne can “have some words”. Eddie doesn’t know why he bothered sending him to his room when his dad’s shouting can be heard through the whole trailer anyway. 

“Don’t need you telling me how to raise my own damn son!”

Wayne’s words don’t carry as well as his dad’s but he can hear some kind of murmur in response. 

“Fuck off Wayne, you always thought you were better than me. I don’t care what you think, he lives under my roof so he follows my rules. He doesn’t need somebody babying him!”

Another murmur. 

“Get the hell out of my house! Don’t even bother coming back! I don’t care if that brat calls you or not!”

Eddie’s back is pressed against his door, knees tucked to his chest as he listens. He was stupid to call Wayne. Stupid to think his dad would let him go stay the weekend with him. He’s just tired. 

He’s tired of having cereal and mac and cheese for dinner. He’s tired of having to eat off of his friend’s lunch trays because his dad hasn’t paid for his school lunches. He’s tired of using duct tape to keep the bottom of his shoes attached because Al won’t buy him more. He’s tired of being left alone for days on end. His dad is right, he can take care of himself - he just doesn’t want to. 

He misses his mom.

***

“Eddie? What happened?” 

The teen brushes off his uncle’s words and heads into the trailer, bee-lining to his room. Eddie knows he looks rough, but seeing his reflection from the mirror on his dresser tells him not about this with Wayne isn’t going to be an option.

“Eddie, can I come in?” Speak of the devil; there he is knocking at Eddie’s door. 

“Yeah. C’mon.” He sits back on his bed, eyes focused on the floor instead of the man stepping carefully into his space, and Wayne lets him sit in silence for a moment before sitting at the foot of Eddie’s bed. 

“You gonna tell me what happened? Or are we just acting like your nose isn’t a bit more crooked than it was this mornin’?” Eddie stays silent. “I know you’re about as graceful as a bull in a china shop, but normally it’s your knees coming home bloody - not your nose. If you’re not gonna talk about it, you gonna at least let me have a look?”

“Why does it matter? No one cares in this fucking town anyway. Everyone always has something to say. Oh did you hear that Munson boy had to move because his dad’s in jail? Eddie’s a weirdo, don’t be friends with him. Have you seen his clothes? Doesn’t even have enough money to get new pants when he rips out the knees. Oh well, I heard that his uncle took him in just for the tax benefits - Lord knows it wouldn’t be worth it to have him otherwise. He’s going to be just like his daddy when he gets older, scamming people - don’t listen to a word he says.”

“Shut your mouth, boy!” 

Eddie’s mouth clamps shut, teeth slamming together with an audible click. He’s shaking slightly, fists clenched at his sides. He can’t meet Wayne’s eyes. 

“You listen to me, and you listen good.” Wayne’s voice is stern but like always, Eddie can hear the affection in it. 

“Look at me,” Eddie raises his eyes slowly, jaw tense even if it causes his nose to throb.

“You ain’t nothing like your daddy. You’re your mama through and through, God bless her. And just because people can’t see past their own noses don’t mean you need to be listening to their shit. You’ve been nothing but a good kid since I met you, so unless you committed some crazy crimes that first week of your life then I think I’m good authority on this. I mean it, Eddie, you’re nothing like him. You keep being you, and you never will be him. Now lemme take a look at your nose.”

***

“Welcome to Family Video!” Eddie looks to the counter, eyes locking with none other than Steve Harrington’s before smirking.

“Is that any way to greet me? Your favorite customer?” He saunters to the counter, limp slowing him down only slightly - physical therapy the past 3 months making it possible at all.

Steve rolls his eyes but the huge smile on his face gives him away. “Sorry, let me try again.” And then he turns around, hazel eyes catching Eddie’s again, fluttering his eyelashes. “Oh! Hello Eddie!” He finishes his new welcome with a wink and then leans against the counter. The sun coming in through the windows makes Steve look like a painting, a modern day Adonis. He’s made to be in the sunlight.

“Anyway, what’s the occasion today? Came to finally return Alien?” Steve’s hair is a little floppier than usual, and he’s been letting it grow out since the end of July so it’s curling up slightly at the end of his neck. It doesn’t cover the two moles on Steve’s neck, the perfect place to bite - and Eddie’s getting off track. 

