#and i figured i'd start with this one since i FINALLY got to start putting words on the page for illbringthestrap69420 again

[nooomagnus]

Last Line Meme

Tagged by @accidentallyadorable like 6 months ago :) thank u <3

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

Which was to say, she felt absolutely frigging incredible, and had done a prodigious amount of jerking off.

this is too many words so i'll tag: @nepenthean-sleep @theriverbeyond @valancietrinit @nose-coffee @once-a-polecat @goodmorningnona and YOU if you are seeing this and want to do it PLEASE do it i want to know what you're writing!

[geminiwritten]

dirty laundry (one) ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

notes: i know it's long but i promise it's fun!!! it's so juicy, i had so much fun, i couldn't stop (clearly)! i'd like to formally apologise to all jake girls (and jake himself, because damn, he gets put through it)... please, please, please let me know what you think! i absolutely love hearing all your thoughts! also, tumblr wouldn't let me post it all at once, so there's two sections...

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader can drive, a little angst, jake is a bit of a perv and a massive f*ckboy, italics, country music, and VERY HORNY with smut-ish? (masturbation, sex through the wall?) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!!! (please let me know if i've missed anything)

word count: 22046 (section one, 10136)

your callsign is valkyrie

You first met Jake Seresin at the Academy. He was fresh-faced, full of himself, and grinning like the sky belonged to him. Gorgeous—but he knew it. And there was absolutely no part of you that wanted anything to do with him.

The second time you met him was at flight school. He was a little less fresh, a little more cocky, and somehow—even more gorgeous. Because life clearly wasn’t unfair enough already. This time, he was harder to ignore. But still, you managed.

The third time you crossed paths was in the TOPGUN program. And by then, Jake Seresin had become the single cockiest man you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. He was loud, smug, aggravating—and, annoyingly, still so goddamn hot. Almost impossible to ignore. So you bit your tongue, played nice, and kept your reactions locked down. By the end of the program, your disdain had softened into something closer to... indifference.

His abs, though? Those you could—objectively—appreciate.

You figured that’d be the last of him. But then you got tapped for a special detachment on North Island and—of course—there he was. Grinning like you were old friends. Because according to him? You were. So you humoured it at first, and then somewhere along the way, it actually started to feel true—not just with him, but with the whole squad.

After the mission, the choice to stay on as a full-time, elite unit wasn’t really a choice at all. It was a hell yes.

Once the reassignment came through and you were officially under Maverick’s command, you figured it was time to get out of the barracks. Find a place off-base. Something with a kitchen, a door that locked, and—ideally—no bunk beds. Somewhere you could finally feel like a functioning adult.

“Are you sure about this?” Natasha asks, hiking the box in her arms a little higher.

You lean yours against the wall and wrestle with your keys. “Yeah,” you huff, “why wouldn’t I be?”

You finally get the door unlocked—only for it to stop a few inches in, blocked by something heavy.

Natasha raises a brow. “Because you’re moving in with—”

“Jake fucking Seresin,” you shout through the gap. “Move your shit before I break it!”

There’s rustling from inside, then footsteps.

“Not my middle name,” comes the reply, that smug grin practically audible. “But since you asked so nicely…”

You let the door fall shut again. There’s a thud, some shuffling, and then it swings open.

“Phoenix,” Jake greets with a nod, before turning to you. “Roomie.”

You roll your eyes and shove the box into his chest. “There’s more stuff in the van. I helped you yesterday, you help me today. Get moving, Bagman.”

He doesn’t even get a word in before you brush past him and make a beeline for the kitchen.

Natasha trails in behind you, laughing under her breath as she sets her box down by the half-assembled sofa. She watches with amusement as Jake—very obediently—carries the box toward your bedroom.

“Maybe I should be more worried about Hangman,” she mutters, brows raised.

That was exactly two months ago. And since then, you’ve learned a lot about Jake Seresin.

The first thing you learned was that he’s a morning person—because of course he is. Always up at ungodly hours, ready for a run or a workout, bouncing around the kitchen like a five-year-old on a sugar high. You’re convinced he wears his gym clothes to bed.

The second thing you learned was that he hates horror movies, and can’t even handle the fake, ketchup-level blood in the older ones. A week after you moved in, he walked in on you and Natasha watching the latest Scream. He screamed louder than the film, then disappeared into his room, convinced Ghostface was stalking the apartment for a full week.

Halloween is still months away, but you know Nat’s already planning to dress up as Ghostface just to scare the shit out of him.

The third thing you learned—and this one you kind of already knew—is that Jake Seresin has a wildly active sex life. His hamper? Overflowing with dirty laundry. You now know more than you ever wanted to about his… extracurricular activities.

And unfortunately for you, it didn’t take Jake long to realise just how useful having you around could be.

The first time it happened, you were innocently making coffee, minding your own business in the kitchen, sipping fresh brew from your favourite mug.

“Um, who the fuck are you?”

You startle and whip around from staring out the window above the sink, watching lazy waves lap at the shore of Coronado Beach.

There’s a woman standing at the edge of the kitchen. Her hair’s a mess, her clothes are askew, and she’s looking at you like you’re a big, fat bug splattered across her windshield.

“Uh—I’m the… roommate,” you say hesitantly.

You knew Jake had someone over last night, but when you heard him get up for his usual morning run, you assumed he’d kicked her out on the way.

You also have no idea what Jake has told this woman—or any of them, really—about you. Or if she even knows he has a roommate. Because last night, you stayed holed up in your room with noise-cancelling headphones, watching reruns of your favourite nineties sitcom.

“Oh—” the woman says, her frown softening into realisation. “Oh, I’m sorry. Jakey did tell me about you. I’m just really out of it this morning.”

You nod slowly, holding your coffee cup up to your chin like some kind of shield.

“You’re totally not what I expected,” she says, running a judging eye over your fluffy robe. “But Jakey told me what you’re going through, and can I just say? You’re so strong.”

You blink once, steadying your expression so you don’t blow Jake’s story—though you have no idea what it even is.

“If my husband went to jail,” the woman goes on, “I’d be lost. Don’t know if I’d even stick around. But honestly, you’re lucky you’ve got a cousin like Jakey looking after you.”

Cousin? Jakey? Husband?

You clear your throat, struggling to keep a straight face. “Right,” you mutter. “My husband.”

She nods, plastering on a fake smile over smudged lipstick.

“And my cousin,” you add dryly, taking a long sip of hot coffee. “Thank God for my cousin.”

An awkward silence stretches between you, neither of you quite sure what to do next. Maybe you’re supposed to break down in tears over your jailed husband, or gush about how kind and generous your cousin is.

But then she clears her throat and straightens her misbuttoned blouse. “Anyway, is Jake… around?”

You shake your head. “No, he’s volunteering at the animal shelter today. Won’t be back until late.”

You don’t know how she misses the sarcasm dripping from your voice.

“Aw,” she coos, “he’s such a dream. God, I’m going to miss him so much.”

You press your lips together, biting back a sardonic laugh clawing its way up your throat.

“Well,” she sighs wistfully, “tell him I said bye, and that last night was the best night of my life.”

You nod, the smile on your lips painfully forced.

Then she turns, picks up her heels from where they were kicked off by the door, and glances back to give you one last sympathetic smile. “Oh, and good luck with your husband. Jakey said he’s up for review for conjugal visits, so… fingers crossed!”

Then she was out the door, and you were frozen in place—part shocked, part amused, and fully questioning all of your life choices.

So that’s how it started. That’s how you became Jake Seresin’s unofficial bouncer. His getaway car. His get-out-of-jail-free card whenever one of his many conquests overstays their welcome.

Sometimes you’re his cousin with a tragic backstory that makes Jake look like a hero. Other times you’re his sister who just can’t keep out of trouble, so big brother Jakey had to step up. One time, you were even an at-risk youth, fresh out of rehab—thanks, of course, to Saint Jake and his endless patience.

Mostly, though, you just feel like an underpaid housekeeper. Always taking out the trash, doing his dirty laundry, and making sure he doesn’t get himself hung out to dry. If he hadn’t somehow wormed his way into your heart, you’d probably tell him to suck it up and deal with his own poor life choices. But unfortunately, you’ve come to care for the smug womaniser—and you have to admit, sometimes it is kind of fun to put on a little show.

There’s a soft knock on your bedroom door. So soft you’re not even sure it was real—until it comes again.

You sigh, drag yourself out of bed, and rub at your tired eyes as you swing the door open, already knowing exactly who’s on the other side.

“What do you want?”

Jake stands there in all his glory—tight gym clothes, a day’s worth of stubble, and a backwards cap that is so infuriatingly hot you want to knock it clean off his head.

“Need you to get rid of her,” he says, flashing you a soft smile.

One upside to this whole arrangement is that Jake is almost too nice to you now. He knows he owes you—big time—and you’re not ashamed to admit you’re enjoying it. These days, he pretty much does anything you ask.

“What’s her name?” you ask, folding your arms—only just realising you’re wearing a very thin shirt with no bra.

He’s realised it too—and that you’re not wearing any pants—his sparkly green eyes trailing slowly over your body like they have every right to.

“Uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I don’t know.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. That tracks. Do you want to see her again?”

He shakes his head, almost violently. “No way. She was a talker. Basically narrated the whole thing.”

You snort. “Okay, good. I’ll tell her I’m your wife or something.”

You step back, holding the door like you’re ready to shut it. But he doesn’t move. He stays right there in the doorway, a hand braced on either side, that hungry look still in his eyes.

“Do you want to be my wife?” he asks, lips curling into a cocky grin.

“Fuck no,” you say, voice laced with laughter. “Now get out of my room and stop looking at me like that before I slap you.”

His eyes stop roaming your body and lock onto yours—still hot, still shameless.

“Go to the gym,” you say flatly. “I saw the empty cookie box in the bin.”

His brows shoot up, and a soft chuckle escapes his lips. “Wow. That’s rude.”

You roll your eyes and swing the door shut. He steps back just in time for it to click closed, and then you turn and collapse face-first onto your bed with a groan.

You’d be a big, fat liar if you said living with Jake Seresin wasn’t absolute torture sometimes. Especially when he looks at you like that. But you have dignity. Self-respect. Pride. You’re not about to debase yourself and sleep with your hot roommate just because he looks—and sounds—like he could fuck you stupid.

Which, unfortunately, is something you sorely need. It’s been way too long since you’ve been fucked in any capacity, and living with a Greek god is doing an absolute number on you.

After wrapping yourself in your favourite fluffy robe and collecting the empty dishes from your bedside table—the ones you were too scared to return to the kitchen last night—you step out of your room. Jake is gone, but you can hear the shower running in the main bathroom. His bathroom.

You busy yourself making fresh coffee and fixing a plate of toast, humming the annoyingly catchy theme song from the show you binge-watched last night. You’re about to head to the living room when Jake’s latest guest rounds the corner.

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “I didn’t know Jake had a roommate.”

You smile, but it isn’t friendly. “He doesn’t.”

She frowns. “Oh. I mean, he said—”

“I’m his wife.”

Her eyes widen, jaw twitching like she’s trying to decide whether to cry, scream, or vomit.

Silence hangs thick in the air—buzzing with the kind of awkwardness you’ve come to enjoy during these little charades.

Then you sigh, long and theatrical, tilting your head to stare off into space. “I’m not mad. Not really. Jake is… well, Jake. He’s got a kind heart and terrible boundaries. He just loves making everyone feel special.” You pause, giving her a deliberate once-over. “And I’m sure last night was very… meaningful.”

She makes a garbled sound that might be an apology, but you cut in before she can gather a full thought.

“I’d offer you breakfast,” you say, sipping your coffee, “but I think it’s best if you leave before I change my mind and start throwing things.”

She scurries to the front door, grabbing her shoes so fast one heel smacks the wall.

“Oh, and sweetheart?” you add, just as she yanks the door open. “You might want to get tested.”

The door slams shut behind her, and you let a slow, satisfied smirk stretch across your lips as you take another sip of coffee.

By the time you’ve finished your breakfast, showered, and changed into fresh clothes, Jake finally strolls in—flushed, sweat-damp, and glowing that obnoxious post-hookup high. He looks like sin and satisfaction wrapped in gym clothes, radiating the smug confidence of a man who ruins lives for fun.

“She gone?” he asks, not even looking at you as he heads straight for the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Scared her off. If you do hear from her again, it won’t be pretty.”

He chuckles, low and unbothered. “Don’t have to worry about that. Already blocked her number.”

“Such a gentleman,” you mutter, digging through the key bowl by the front door.

He cracks the cap on a blue sports drink and downs half of it in one go, watching you from the corner of his eye as you gather your keys, wallet, and sunglasses.

“Where you going?” he asks, a little breathless from the chug.

“The same magical place I go every Sunday,” you say flatly. “The grocery store.”

“Oh.” He caps the bottle and sets it on the counter. “Can I come? I need stuff too.”

You sigh. “Dude, I hate when you come. You’re so indecisive.”

He doesn’t answer—just jogs down the hall toward his room. You hear his door creak open, the spray of deodorant, and the rustle of clothes.

“Too bad,” he says as he reappears, pulling on a hoodie. “I’m coming.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door, not bothering to hold it for him as he hurries to follow.

The grocery store is only ten minutes away, but Jake still manages to test every ounce of your patience on the way. He flicks through the radio like he’s searching for a signal from God, adjusts the AC a dozen times, and plays with the window like a bored kid stuck in traffic on the way to Grandma’s house.

By the time you pull into the parking lot, your jaw aches from how hard you’ve been clenching it—white-knuckling your temper like a babysitter who’s one tantrum away from driving into a tree.

Then, as you try to ease the car into a spot while an elderly couple inches a trolley across your path, Jake is still at it—humming off-key to whatever’s on the radio, fiddling with the window, and letting the AC blast straight into your eyeballs like some sort of cryogenic torture.

“Stop!” you snap, slamming your foot on the brake and smacking your hand onto Jake’s thigh.

The car jerks to a halt, halfway into the spot. Your fingers tighten on his leg, feeling the muscle twitch beneath your palm—taut and warm under the thin fabric of his gym shorts.

Jake’s breath catches. His eyes drop to your hand.

“Would you please just fucking stop?” you grit out.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.

You inhale deeply, then slowly release your grip on his leg. You dial down the AC and the radio, look around to make sure the elderly couple is out of the way, and then ease the car into the spot.

Only once you’ve shifted into park does Jake stir. He presses one hand to his leg where yours had been while the other slowly unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Sorry,” you mutter, unbuckling yours. “You’re just such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

You glance up—and find his dark green eyes already locked on you. He doesn’t look annoyed. Or smug. Or hurt. Honestly, you don’t know what the hell that look is, because you’ve never seen it before. Not from him.

His fingers curl into the fabric of his shorts as he takes a slow, uneven breath.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, voice low. “Didn’t mean to annoy you.”

Then he opens the door and practically falls out of the car.

“Okay...” you mutter, climbing out on the other side of the car.

When you glance over the bonnet, he’s already gone—halfway across the parking lot, pulling a trolley out of the bay and guiding it toward the store’s front entrance.

You frown, noticing how close he’s holding onto the cart while waiting for you to catch up.

“We can get a cart when we get inside,” you say, not missing how tightly he’s gripping the handle.

He shrugs, trying to look casual but it’s too forced. “I want this one.”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking to the bent wheel at the front of the trolley. “It’s got a janky wheel.”

“Don’t care,” he says, turning toward the doors. “Still want this one.”

He walks through the automatic doors, clutching the trolley like it’s a lifeline as he steers it toward the produce section just inside.

You shake your head and follow, pulling your phone out to check the grocery list you made this morning.

“Okay,” you say, reaching for the cart and holding out your phone. “Here’s the list.”

“No,” he says quickly, knuckles turning white on the trolley handle. “I’ll push the cart.”

You frown. “Dude, you hate pushing the cart. You literally whine every—”

Then it clicks.

The way he fell out of the car. The rush to grab a trolley. How he’s clutching it like a shield.

“Oh my God,” you giggle, smacking a hand over your mouth. “Jake, are you hard—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, brow furrowing, eyes narrowing. But the bright blush spreading across his cheeks betrays him.

You can’t help the laughter spilling from your lips, muffled by your palm as Jake pushes you aside to avoid other customers.

“Would you stop?” he hisses, turning his cap the right way around to hide his red face.

“I—I’m sorry,” you say between giggles. “I didn’t—I mean, I barely touched you.”

“It wasn’t you,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “I was thinking about last night, and—”

You cut him off with another burst of laughter, drawing a few odd glances from passersby.

“It’s really not that funny,” he growls, folding the brim of his hat. “You’re being childish.”

His words barely register. You’re too amused picturing Jake popping a boner after you grabbed his leg and told him off. You knew the man had some kinks, but you hadn’t pegged him as the submissive type. Or maybe it's the humiliation that gets him.

You bite your lip, narrowing your eyes. “Still hard?”

His eyes go wide. “What the fuck?”

You try to shrug, but the grin tugging at your lips gives you away. “Just asking. Trying to figure out which kink applies—”

“Stop,” he mutters. “Just fucking stop, please. I’m begging you.”

You arch a brow. “Begging?”

He tips his head back and groans, which only sets you off laughing again.

It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, wiping tears from your eyes as your grin finally starts to fade.

With a soft sigh, you lift your phone and open the grocery list again.

“Still want to push the cart?” you ask with a small smirk.

He simply nods, pushing it forward despite not knowing what’s first on the list.

“Hm,” you hum, “maybe it’s the humiliation.”

“What?” he asks over his shoulder.

You lift your brows, feigning innocence. “I said horseradish. We need horseradish.”

He frowns. “What the fuck is a horseradish?”

You’re not entirely sure yourself, but you can’t admit that. So you roll your eyes like he’s asked something stupid and start walking toward the radishes, silently hoping you can figure out a dinner idea this week that actually uses horseradish.

After a few minutes of browsing produce and arguing over which apple is the best, Jake seems to have remedied his little situation. And to your surprise, he doesn’t try to pass off the cart. Instead, he leans his forearms on the handle and follows you around like a well-behaved puppy—occasionally offering advice on what you’re picking, but quickly shutting up the second you tell him to.

“Do not put that in there,” you warn, waving a bunch of spring onions at him.

He frowns, holding up a misshapen tomato. “What? They all taste the same.”

You scoff. “They absolutely do not. Put that down. Pick the nice, plump, red ones.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “You like ‘em plump?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Seresin. I like them plump. Now focus up—we’ve been here almost ten minutes and we’re still in produce.”

He chuckles softly, then turns back to the tomatoes, setting down the ugly one and squeezing each perfectly round, red fruit, searching for the right one.

You bite back a smile, because for all his whining, he’s still doing exactly what you asked. And damn, if the way he’s manhandling those tomatoes isn’t giving you ideas... ones that have no place in a grocery store. Or in public, for that matter.