“As if. That movie’s basically mine and Wayne’s now. No point in trying to get it back.” Eddie shrugs, shaking his head mockingly. He and Steve know he’s had it checked out for at least a year now. They both also know that Steve waived his late fees the moment he got promoted to manager. 

“Just came to bother Hawkins’ favorite babysitter.” Steve’s eyes narrow at him now, leaning away from the counter to peer outside. 

“Which one put you up to this? What do you need?” His hands are on his hips, opening the green vest to tease Eddie with the broad expanse of his chest hidden by a light blue polo. Eddie’s mouth feels a lot dryer than it was when he walked in. Okay - stop looking at the silver buckle on his belt, look at something else. Yeah, yeah, the tangled phone cord - that’s interesting.

“Why does it always have to be something?”

Hazel eyes level him with a look that paints a blush on his cheeks, causing Eddie to cough. 

“Okay, maybe Will’s got a campaign planned for us to play. Buuuut-”

“But the cabin isn’t big enough for all of you to play in?” Steve cuts him off, crossing his arms over his chest instead. Which does nothing to help Eddie’s blush, eyes now distracted by the bulge of his arms. Which makes him think of Steve’s arm behind his back during the last group movie night. Which then makes him think of Steve offering his arms during physical therapy, easily holding Eddie up as he stumbled along. Which then makes Eddie think of how easily Steve was able to help him into the wheelchair he had for a few weeks. 

“-ie? Are you okay? Do you need to sit down for a minute?” Eddie blinks and shakes his head, bringing into focus Steve’s brows furrowed in worry.

“Yeah, no, I’m okay. Gotta head out - Wayne’s waiting in the van. So we can host it at your place? Thanks!”

And then Eddie’s limping back towards the door, thoroughly embarrassed. Leave it to him to get a massive crush on THE Steve Harrington and become a huge idiot in front of him. Screw Robin for making him realize he’d fallen for the guy in the first place, no more late night smoking sessions with Birdie. 

“Yeah, okay. Tell Wayne I said hi!” Steve calls behind him and he flashes a smile over his shoulder as he steps through the door. 

~

There’s an open notebook to Eddie’s right and a pencil tucked behind his ear while he sits crouched over his guitar. He hasn’t written anything new in the last 30 minutes, his mind wandering to Steve again. He wishes he and Robin hadn’t decided to play truth or dare last night. If he’d only picked dare! Instead he picked truth and just like the teenage girl she is, Robin had to ask about crushes. And then he just - started talking about Steve and couldn’t stop. Robin got this weirdly focused look in her eyes and then just cryptically said that he should “tell Steve how you feel!” which had him choking on air. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Brown eyes widened, staring into Robin’s blue ones. 

“You should tell him how you feel!” She’d grinned, eyes red rimmed but nonetheless sincere. 

“Birdie…he doesn’t even know I’m like that…what if he acts weird after? I can’t lose him.” 

“Eddie.” Robin placed her hand on his shoulder, peering into his eyes, close enough that their noses were almost touching. 

“He knows about me. And he’s my Platonic soulmate, knowing this isn’t going to do anything but make things better. He’s a good guy. I promise Eddie, nothing bad is going to happen if you tell him.”

And then she’d backed up to her side of the couch again, reaching for the bag of popcorn they’d made earlier. 

“Eddie! Phone for you! Sounds like your boy!” Wayne’s teasing voice calls through the trailer and Eddie almost drops his guitar in his haste to grab at the phone on his bedside table (a perk from being stuck at the house for recovery).

“Waaaynee!” His voice comes out like a petulant teenager but he doesn’t catch his uncle’s response because he’s already holding the phone up to his ear.

“Hey, Stevie.” He’s breathless even though Steve hasn’t said anything, face warming just like earlier.

“Eddie! Hey! So I said I’d host, but you didn’t say what day.” 

He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice, can imagine him peering into his fridge with the phone tucked in between his shoulder and ear. Eddie sets his guitar against the end of his bed and leans back against his pillows. 

“My bad, yeah, Will the Wise said he wanted to do it next weekend, that work for you?” 