“Excuse me, dear,” a woman says, gesturing to the mound of bell peppers you’re standing in front of.

“Oh, sorry.” You step closer to Jake, instinctively wrapping an arm around his waist to edge him away so the woman can have her pick.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says with a soft smile, her grey eyes flicking between you and Jake. “You two make a gorgeous couple, I must say.”

Your cheeks flush instantly, words catching in your throat as you try to pull away from him. But he’s faster, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you against his side.

“Why thank you, ma’am,” he says, turning that Southern drawl up to eleven. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

You blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

The woman smiles again before picking out two bell peppers, giving you both a nod, and turning to walk away.

You pull away from Jake, wrinkling your nose. “Don’t know what you’d do, huh?”

He chuckles, twisting the top of the tomato bag.

“Probably have to deal with your own bad choices and crappy one-night stands,” you mutter, shooting him a pointed look that says, Yeah. You’d be hopeless without me.

Then you turn on your heel, grab a sack of potatoes, and drop them into the trolley as Jake meets you at the end of the aisle.

For the next half hour, you stroll up and down the aisles, checking your list and tossing things into the cart. Jake mostly stays quiet, only occasionally arguing that name-brand cereal is always better and that all milk tastes the same, so why not just pick the one on sale?

You start wondering if he really needed to come along—he hasn’t added much more than a few protein bars to the trolley—but regardless, you’re enjoying the company. Besides, you hate pushing the cart, so it’s nice to have him helping you out for once. God knows you do more than your fair share of helping him out.

“Oh no,” he mutters suddenly, ducking closer to the trolley and angling himself behind you.

You glance at him, brow furrowed. “What? What’s wrong?”

“That girl from last week,” he says, voice low.

You blink. “Which one?”

His eyes flick nervously toward the end of the aisle. “You know, the one with the red lipstick and the high-pitched laugh.”

You cast your gaze over your shoulder, trying not to seem conspicuous as you squint. Then you spot her—laughing way too loud with her headphones in, clearly on an obnoxious phone call that the whole grocery store is hearing.

“Oh,” you mutter. “That one. It took me like two days to get that lipstick off your shirt.”

Jake freezes, turning slowly to look at you with a curious frown. “Wait. You did that? I thought it just—”

“Came off in the wash?” you ask, snorting. “Yeah, sure pal. Same as those grease stains on your white shirt.”

He blinks—confused or surprised, you’re not sure. All you know is that his nightmare of a one-night stand is heading this way, her shrill voice getting louder.

“Just trust me, okay?” you mutter quickly.

Then you reach up, grab the back of his neck, and pull him toward you until his face is buried against your shoulder, his hat shielding him. You giggle softly and wrap your other arm around his waist, pulling your bodies flush as you listen for the click of her heels against the vinyl floor.

The clicking gets closer, louder, then slows to a stop. She clears her throat, but you don’t move.

“Baby,” you whisper, your breath hitching as Jake’s lips brush the curve of your neck. “Come on, you can wait ‘til we get home.”

There’s a breath. A moment. You wonder if this woman really has the gall to interrupt a couple in public, but then—

The clicking resumes, her voice slowly fading as she walks away.

“There,” you say, clearing your throat as you shove Jake off you. “And for the record, you’d be hopeless without me.”

You quickly turn back to the shelves, willing your body to calm down as heat floods your face. But you definitely don’t miss his reaction—pupils blown wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed, breath coming quick and shallow.

Nor do you miss the way he holds the cart close again, just like when you first arrived—pressing his body against it as he follows silently behind you, blushing like hell.

A tiny smirk curls across your lips.

Maybe it’s an exhibitionist thing...

After another half hour of perusing the aisles and creatively avoiding the red-lipped woman, you finally head for the checkouts. It doesn’t take long for the woman behind the counter to scan your groceries—but in even less time, Jake manages to ask for her number.

She hesitates, eyeing you curiously while you pack the bags into the cart. Jake puts on the full show, flashing a panty-melting grin and swiping his card with all the country charm he can muster.

But you can see it in her eyes—she’s trying to figure out who the hell you are. And why you’re grocery shopping with this man if you’re not together.

With a sigh, you turn to him, deciding—for some unfathomable reason—to help. As if Jake Seresin needs any help getting a woman’s number.

“Come on, dude,” you say, cutting off one of his tired pickup lines. “My girlfriend’s coming over soon and I told her we’d go somewhere nice for lunch.”

Jake looks at you, head tilting slightly—then you see it click. “Right,” he says smoothly. “Your girlfriend. Because you’re gay.” He turns back to the cashier with a winning smile. “Sorry—my housemate’s getting impatient. So... about that number?”

That’s all it takes.

The cashier giggles, flips her ponytail off her shoulder, grabs a pen, and scribbles her number on the back of the receipt.

You roll your eyes and turn away, pushing the cart toward the doors without waiting for him. But he catches up quickly in the carpark, falling into step beside you with that annoyingly gorgeous grin stretched across his face.

“Thanks for that,” he says. “Didn’t realise why she was being weird.”

You scoff. “Seriously? What did you think she was wondering about two people our age buying groceries together?”

He shrugs, taking the trolley from you while you dig around in your pocket for your car key. “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t think of you like that, so I didn’t think anyone else would.”

You snort, stopping at the boot. “Right. I’m just a sexless goblin to you because I’m immune to your absurd charm and annoyingly perfect face.”

You pop the boot, stepping back as it lifts, and Jake positions the trolley to start unloading the groceries.

“You think I have a perfect face?” he teases, eyes gleaming with mischief.

You shoot him a dry look. “You know you do, Seresin. You don’t need me to validate your ego.”

He laughs, lifting two heavy bags into the boot. “Wouldn’t kill you to say it every once in a while.”

“Oh yeah?” Your voice drips sarcasm. “Well, it wouldn’t kill you to thank me for being not just an incredible roommate but a phenomenal wing-woman once in a while. Hm?”

Jake tosses in the last bag, chuckling softly. Then he moves the trolley aside and—without warning—wraps you up in his arms. Your body stiffens, eyes wide, but he doesn’t let go. He just hugs you tightly, cheek pressing to the top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says dramatically, “for being the best roommate in the world. And the greatest wing-woman a guy like me could ever hope for.”

Then he presses a kiss to your hair.

You let out a disgusted groan, flailing your arms until he lets go. Then you shoot him a withering look, sticking your tongue out like a child as you slam the boot shut and stomp around to the driver’s side door.

While he returns the cart to one of the bays, you take a moment to yourself, trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to remind yourself who you’re dealing with here—Jake fucking Seresin. Cocky, a womanizer, your roommate, and a total pain in the ass.

He absolutely shouldn’t be making you feel all warm and gooey inside. No way. His smile, his scent, the way his strong arms wrapped around you—that’s just… wrong. Definitely not something that should make your brain start asking dumb questions like, What if he did see you like that? Like one of those girls he actually wants.

Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen.

As if you’d ever want that to happen. Nope. No thanks. No way.

- Jake -

It’s been a long day for both of you—but longer for Jake.

After the usual run of flying, training, and debriefing, Maverick made him stay back to fill out maintenance logs as punishment for ‘clogging up the radio’. In Jake’s defence, you and Natasha were baiting him. But Mav didn’t care who started it—he just cared who was still talking when he keyed his mic.

So Jake ended up stuck in the hangar office for two extra hours, sorting paperwork with one of the grumpiest plane captains on base, regretting every single word he’d said.

At least it’s Friday. Two days off, two nights to himself—and, with any luck, some half-decent sex.

When he finally walks through the apartment door, he can hear your shower running. Great. Now he has to wait if he wants hot water.

With a heavy sigh, he unzips his flight suit and starts trudging toward his room at the end of the hall. Yours is just before it—on the right—door wide open as usual. He can hear the soft sound of your humming, light and off-key, which probably means your ensuite door is open too.

“Nope,” he mutters to himself, eyes fixed ahead as he strides past. “Don’t even think about it.”

Because Jake Seresin does not think about you like that. He can’t. Not seriously.

Sure, he flirts. Of course he flirts. He flirts with everyone. It’s easy. It’s harmless.

But you? You’re different.

You’re his housemate. His teammate. One of his closest friends in this whole damn place. Thinking about you—really thinking about you—is a fast track to disaster.

And yet… it’s always crawling at the edges of his mind. Quiet temptation. Soft and persistent, like a whisper he pretends not to hear.

The way your skin would look, slick with water. How that sweet little hum might sound if he had you pressed to the wall, mouth on your neck, hands on your hips. How easy it would be to step in behind you. Slide his fingers down your spine. Sink his teeth into your bare shoulder as you let out a soft whimper—

No. Hell no.

He slams his bedroom door behind him like it’ll help. It doesn’t.

Because the hardest part—pun intended—is that Jake likes living with you. He might even say he loves it. You make things easy. Fun. Comfortable. Like home. Which is exactly why he can’t screw this up. Not by fantasising about you. And definitely not by acting on it.

If he ever let himself go there—let himself think about what it would be like to touch you, to have you—he knows he’d fuck it all up. And he can’t afford to do that. He can’t let his inner-caveman win just because you’re ridiculously hot.

Because this isn’t about feelings. Oh, no. Jake Seresin doesn’t do feelings. This is about him being human—a man, no less—and you being sexy as hell without even realising it.

So he doesn't let himself. He won’t lethimself.

That’s why he keeps his bed full. Women in and out. Just enough heat and chaos to distract him. Just enough friction to keep the thought of you out of his head. So he doesn’t think about your lips. Or the way your body moves. Or the little smirk you get when you know you’ve outsmarted him.

He’s got it under control. Totally. Completely.

Except then you’re there—always there. Smelling like cinnamon and vanilla, wearing those stupidly oversized shirts with no fucking bra. Hard nipples and bare legs. And Jake is just about losing the plot because God, your waist would fit so perfectly in his hands. Your body beneath his as he—

“Jake!”

Your voice cuts through the fog like a gunshot.

He jerks, eyes snapping open, heart hammering. Then he looks down at the very obvious problem tenting the front of his flight suit.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face. “I need to get laid.”

Granted, it’s only been five nights since his last overnight guest. But five nights with just his hand—or worse, humping his pillow like a desperate virgin? Yeah. He’s not doing great.

“Jake!” you call again, louder this time.

He takes a deep breath and reaches into his flight suit, adjusting his now painfully hard dick into the band of his underwear before swinging his bedroom door open.

“What?” he shouts, stomping toward your room.

“I left my towel in the dryer,” you call through the apartment. “Can you grab it for me? I’m all wet.”

He stops just short of your door, eyes shutting tight as he tries not to picture that. You. All wet. Jesus.

“Sure,” he mutters, though he knows you probably can’t hear him.

He spins toward the laundry closet across the hall, yanks open the dryer, and pulls out a fluffy towel that smells just like you—vanilla, cinnamon, whatever intoxicating shampoo you use—and holds it away from his face so he doesn’t sniff it like a psycho.

“Are—are you covered?” he asks as he steps into your room.

“What? You’re not going to try and sneak a peek?” you tease, all playful and smug—and fuck if it doesn’t go straight to his cock.

You’re joking. You’re always joking. Because you love to tease him. But whether it’s on purpose or not, it still makes his dick twitch. Every damn time.

“‘M not the type to steal glances, sweetheart,” he drawls. “I prefer a good, long look.”

It’s just instinct. Flirting is wired into his system, hard-coded somewhere deep in his bones. He doesn’t mean to say half the shit he says—it just falls out of his mouth before his brain even has a chance to weigh in.

“Gross,” you mutter. “Just hurry up, I’m fucking freezing. My nipples could cut glass.”

He goes still. Muscles tight. Jaw clenched.

Cut glass.

Jesus Christ.

His eyes snap shut, but it’s no use. The image is already there—sharp, vivid, obscene—and his cock, already fucking leaking, throbs against his belly.

“Hello?” you call, completely oblivious.

“Yeah,” Jake croaks. “I—I’m coming. Just gimme a fucking second.”

“So’s Christmas,” you grumble.

He sucks in another deep breath, then moves through your room and nudges the ensuite door open—squinting like that’ll save him.

It doesn’t.

You’re standing behind fogged glass, barely blurred—one arm across your chest, the other between your thighs, wet hair clinging to your skin, and steam curling around you in lazy spirals. You look like a damn goddess. A naked, pissed-off goddess who could break him with a single look.

“Dude!” you hiss. “Don’t fucking look!”

His eyes snap open as he jerks his head the other way, blindly stepping toward you with the towel outstretched.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Not sure what else I’m supposed to fucking do.”

You sigh. “Just throw the towel, moron.”

He tosses it, hoping it clears the shower screen.

“Thanks,” you say, followed by the sound of rustling fabric. “Now get the fuck out.”

He clears his throat. “Gladly.”

Then he’s gone—back down the hall, back into his room. Slamming the door shut behind him like that’ll do anything to stop the visions in his head or the aching in his cock.

After a quick wank—very quick, given what he just saw—and a cold shower, Jake grabs his phone and texts the woman he’s been talking to for the past forty-eight hours. She’s been sending him nudes since last night, so with any luck, she’ll be keen to meet up tonight.

He’s already in the kitchen, rummaging through leftovers in the fridge, when you emerge from your room—and it takes everything in him not to do a double-take.

Your hair’s done, your lips are glossy, your dark blue jeans look painted on, and the top you’re wearing is doing downright criminal things for your tits. You’ve got a leather jacket draped over one arm and your purse slung over the opposite shoulder.

Jake frowns, keeping his gaze locked on the container of satay noodles in his hands. “Going somewhere?”

“Got a date,” you reply, voice smug.

He glances up, raising his brows. “A date?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Not surprised,” he says coolly, turning toward the microwave. “You just haven’t had one since we moved in.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, tossing your purse onto the kitchen bench to slip on your jacket. “I just haven’t been bothered. But… a girl’s got needs, you know? It’s been long enough.”

Needs. Jesus Christ. What he wouldn’t give to help with those.

If it weren’t for the fact that you also worked together, Jake might actually be tempted to suggest a roommates-with-benefits kind of deal. But he knows if that ever went south, it wouldn’t just screw up your living situation—it’d screw up your careers. Ones you’ve both worked your asses off to achieve.

He chuckles softly, eyes drifting toward you as you reapply lip gloss using your phone camera. “Do I need to borrow your noise-cancelling headphones?”

You shrug, that teasing smirk tugging at your mouth. “Maybe. I’ll let you know how dinner goes.”

Then you tuck the gloss away, sling your purse back over your shoulder, and turn toward the door.

“Don’t wait up,” you say with a wink.

He raises a brow. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Did you just give me the green light to commit a felony?”

He rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

You poke your tongue out, give him a little wave, and let the door swing shut behind you.

The second the latch clicks, Jake sighs and steps back from the counter, staring down—again—at the bulge in his pants.

God, he hopes he can get laid tonight. Otherwise, he might actually explode.

-

It’s late when Jake gets home. The whole apartment block is eerily quiet as he walks through the lobby, rides the lift up, and strolls down the hall toward your apartment door.

You haven’t texted him all night—not that it matters. The date was either too good for you to touch your phone or so bad you don’t want to talk about it. Either way, Jake doesn’t care.

Because right now, he feels good.

He’s loose-limbed, freshly fucked, and riding the kind of high that only comes from a solid round—or three—of no-strings-attached sex. His head’s clearer. Body lighter. And that itchy, restless frustration he’s been living with? Gone.

Hell, he might even sleep in tomorrow. Skip the gym. Make a big breakfast and tease you about your lousy date—which is what he’s assuming, obviously. Because surely, you would have warned him if—

A pitchy moan cuts through the apartment the second he steps inside. High. Breathless. Undeniably female.

He freezes. One boot off, the other still halfway on.

Another cry echoes. “Fuck—right there—don’t stop.”

The door clicks shut quietly behind him, but Jake still doesn’t move.

Then he hears it.

Smack. Skin on skin. A moan that breaks into a whimper. The creak of bedsprings. The wet, unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together—fast. Rough.

“Harder,” you gasp, desperate.

Jesus Christ.

His brain short-circuits.

That’s you. In your bedroom. Getting absolutely railed. Loudly. Shamelessly. Obscenely.

He’s never heard you like that before—never heard anyone like that before. It's graphic. Filthy. Fucking hot.

Jake actually blushes. His face burning like some virginal freshman stumbling into the wrong dorm.

He should leave. Go out. Do anything but stand there like a depraved freak. But he can’t move.

Then—another moan. Longer. Higher. And something crashes into the wall. Headboard? Elbow? Doesn’t matter. What matters is the sound you make when it happens, a breathy, cracked little “Ja—ah—”

Wait. Jake?

His whole body jerks.

But then you laugh, low and wrecked. “Justin,” you pant. “D-Don’t let me cum yet.”

Not Jake. Just his idiot brain, short-circuiting under pressure.

Still, he swears all the blood in his body does a violent U-turn, hurtling south at breakneck speed. Because that voice, that pitch, that tone—

It’s everything he’s not allowed to think about.

And now? He can’t stop.

He kicks off his second boot, face hot, dick already hard again—and this time it’s worse. Because he’s not just turned on. He’s unravelling. He’s losing it. Caught somewhere between protective and pissed off and—

He’s not jealous. Of course not. That’d be insane.

He’s just... horny. Again.

Because all that post-orgasm clarity he walked in with?

Gone. Instantly. Obliterated.

And now all he can hear is you—moaning, begging, falling apart—and all he can think about is what it would be like to be the one making you sound like that.

Jake stumbles down the hall like a man possessed, yanks open his bedroom door, and kicks it shut behind him. He flicks on the light, grabs the first pair of sweatpants he sees, and starts tearing through drawers like a lunatic.

Headphones. He needs headphones. Where the fuck are his headphones?

They’re always in the top drawer. Always. Except tonight, of course. Tonight they’re nowhere to be found. Maybe he left them in his car, or at the gym. Maybe they’re buried in his gear bag or lost somewhere at work. Wherever they are, it doesn’t matter—because right now, he’s completely, helplessly, fucked.

Your voice floats through the apartment—soft and wrecked. “Oh, my God—yes, yes, right there—”

Jake groans, scrubbing both hands over his face before falling face first onto the bed. He drags a pillow over his head like it’s going to do anything, like it’s going to stop the sounds seeping through the walls.

It doesn’t.

Your moans crawl straight into his ears, into his bloodstream, settling hot and heavy in his gut. He presses his hips into the mattress, jaw tight, pulse pounding in his throat. It’s subconscious at first—barely even movement. Just friction. Pressure. Desperation.

Then you cry out again, all high and needy, and Jake grinds down without thinking. Just once. Just enough to feel it. His breath catches. His body lights up like a fuse. Because in his head, it’s all you. Under him. Around him. Crying out his name.

No. No, no, no—fuck, stop it.

He flips onto his back, trying to will the image away—but it’s already there. Burned into his brain. Your face, tipped back in pleasure. Your mouth slack, panting. Your thighs spread wide. Hands clawing at his back. Body arching into his.

He groans again, eyes squeezed shut, fisting the sheets as his hips jerk up into nothing.

And then—

A low grunt. Rough. Male. Clipped and stuttering. Followed by a choked-off, breathless curse.

Justin.

Jake’s whole body locks up.

Everything goes still.

Heat drains from his face, shame slamming into his chest like a sucker punch.

Because what the fuck is he doing?

He’s lying here, hard and sweating and grinding against his own goddamn mattress, getting off to the sound of you fucking someone else.

His friend. His roommate. His teammate.

Jake shoves himself upright, rage and humiliation sizzling through his veins like lightning. His body is still aching—still primed—but now it just feels gross. Wrong. So fucking wrong.

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face like that’ll wipe the whole moment away.

But it won’t.

Because the sound of you—wrecked, undone, beautiful—is still echoing in his skull. And for the first time in a long time, Jake Seresin feels like a goddamn mess.

Eventually—after what feels like an eternity—the noises stop.

Jake lies in bed feeling like a snapped powerline—buzzing with a dangerous current he can’t shake, muscles locked. nerves frayed. He hears your shower running, your voices—low and indistinct—then, at last, silence.

Sleep comes in useless fragments. Every time he drifts off, it’s only to be jolted awake by echoes of your voice. Whimpers. Moans. Soft sighs that somehow twist themselves into his name.

Each time his eyes snap open, his stomach turns. He needs his memory scrubbed clean, wiped of every sound, every image—because the longer it lingers, the more vividly he sees you. Blissed out. Fucked stupid. Completely undone in a way he’s never seen before.

God. Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe moving in together wasn’t the smartest idea he’s ever had.

Sure, it’s benefited him just fine for the past few months, but he hadn’t expected this side of things. He hadn’t considered what it might feel like to lie in bed, separated by a single thin wall, listening to you have pornographic sex with strangers. If he’d known that was part of the deal, maybe he would’ve thought twice.

How hypocritical.

By five a.m., he gives up. He rolls out of bed, changes into his gym clothes, and storms out the door—scowling at Justin’s shoes still sitting neatly beside yours.

He spends two solid hours at the gym, working his body until his muscles shake and his vision blurs. His headphones—found buried in his damn gym bag—stay on the whole time, music turned up loud in a pathetic attempt to drown out the sounds still ricocheting around in his skull.

Your moans are stuck in his head like an old favourite song, one he can’t stop humming even though it’s starting to make him go insane.

He sees a few familiar faces and stops for conversation, pretending everything is normal. Easy. Like he didn’t spend last night rutting against his sheets, imagining things he shouldn’t be imagining. Because seriously—what kind of freak fantasises about their friend getting railed by another guy?

At seven, he leaves the gym and stops for coffee halfway home. Then he sits in his car for thirty whole minutes, sipping it slowly while scrolling through his contacts like a man on a mission. Every female name gets a second glance—because he’s desperate. For a distraction. A good fuck. Anything to clear his head and kill this goddamn erection.

When he finally decides to head upstairs, he finds himself praying that you’re not home. Or if you are, that you’re alone. Because the idea of running into you—or worse, him—makes his skin itch.

Normally, he’d love a bit of banter over breakfast. But not today. Today, all he wants is to jerk off until he’s raw and numb and no longer at risk of letting something stupid slip out of his mouth.

He’s halfway down the hall toward your apartment door when he hears music. Loud music, accompanied by slightly off-key singing and jumbled lyrics. And the only reason he knows the lyrics are wrong is because this is one of his favourite songs.

A country song, no less. One you’ve sworn to hate every time he dares to play his music out loud.

He presses his lips together and quietly pulls out his keys, doing his best to stay silent as he cracks the door open.

And there you are.

In the middle of the kitchen, using a spatula as a microphone and swaying your hips like it’s the best morning of your life. You’re wearing one of those absurdly sexy oversized shirts, and he can’t even tell if you’ve got shorts on—or panties, for that matter.

Your hair’s a mess, there’s makeup smudged beneath your eyes, and your head is tipped back as you belt out the chorus with full, reckless confidence. Wrong notes, wrong lyrics, right attitude.

Jake’s heart lurches into his throat, beating way too fast.

You look so happy. Not just content or satisfied, but happy. Radiant. It’s the same expression you wore the first time you flew a jet—he remembers, he was there—and at TOPGUN graduation, grinning like you could take on the world. God, he’s never forgotten that smile. It’s too damn pretty to forget.

He swallows hard, trying to dislodge the weird lump in his throat, and shakes his head before pushing the door open all the way.

You don’t notice at first. You’ve turned your back to him, flipping a pancake at the stove, your head bobbing along to the music like you physically can’t keep still.

Jake clears his throat. “Didn’t think you’d be able to walk today, let alone put on a concert.”

You jump, whirling around with wide eyes and wielding the spatula like a weapon.

“Jesus Christ, dude! What the fuck?”

Dude. Sometimes Jake wonders if you’ve actually forgotten his name. Even his callsign would be better.

“I didn’t sneak in,” he says—only a partial lie. You would’ve heard him if it weren’t for the music. “Not my fault you’re off in your own world.”

You roll your eyes and grab your phone off the counter, turning the music down until it’s just background noise.

Jake lifts a brow. “So, Justin fucked you into having good music taste, huh?”

Your eyes go wide, heat crawling up your neck. “How do you know his name?”

Jake just gives you a flat look, folding his arms over his chest while he waits for you to figure it out.

“Oh—” you gasp, slapping a hand over your mouth, but you’re still grinning.

“Yeah,” Jake mutters, turning toward the living room. “Oh is right.”

He walks around the couch before flopping down into the cushions and pulling out his phone.

“Hungry?” you call out.

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes glued to his phone as he types a few quick responses to the women he messaged earlier.

A few minutes later, you appear in front of him holding out a plate stacked with two pancakes, a heap of blueberries, banana slices, Greek yogurt, and a drizzle of dark maple syrup.

“Pancakes are made with ricotta,” you say. “And it’s that organic syrup you like. So don’t bitch about carbs or refined sugar.”

He blinks, looking up at you with wide green eyes, wondering why the hell he deserves this. How the hell he deserves you. As a friend, of course. A roommate.

You nudge the plate closer. “Come on, dude. I haven’t got all day.”

He takes it, clearing his throat—again. “Uh, thanks.”

You smile and turn away—and he can’t help it. He ducks his head, eyes dragging down your legs, trying to see if there’s anything under that damn shirt.

“I’m hanging out with Nat today,” you call from the kitchen. “She wants the full recap on last night.”

Jake snorts. “Yeah? Want me to come? Bet I could give her a better play-by-play than you could.”

“Shut up, Seresin,” you mutter, but he can still hear the smile in your voice. “I’ve listened to you every second bloody night for the past two months. Call it payback.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes the first bite of pancake, summoning every ounce of self-control he has not to moan. Because holy shit, these are good.

“Yeah?” he calls. “Well, I know for a fact none of my sleepovers have ever been that loud.”

You appear again, almost startling him as you set a mug of coffee on the table in front of him.

“Well, maybe,” you say, eyes narrowed, “you should do better. Then your sleepovers might be a little louder. A little more... enthusiastic.”

Then you turn and stroll back into the kitchen.

Jake shuts his eyes, breathing slow and deep through his nose.

Do not get hard. Do not get hard. Do not—

He’ll be fine.

As soon as you’re out of the apartment and he can jerk off in peace.

Half an hour later, you’re showered and dressed, standing by the door, sliding sunglasses onto your head. Jake is in the kitchen, elbow-deep in warm water and suds, cleaning up after your breakfast concert—something he volunteered for, of course. A small price to pay for borderline orgasmic pancakes.

“I’ve got a heap of laundry to do before tomorrow. Can you make sure the machine’s free when I get back?” you ask, one foot already out the door, brows raised.

Jake glances over. “Want me to start it? I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll be here all day anyway.”

Your brows lift even higher. “Oh? No Sunday sex appointment?”

“Not ‘til tonight,” he grins.

You roll your eyes, a playful smirk curling your lips. “Okay. That’d be great, actually. You know where my hamper is?”

He nods again, and you flash a wide smile before slipping out the door, calling an airy “Thanks, bye” over your shoulder.

After washing, drying, and putting away the dishes, Jake wipes down the kitchen, vacuums the floor, then moves on to the laundry. He retrieves your hamper from your room, trying not to let his eyes wander too much—but even after all the times he’s been in here, it feels different now. Like the walls are holding onto something he wasn’t meant to know. Something raw. Something private. Something that would make the devil himself blush.

He shakes his head and forces his feet to move out of your room, taking the hamper with him to the laundry closet. He swings the doors open wide and pours your laundry into the plastic basket sitting atop the machine. Then he shifts the basket to the small bench on the left, opens the washer door, double-checks that it’s empty, and starts sorting through your dirty laundry.

He doesn’t want to be a creep—he really doesn’t—but some things just can’t go in the wash together. So he tries. He spots your work clothes and sets them aside, knowing they need a hotter wash—grease and all that. Then he picks up a bra and remembers you mentioning something about an undergarment bag...

With a clipped sigh, he drops the bra and rummages through the cupboard beneath the bench, quickly finding the spotted mesh bag he’s seen you use before. Whether you use it all the time, he isn’t sure, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Working quickly now, he slips your bras into the bag and sets aside anything he’s unsure about mixing with the rest. And then—

Something catches his eye. Nestled between a pair of blue jeans and the top you wore last night lies a delicate matching set of lingerie—deep burgundy lace, silky and soft-looking, way too pretty and intimate for him to be seeing.

His breath hitches. His pulse spikes. He tells himself to shove the thought aside—it’s just laundry. Stop being a creep. It’s just laundry.

But he can’t stop picturing it—your skin wrapped in that delicate fabric, your most intimate places covered by just a whisper of lace and silk. God. He can’t fucking stop.

His sweatpants start to swell at the crotch, growing until there’s a prominent tent between him and the bench where that lingerie lies. Taunting. Teasing him.

Jesus. It probably still smells like you. He could almost—

No. Stop. Stop right now.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He shifts his weight, eyes locked on the burgundy lace. His fingers twitch, itching to touch, but he clenches them into fists at his sides, clinging to what little control he still has left.

His breath turns shallow, uneven. Each inhale sharper than the last. His head spins as blood rushes south—away from reason. Away from restraint.

His mind races, painting every inch of you in that fucking lingerie. How the lace would hug your curves, how soft and warm you’d be beneath it. Your scent. The slope of your hips. The arch of your back. How wet you’d be... just for him.

He can't take it anymore.

With a strangled grunt, his hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers trembling as they close around his hot, swollen length—already leaking into the grey fabric.

His hips twitch, breath catching, eyes squeezed shut. All he can see is you. That lace. The sounds you made last night. He strokes harder, faster—every thrust frantic, sloppy, desperate. He’s too far gone, lost to the hunger clawing its way through him.

It doesn’t take long. He’s too worked up. Too far gone.

He steps closer to the bench, bracing himself with one hand, his other still working beneath his sweats. His head drops forward, and—

His fingers graze the lace. Just barely. The faintest touch.

But it’s enough.

His whole body seizes—hot and tight—and he cums with a gasp, clutching the edge of the bench as pleasure crashes over him. His hips stutter, grinding through it, riding the wave until he’s shaking.

When he opens his eyes, his hand is slick and his sweatpants are soaked through, a dark stain spreading across the front of them. His shirt isn’t spared either—there’s a damp patch blooming near the hem.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathless.

He wipes his hand on his pants and forces himself to finish sorting your laundry, tossing the lingerie into the garment bag like it might burn him if he holds it too long. Then, without looking down, he strips out of his ruined clothes and shoves them into the machine.

He tosses in two detergent pods, taps a few buttons, and hits start—watching the drum begin to spin like that alone might be enough to wash away what just happened.

Then he heads for the shower, grabbing his phone on the way—because if he has any chance of pulling himself together before you get home, he’s going to need more than just his hand.

PART TWO

[spearofheaven]

⋆˚࿔ DOUBLE OR NOTHING — toji fushiguro

SUM. After countless empty promises spilled from his lips, you wanted to believe that he’d show up to your anniversary of all things.

CONTAINS. 4.9k words. 18+ content, MDNI. non canon compliant/au. porn with minimal plot. fem wife! reader. marriage problems. divorce talk. angst (?). cunnilingus. fingering. unprotected p in v. spanking. doggy. missionary up against a wall (???). pet names (mama, wifey, etc.)

"I'll make it home to you by six, mama. Take you out on a nice date, get you some flowers, all that stuff you like. Promise."

The clock was nearing eight o'clock with no signs of Toji coming through the door anytime soon, your own patience starting to run out with every tick. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The sound echoed through your ears since you'd sat down on the leather couch nearly two hours ago, waiting for Toji to fulfill the promise. A promise that he'd made after flaking out on the date planned prior to that one.

And prior to that one. And prior. It'd been more missed dates than actual ones that he'd taken you out by now—you weren't exactly sure why you'd hoped for tonight to be different. Well, you knew exactly why. Today marked three years of being married to one another. You knew that he didn't prioritize date nights with you as much as he should, but you had held some sort of foolish hope that your anniversary would mean something—anything to him.

The divorce papers felt like a dead weight in your hand, much like how your relationship would be the second that you brought it up. It all just seemed so final, seeing the terms laid out that would end years of marriage. Just by the flick of a pen. But the idea was almost like a reprieve, like something that was worth looking forward to. You shook your head, getting up from the couch to set the stack of papers on the kitchen table where Toji wouldn't miss them.

Another half hour of eerie silence and Toji still hadn't come through the door. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep some semblance of hope that he'd even show up at all, much less for your date. You admitted defeat, slipping off your heels and pulling up a throw blanket over yourself. Succumbing to the sleep that was weighing down on your eyelids.

You weren't even sure how much time had passed when you heard the door swing open, the door hitting the wall from the force. The thud of his shoes hitting the tile followed, a grumble leaving Toji's lips. "Fuckin' bastards rigged that race. Robbed me of fifty bucks," he muttered to himself, slipping his coat off before placing it up on the coat rack.

"You're home late," you called out, watching as Toji turned to look at the couch before flicking on one of the living room lights. "Jesus woman, you scared me," he grumbled, a large hand resting by his chest as he looked over in your direction. Toji rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion lingering on his face like a second skin. It was only then that he looked over at you, really looked at you, and what you were wearing.

Ah shit.

Almost as if he wanted to make the situation worse, he'd chosen to go with, "You got all dolled up just to fall asleep on the couch?" You could've sworn you felt your eye twitch at the question. He'd barely opened up his mouth and you were already wishing that he didn't even bother showing up for the night.

Toji knew he was in deep shit with each step he took into the living room, his mind already starting to work overdrive to figure out what he could do for what he'd missed. A date? No, you wouldn't have put on the very expensive pair of Louboutins for just any date. His mind was blanking on anything other than the numbers that he'd lost with earlier in the day. Come on, think.

"No, I got dolled up because I thought I'd be going out with my husband tonight," you retorted dryly, smudges of eyeshadow sticking to your hand when you went to rub at your eyes. You could see Toji's brows furrow, the wheels seeming to turn in his head for once, before a look of realization settled on his features.

"Look, I'm sorry. I got carried away at the casino," one of the many excuses you'd heard before coming back to bite you in the ass. The same excuse that he'd used last month when he forgot about a work party you'd mentioned to him. Which wouldn't have been too bad if it weren't for all the snide comments being whispered in your direction and all the unwarranted marriage advice.

Advice that you ended up forgetting about chugging down two glasses of tequila like water. "I'll make it up to you, I swear. You can pick the place and all that shit." There went another one. He'd really topped himself using the two of them in a row. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, looking over at him in disbelief. "Do you even know what today was? Why I'm so pissed off?"

"It's your birthday?" Toji spoke after a couple seconds, the answer clearly wrong just by the look on his face. You rubbed a hand over your face, standing up from your spot on the couch. "It's our wedding anniversary, Toji," you spoke up before he made another guess that would just piss you off even further, "And I have something I need to talk to you about. It's on the kitchen table."

Underneath the vase filled with wilted flowers—a collection more than anything that you kept around as a reminder that Toji used to care, was a stack of papers. He placed the vase down on the table with more force than necessary upon realizing what the documents were. "A divorce?" The words slipped out of him with such venom, such distaste, like the idea was unfathomable.

Toji slammed the papers down on the table, the salt and pepper shakers trembling before falling over. "Is that really what you want?" He stepped closer to you when you approached the table, his hands instinctively moving to hold your hips. Holding you close to his body. "No, I didn't get married with the intention of getting a divorce. But you've been neglecting this marriage for a couple months now."

"I'll make it up to you now," Toji spoke quickly, like he was afraid of losing you at any moment. Like you'd disappear if he didn't. And as much as you wanted to avoid looking over at him, the task had just become all that much difficult when you had nowhere else to look at. It only took one glance at his face to realize just what he meant by 'making it up to you.'

"You think you're gonna fix months of pushing me aside with just sex?"

"Nah, I know it's gonna take more. But you've been so tired, isn't that right? So tired of tryin' to keep this marriage from falling apart and nobody taking care of you?" His words were like a siren's song when he whispered them in your ear, your traitorous body leaning back to meet the drag of your fingertips. It was almost laughable at how easily your resolve had melted. "Lemme take care of you mama. Promise I'll make you feel good."

"You wanna call me a dick, never wanna see me again? That's fine, just don't deny me one last taste. Please," And while Toji wasn't a man to beg for anything in his life, he found himself saying the words anyways. "Thought this was you making it up to me," and as much as you were willing yourself not to fold, you felt yourself spreading your legs almost instinctively when his finger dragged up your inner thigh.

"Can't it be both?" Toji's teeth nipped at your neck, licking a stripe up the junction of your neck. Practically salivating at the taste of you, of the expensive perfume you'd put on just a mere hours beforehand. "One could say that you're just being selfish," your words quickly died out when Toji started sucking on your pulse point, your own heartbeat betraying you. You'd expected Toji to sass you back, say something about how your body was just so needy against his touch.

But instead, he dropped down to his knees in front of you. The wooden floor underneath his knees almost made him feel bad for all the times he had you in a similar position. Almost. Toji looked up at you, "Selfish only when it comes to you."

Every slow drag of his fingertips across your smooth skin seemed almost reverent— like you were something to worship. You were, he just failed to realize that until now. Until you were almost out the door. "I'm sorry," the first real apology of the night slipped out of his mouth, his lips pressed against your shin. "I'm sorry," he moved up to your knee, repeating the action. Hushed whispers of I'm sorry's and featherlight kisses moving up your legs, stopping only when he gets to your clothed cunt.