“I have to open next Saturday but if you guys are okay with starting around dinner time, that works for me? I can talk to Mrs. Byers and the Sinclairs about doing a sleepover, can you ask Dustin’s mom and see about giving Max a ride? I’m sure Nancy can let her mom know Mike will be staying over. What kind of snacks do you guys need? I can go to the store on Thursday when I’m off. I can rearrange the living room too…I’ll have to tidy up the guest rooms. Maybe Hopper has some extra firewood we could use and have a little bonfire too? I’ll see if Robin wants to come, we could watch some kind of movie while you play.” 

Steve’s in his own world and Eddie can almost hear the faint scratch of the pen he knows Steve is using to write out a checklist. The list will help keep Steve from forgetting anything, something that Steve has admitted he’s had some trouble with. Remembering the small things, that is. Has to write down dates and specific plans otherwise the day will creep up on him and he’ll only remember when one of the kids contacts him on the radio. It’s happened more times than he’s comfortable with, and now he writes everything down. Has a notebook near his home phone and even keeps a small handheld notebook in his car just in case. Eddie saw it once, accidentally sitting on it; got to see a page covered in bullet points. 

Eddie Physical Therapy MWF 2-3 PM!!

Dustin back from Camp Know Where on Tuesday the 17th

Eddie says to listen to Black Sabbath ??

Will and El staying over on the 3rd so Hopper and Mrs. Byers can go on date

Give Eddie back his vest ???

Oil Change

Ask Eddie

  But he couldn’t finish reading the list before Steve had grabbed the notebook to shove into the center console. 

“Stevie, sweetheart-” and he swears he can hear a stutter in Steve’s breath, “we can just order a couple pizzas and be fine. Don’t worry about getting specific snacks or anything. I’ll talk to Claudia and you know I’ll make sure Max gets there in one piece. Everyone’s gonna be excited just to play, let alone stay the night and get some of that breakfast casserole you always make for us.” He’s joking with his words and is rewarded with a chuckle from Steve. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it only when I get some help in the kitchen. Peeling and cutting all those potatoes is hard work. But yeah, we can order pizza for the group.” The stress has eased from his voice, and the Steve in Eddie’s mind’s eye is ripping away the previous notes to replace it with one that just says pizza for dinner and the ingredients for Steve’s breakfast casserole (potatoes, eggs, shredded cheese). 

“Uh-huh. You tell me when you stop needing the potatoes in perfect cubes and I’ll help. Little Stevie Homemaker has to have his food perfect otherwise no one’s allowed to eat it.” He teases again, pulling a strand of his hair to his mouth, chewing on the end slightly. 

~

Steve’s messing with something in the kitchen when Eddie and Max walk in. Max beelines to the living room, circling the coffee table before plopping down on the left side of the couch. Her hair is in two haphazard braids that Eddie knows El will offer to fix as soon as she walks in. She cuts her eyes to him and nods towards the kitchen, a knowing smirk on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mayfield.” He pokes a finger in her direction and squints his eyes. The effect is lost on her though because she’s already turned back towards the TV, remote in hand, while he heads towards the kitchen. 

At least three cabinet doors are slammed shut before Eddie steps into the kitchen. Steve’s back is to him, a green T-shirt stretched across his back - his shoulders are tense and Eddie can almost see an exact outline of the boy’s shoulders. He can’t make out what he’s saying, but Steve’s mumbling as he works. There’s a towel covered bowl behind him on the island, but he’s pulling out smaller bowls and setting them on the counter next to the fridge. 

“What’s all this, Stevie?” And Steve jumps about 2 feet in the air at his voice, whipping around quick enough that his bangs settle back down on his head while he scowls at Eddie. 

“I thought I told you to be here at 6.” 

“And I thought I told you that we would order pizza tonight.” Eddie’s looking down at the homemade dough he sees sitting in the bowl he uncovered. Now that Steve’s turned around, he can see that he was pulling bowls out to dump toppings into. A jar of olives, cut green peppers, mushrooms, a bag of pepperoni, and a large bag of cheese - all the makings of a pizza, just no sauce. When he looks back to the boy in front of him, he’s wiping his hands on a gray towel he had over his shoulder. A light blush is on his cheeks, traveling down to the collar of his shirt - Eddie thinks if he didn’t have it on that pretty pink would travel further down his chest. He hears another mumble from Steve but he turns as he’s talking so he misses it, and Steve’s shoulders seem more tense than before. 