"I'm sorry," Toji uttered his last apology against your cunt, his eyes locking onto yours as he applied an open mouthed kiss on your clothed clit. Barely darting his tongue out, swirling it against the nerves that were just begging for one ounce of stimulation. And he was practically reveling in how needy he made you in the span of seconds. Your back arched to rest against the seat behind you, one of your hands going to rest on his head.

Toji's fingers dragged slowly in between your folds, feeling the wet patch already starting to form through the thin lace material. You refused to make eye contact with him, knowing that if you did, he'd be able to see just how desperate you were in just a manner of seconds. Even if the bastard probably had a clue already. "You sure your pussy agrees with the divorce?" His voice came out to something akin to a purr, the drag of his fingers slowing down.

Getting you even more worked up than you were already. "Fucking hate you, can't even apologize right," you let out a hiss, your hand going down to his hair. Pulling his head even closer to you despite your previous claim. "Fine, I'll apologize correctly," Toji sounded like you were the one inconveniencing him—to which you were. He wanted to take his time with his meal, have you begging for him to touch you. And normally, he would've.

If he weren't desperate to have your cunt on his face again after weeks, months? of just having his fist to work with. His fist and a used pair of your panties up to his nose like a pervert, hips humping the air in desperation. Imagining that it was your tongue flicking across his leaking tip instead of his thumb, that it was your soft hands in exchange of his rough ones. And as easy as it was for him to get laid—he didn't want to be with anyone that wasn't you.

Toji hadn't tasted someone as sweet as you, heard someone so angelic before, but now he supposed that maybe he'd have to put that theory to the test if you left him after all. Just the idea was maddening. That someone else would be doing the same thing that he's doing to you now, that they'd give you the affection that he should've given.

"Especially sorry to you. Been neglecting you for too long," he hooked his fingers around the side of your panties, pulling them to the side just enough to reveal your slick folds to him. Toji swiped the tip of his finger along your entrance, your slick glistening against the harsh kitchen lighting before he stuck in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around it, licking away at it like the slut he was.

And like the deprived man that he'd been, Toji's hands went to the lace of your underwear and stretched it out until a loud rip echoed throughout the kitchen. "You always this wet for people you hate? Or is that just for me?" Toji taunted, pushing your tattered panties down to your ankles. Finally leaning in closer to where you were aching for him to touch you. To do something other than just tease you relentlessly.

Toji settled on his knees behind you, spreading your legs open like you were his favorite meal. His tongue swiped up on your dripping cunt, licking up your essence with sheer greed. "Mmph fuck, so good," his words came out muffled, his tongue swiping across your folds before darting inside of your cunt. Your grip on the table tightened, your hips working on their own accord to push back onto his face. Practically suffocating him in your pussy. Not that he minded. By any means.

Toji practically welcomed it, his hands pushing you down onto his face. Getting absorbed in your cunt completely. "A-Ah fuck, Toji!" You could already see the noise complaint hanging on your front door first thing in the morning. But how could you be expected to keep your voice down? Toji spread your folds apart with two fingers as if he were preparing for a feast, his tongue feverishly licking in between.

"Fuckin' soaked already, knew you loved me," The vibration of the low chuckle that followed his words shot currents up your spine, your ass jiggling all that much more in his face. With such a decadent taste coating his taste buds, dying by your pussy would be nothing short of a blissful way to go out. One of the fingers that he'd been using to spread your folds had been pushed inside of your cunt, your walls clenching around him.

Toji's tongue flicked against your clit, swirling the tip around the bud while his finger slowly pushed further inside of you. The loud squelch of your cunt was the only thing that filled the apartment, everything else completely silent. Your fingers dug deeper into his scalp, a low groan leaving his lips. "F-Fuck, Toji Toji," he pushed another thick finger inside, moving them in a scissoring motion to stretch you out.

"You think y're gonna find someone who can do this?" Toji looked up at you, his fingers curling up to hit that spongy spot inside of you almost perfectly. And if you didn't know any better, you'd almost say that he looked vulnerable while he made the question. Toji's lips wrapped around your clit, gently sucking on it as his fingers worked you closer and closer to your orgasm. You couldn't bring yourself to answer—didn't trust yourself to speak.

"Toji, Toji, gonna cum," you gave him a warning, your jaw falling slack and your lips parting in a o-shape. Soundless moans leaving your lips, feeling that coil in your lower tummy start to tighten up all the much more. With one final pump of his fingers, you were covering his lips with your release. His tongue swiped across his lips, across the scar that he hated, collecting every drop. Savoring what he imagined would be the last taste of you.

"Turn around," It was almost embarrassing how quickly you'd turned around per your soon-to-be ex husband's request.

Toji didn't take more than a couple seconds in unbuttoning his pants and taking them off, his cock hitting his stomach once it was released from its confines. Precum dribbled from his annoyingly almost pretty pink tip, dripping onto the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. His cock slid through your folds like a slip n slide, your previous orgasm coating his tip with every lazy drag. "Toji," your voice bordered on a whine, pushing your hips to try to meet his movements.

"Tell me what you want," Toji clicked his tongue, one of his hands moving to hold your waist. Keeping you completely still until he got what he wanted. You figured there wasn't any harm in whining—you were already fucking the man after you brought up a divorce. There truly wasn't that much more to lose. "Why do I have to ask for it when you're the one apologizing?"

"Because you're the one pushing your hips back against me. All needy 'n shit. So.. beg."

"Want you inside me, Toji. Please."

"Want?"

You let out a huff before correcting yourself, "Need."

"Come on, doll. You can say it nicer than that, right?" Toji's pointer trailed up your torso, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

So goddamn annoying. You swallowed whatever pride you had left before looking back over at him, "Please, Toji. Need your cock in me. Please."

Toji clicked his tongue, one hand wrapping around his cock and giving himself a couple tentative pumps. "Think you can beg better than that. But since I'm feeling nice, I guess I'll let it slide." So much for feeling apologetic. Toji pushed his cock inside of you in one swift motion, a hiss leaving your lips at the stretch. Even with the fingers that'd been inside of you, nothing could've really prepared you.

"You okay?" Toji dropped his head to rest on your shoulder, whispering the words in your ear. Staying still while your walls tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. "You try taking your cock," you muttered dryly, giving him a nod to start moving. "Why would I do that when you take it so well?" Toji pushed the rest of his cock inside, his hands resting on your hips.

Toji wasn't particularly known for being gentle—the one hospital visit after he'd injured your cervix more than enough proof of that, but he started off slow. Slow, shallow thrusts. Fucking you in a way that he hasn't since your honeymoon. "Toji, you can speed up," you assured him, your words getting cut off with a smack to your ass. "What I'd say about tellin' me what to do?" Ah, there was the mean Toji that you recognized.

"Wouldn't need to tell you what to do if my vibrator wasn't looking more appealing right now."

Famous last words.

The change was almost immediate. Mascara dribbled down your cheeks, the sight of your once composed makeup all ruined making Toji's cock twitch inside of you. "Fucking pretty like this, y'know?" His teeth sunk down on the junction of your shoulder, his teeth grazing across the sensitive flesh. His hips snapped roughly into yours, your breathing growing erratic. "Fuck, Fuck, Toji!"

The coldness of his gold wedding band hit your skin as soon as he went to grip your hips, holding you against him like he needed to be close to you. The two of you had been distant for some time and he hadn't bothered to take off his wedding band once, not even on the rare occasion that he actually did happen to take a job. Toji would never admit it, of course—but he was starved for the feeling of your skin against his own.

To confirm that you were still here after all.

Your hands reached out to grab to whatever you could grab—anything, and of course, it just happened to be the divorce papers sitting on the middle of the table. Practically taunting you as your own signature glared back at you. "This good enough for you, princess?" Toji taunted in your ear, his blunt fingernails digging into your sides. "Mhm, j-just like that," your voice came out in a mewl, all bits of defiance completely out of your system.

"There you go. Nasty fucking girl," Toji all but purred in your ear the moment you started to jerk your hips back to meet his own, your ass bouncing with each one of his thrusts. "Just needed Toji to take care of ya," all you could was nod your head fervently, your grip on the divorce papers tightening. And Toji, of course, took notice. He took the papers from you with one hand, giving them a once-over before passing them back over.

"Come on, since ya wanted it so bad, read me those divorce papers," Toji handed you the stack of papers, pointing to where you'd signed your initials just a couple hours prior. Your hands shook as you held the papers, your vision blurry as you tried to make out the legal jargon in front of you. Even the simplest of words seemed all too complicated to try to make out.

"T-Toji, I can't," your voice cracked, your grip on the papers tightening when his cock reached all that much deeper inside of you. Toji clicked his tongue, peering over your shoulder to read the first sentence from the document. "That's not what it says ma, try again."

"Without all the stuttering too."

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to focus on the words in front of you instead of Toji's cock sinking further and further into you. "S-Says that the divorce agreement was made today between us," you clutched the sheets tighter, your eyes almost rolling back when Toji bottomed out inside of you. The tip of his cock dripping precum, your walls fluttering as you tried to get adjusted.

"Mm, yeah, keep goin'," Toji really couldn't care—his focus solely on the way that your cunt stretched out to fit his cock. Leaking around his shaft, loud squelches when he pulled out overplaying whatever shitty soap opera was playing. "And what'd I say about the s-stuttering?" Toji mocked your words, his own hips stuttering mere seconds later while he tried not to get absorbed in your cunt. Not that it was an easy task by any means.

It was hard, especially with the way that you claimed to be over this marriage despite your pussy claiming otherwise. When you opened your mouth to speak, the only thing that left you was a moan. "F-Fuck Toji, right there," your eyes shut tightly at the touch of his calloused hand making itself in between your legs, his thumb rubbing at your clit in a speed that felt like it combated his own running abilities.

"That's not what it says, c'mon," Toji grabbed your chin with his thumb and pointer, turning your head to face the overwhelmingly long divorce papers. You wouldn't finish tonight if he intended for you to read the whole thing, you knew that much. A harsh slap against your swollen clit made the pleasure coursing through your veins mix with pain, a shaky gasp leaving your kiss-swollen lips.

Drool leaked from the corner of your mouth, the black ink smearing with each drop that fell from your parted lips. Your walls enveloped every inch of his cock perfectly, your cunt holding his cock in a vice-like grip. "That I won't try to t-take your things," you managed to get out, hoping that it would be good enough. You knew the two of you wouldn't finish today if he made you read the never ending stack of papers. 

"Good enough," Toji sounded like he would've kept it going if he could, but you set them down as quickly as he spoke. It was almost like Toji was trying to remind you of why you'd fallen in love with him in the first place—the man reverent to your cunt and your cunt only. Every grip of your hips kept you closer and closer to his body, almost as a way for Toji to make sure you weren't slipping away.

"Wh—" Before you had the chance to complain about the loss of contact, Toji had already carried you without a smidge of struggle. His hands hooked underneath your plush thighs, hoisting you up against the wall. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his slutty waist, practically clinging onto him like a koala. "There we go, there's that pretty lil face," Toji placed his pointer underneath your chin, taking in the view in front of him.

The glazed over look in your eyes, the sweat beading up on your forehead, the makeup that he'd successfully ruined—everything about you was just so beautiful. How you tried to avoid looking in his direction for too long. "Don't leave me ma, need you in my life," the words were whispered into your ear, his cock pushing back inside of you in one swift motion. Toji's fingers went back to your throbbing clit, his pointer and middle rubbing against it at the perfect speed.

Not too fast, not too slow, and not too rough.

"Don't ask me to do that," you almost sounded pained as you spoke—not from him filling you up, but for the implication of his words. You'd practically babble anything right now, anything for him to keep going. To forget about the reality that awaits the two of you. Toji's lips found yours in an instant, the exchange between the two of you almost depraved. His mouth was feverish in the way that it moved against yours, like he'd never get the chance again.

Your hand went to the back of his head, pushing him closer against you. Letting yourself forget for just a little while longer. A string of saliva connected your lips to his when you pulled away—only to catch air. "I’m close, Toji, so close," you whined against his lips, your release coating his shaft a mere moments later. Toji only used that as lubricant, his movements quicker against your cunt to chase his own release.

"There's no one else for me, I'll stop goin' to t-the casino, stop gettin' into trouble," Toji had been reduced to a babbling the first thing he pulled out of his ass, if only to get you to stay. His head rested against the junction of your neck, basking in the remnants of proximity that he could get. Shaky breaths left his lips with each thrust of his hips, feeling himself getting closer and closer. "You've been saying that since we've been married."

"I mean it this time, I promise," you'd never heard a lie sound so pretty slipping from someone's lips before until now.

He bit down on the side of your neck, hard. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to where you'd probably have to use a tube of concealer to even attempt to cover up the bruising mark. Causing you problems even now. But you'd be lying if the sudden act of possessiveness had your walls clenching against him even tighter, if that was even possible anymore.

His cock was barely moving against the tight grip you held around his shaft, his pace stuttering. "Fuck, fuck, so tight," Toji let out a loud groan, completely at the will of your pussy. He threw his head back, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks in this lighting. Ropes and ropes of cum decorated your cunt, his softening length snug inside of you. Toji ended up pulling out a couple moments later, scooping the drops of cum that leaked down your thighs with his finger.

Toji was shameless in the way that he stuck the finger in his mouth, a low moan leaving his lips at the combined taste of him and you. Before your rationality came back, before you got the chance to even think about regretting this, you leaned in and crashed your lips against his own. Tasting yourself on his tongue. The kiss lingered between the two of you more than it needed to, it was less rushed than the prior ones you'd shared.

Like a last taste.

"So, you still want to get that divorce?" Toji knew you would've just babbled whatever for him to keep going, saving the question until now. His movements were almost reluctant as he pulled his pants over his legs once again, making little attempt to fix up his hair. If anything, his fingers only ended up messing the strands even more. Despite knowing the answer deep down, Toji still held out hope. That maybe you'd had some eye-opening moment while he was balls-deep.

You stood up properly, looking over at the ruined sheets on the table before looking back over at him. "I do," you spoke after a couple seconds, grabbing your tattered panties from the floor and smoothing over your dress. Trying to maintain whatever semblance of dignity you had left. Even if it was probably just as tattered up as your underwear at this point.

"Why? You know I love you. You know that you love me. So why should we get separated?" You did know that. But you also weren't sure that he'd ever loved you enough to consider changing. To consider the fact that you needed some sort of affection outside of sex.

"Because you think that somehow every problem between us can be resolved with sex. You say that you want to do better and yet, you never do. It doesn't even feel like you're my husband half of the time," all the bottled up feelings from the past couple months spilled out of you in a manner of seconds. All the bottled up thoughts that maybe you should've told your husband about earlier. Though, you weren't even sure if Toji would've paid it any mind.

And almost as if he'd read your train of thought, "Why didn't you tell me about all this before just hittin' me with divorce papers?"

"Because the few times that I did, you told me to stop bitching. That I shouldn't have anything to complain about with a roof over my head and a fridge full of food," you started off, almost waiting for him to deny what you were saying, "And while I'm not saying that I'm not thankful for those things, I also don't want to feel ungrateful for saying that I miss my husband."

Silence lingered between the two of you, each second that passed by only confirming what the two of you already knew by now. That a divorce wasn't such a far-fetched idea. Toji knew there wasn't left to even attempt fighting for, so he simply just told you, "I'll sign 'em when you get the new ones."

A/N: i need to channel the freak that wrote this, its prob my favorite toji fic i’ve written 😮‍💨

[emakataken]

The hospital nursery was quiet. A single monitor beeped gently in the corner. The baby, a little over five pounds slept in a bassinet lined with a soft blue blanket, arms swaddled tight, face scrunched as he suckled in his sleep.

Tommy stood at the foot of his tiny warm crib, unmoving.

His hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders tight. There was soot still streaked faintly behind his ear, a reminder of the shift he'd barely made it through before his world tilted sideways.

He hadn't moved since the nurse led him in.

The door behind him clicked open. "Tommy?"

Evan's voice was soft, unsure.

Tommy didn't turn. Just blinked hard and nodded once.

Evan stepped up beside him, his face drawn in concern, still dressed in work clothes, hair mussed like he'd run a hand through it too many times on the drive over.

"You okay?" he asked, eyes flicking from Tommy to the sleeping newborn. "You said it was urgent."

Tommy swallowed hard. "It is."

They stood in silence for a moment. The kind that stretches and stretches until it thins into tension.

Evan glanced at the baby again, then back to Tommy. "Whose kid is that?" he asked, careful but curious.

Tommy's voice was hoarse. "My nephew."

"Wait. What?" Evan's voice cracked.

Tommy pauses, his mind skimming backwards, trying to remember if he had ever told Evan of his sister. Once, maybe a year ago when they first got together. "His name's not even written down yet," Tommy said, eyes fixed on the bassinet. "He's four days old. Five and half pounds. Born early. And... he doesn't have anyone."

Tommy's shoulders drew tighter. "Jerry, the social worker. He's the one who found me and brought Eliza letter... she signed over her rights. Left the hospital. Named me."

Evan turned toward him, the pieces starting to align. "Eliza?"

Tommy nodded, finally glancing over. "My sister. I haven't seen her in nearly a decade. I looked for her for years... and then she just, disappears. Until now. And this..." He gestured toward the bassinet. "This is what she left me."

Evan didn't respond right away.

His gaze shifted from Tommy's face back to the baby. He took a slow breath, like he was recalibrating.

Tommy's voice dropped, nearly breaking. "We never talked about children."

Evan looked at him, really looked at the red-rimmed eyes, the clenched jaw, the way he stood like he might shatter, was waiting to shatter. That this would be the moment that Evan decided he was too much.

"No," Evan agreed softly. "We haven't."

Tommy exhaled shakily and turned back toward the baby, his voice cracking. "I didn't think I'd ever get to have that. A family. Not really. Not after everything. Not with how I was raised. Now, it's not even a choice. It's just here." He dragged a hand down his face. "I don't even have a crib."

Evan reached out, fingers brushing his elbow. "You have a home," he said quietly. "And you have a heart big enough to say yes. That's more than a lot of kids get."

Tommy didn't answer. His hands trembled slightly.

He pressed his knuckles to his mouth and shook his head. "I don't know if I can do this. Not without screwing it up. Not without breaking something."

Evan stepped a little closer. "Then we'll figure it out. Together."

Tommy nodded slowly, but the words didn't ease the tension in his chest. If anything, they made the weight heavier. "There's more," he said, voice barely audible. Like speaking it might crack something open he couldn't put back.

Evan went still beside him.

"There are two others," Tommy continued. "Levi Thomas and Lila Grace. Eight and five." He swallowed hard, breath shuddering on the way out. "They've been in foster care almost two years. I didn't even know. Not a single word for nine years. Not a letter. Not a call. Just... a letter. A plea to keep them away from our parents."

He blinked hard, his throat working. "I didn't even know they existed. And now, they're mine. Or they could be. All of them." The words came out rough, like they hurt on the way up. Like they weren't ready to exist in the world yet.

Evan didn't interrupt. He watched Tommy carefully, his posture shifting. Like something in him was bracing, uncertain. Like some part of him still remembered the cracks between them, the fault lines they were barely learning how to navigate. His face twisting into the guarded cautiousness their breakup had caused.

It sent an ache through Tommy's ribs. But he kept going, because he had to. Because if he stopped now, he wouldn't be able to start again. "I'm a pilot for the LAFD with fucked hours and I haven't even looked at half my childhood, let alone dealt with it. I mean, I'm trying, have been for years." He let out a bitter, quiet laugh that didn't sound like a laugh at all. "I mean, who the fuck thought this was a good idea?"

He shook his head, jaw tight.

"What if I'm not enough?" His voice cracked. "What if I can't do it right? What if I break something in them that can't be fixed?" His eyes flicked toward the sleeping baby, then to Evan just for a moment.

Long enough for the truth to land in the open space between them. "Who the hell would entrust this tiny, amazing little human to me?"

The silence held for a breath just long enough to feel like his universe might implode. Then Evan stepped in, closer, his voice going firm in away Tommy's rarely heard, "You are."

Tommy looked at him, stunned by the certainty he found laced in those two little words.

Evan's voice stayed low, steady. "And you're not alone." The words fell between them like a promise.

A truth. He let it sit for a second. "Let's just get through tonight, okay? One step at a time."

Tommy huffed a laugh that sounded like a muffled sob. "Yeah," he said, voice thick. "Okay."

"Tonight we'll go home," Evan said, glancing at him, "we'll eat something warm, we'll collapse into your bed. And tomorrow... tomorrow we call that guy again. What's his name, Gary?"

Tommy shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly despite everything. "Jerry."

"Right. Jerry." Evan smiled, a little crooked. "Tomorrow we'll ask more questions. We'll start an Amazon order."

Tommy nodded. But his eyes had drifted back to the baby again, and his chest pulled tight all over again.

Evan followed his gaze. "He needs a name?"

Tommy nodded slowly. "Eliza said... she wanted me to pick it."

Before either of them could say anything more, there was a soft knock at the door. A nurse stepped in, calm and kind, her smile small but warm. "If one of you would like to hold him," she offered. "You may."

Tommy froze, like the words hit a fault line in his chest. His body tensed, like he wasn't sure if he could trust himself but his gaze followed Evan.

Evan who didn't hesitate. He stepped forward without looking back, without asking, without waiting to be told he could.

The nurse swaddled the baby a little tighter, then carefully placed the small bundle into Evan's arms.

And something inside Evan shifted the moment the weight settled against his chest. His shoulders relaxed. His breath evened. His entire body seemed to soften, like he'd just been handed something that made his entire life make sense.

He looked down at the baby, eyes wide with wonder.

"Hey, little fella," Evan whispered, instinctively rocking. His voice soft with love, "You're small little guy, huh? We're gonna need to increase your protein intake, bulk you up a bit, bubba."

The baby made a tiny sound, a breathy sigh. Evan's expression lit up like someone had flipped a switch in him. Like something in his heart had just clicked into place.

Tommy watched him, unmoving. His heart was still aching and heavy and twisted in fear but underneath it, something bloomed. Something tender. Something that felt like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a mistake.

"He's so little," Evan murmured, glancing over his shoulder, beaming. "How is he so little?"

Tommy smiled faintly, voice cracking at the edges.

"Luke?"

Evan wrinkled his nose. "No."

Tommy tried again. "Lincoln?"

Evan gave him a look. "After the hot guy in the pub? Absolutely not."

Tommy laughed. For real this time-small and rough, but real. "Okay. Liam?"

Evan went quiet. His eyes dropped back to the baby. He swayed slowly, "Yeah," he said softly. "Liam."

He adjusted his grip, pulling the baby in a little closer like he belonged there, in his arms. Like the tiny bundle hadn't upended their life. "Liam Robert Kinard."

Tommy blinked, startled by the certainty. "Robert?" Evan still didn't look away from the baby. "After Bobby. Liam's big brother Levi was named after the best man Eliza ever knew. I just... figured I'd keep with the theme."

Tommy's breath caught. He stepped forward and gently rested a hand against Evan's back, watching the tiny rise and fall of each breath of the babe in his arms. "You're a good man," he said, voice low and thick and full of everything he couldn't put into words.

Evan finally looked up at him, eyes shining but steady. "Let's just try to be good enough for him."

Tommy stared at the two of them, this man who hadn't flinched, and this baby who had no idea how lucky he already was. "Welcome to the world, Liam Robert Kinard," he whispered.

Part 2

[fict1onallyobsessed]

Just watched act 1 and I'm actually feral for Sevika. Like omg what?! How is she so hot?! Anyway I've had this idea of sharing a smoke with her. Specially shotgunning. Um. Yeah. Anyway maybe that would turn into something a bit more - NSFW should we say. Definitely biting. You know what I'm talking about lol anyway this isn't a lot to work with I know.. I just saw your post asking for Sevika requests so I figured I'd pop in

Sevika x F!Reader 18+

Her lungs burnt as she inhaled her cigar, watching you fix her arm for the hundredth time this week. Your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, screwdriver carefully pulling out the broken metal parts in her arm, clinking in the silence.

She could feel your frustration before she even entered your little mechanic shop. People were being more demanding for fixes as Zaun practically relied on prosthetic limbs, and you were rated the best one for the job. Sometimes you felt like a pawn; people didn't even pay that well. You might have to think of increasing the prices...

"You think too much."

You sighed, looking up at your girlfriend who huffed out smoke through her nose. She knew you were busy, and a part of her felt bad last time you stayed late to fix her arm, so she tried really hard to keep it in a manageable state for longer than usual.

Heavy on tried.

"You should learn how to fight." You snapped back playfully, looking back down at the arm for the final few fixes. The arm hissed and popped once, finally being fully functional again. "Even Ran doesn't come in this often. Might have to start charging you."

Sevika scoffed as she watched you stand up to toss your tools onto your very littered desk, your hands coming up to wipe your tired face.

"You're processor is fried. I'll make you a new one soon, but this one should hold up if you can hold off fighting for a few days."

She was listening but all she could focus on is how exhausted your eyes looked. She asked if you were done for the day, if you wanted to go home but you were already backlogged for weeks with new projects and fixes. You politely declined, walking over to her again and taking the cigar from her lips only to put it in your own mouth.

Sevika didn't flinch. It was something you did often, especially on nights where you needed something to keep you awake for a little longer.

Sevika sat on the small couch, looking up at you as you inhaled, smoke escaping your nose before you even got to exhale. She thought for a moment, then grabbed the back on your thighs and pulled you to straddle her.

"'Vika, I need to get-"

"To work. I know." She casually said, taking the cigar from your hands and inhaling deeply herself. Her eyes remained on yours while her hand reached up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you up to her lips.

For a second you thought she was going to kiss you, like she did always in thanks when you fix her up. But instead, she stopped you right before her face, hand now moving to open your mouth with her thumb. Then she exhaled.

You felt dizzy. You had smoked plenty of times, and since meeting Sevika you smoked plenty more. But this was so intoxicating it felt better than any cigarette you've ever tried.

You relaxed on her lap, sinking onto her as you tried to breathe normally. Her mechanic hand held your waist, the other firmly on your jaw to keep it open against her mouth. Just as the smoke began to fade, she pulled you fully against her, lips clashing together in a kiss.

You pulled away only when you felt you couldn't breathe, both of your chests rising and falling as you stared down at Sevika, her pupils blown wide, devouring you.

Work could wait.

You grabbed the cigar back, inhaling so deeply you felt your throat close up momentarily. Still, you leaned down and grabbed her jaw while her hands fell to your hips, gripping tightly to pull you even closer.

You exhaled the smoke as slowly as you could, relishing in the moment for a while before the smoke faded again. You wasted no time in kissing her again, a slight moan escaping your lips and into her mouth. You could taste the smoke in her mouth but it only seemed to rile you up more.

Your hips bucked, unintentionally, and you felt Sevika smirk into the kiss.

"That's all it takes to get you going?" Sevika teased. You replied with a breathy and rushed 'shut up' before going back to her lips, rocking your hips more now she was aware of your intentions. Her grip on you tightened, moving you so that you were straddling one of her thighs.

You really tried to keep your groans in, but the way your clit was grinding against the inside of your jeans. Fuck.

"Fuck. Do it again." You lifted the cigar to her lips, making her inhale it and letting her grab your jaw once more, shot gunning the smoke right into your mouth. You tried to breathe steadily, but her hand made you grind on her thigh more.

"So fucking pretty. Barely touched you and you're gonna cum already?"

You were so fucking close, a whine leaving your lips as you hid your face in the crook of her neck. She could feel the small puffs of air you breathed, trying to maintain some kind of control. Your teeth nipped at her skin, her own composure slowly failing.

You huffed when she accidentally made a sound when you bit into her neck. Your hips stuttered and bucked uncontrollably as you came, lips remaining at her skin until you were stable enough to pull away.

"That's all it takes to get you going?" You teased, mocking her words as angry red marks appeared on her neck. She was flushed and panting, your hips still held by her hands. She smirked, kissing you again before standing up and making you stand on your wobbly legs.

"Home. Now."

[logan-but-not]

I've been replaying Deltarune recently and interacting with the fandom a lot more. And I've become quite fond of Krisuselle (a polyamorous ship including Kris, Susie, and Noelle). To the point where I think it might be one of my favorite ships of all time. And since I've apparently got nothing better to do. I figured, i'd write a post detailing what about it I and others find so appealing about it. Let's get started:

Right off the bat, one of the things that makes deltarune more appealing in a shipping sense to me is the cast. Nothing against Undertale, of course, it's got one of my favorite groups of characters in anything ever. Everyone is so charming, they're far more complex than at first glance, and they all have well written character arcs. Same goes for Deltarune. But the major thing that differentiates the two is that Deltarune is mostly compromised of kids. Teens yes, but still kids. Kids who aren't really sure who they are yet. Compared to Undertale, where pretty much everyone had at least a bit of understanding of their life, the cast of Deltarune is far more nebulous. They're emotional, immature, dependent, and act like how any other kid would. And then all of a sudden, they're thrusted into this huge adventure where they have to decide the fate of their world. It's a massive responsibility that flips their entire world view. But through that journey, they learn to mature, reconnect, and accept their roles or even defy them. And as someone who is still going through the transition from teenager to adult, I identify with these characters. The self-discovery of who you want to be and what you want to do is something that I, and a lot of others have gone through. And one of the aspects of that journey is love.

Which is why Kris, Susie, and Noelle appeal to me so much. With only two chapters worth of narrative, we've already seen so much of how their lives has been thrown into turmoil. Noelle lost her sister, Susie is implied to have a rough homelife, and Kris has lost literally lost their own will. And yet, despite that, they each have a deep affection for the others. And they come to discover that as they traverse the Dark World. And each of their individual relationships is so unqiue. To the point where I could write whole sections on them. Which I will now do.

Kris and Susie get off to rocky start. They're both put together not of their own volition to do something they never signed up for, figuertaively and literally. And at first, they're pretty antagonistic to each other, almost like rivals, and understandably so. They're both seen as the weird kid, freaks. They've been ostracized from the rest of the world for as long as they can remember.

But as they venture through the Dark World, the both of start to ease up. They learn more about each other and begin to finally start trusting one another. And as they do, they start to grow into the heroes the prophecy foretold them to be. And they both play off the other's strengths to make them into better characters.

Kris inspires Susie to finally let down her emotional walls and allow herself to trust, and use her fighting spirit in a constructive way rather than just break everything she sees.

Likewise, Susie helps Kris to learn how to be a leader, and she is the first legitimate social bond Kris has made since Asriel left. They both make each other better, stronger.

And that's another interesting thing about their relationship. They're not archetypal heroes. When they're thrust into this huge conflict where the two of them are supposed to be the heroes, they reject it. It's most notable with Susie, but Kris does too in subtler ways. And even when they do accept their roles, there's always this sense of rebellion in them. They will be the heroes of this story, but they refuse to let anyone write this story but themselves. Renegades.

Susie and Noelle, on the other hand, have a very different relationship. One that had hints as early as Chapter 1 but really started in 2. At first glance, it just seems like the whole lovesick girl and oblivious crush stereotype (but gay so it's infinitely better). But like almost everything from Toby Fox, appearances may be deceiving. What makes their relationship so fascinating is why Susie and Noelle have affection for each other.

For Noelle, she's drawn to Susie because of her free spirited and rebellious nature. She's not afraid to break the rules or take a stand for what she thinks is right. It's such a contrast from Noelle where she's expected to be this perfect girl who does as she's told, is the top of her class, and knows how to take care of herself on her own. And we can see that she clearly can't always handle it, especially considering her past. In a frightening world where Noelle has lost the biggest crutch of her life, Dess, Susie represents everything that Noelle thinks she needs. Someone to help save this poor Lost Girl.

Susie, meanwhile, is drawn to Noelle because she was the one person who never hated her. Everyone in her life seemed to always be against her, so she lashed out, which did nothing but isolate her more. She had to learn how to fend for herself. At least, that's what she thinks to herself. But throughout it all, Noelle never hated her. By her own admission, Noelle would see the aggression and callousness from Susie and just offer a kind smile in return. And Susie always appreciated that.

The two represent what the other needs on an emotional level. Someone to help Noelle step out of her comfort zone, learn to actually live her life, and find the courage to stand up for herself. Someone that Susie can finally let her guard down around and accept genuine compassion and acceptance from, in a way that only Noelle can provide. And the thing is, neither of them had the courage to actually act on their feeling until they got wrapped up the Dark World. And it's not because they weren't aware. Susie may be a bit dense, but she's not oblivious. No, it goes deeper than that. They don't act on their feelings because neither Noelle nor Susie think that the other would feel the same. Noelle thinks that Susie would never like some random deer girl like her. And Susie struggles to believe that ANYONE would really like her in that way. They're two star-crossed lovers that will be forever stuck in this limbo of mutual pining until one of them finally gets the courage to confess.

But my personal favorite relationship is Kris and Noelle. Unlike with Susie, who's kinda seen as the new girl in town, Noelle and Kris have a VAST implied history. They were extremely close in their childhood. They lived next door to each other, their elder siblings were best friends, their families were intertwined, and by all accounts, they seemed to be happy. Everything from the overworld to the cyber city to the newsletters shows us that Kris and Noelle were once the closest of friends.

But then, something happened, something likely related to Noelle's sister Dess. I touched on her a bit in my Suselle section, but it really does seem like Dess was Noelle's anchor. She protected her, encouraged her, stood up for her, everything an older sister should do. And then, something happened to her. The details are a little unclear, but whatever exactly transpired caused Dess to go missing. And it's clear that this broke Noelle, which caused her and Kris to split up a bit. They were still friends, but they had to grow up without each other. It only got worse when Asriel left for University and Kris lost their will.

But then, the Dark World happened. And Kris and Noelle started to reconnect in their journey. And along the way, maybe uncover some new affection for the other. They're reminded of their time together when they were kids, when everything was so simple. When they both had someone who could comfort them. But things are different now, but that doesn't mean they can't still be friends. And maybe they don't need to face their struggles alone anymore. And that's what I love so much about these two. It's such a tender and soft relationship. There's never any big romantic display. They don't need it. They show their affection in more sublte ways.

Like when Noelle feels reassured when Kris says that they're friends. When she reminisces about their childhood toghether in the city. How she feels sorry for Kris for getting hurt by Susie. And how she is the only one to notice something is wrong with Kris on the Weird Route and how she vows to help them. Noelle has been estranged from Kris for so long that she thinks that the two of them can never be close again. But seeing Kris trying to reach back out to her makes her realize that they still are friends.

Kris also shows a lot of affection for Noelle as well. They encourage her to make a move on Susie because they know she has a crush on her. They constantly play pranks on her. They would play piano for Noelle when they were young. They make sure to look after her after Rudy asked. They get upset when we bully her at the laser gate. And they try to fight against our control in the Snowgrave route at every turn. Kris doesn't want to lose the last remnant of their childhood. The one friend they always had, no matter what.

And this relationship gets even more interesting when you consider how it diverges in the Weird Route. Because it only works because Noelle trusts Kris. We, the player, are using Kris as a pawn to force Noelle to commit horrible acts and even willingly put herself in harms way. Noelle has to try and convince herself that her lifelong friend isn't really making her kill people, including her friend. And Kris has no choice but to go along with it, despite clearly never wanting this. Nothing more than a puppet on our strings. And that's not even getting into the marital themes where Kris and Noelle are forced into symbolically archetypal husband and wife roles, respectively. It's honestly crazy how simultaneously similar and different the two outcomes are. Instead of the both of them reconnecting naturally over nostalgia and a shared adventure, they're forced apart even further apart by a new outside force. And yet, this strengthens their resolve to help the other. The same two friends, but twisted and warped into something so disturbing and sadistic.

Kris and Noelle's relationship is so rich with personal history and buried feelings that it's honestly almost overwhelming. There's so much nuance and ambiguity that it can be interpreted as romantic or platonic as you prefer. And yet it's so different from the other two relationships or really any relationship that Toby has ever wrote. They're two childhood friends who drifted apart over some traumatizing event, who both began to reconnect through a shared adventure and maybe discover something even deeper. It's one of my favorite aspects of Deltarune as a whole if I'm being honest.

And honestly, I could say that for all three of the relationships. Each one individually on it's own is so enveloping and has so much potential. But when the three are together, they just feel... complete. Kris and Susie, rivals turned to comrades. Susie and Noelle, a blossoming star-crossed romance. Noelle and Kris, long-lost childhood friends who thaw out their frozen hearts. Everyone of those dynamics bounces off of each other so well. And here's the other thing, no ever comes off as a third wheel. Kris acts as a wingman (wingthem?) for susie and Noelle, actively encouraging them to interact and open up. Susie is the catalyst that leads Noelle and Kris to reconnect and looks out for the both of them, making sure they're both safe and happy. And Noelle acts as a comfort to both Susie and Kris, allowing them to open up around her, and she's content to let them be the heroes of her story. They're all just kids who love each other.