“What was that? Hey, please?” Eddie rounds the corner of the island and reaches a hand out to rest on Steve’s shoulder, turning him slightly. He’s looking down but lets Eddie turn him, hands slowing their fidgeting with the towel. 

“Mario’s pizza has too much grease, and this way all of the kids can put their own toppings on theirs.” 

Again, Eddie is reminded of how sweet Steve really is. He’s so glad he’s gotten to know this Steve instead of the “King” he thought the younger man was. His hand travels from Steve’s shoulder with a mind of its own, resting against his right cheek. If he moves his thumb slightly he could cover up the moles right there on Steve’s left cheek. Hazel eyes are hidden from him, Steve’s eyes closed as he leans slightly into the contact. 

Eddie really wants to kiss him. 

“Stevie…” His voice is little more than a whisper but Steve opens his eyes regardless. The light from the kitchen window highlights the gold in Steve’s eyes and Eddie’s breath stutters at what he sees there. 

Does Steve want to kiss him?

Loud knocking shocks both them and Eddie drops his hand like it’s been burned. “STEVE!! Why is your door locked? Let us in!!” Dustin’s voice is muffled only because there’s a door and room between them, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Let me go let them in, can you stir that for me?” Then he just nods towards a simmering pan on the stove like nothing happened. And Eddie can do nothing but nod once before watching Steve walk away. He hopes he’s not imagining how red Steve’s face is before he leaves the kitchen.

Maybe after the kids leave he and Steve can have a little chat - seems like Robin might be right. If he’s lucky maybe he’ll even get to kiss Steve before the night ends. 

But until then, he’ll stir Steve’s homemade pizza sauce and play the most distracted D&D game he’s ever played. He might’ve been through hell and back, with or without the Upside Down, but things might just be looking up for him now.

(Now with a part two!)

[agaypanic]

Hi, could you please write a James Maguire x Reader where reader works at fenula’s chip shop and James keeps going in even though he doesn’t like anything just to see her. The rest of the plot can be up to you, thank you :)

Hold the Grease (James Maguire X Reader)

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Summary: After James’ outburst about Fionnula’s food, the girls are surprised to see that he’s always eager to accompany them to the chippy. Turns out, he hasn’t grown to like the food. Instead, it’s one of the new workers.

A/N: pretend the girls + james were good at cleaning up so they didnt get perma-banned from the chip shop

***

Everyone remembered James’ little outburst when he went to the chippy for the first time. Yelling in the small shop about how greasy the food was right in front of the main cook and shop owner, saying that the smell itself made him sick. He was kicked out, and then when the girls got banned because Michelle stole the shop’s notice board, he was the only one who wasn’t devastated about it.

So when their ban was lifted in exchange for some cleaning, the girls were very surprised to find that James now had an obsession with the chippy. He always insisted on coming in instead of waiting outside for everyone, but he never got anything. He’d keep glancing towards the menu, but if anyone asked what he wanted, he’d say he wasn’t hungry.

“Okay, what’re you doing in here, fucko?” Michelle finally asked one day, annoyed by her cousin’s odd behavior. He looked at her incredulously, wondering what he did to deserve those words. But then again, he could be standing still doing nothing and get a reaction like that from Michelle.

“What do you mean, Michelle?” He asked. 

The crude girl was about to respond, but Clare quickly took the lead, not wanting her friends to cause another scene in the shop. “She just means that it’s… strange that you keep coming into the chippy with us. That’s all.”

“How is that strange?”

“Well, for one, you never get anything.”

“Yeah.” Erin agreed, leaning in close and lowering her voice so Fionnula wouldn’t hear her. “You hate the food, James.”

“Aye, but you’re always staring at the menu,” Orla added, pointing to the big board on the kitchen wall. “Are you scared to try the food, James? ‘Cause you don’t have to be scared; it’s just food.”