And I think that's why this ship appeals to me so much. Because despite all the supernatural and mystical elements of Deltarune's story. The relationships of these three are really grounded. Toby Fox managed to write an incredibly endearing, and incredibly realistic portrayal of teenage love. Because that's what they are, teenagers. They may be emotional, they may make mistakes, they may become distant and closed off, they may be scared of what the world has in store for them. But they can still grow. They don't need to take on the world by themselves, They can learn to let out their emotions and be who they want to be. They can still learn to feel love. Whether it's for your partner in crime or the girl next door, your oblivious crush or your old best friend, your sister in arms or your childhood sweetheart. You can always find love. And there will always be those who can help you along the way.

And I think that's a really profound message.

[chrissturnsfav]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 fuckgirl!reader finally gets her way

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, part one

you feel his hand on your thigh like it’s burning straight through your skin, searing hot and fucking impossible to ignore. but he’s not moving it—just holding steady, like he’s testing you, seeing how far you’ll let him go before you start pushing buttons again.

but the thing is, you never stop pushing. that’s your whole game. always has been.

you blink up at him, your lashes heavy with mischief, heart hammering in your chest but face calm as ever.

"finally," you murmur, biting your lip, your voice low and teasing. "thought i'd have to get fucking naked just to get your attention." you say, dragging your fingers lightly along the inside of his forearm—the one still resting dangerously on your thigh. "since you're so into that whole mysterious, quiet guy act. it’s kinda cute, honestly. like, really fucking pathetic, but cute."

he exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your thigh. "careful," he warns, voice lower now, rougher.

you smirk, leaning in and brushing your nose along his jaw just to watch him flinch. "careful’s boring. i don't do boring."

"figured that out already," he mutters, but there’s a little edge creeping into his voice, like maybe he’s finally about to snap.

"good," you whisper, breath ghosting over his skin. "then do something about it."

for a second, everything hangs in the air between you. and then he moves.

his lips crash into yours, rough and desperate, like weeks of restraint just shattered all at once. fuck, it’s so much better than you remembered. raw and wild and completely fucking perfect.

you gasp against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you shift in your seat, climbing halfway over the console because there’s no way you’re staying put now. not when he's finally giving in. he tastes like smoke and heat and bad decisions, and you’re completely here for it. all of it. every messy, breathless second.

matt groans against your mouth, and the sound shoots straight through you, making your pulse race. his hand tightens on your thigh, rough now, fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to keep himself grounded but losing that battle fast. it’s messy, heated, every bit as reckless as you knew it would be once he finally broke.

"you should do something about the issue in my pants," he fires smoothly against your lips, that smug little smirk tugging at his own again, his eyes flickering to his cock completely straining through the fabric of his worn out jeans.

yes! you think, biting back a grin. it took weeks of relentless teasing, shameless flirting, and dragging him right to the edge for him to stop hiding behind that untouchable vibe—but now here he is, cracking wide open, and you’re fucking living for it.

"oh?" you purr with a slow, deliberate smirk. "so you finally admit you’ve got a problem."

his tongue darts across his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, that smug glint still flickering in his eyes. "yeah," he drawls, voice rough and steady, "but you already knew that, didn’t you?"

"mhmm." you hum seductively, fingers brushing lazily along the hem of your skirt as you reach over to place a hand on his upper thigh, "guess i could help...if you ask nicely."

he huffs a laugh through his nose as he feels his dick twitch in his pants, shaking his head like you’re infuriating him. "nicely, huh?"

you grin wickedly, the thrill of control coursing through you. your hand drifts higher, fingertips brushing the seam of his jeans, deliberate but teasing—just enough to make his breath hitch. "not gonna beg, hm?" you taunt softly, voice dripping with mock pity. "that’s cute."

his eyes darken, and for a second, everything between you hangs in a delicate, dangerous balance. the air in the car is thick, buzzing with heat and tension.

after a tense moment, he swallows hard, and then suddenly his hand is on yours, guiding it to where his cock is painfully straining against his jeans. "stop fucking teasing," he growls, all that restraint snapping at once.

your breath catches, a spark low in your belly. "there you goooo," you coo, giggling cheekily.

less than literally two minutes later, his jeans and boxers are resting mid thigh, your body leant over with your mouth stuffed full of his cock, straining and leaking in your mouth, sucking his dick with fiery skill.

matt's eyes are rolling back, his mouth open as he breathes heavily, quiet grunts and moans slipping from his lips. his hand is tangled in your hair, making a makeshift ponytail as you suck him sloppily.

a pool of spit glimmers at his base, your lips wrapped around his cock so prettily as you hollow your cheeks, drool dribbling down your chin, big eyes looking up at him all innocent.

"such a fuckin' messy girl," he groans, watching your head bob up and down with a smirk plastered on his lips, chuckling at the moan he elicits from you. "drooling all over my dick like that."

you giggle cockily around him, licking a long stripe up from his base to his tip before taking it into your mouth, suckling as you sweetly bat your pretty long lashes up at him, your hand jerking his cock with expert skill.

matt hisses in pleasure, biting his bottom lip as his thighs twitch, huffing out a chuckle, "take it all, fuck are you doing?"

you snicker, swirling your tongue around his tip, watery eyes looking up at him, "say pleeeaase," you sing teasingly.

he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he grips your hair harder, "suck my dick before i start fucking your mouth."

you hum, your hand slowing it's movements on his saliva coated dick. "yeah?" you taunt, tone dripping with mock sweetness. "do it."

that's all it takes for matt, his self control snapping in half. with no hesitation, he starts thrusting his hips up into your mouth, letting out a shaky groan, the moans you let out vibrating against his cock adding to the pure ecstasy.

you gag on his dick, his tip brushing against your uvula as he fucks your mouth, eyes rolling back as they water, your hand moving speedily around whatever can't fit.

"fuck, fuck, i'm gonna cum," he grunts, his eyes rolling back as he continues to thrust into your mouth, tugging on your hair as heat rushes to his balls, a deliciously tight knot forming in his belly. "lemme cum on your face...holy shit...please..." he almost whimpers.

you laugh around him victoriously, finally you think. you knew he had a little submissiveness in him. all you needed to do was get him close to the edge, and he finally snapped.

you pull your mouth off his cock, sticking your tongue out with a triumphant grin as you tap his tip against your tongue, hand still jerking him speedily, his length dripping with spit.

matt looks down at you through lidded eyes, his vision growing splotchy as moans and grunts fall from his lips, his hips twitching. "h-holy...fuck...shit, shit—"

thick ropes of hot cum sprawl out onto your face—your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your tongue. it feels like all the pent up sexual tension inside him has finally been released. literally.

you ride out his high with your hand, giggling as he cums all over your pretty face, looking up at him through your lashes.

he's breathing heavily, his eyes rolled back as he finally comes back to his senses, and when he sees your pretty face dripping in his white seed, he almost moans.

"fuck..." he whispers shakily, gathering his cum onto his trembling thumb on your bottom lip, pushing the sticky release into your mouth.

you close your eyes, sucking the salty liquid off his thumb as you snicker around his thumb. "took you long enough."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind

@chrissturnsfav ™

[leesleelee]

hiii,first of all i wanted to say that I LOVE the way you write and i'm a huge fan of your works, and also I'm so glad you write x male reader because I love this kind of fanfics but they're so rare to find.

I wanted to request a Steve x male reader where steve doesn't know how to first approach the reader, oh and also i'd like the reader to be the cool dustin's brother (it would be awesome for them to interact).

i don't know if I was clear but enflish is not my first language i'm sorryyy.

anyways i don't actually care that much if you take my request as long as you pubblic a new fanfic because I NEED it.

thank you anyways

Atlas <3

p.s. I thought it would be cool and romantic to put my name at the end lol

Mixed reviews.

Steve Harrington x Henderson! Male reader.

Steve Harrington never expected to catch feelings for Dustin’s older brother — cool, calm, and completely unreadable. With help (and heckling) from Robin, Eddie, and Nancy, Steve tries to figure out how to make a move… without totally embarrassing himself.

CW: Slow burn romance, light swearing, identity exploration, Dustin.. being Dustin, soft and emotional vulnerability.

Word count: 3,414

Steve Harrington’s having one of those weeks.

Eddie wants to brainstorm a new campaign and keeps calling him “Himbo Bard” like it’s a compliment. Robin’s insisting he needs to stop flirting with girls he doesn’t actually want to date. And Nancy—well, Nancy has been giving him these little looks, the kind that make him wonder if she still sees parts of the old him.

The lost, trying-too-hard version. He doesn't like that.

So when Dustin asks him to pick him up for Hellfire after school, Steve jumps at the chance. Something easy. Something familiar.

He pulls up in front of the Henderson house right as the afternoon heat starts to melt into golden haze.

Hawkins is sticky this time of year—quiet, bugs humming, the air heavy with that particular scent of cut grass and nostalgia.

The kind of day that feels like a movie just before something changes.

Steve taps the steering wheel, sunglasses on, waiting.

The front door swings open like a storm. Dustin comes charging out with his bag half-zipped, curly hair frizzed up like he’s been running around since lunch. He's shouting back into the house, voice high-pitched with indignation.

“I told you, I don’t need a jacket! I’m not gonna freeze to death in a temperature-controlled room, Mom!”

Steve leans out the driver’s side window. “You fightin’ the entire climate again?”

Dustin flips him off without looking. “I’m fightin’ oppression.”

Steve chuckles. “Well, tell oppression to zip your backpack before it explodes.”

But Dustin isn’t listening anymore. He’s already shouting again, this time toward the side of the house.

“Y/N! You coming tonight or what?”

Steve leans forward a little, curious. He’s heard Dustin mention his brother in passing—a few stories here and there. You were older.

Did something with music. Liked “weird art films” and refused to help Dustin cheat on his algebra homework even when begged.

But he’s never actually seen you.

Not until now.

You’re perched at the edge of the porch, a slim book in one hand and a can of soda sweating in the other. You’ve got sunglasses on even though the sun’s already starting to dip.

Your legs are kicked out in front of you, ankles crossed lazily, and there’s a pair of over-ear headphones hanging around your neck, one side still slightly playing a muted drum beat.

You don’t look up right away. You just keep reading, flipping a page with your thumb.

“Y/N!” Dustin yells again, hands on his hips like a mom at the end of her rope.

Finally, you glance up. Slowly. Like you’re weighing whether it’s even worth the energy.

“Didn’t Blake bail on work again?” you ask, voice quiet but distinct. Calm. Kinda raspy, like you’d just woken up or maybe didn’t care enough to pretend.

“Probably!” Dustin calls back. “But you said if he flaked, you’d come!”

You sigh like you’ve already regretted making that deal. “I said maybe, not promise. There’s a difference.”

Steve watches the whole exchange with mild amusement.

There’s something about you that’s... unbothered. The kind of cool that isn't about clothes or cliques—it’s just baked into how you move, how you don’t move unless you want to.

Dustin gestures toward the car. “Steve’s here! Just ride with us!”

You finally turn your eyes to Steve.

He feels it. The click.

Even behind your sunglasses, he swears you’re looking right through him. Not in a mean way. Just... curious. Calm. Like you’re deciding if he’s worth your attention.

Steve’s mouth is dry.

You give a small, two-finger wave. “Hey.”

It’s not shy. It’s not warm, either. Just simple.

Steve clears his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

Dustin walks toward the car, oblivious. “This is Steve. You probably know him from, like... every girl’s locker in 1985.”

You snort.

Steve flushes a little.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you,” you say, still looking at him.

“Oh.” Steve shifts, suddenly aware of how he's leaning too hard on the door. “Good things, I hope?”

You shrug. “Mixed reviews.”

Dustin howls with laughter as he gets in the passenger seat.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek and forces a smile. “Tough crowd.”

You smirk. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He opens his mouth to reply—but you’re already putting your headphones back on, lifting the book, retreating into your little bubble of calm again.

Steve stares for a second too long. Then snaps out of it.

He gets in the car, trying not to let his face give him away.

Dustin’s still grinning. “You totally froze up.”

“I did not.”

“You did, dude. You were, like, blushing.”

“I was not blushing—”

“You want me to introduce you again next time? Maybe say you’re single and emotionally available?”

Steve throws the car into gear a little harder than necessary. “Keep talking and I’ll make you walk.”

Dustin laughs so hard he snorts. “Oh, man. This is gonna be good.”

---

As they drive off, Steve glances in the rearview mirror. You’re still there on the porch, book in hand, but your head’s tilted just slightly—like maybe, just maybe, you’re watching the car pull away too.

---

It starts with a song.

Steve doesn’t even realize it’s one you were humming the last time he saw you until it comes on the Family Video speakers, some dreamy B-side from The Cure, just after closing. Robin’s in the back pretending to organize tapes but mostly just slapping labels on things that don’t need them.

“Did you put this on?” Steve asks.

Robin peeks her head around the aisle, eyebrows arched.

“You’ve worked here for a year and still don’t know how the rotation schedule works?”

“No—I mean—” Steve waves vaguely at the speakers.

“This song. Just reminded me of... never mind.”

Robin narrows her eyes. “Reminded you of who, Harrington?”

“No one,” Steve says way too fast.

She walks around the counter, crossing her arms. “You are being weird lately.”

“I’m not being weird,” Steve says. “I’m just... thinking.”

Robin snorts. “I’ve seen you think before. It usually involves staring into the middle distance and chewing on a pen cap. This is different. You’ve got that soft crush energy.”

Steve’s face burns. “I do not have soft crush energy.”

“Oh really? Because yesterday, when we were at the arcade, and Dustin mentioned his brother might show up, you whipped your head around like a golden retriever on espresso.”

Steve glares at her. “I did not.”

Robin leans on the counter, chin in hand. “Is it the hair? The voice? Is he older and smarter than you? That’d make sense.”

“I don’t even know him,” Steve says, flustered. “He barely said five words.”

Robin hums. “Must’ve been five very hot words.”

Steve groans and buries his face in his hands.

---

It gets worse later that night...

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and the scene keeps playing in his head.

The slow wave you gave him. That effortless, unreadable smirk. The way you sat on the porch like you weren’t waiting for anyone, like time moved around you.

He thinks about how your voice dipped when you said, “Mixed reviews.”

And the way you looked at him—really looked.

He swears you knew.

He rolls onto his stomach, face in a pillow.

God, he’s so obvious.

---

Saturday – Eddie’s Garage

Steve’s sprawled on a beat-up couch in Eddie’s garage while Eddie tunes his guitar and complains about Mike screwing up another campaign.

“I mean, he’s a good kid,” Eddie says, twisting a knob, “but you miss one session and suddenly everyone thinks they’re the dungeon master.”

“Right,” Steve mutters, barely listening.

Eddie glances up. “You alright, man? You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you pretend to listen but you’re secretly spiraling inside.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Steve lies.

“Uh-huh. Is this about Nancy?”

“No.”

“Robin?”

“No.”

“...Dustin’s brother?”

Steve freezes. “What?”

Eddie grins, smug. “Bingo.”

“I don’t even know his name,” Steve says defensively.

Eddie shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen that look on your face before. You’ve got the ‘I think he’s hot and he intimidates me’ stare.”

Steve leans back and groans. “He just—he’s so—calm. Like, he’s not trying. And when I talk, I feel like I’m in a middle school play.”

Eddie chuckles. “You’re not used to being the awkward one, huh?”

Steve mutters, “It sucks.”

Eddie flicks a pick at him. “You’re fine, Romeo. Just don’t try too hard. You’ll crash and burn.”

---

Sunday – Wheeler’s House

Steve and Nancy are in the living room with Dustin and Mike, sorting through board games that somehow migrated into the garage.

Dustin is holding court, naturally.

“So Steve’s been acting super weird,” Dustin says, like he’s announcing global news.

Steve snaps his head up. “No I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have,” Mike says. “He showed up early to pick me up. He’s never early.”

Nancy looks up from the game box. “Is this about Y/N?”

Steve nearly drops the Clue board.

Dustin squints. “Wait. What about Y/N?”

Nancy blinks innocently. “Oh, I just figured. He’s been kinda... watching Steve lately.”

Silence.

Steve’s face goes blank. “Wait. What?”

Nancy smiles slightly. “You didn’t notice?”

Steve is spiraling.

Dustin looks from Nancy to Steve and howls. “OH MY GOD.”

Steve rubs his face. “No. No no no. Don’t start—”

“YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON MY BROTHER!”

“Dustin, I swear—”

“This is disgusting! I’m telling Mom. I’m telling EVERYONE.”

“You are not—!”

“Do you wanna MARRY him?! Are you gonna be my brother-in-law?!”

“Dustin—”

Nancy’s laughing softly behind a hand while Mike looks vaguely horrified.

“Wow,” Mike mutters. “Now I can’t unsee it.”

---

Later that night – Steve’s House

Robin’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding a grape soda.

“So let me get this straight. You’re crushing on Dustin’s older brother, and Nancy thinks he might be into you, and Dustin wants to exile you from Hawkins.”

Steve sinks into the cushions. “That about covers it.”

Robin pats his leg. “You’ve had worse weeks.”

Steve sighs. “He’s just... different.”

Robin tilts her head. “Different how?”

Steve shrugs. “He doesn’t try to be cool. He just is. And when I talk to him, it’s like... I don’t know. I forget how to be a person.”

Robin hums. “That’s kind of sweet. And tragic.”

Steve kicks at the rug. “I don’t even know how to start.”

She pauses. “You know, he works at Vinyl Alley, right?”

Steve looks at her slowly. “How do you know that?”

Robin grins. “Please. I’ve had a crush on him since junior year.”

Steve nearly chokes. “WHAT?”

“I’m over it. Relax,” she says. “I mean... not totally, but I like chaos, so I support this.”

Steve groans. “I need help.”

Robin clinks her soda can against his knee. “You need to just talk to him.”

Steve mutters into his hands. “Yeah. Right. Easy.”

Robin smirks. “Or, you could keep making puppy eyes from twenty feet away. That’s a solid long-term strategy.”

Steve throws a pillow at her.

---

It’s just past six when Steve pulls up to the Henderson house, thinking he’ll grab Dustin for movie night with Robin and Eddie.

It’s supposed to be a distraction. Keep things light. Keep his brain from looping around the way you looked at him a week ago—half bored, half curious, all center of gravity.

He hops out of his car, slicks his hair back once out of habit, and jogs up the driveway.

No sign of Dustin.

He knocks once. Waits.

No answer.

Then the screen door creaks open, and there you are.

Leaning against the frame like you’ve been there for hours. Barefoot, with a loose T-shirt that hangs perfectly, sleeves rolled a few times.

You’ve got a ring of condensation around your hand from a lemonade can. There’s music playing low from somewhere inside the house—Mazzy Star or maybe Cocteau Twins. Steve doesn’t know, but it fits you.

Your gaze is easy, slow-moving, like you already clocked him before the car even turned off.

“Dustin’s not here,” you say.

“Oh,” Steve says, heart immediately catching in his throat. “I—uh—he said to pick him up?”

You shrug, stepping onto the porch. “Probably got caught up at Lucas’s. He’s been biking over there after dinner a lot.”

Steve blinks. “Right. Yeah. Cool.”

You glance at the street. Then back at him. “You drove all the way here?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Thought we were gonna watch Predator or something. Eddie said he had this whole commentary planned.”

You hum. “That sounds... unbearable.”

Steve laughs, more at himself than anything. “You’ve met him.”

“I’ve survived him,” you reply, lips twitching into a smile. “Wanna sit? Porch’s not that exciting, but it’s better than standing there sweating.”

“Sure,” Steve says, a little too fast.

You sit first, folding into the wooden chair like you belong there. Like you’re part of the furniture, part of the air. Steve chooses the chair beside you, not too close.

The space between you hums a little louder than it should.

It’s quiet for a while. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

You crack your can open again. The fizz breaks the silence.

Steve tries not to stare at your fingers.

“So...” you say, almost lazily. “You’re the guy who picks Dustin up like clockwork.”

Steve chuckles. “Somebody’s gotta keep him alive.”

“True,” you say, eyes half-lidded behind the dying light. “He listens to you more than he listens to me.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“No,” you agree. “But still.”

More silence.

Steve wants to fill it. He wants to ask you if you’ve always lived in Hawkins, what kind of music you like, whether you’ve ever felt like you were supposed to be somewhere else—someone else.

Instead, he says, “What’re you listening to?”

You tilt your head slightly, like the question caught you off guard.

Then you reach for the portable cassette player on the table beside you, flip it around so he can see the label.

“Red House Painters – Rollercoaster.”

He nods slowly. “Never heard of it.”

You give him a sideways look. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Steve laughs under his breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got... radio taste,” you say. “Like, safe taste.”

He smiles. “You’re not wrong. I was more of a Top 40 guy.”

“And now?”

Steve shrugs. “Trying to listen to other things.”

You lean back, one knee bouncing slightly. “Trying to impress someone?”

That hits.

Steve looks at you, eyes flicking to your mouth and then away. “Maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

He pauses. “Am I trying too hard?”

“No,” you say easily. “Trying too hard would mean you’re saying things you don’t mean.”

Steve looks at you again, slower this time.

“And I don’t think you’re doing that,” you finish, voice quiet.

The cicadas buzz louder in the trees. A neighbor’s sprinkler clicks on across the street. Somewhere inside, a clock ticks.

Steve swallows. “You don’t talk like other people.”

You huff a soft laugh. “You don’t either. You just think you do.”

He looks down at his shoes, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Robin says I act like a golden retriever when I have a crush.”

Your head tilts, just slightly. “Do you?”

“I didn’t think so,” he says, shrugging. “But lately? Kinda feels like it.”

He looks up.

You’re watching him now. Really watching.

The smirk you wore earlier is gone, replaced with something more grounded. Thoughtful.

You shift a little in your seat, angling toward him.

“That’s the thing with you, Harrington,” you say, voice just above a whisper. “You don’t hide things very well.”

Steve’s heart thumps loud in his chest. “That bad, huh?”

“No,” you say simply. “That honest.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. And for once, he doesn’t feel like he has to.

The two of you sit in the warmth, the kind of quiet that stretches like a yawn.

The song from inside fades into another one—slower, sadder. Steve doesn’t recognize it either, but it makes his throat tight.

You lean forward to grab your drink again, and your knee brushes his.

Neither of you moves.

Steve feels electricity crawl up his leg, warm and searching. He doesn’t look away from you. And you don’t look away either.

Eventually, you sit back.

“You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you say casually.

Steve grins. “I get that a lot.”

You smile. Real this time. Not cocky, not distant. Just there.

Before Steve can say anything else, the distant sound of wheels on pavement echoes from around the corner.

Dustin.

You sigh through your nose. “Saved by the little brother.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, barely hearing it.

You stand slowly, stretching, the hem of your shirt lifting slightly.

Steve catches a glimpse of the soft curve of your waist, a hint of ink near your ribs. He looks away before he stares.

As Dustin’s bike screeches into the driveway, yelling something about Lucas being the worst teammate in D&D history, you nudge Steve lightly with your elbow.

“See you around, golden retriever.”

He freezes.

You smirk.

And just like that, you’re back inside, the screen door creaking shut behind you.

Steve watches it swing until it stills. And even when Dustin’s hopping in the passenger seat, still ranting about Mike and Eddie and his dice rolls, Steve’s brain is still on you.

And that quiet moment on the porch.

That brush of your knee.

And the smile you didn’t let anyone else see.

---

It happens again a few days later.

The air is thick with leftover heat, that sticky summer cling that hangs around after the sun dips below the trees. Streetlights flicker on like they’re yawning awake, fireflies blink lazily in the shrubs, and somewhere down the block, a lawn sprinkler ticks in time with the chirp of crickets.

Steve’s car rolls up quiet in front of your house.

It’s not planned. He tells himself he just happened to be driving by.

But the way his palms are sweating against the steering wheel says otherwise. He parks and sits for a full minute, watching your porch light glow through the screen door.

He could leave.

He should leave.

But then the door opens—and there you are, stepping out barefoot again, holding two bottles of orange soda by their necks.

You see him and smile like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You just gonna lurk there, Harrington? Or you want one of these?”

Steve laughs, shaking his head as he gets out of the car. “Do you read minds or something?”

“No,” you say, handing him a soda. “You’re just predictable in a charming, lost-puppy kind of way.”

Steve flushes but doesn’t argue.

You sit on the steps this time, not the chairs.

He drops down beside you, leaving a sliver of space between your knees. It’s quiet except for the bottle caps hitting the porch and the fizz of carbonation as you both take a drink.

After a long silence, you speak first.

“Rough night?”

Steve exhales slowly. “Just been... thinking.”

You nod, slow. “Dangerous habit.”

He smiles weakly. “Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say something,” he finally admits.

You glance at him, brows raised slightly.

“Something I haven’t really said out loud before,” Steve continues, staring straight ahead.

“I’m listening,” you say, voice gentle now—none of the teasing from before. Just there with him.

Steve fidgets with the label on the bottle.

“I’ve always been good at liking girls. Or, like... thinking I liked them. It was simple. Easy. You get a girlfriend, you hold hands, people nod at you in the hallway like you’re doing something right.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t look away.

“But lately...” Steve trails off, then huffs out a breath. “It’s not that I don’t like girls. It’s just... they don’t make me nervous the way you do.”

That makes your mouth quirk just slightly. But you stay still. Let him keep going.

“I keep thinking about you. Not just the porch stuff. Just... how quiet you are. How you look like you’re always hearing things no one else can. How you talk like you’re choosing every word on purpose.”

He finally looks at you, full-on, eyes searching.

“I don’t even know if this is anything,” he says, voice low. “I just know I don’t feel like this around anyone else.”

You let the words settle.

There’s a warmth behind your ribs now. A slow, uncoiling understanding.

You set your soda down beside you. “You’re allowed to like things you didn’t expect.”

Steve watches you carefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean back on your hands, letting your knee brush his again. This time, it lingers.

“You don’t have to label it,” you say. “Or explain it to anyone. Especially not me.”

Steve laughs quietly. “I don’t think I care about anyone else knowing. Just kind of wanted you to know.”

You nod once. “I know now.”

You both sit there a moment, letting the air fill the space between words.

The porch light buzzes overhead. A breeze picks up, rustling through the nearby trees. And in that space, something clicks into place—not like a dramatic kiss, not like fireworks. Just… gravity realigning.

Steve bumps your shoulder. “You still think I have radio taste?”

You grin. “Definitely. But I can work with that.”

He smiles. A real one this time. Open. Grateful.

You glance at him, a little softer now. “You’re better when you’re not trying so hard.”

“I’m not used to that.”

You shrug. “Start practicing.”

Steve lets out a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Would you ever wanna—” he clears his throat, face flushing, “—hang out? Just, like... you and me? Sometime?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “That depends. Are you gonna keep saying weird, vulnerable stuff?”

“Maybe.”

“Then yeah,” you say, lips tugging into a crooked smile. “I’m into that.”

Steve lets out a short laugh, head falling forward. “Thank God.”

You chuckle, nudging his knee. “Easy, Harrington. Don’t faint on my porch. You’re too pretty to pass out.”

He looks up, eyes wide. “Was that—did you just call me—?”

You stand, grabbing your soda, and walk inside without answering.

The screen door swings closed behind you.

Steve stares at it for a long time, heart racing like he just ran a mile uphill.

Then he grins.

Yeah. This is definitely something.

---

Days pass..

It’s a late Saturday afternoon, the kind where Hawkins glows like it’s been dunked in honey — warm and slow, shadows long on the sidewalk.

Robin convinced everyone to meet at the old picnic area near Lover’s Lake for what she dramatically titled a “mental health gathering.”

Translation: snacks, sarcasm, and watching Eddie yell at squirrels.

Steve pulls up in his car, and you’re already there — sitting against one of the wooden tables with your headphones around your neck, sipping from a bottle of cherry cola, ankles crossed, calm as always.

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas are halfway through setting up a game of Uno on a folding table.

Nancy is adjusting the battery in a small portable radio she brought, claiming “someone needs to curate the vibe.” Eddie’s lying in the grass, eyes closed, pretending he doesn’t care.

Robin is mid-sentence when she catches sight of Steve walking up behind you. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she watches the way he doesn’t just walk — he drifts toward you like gravity’s involved.

You tilt your head back, see him coming, and give the tiniest smile. Just a flick of the mouth. But it lingers.

“Hey,” you say, like you were waiting for him.

Steve sits next to you, just a little closer than necessary.

Robin raises a single eyebrow. Nancy notices too — her lips press into a barely-there smirk. She nudges Robin with her elbow.

Dustin, of course, doesn’t notice a thing. He’s too busy triumphantly slamming down a +4 on Lucas.

“You absolute traitor!” Lucas yells.

“You played yourself,” Dustin shrugs.

As the chaos unfolds, Steve leans in slightly, speaking under his breath.

“You always drink that stuff?” he asks, nodding to the cherry cola.

You glance sideways, smirking. “Maybe I like sweet things.”

Steve blinks once.

Then twice.

You take a slow sip and don’t elaborate.

Robin almost chokes on a carrot stick from the snack bowl.

Nancy raises an eyebrow and murmurs to her, “They’re doing the thing again.”

“The what?” Eddie asks, rolling over lazily.

Nancy gestures subtly to you and Steve, who are in your own quiet little orbit at the end of the table, barely touching, barely talking — but fully locked in.

Eddie lifts his head, squints. “Are they—?” His voice drops. “No.”

Robin grins. “Oh yeah.”

Eddie sits up like someone just poured soda on his boots. “When the hell did that happen?”

Dustin looks up. “When did what happen?”

Everyone freezes for a split second.

Steve tries very hard to look like he’s not mentally collapsing.

You, cool as ever, just stretch your legs and say, “Hey, Dust. You ever figure out why your Uno strategy sucks so bad?”

Dustin squints. “Deflecting, are we?”

Eddie snickers.

Robin leans back on her elbows, grinning like she’s watching a live TV reveal.

Dustin’s eyes narrow. He looks at Steve. Then at you. Then back.

You’ve seen this look before — it’s the face he makes when he’s putting together a scientific theory or sniffing out secrets with Erica.

He squints harder. “Wait a damn minute.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest—too late.

Dustin stands up, hands flat on the table. “YOU’RE DATING MY BROTHER?!”

The birds scatter from the trees. Mike nearly drops his cards.

Steve lifts both hands like he’s under arrest. “Dustin—listen—”

“Since WHEN?!” Dustin yells, looking back and forth between you both like he’s witnessing a crime scene.

You sip your soda. “A while.”

Robin’s snorting with laughter now, face buried in Nancy’s shoulder.

Eddie says, “I knew something was weird! The night at my place, when Steve said your name and then immediately forgot what year it was? That makes so much sense now!”

Dustin starts pacing like a lawyer delivering his closing argument.

“Steve Harrington, you told me to brush my teeth last week! That’s like — a big brother thing! You can’t do that and be—you can’t date my actual brother! That’s betrayal on two fronts!”

Steve runs a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to lie—”

“You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d react like this!”

“I mean,” Steve admits, “a little, yeah.”

Dustin glares at you. “And you! You just let him into the house like it was no big deal!”

You lean back lazily. “He already had a key to the house... metaphorically.”

Robin shouts, “OH MY GOD.”

Eddie drops backwards into the grass again, wheezing.

Nancy smiles, folding her arms. “I think it’s sweet.”

Dustin groans like someone just stabbed him in the heart with a +4 card.

“No. Nope. I refuse. Steve is like my divorced dad and my annoying uncle combined! This is gross!”

You tilt your head. “Would it be better if I dumped him and dated Eddie?”

Eddie perks up. “I’m flattered.”

Steve blurts, “Please don’t.”

Robin collapses into laughter.

Dustin dramatically falls into a lawn chair, hands over his face. “God. I have to change schools.”

Lucas pats him on the back. “You don’t even go to school right now.”

“College, then!”

“You’re not in college.”

“I’LL SKIP STRAIGHT TO RETIREMENT.”

Nancy kneels beside him, voice dry. “Dustin. Breathe.”

---

As the sun begins to dip—

The group slowly reassembles. Uno resumes. Robin and Eddie still throw teasing looks at Steve, who can’t seem to stop looking at you.

You’re laid out on the blanket now, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping your soda and watching the clouds change color.

Steve lies down beside you, not quite touching, but close.

Dustin eventually calms down. He throws a single potato chip at Steve’s head in a weak display of dominance. It bounces off harmlessly.

“Don’t break his heart,” Dustin mutters.

You glance sideways at him. “I won’t.”

“You better not,” Dustin grumbles. “Because then I have to pick sides. And you know Mom would make me take the couch.”

Steve smiles faintly at that. Reaches over and gently brushes your knuckles.

You let him.

And the sun melts into the lake, quiet and gold and perfect.

No grand gestures. No declarations.

Just this.

Two people who didn’t plan on anything, finding something that feels like home.

---

Authors note: hii Atlas!, thank you so much for requesting this. I enjoyed writing it so much and I had overall a great time making it ☺️ I'm so glad you enjoy my writing!! And thank you so much again🩷

Credits: my steve border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

They had planned to leave before Bruce got back to the Manor, but plans change all the time and it wasn't Danny's fault!

Alfred had invited a friend of Dick's, Barbra Gordon, to the Manor for dinner, meaning that Dick had to stay if he wanted to see her. And since Dick was staying, Danny was staying. Tim wasn't about to leave Danny to Bruce's mercy, so he was staying for dinner, too.

Bruce Wayne arrived at Wayne Manor exactly three and a half minutes after six in the evening. He entered the kitchen exactly ten minutes and five seconds after that.

The air was tense.

Dick had been tense since Danny first roped him into coming to Gotham, only getting worse as they got closer to the building they were now sitting in. Now that Bruce and Dick were in the same room, it was like the rope had frayed to the point of snapping with a light breeze.

Bruce sat at the head of the table with Tim to his left and down a chair. Dick sat at the foot of the table, Barbra sitting to his immediate right. Danny sat on the unoccupied side of the table, directly in the middle.

No one was saying a word.

Danny was on edge.

Finally, "Dick," Bruce said.

"Bruce," was the response.

As if the spell had been broken, though the awkwardness remained, Barbra cleared her throat and said, "It's good to have you back in Gotham, D."

Dick smiled at her, soft and happy and relieved. "It's good to see you, Babs. How've you been?"

"The same as usual. Though, Condiment King again!" She glared when Dick started laughing. "Yeah, sure, laugh it up, Wonder Boy. It took three hours to get that mustard out of my costume! It's easier to get blood out of white carpets-!"

Bruce pointedly cleared his throat, bringing all attention to him. "As good as it is to see you, Dick, who've you brought with you?"

Barbra flinched back slightly, having forgotten Danny was even there. Oops.

Danny grinned at Bruce, hiding his nerves behind his favorite fake-it-'til-you-make-it smile. "My name's Danny, it's nice to meet you Mister Wayne! I have to say, you're a lot less smiley in person than you are on the internet."

He hummed. "I apologize. Today's been an off day."

"No need," Danny waved off politely, "I get it."

"I have to say, Daniel-"

"'Danny', please. My name's Danny."

To his credit, Bruce didn't even skip a beat. "Then, call me Bruce. I must say that I didn't expect Dick to have taken anyone in."

Danny chuckled a bit. "I think it's less of him taking me in and more of me kind of letting myself into his house."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I noticed he wasn't doing too well, so I figured I'd step in to help where I could before he got himself hurt." 'Or worse' was heavily implied. "I imagine Tim did much the same with you?"

Tim stiffened as Bruce sighed. Well, that's not a good sign.

"Yes, though Tim doesn't live here."

"He has a room, though, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. I can't imagine having to travel with the kind of injuries you guys get at night is very fun." Here, he turned and looked Barbra in the eye. "Honestly, you deserve a prize for traveling from here to wherever you live after getting injured."

Barbra smiled sheepishly, "Thanks? I don't really come here, though. Only on occasion."

Bruce interrupted before the conversation could continue, "What do you mean? Dick's the only one of us who could possibly get hurt on the job." He shook his head. "Honestly, why did you ever join the BHPD? It's too dangerous."

Oh, Danny had to put a stop to that right away!

"Sorry, to jump in here, Mister Wayne, but I know what all of you moonlight as." He ignored Bruce's narrowed, sharp glare. "You're Batman, Dick is Nightwing, Tim is Robin, meaning that Barbra has to be Batgirl and, if I'm right, Oracle."

"Who are you?" Bruce demanded. He didn't ask because asking is for people who aren't paranoid enough to have six levels of security at the front gate alone.

"I just told you: Danny." He unflinchingly met Bruce's glare. "Not good enough for you? I'm Danny, personal caretaker of vigilantes who refuse to take care of themselves, bookkeeper, cook, unlicensed medical unprofessional, et cetera. Though, don't call me a therapist because that's my sister. Is that a better answer?"

Bruce hummed.

The meal itself was somehow even worse than before Alfred had brought out the food. Glares were being thrown and concerned glances shared. It made the food taste bad, which was probably a war crime.

Danny had been raised with manners, so he'd thanked Alfred for making dinner. He even offered to help with clean up, though he backed down when he was refused. He knows better.

After dinner, the group had gone back into the very same drawing room as before. Dick and Barbra cuddled together on the couch, Bruce and Tim took the two armchairs, and Danny sat on the floor in front of the now lit fireplace.

"So, Tim," Danny started, "You working on any interesting cases?"

Tim seemed to perk up a bit. "Yeah, actually. It's a murder-"

"We're not at liberty to discuss anything with you, Daniel." Bruce's voice was gravely, almost the voice he used as Batman, as he spoke over Tim.