“I’m not scared,” James said adamantly, yet the way he backed away from his crowding friends said differently. “And why are you all interrogating me? It’s weird.”

Clare reached out and put a reassuring hand on James’ arm. “We’re not interrogating you, James.”

“I am.” Michelle rebutted. “It’s fecking weird, don’t you think, girls? All he does is stand there like an idiot.”

James’ friends made different sounds of agreement, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He was about to respond, but the words got lost in his throat as his eyes followed something on the other side of the kitchen counter.

Or rather, someone.

“What are you looking at?!” Michelle said with an exasperated demeanor. The girls all turned, trying to follow James’ eyeline. “Oh my god.”

“It’s nothing,” James said immediately. But they were having none of it.

The girls turned back to James and closed in on him. He was surprised that no one else in the chippy was giving them strange looks, trying to figure out what was wrong with them all. 

Michelle looked at James with both fascination and slight disgust. “Are you lookin’ at Y/n L/n?” James wondered how his cousin knew her name, but then again, she had lived in Derry her whole life. Plus, they did go to our Lady Immaculate together. Before he could even respond, Michelle gasped. “You are!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Large cowboy, extra salt!” James perked up at the sound of your voice, watching you ring the order bell and wait for Michelle to grab her order.

But Michelle had different plans. “Go get it, James.” She said with a teasing voice.

Before he could say no, his friends pushed him towards the order counter. He glared at the girls before turning back around, only to come face to face with you.

“Oh, hi, James!” He shouldn’t have been surprised that you knew his name. He was the only boy in your all-girls school, which drew a lot of attention to him. Plus, you shared a math class, which was how this whole infatuation started in the first place. Yet, his heart still fluttered a bit at the fact that you remembered his name. 

“Hi, Y/n.” He responded, giving you a shy smile.

“This is Michelle’s, right?” You asked, holding up that to-go bag, and James nodded. You handed it to him, and before James could reluctantly walk away, you spoke again. “Y’know, I see you in here a bunch, but I don’t think you’ve ever ordered anything.”

James laughed nervously. He didn’t know how to explain how he always came in to see you and couldn’t care less about the food. “Oh yeah, I just… don’t have much of an appetite, I guess.”

“Well, if you ever come in hungry, the chicken sandwich is pretty good.” You smiled at him, and started stepping back to work on more orders. But James didn’t want the conversation to end.

“Could I get one of those?” He blurted out, surprising the both of you. He cleared his throat, trying to appear more casual. “To, you know, try it out.”

“Sure.” You smiled brightly at him, and James would’ve ordered a hundred chicken sandwiches if it kept you smiling like that. “Anything else?” You asked after scribbling down on the order pad.

James hummed in thought. “Could you…” He wondered how to phrase it, then leaned closer to the counter so only you could hear the question. He didn’t want Michelle or his friends to tease him about it. “Is it possible to have, like, less grease on the chicken? I just don’t really like the taste or smell of it.”

He was a bit worried you’d roll your eyes or poke fun at him. But instead, you nodded, making a note of it. “One chicken sandwich, hold the grease. That’ll be a fiver.” When James paid, you told him his food would be ready soon, and he made his way back to his expectant group of friends.

“Fucking finally,” Michelle muttered, snatching her bag of food from James. “Thought you’d be sucking face before I could even get my shit.”

“Shut up, Michelle.”

***

James Maguire Taglist: @in-my-hoe-era

[tsams-and-co-memes]

TSAMS Moondrop Canon Info

Updated - 11/10/24

Moon's likes:

Dogs

Anime

Pokémon

Webcomics

Imagine Dragons

Quietness

Spending time with his family

Magic (he's trying to have as little to do with it as possible now)

Technology

Coding

Six The Musical

My Little Pony

Palworld

Hot water

Minesweeper

Wolves

Historical shows/movies

Puzzles

Knitting (he's expressed an interest in it)

Crunchy food (specifically BBQ chips)

His favorite land animal is cheetahs, his favorite flying animal is falcons, and his favorite sea animal is blue whales

Moon's dislikes:

Moon’s favorite MLP character is Fluttershy

Shadow the Hedgehog

Kids (<- he doesn't mind them as much anymore)

Witnessing any amount of affection between people or being subjected to it, even in a familial way (he always acts grossed out by it, but maybe he’s just messing around, I’m not sure)

Star Wars

Back to the Future

Eclipse

The creator

Bloodmoon

Cooking (Removing this, since he's expressed a desire to learn how to cook)

Flash (the TV series)

The bubbly sensation that comes with carbonated drinks

Pikachu

Miscellaneous:

Moon is aroace (but if he were to ever date anyone, he would want them to have the same sense of humor and sarcasm that he has, and he'd want them to be a little bit sadistic (for some reason))

If he could have a pet, it’d be a fruit bat

He takes a lot of inspiration from Rick Sanchez (from Rick and Morty)

He’s not good with directions

He can drive, he just hates doing so

He does not have a driver's license

Moon takes care of himself by taking a metal buffing drill and rubbing it across his face. He has a machine that cleans the rest of him (Unsure if this is only a New Moon thing, if Old Moon does it too, or if they both do it)

New Moon tended to/used to have a lot of sleepless nights, trying to relearn everything he knew from before he was reset, contemplating his mortality, how he could be reset, and wind up “dying” again

He’s been kidnapped by an evil version of Sun, who he described as being similar to “evil Morty” (<- an experience that New Moon had)

New Moon (after being reset), doesn’t know how he identifies. At the very least he’s ace, but he’s not sure about if he’s romantically attracted to people or not

Moon is a fan of Rick and Morty, and he thinks Rick is the smartest person in the universe

He gets angry whenever anyone says the earth is flat

Moon talks to the Devil from the Bible quite a bit and they get along

When having conversations, Moon prefers it when people are blunt and direct with him

When confronted with problems, he tends to either shrug it off or get angry

Part of his anger towards the situation with Eclipse being back stems from feeling inadequate. He thought he took care of an issue created by his past self (Old Moon), only to find out that the issue (Eclipse) was back, once again threatening his life and Sun's

There was a kid at the daycare once that wasn't scared of Old Moon. The two talked back and forth, and upon hearing that the kid's home life wasn't great, Moon decided to sneak out of the pizzaplex. He followed the kid home, saw what his home life was like, and he took matters into his own hands, wanting to help the kid. The kid didn't survive whatever Moon did, and Moon (before being reset) carried a lot of regret with him over that incident

New Moon recently bought a Chili's from Monty (implied, since Moon recently bought it and Monty said that they recently sold it)

New Moon turned his and Sun's garage into his "experimentation area"

New Moon makes and sells technology to the government, but he doesn't specify which government that is

Old Moon once ate someone (during the episode where he and Sun fought, and he wound up punching Sun)

New Moon knows the cure for cancer

Moon frequents a cannibal sushi shop in Japan where the employees all come to work in cosplay. The chef there is a furry/scalie (Unsure if this is New Moon or Old Moon, or both)

New Moon occasionally goes to some weird anime dimension to blow off steam or find some amusement. In this dimension, everyone talks like anime characters and they all have internal anime character dialogue that gets spoken out loud. Simply saying "wind bullet" or "bang" is enough to defeat them, as they believe they're actually fighting battles similar to what happens in various animes (essentially Moon goes there for anime battle LARP-ing purposes)

Moon has bad handwriting

Moon has always been bad with interior design

Old Moon is still very much present within New Moon's head/mind/consciousness (by the time this has been updated, the two have since separated)

It was on the day of Sun and Moon's separation that Moon's Whacking Stick™️ entered the picture

Moon doesn't know how to cook

After coming back, Moon didn't know what was and wasn't food, so he just went around licking things

Moon used to work for the mafia, and they were the ones supplying him with most of the things he needed to work on his projects

Moon typically tries hanging out with mute kids more, when the daycare is open

The genre of music he primarily listens to would be like rock, metal, punk, and things similar to those (he does enjoy pop, too)

Moon seems to be a texture oriented person with his foods

Moon feels slightly better when he's in the dark (physically, I'm assuming)

Moon creates backups of Sun nightly

Moon prefers white or vanilla cake over chocolate cake

Moon is agender

Moon tinkers with things when he's nervous and he makes little barbie sized mechanical dolls/action figures