Danny's eyes narrowed. "I believe I told you my name is 'Danny', not 'Daniel'."

"Well, seeing as I don't actually know you, and you have offered up no sir name, I'll stick with calling you whatever I'm comfortable with, especially in my own home."

"This isn't a fight you wanna pick, Mister Wayne. You might want to rethink your choice."

"I am well aware of what battles to fight. However, you're mistaken. This isn't a battle. I'm merely stating that I will be calling you 'Daniel' until you offer up your sir name to be called by."

Danny very obviously looked Bruce up and down. "I guess my parents were right; You can't ever believe everything you read on the internet."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Because you, Mister Wayne, are horrible with children."

The temperature in the room dropped. Bruce's glare hardened even more. He appraised Danny, assessing him and filing away everything he could find. "Speaking to me like that in my own home is quite the move."

"Are you threatening me, Mister Wayne?"

"Not at all," he denied. "What are you really doing here, Dick?"

"I wanted to come meet Tim," Dick lied.

"Don't lie to me."

"What, I can't even come meet your newest Robin?"

"After the way you treated Jason?"

Dick stood quickly, Barbra scrambling to her feet. "After the way I-! You're the one who let him put on my old uniform!"

Bruce stood to his full height, looking down on Dick. "Me? You barely even talked to him! I spent as much time as I could with him!"

Danny blocked out the already out of hand yelling match and grabbed Barbra's and Tim's hands, leading them out of the room. This was not how he was hoping this would go at all.

He could still hear the yelling, even in the foyer.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Tim and Barbra, "I didn't expect this to happen."

"It's alright," Barbra said, flinching when she realized that she could hear both men's voices almost clearly.

"No, it's not. I dragged Dick here to apologize to Tim. We were supposed to leave before Bruce even left Wayne Enterprises."

Tim shook his head. "We should've anticipated something like this would happen."

"Yeah..."

The three sat together on the steps, Bruce and Dick's voices carrying through the wood and marble.

"Hey," Barbra said after a few minutes, "How do you know about the Cave being under the Manor?"

Danny blinked at her before turning to Tim. "There's a cave under the Manor?!" He glared playfully at his friend. "You didn't tell me that your base of operations is a cave under Wayne Manor!"

"If it makes you feel any better," Tim offered, "Dick named it the Bat Cave."

"It's called the Bat Cave!?"

Part 12 Part 14

[felassan]

David Gaider on Flemeth, under a cut for length:

"I have a type. I admit it. There are certain wells I can return to repeatedly and always find something new to explore. One of them is older female characters. Mike used to rib me about it. Consider Wynne. Meredith. Genevieve. And, of course, the biggie: Flemeth. Why are they a type? I... don't know, honestly. I guess I have a feeling that older men fade, they strive to regain their youth or establish a legacy and we've seen that story a thousand times, but older women? They become free to become something new. I guess I see so many possibilities in that. I had a conception of who Flemeth was, and why, right from the very start. Her creation went hand in hand with Morrigan, as a being whose thirst for retribution hundreds of years ago attracted an entity (slight confession: I didn't know Mythal specifically, at the time, "an elven god" was enough). I also knew where Morrigan was right and very wrong about her. Misconceptions of the truth are built into DA's foundation, and they were fundamental to this mother-daughter relationship I was building. Like many seeds I'd put in the world, however, I had no idea whether I'd ever get to explore it. Knowing that she was a character of possible future importance, if not a major player in DAO, I wasn't much surprised when she was one of the first cuts the art team made in terms of getting a unique appearance. Thus the "batty old woman" players met in DAO. Not as hard a cut as the Qunari, though."

"Going into DA2, I wanted both Morrigan and Flemeth, but we could only have one. So I picked Flemeth. This was the game where she really got to come into her own. I remember the art team coming and asking if it was OK if she got a new model, as it'd be a retcon of sorts. I didn't care. I wanted it. I honestly don't remember whether Kate Mulgrew was cast before or after Claudia. After, I think? All I recall is that Cab came into my office one day and asked if Kate might be a good fit. Asked me, the dyed-in-the-wool Trekkie who had stuck with Voyager even through the admittedly lean years? The squeal I made was un-manly. Cab took that as a "yes". 😅 I didn't get to talk to Kate until DA2, however. Schedules being what they were, we had a tight window to record Flemeth... so I had to write all her scenes before almost anything else in DA2 was written, before I even had a team! Ack! It was OK, though, for the most part. I knew where I wanted to take her, and a big part of it was going to explain her transition - to set her up for the future. So I whipped up a script in, like, two days and off we went. Kate was a marvel in the booth. She adored Flemeth and you could really tell. I didn't get to meet Kate in person, however, until DAI. This came pretty late in its development, compared to when we recorded her for DA2, and we flew down to Virginia (to accommodate her schedule - she was writing her memoir at the time, I think) for a single session. It was going to be *tight*."

"I was a mess. I was finally going to meet Captain Janeway... and yes yes, I know she's also more than that. But come ON. When we sat down, I figured I'd have to talk her through the character all over again. It'd been years since that one session at the start of DA2, right? And even more since DAO. But, no. Kate remembered Flemeth perfectly. I remember sitting there as she told me how much she loved the character, how rare it was to get one with so much texture and possibility. She called out my writing - my writing! - and waxed poetic about how she viewed Flemeth's arc. I... I was floored. 🫠 Then we began recording. One issue that quickly reared its head was how Caroline had to speed through the lines if we hoped to finish. Kate was a trooper, and most takes she'd get it in one (which is rare), but I was alarmed because we weren't giving Kate time to read the VO comments on each line. I brought it up, as there were some lines (so much sarcasm) that required nuance - Kate was getting them, oddly, but I was worried. "Oh, it's fine," Kate said. "I read the comments as we go." "How could you? We're going so fast!" "I'm a speed reader." Oh. OK, then. That certainly explained it. 😁 We got to the confrontation scene with Morrigan and she nailed it. Over and over. More than once, Caroline would make a call and, before I could even interject and say "no, Kate had it right, actually" Kate would explain exactly why she did it that way and why it worked for Flemeth. I was in love. She did the "I will see her avenged!" section all in one go. I got chills. Then we got to the final scene. You know the one. With Solas. It was this beautiful moment. She took it somewhere quiet and sad... and when she got to that last line, we all felt it: Flemeth was dead. Everyone was in tears. I suppose I could talk more about the process. How she started off aligned with Morrigan's original Delirium inspiration, but I didn't pull back her loopy way of talking as much (bet you wondered). I still don't know why it was so easy to slip into her voice, but I'm grateful I got the chance. ❤️"

[source thread]

[cynassa]

we were twenty for such a short time

Nightwing found him. It unnerved him, because he hadn't expected to. Red Hood was sitting on a crumbling ledge, helmet off, cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth. He didn't look like he was out of his mind, or going to go for a gun or knife.

"Why'd you do it?" Nightwing asked, carefully maneuvering himself out of the way of the heavy-looking desk that could be flung at him.

Red Hood grunted. "Don't suppose you've got antiseptic in there somewhere?"

Nightwing shrugged, letting it ripple all over him, where, it should be eminently clear, there was no place for a first-aid kit.

"Figures," Red Hood muttered.

Nightwing set his hip against the wall, not close enough to get in range of Hood's vicious front kick, but close enough to throw an electrified escrima stick at him if necessary. Black Bat was ten minutes away, as was Robin with the Batmobile. Ideally they would get this sorted before Batman was finished and could become involved. He just had to stall for ten - no, nine minutes now. With an on-edge Hood who had killed - no, executed - executed three people.

Hood nodded at the table.

Nightwing raised an eyebrow.

"Why I did it," Hood said. "Since you asked. I'd offer tea and scones with 'em but whoopsy, seems like I'm all out."

A quick flick of his eyes showed three neat nondescript folders. He'd have to put his back to Hood to read them.

Eight minutes.

"Not much of a reader, me," Nightwing drawled. "Why don't you give me the Sparknotes version?"

Hood snorted. He finally lit the cigarette. "Cappello's wife begged me to," he said.

Nightwing tensed.

"Had a porn ring, she said. He's a cop though, so she couldn't get away. Then her girl got old enough to contribute and she just wanted him dead," he said, sounding... exhausted. "Watson was a pimp too. The women told me that he was okay for a bit and then he got greedy and things got worse. Tried putting the fear of Hood into him at first but he'd heard that I was with the Bats, so he just beat them to shut them up after I left. Had some Family connections too, FBI fuckers wouldn't touch him."

He stopped, took a puff at his cigarette.

Seven minutes

Dick was abruptly tired. The Rogues were one thing. But this. These horrors of America's crime capital were unending. A man could die trying to hold them up.

"And Stewart? He was in jail," Dick said.

Jason smoked his cigarette slowly. It was a Marlboro Red Long. Still the same cigarette.

Six minutes

"Stewart, Danny M.," Jason said. "He'd been in juvie, you know? Got off after three months on 'count of good behavior. Kept the connections though. Plenty of connections in his jail too, enough to keep his little racket in the juvies running. And who cares if some street rat with a record goes missing from time to time. Mayor probably called it housekeeping when he took the money from him."

"And so it's got to be you who actually cleans house instead?" Dick asked, wishing he could throw his sticks at Jason, wishing he could put them down and- and?

"Who else do they got?" Jason asked, squinting at Dick. "I tried doing it the other way for a bit, y'know," he said, almost sympathetically.

"Right," Dick said. "For all of five minutes."

Five minutes

Jason shrugged. "Bit more'n that. But yeah, people would come to me and beg me to help them, rescue them, and I'd get these fuckers sent to places that would -- like, pedos don't last long in jail, y'get me? Or sometimes I'd just bribe the jail catering to give them something. But then people stopped being afraid of me, and it all got worse. Twice the effort for less than half the results. I didn't have any control over the trades here anymore, arms trafficking had gone up, they'd started human trafficking again."

Jason had just been killing people anyway. Of course he had.

"You thought that was the other way? Bribing other people to kill..." Dick wanted to bash his face in. "You thought that was right?"

"I'm not the one who does the right thing," Jason said. "That's on you, Big Bird. I'm just the one filling in the gaps the light doesn't reach."

"That's an easy fucking excuse," Dick bit out.

Four minutes

"All these people suffering, and I was sitting with my thumbs up my ass because I wanted a family, while they were losing theirs, how was that right?" Jason continued, like he hadn't heard Dick. "I'd been brought back to do one job, and I couldn't do it, because I was desperate to--" there was a tear at the end of one eye.

"That's not-" Dick gasped, "this isn't what you were brought back for! That's not true."

Jason shook his head. "You don't know that. You don't know how I was brought back."

"Neither do you!" Dick snarled at this nonsense, now wishing he really had just bashed his head in.

"Nah, but I know what it was for," Jason said, oddly peaceable. "I know what I gotta do, and then I can die."

"You can still stop," Dick pleaded, afraid suddenly, of something he couldn't name.

Three minutes

"Nah," Jason said, sad but placid. "There ain't no way but this for me anymore. Sorry, Big Bird. I'll miss you though. I'll miss most of you, I think."

"And now I've got to bring you in," Dick said, voice cracking. "Did you think of that? That now I've got to-"

"Can't let you do that, 'm afraid, still got a job to do," Jason said, half-smile on his face, turning to him finally, pushing off the ledge and moving forward, dropping the cigarette on the table.

Two minutes

Dick squeezed his sticks but didn't raise them. Jason moved swiftly, grabbing his face roughly and leaning down - because he was taller now, because he wasn't the little wing yearning to reach five foot, because he had died - to roughly kiss Dick's forehead. "Take care of yourself, Robin," he whispered and then shoved Dick back.

Dick had tensed in preparation but was still shoved back by Jason's sheer strength. By the time he leapt forward, Jason had thrown himself out of the window. The red Bat wasn't on his armor anymore.

Dick glanced out of the window just long enough to see Jason tumbling into a red moving truck. Then he sensed something and abruptly looked up to see the cigarette had lit up the files unnaturally well, as if they already had a flammable coating. This seemed to trigger some other mechanism, and the building slowly started going down - making a groaning noise as if in warning.

One minute

Dick unhooked his grapple and dived out, landing lightly on the Batmobile as the building slowly but surely came crashing down, so thoroughly destroyed that there was no way anything could be rebuilt again.

I give you back 1948.   

I give you all the years from then

to the coming one. Give me back the moon   

with its frail light falling across a face.

Give me back my young brother, hard

and furious, with wide shoulders and a curse   

for God and burning eyes that look upon   

all creation and say, You can have it.

[writingwithciara]

across the hall; part 5 -quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 2.2k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader, toxic ex-boyfriend x reader

notes:

it was just after 2am when y/n finally got off of work. she had worked for over 12 hours and she was exhausted. all she wanted to do was go home, take a hot bath and put abby to bed.

but then she remembered that quinn had texted her during her break and informed her that abby wanted to stay at his place for the night. so when she got home, she would be alone.

she loved her daughter but there was not a whole lot of time she got to herself since becoming a mother. this was just one of the many reasons why she was thankful to have quinn in her life.

when she pulled into her parking spot, she spotted a familiar car a few spaces away from hers. and suddenly, she was hesitant to enter the building.

she did promise andy she would talk to him later, but in her mind, later meant the next day or maybe days from then. but he was persistent. so she headed up to her apartment.

just as she predicted, andy was sitting outside her apartment. when he saw her, he stood up and dusted off his pants.

"i was starting to get worried about you." he looked at her, seeing if there was any damage to her body. when he concluded there was not, he let out a sigh of relief. "quinn told me you would be home around midnight. so i've been waiting."

"yeah i figured." she sighed. "look, andy, i've had a really long and stressful day and i know i promised that we could talk later, but i just don't have the energy for that right now."

"that's what i thought was going to happen. but you don't have to do any talking. just listen, please?"

"3 minutes. that's all i can handle."

"can we go inside?"

"no. because if we do, i'll be too exhausted to make you leave and we both know that will not turn out well."

"i've changed, y/n. i really have." he took a hesitant step closer. "i know you may not believe me but i've been going to therapy and i've been making a ton of progress in making myself better. into a man who actually deserves someone as great as you or abby in my life." he looked at her. "i know it'll take some time but all i want is for you to give me one chance to prove it. please?"

"i'm tired, andy. can we talk more about this tomorrow?"

"can i take you out for lunch?"

"if that's what it takes to get you leave right now, then fine." she unlocked her door. "i'll meet you at the cafe that's 10 minutes from here."

"okay. thank you." he went to walk away. "can you bring abby?"

"i will not allow abby any time with you until you have proven to me that you're a changed man."

"okay fair enough. see you tomorrow." he walked away and y/n fought against her will to go inside. the logical part of her brain wanted her to go across the hall and see quinn but the tired part wanted her to just get some rest. she would see quinn tomorrow.

by the time she climbed into bed and got comfortable, the only thing on her mind was the man across the hall.

the next morning, y/n woke up earlier than she wanted. even with the 8 hours of sleep, she was still exhausted. but she had promised to meet andy for lunch so she had to get ready. she did it slowly but the end result was fine enough.

she went across the hall and knocked on quinn's door. he was rubbing his eyes when he answered but when he saw y/n, he smiled.

"good morning."

"good morning." she smiled back. "would you mind watching abby for another hour or two?"

"why? what's going on?"

"i stupidly told andy i'd meet him for lunch today to hear him out."

"oh." was all quinn said.

"yeah." y/n looked at him. "will you watch her?"

"of course." he smiled. "go hear him out. we'll be here when you get back."

"oh you're the best." she leaned up to kiss his cheek and headed towards the elevator.

that was twice in less than 24 hours that y/n had kissed his cheek and left him frozen in place. things continued to get confusing.

he shut the door and went to the kitchen to make abby some lunch. it was a good thing he was an excellent chef who was good with kids or else he wouldn't be doing this.

he chuckled when that thought crossed his mind because even if he wasn't either of those things, he would still keep an eye on abby because y/n asked him to. at this point, he would do anything she asked him to do.

-----

y/n looked at the coffee and sandwich in front of her as she mindlessly listened to andy explain how he wanted to be better for her and abby. she wanted to believe him but there was so many factors from her past that contradicted what he was saying. stuff that caused her to lose her trust in almost everyone.

"do you hate me?"

"why would you ask that?"

"you've been zoning in and out of this conversation for the last 10 minutes. either something is on your mind or you hate me."

"can't it be both?" she cracked a smile.

"i understand why you hate me, but please, don't deprive our daughter of a life without her father."

"it's not really entirely up to me, andy. i'll talk to abby and get back to you."

"if it helps, i brought presents for her for every holiday and birthday i messed up on. and i have stuff for you too."

"keep it. i don't want any of it."

"but what if abby does?"

"that's up to her." y/n sighed. "i'm taking her to the park later. if you happen to stop by, i can't stop you from seeing her, i suppose."

"so what does this mean then?"

"you're on probation, andy."

"fair enough." he stood up and paid for everything. "thank you for this chance."

"yeah yeah. it's your only one so if you screw this up, you won't be getting another one."

"understood. i'll see you later."

y/n sighed and waited another 10 minutes before heading back to the apartment. she walked into quinn's apartment without knocking and froze when she heard abby's giggling coming from the hallway. seconds later, quinn was running out with abby in his arms, guiding her around like an airplane. when he spotted y/n, he slowed down.

"we have arrived at our destination." he smiled and set her down on the floor. "go get your stuff, abby."

y/n watched her daughter run down the hall before turning to quinn. "i may have made a mistake, quinn."

"i'm guessing the talk didn't go well."

"no. it went better than expected, honestly." y/n looked at him. "i told him i was taking abby to the park later and that if he jut so happened to be there too, i couldn't stop him from seeing his daughter."

"oh."

"tell me if i made a mistake."

"i don't think you did. it's important for a girl to know her father. and it's up to you to set those boundaries." he smiled. "also, i've noticed that you've never made a mistake in the time i've known you. you always think every decision through before making one."

"thanks, quinn. i truly appreciate you and everything you do."

"i appreciate you too." quinn pulled her into a gentle hug. one that she melted into without a thought.

"can quinn come to the park with us today, mom?"

"i would love to, but i got plans with some of the guys from the team. maybe next time, sweetheart." quinn bent down to give abby a hug.

"okay, quinny." abby smiled and headed across the hall. y/n turned to quinn with a grin.

"quinny?" she giggled.

"she started calling me that last night." quinn smirked. "think she likes me."

"dude, she loves you. you're great with her and i appreciate it."

"anything for you." quinn touched her shoulder gently and left her in the hallway. y/n blinked for a few seconds before going to her apartment and grabbing abby.

an hour later, the girls sat down for a picnic when y/n saw andy approaching them. she gave him a signal to stop for a second before she turned to abby.

"hey. um, your dad wants to visit you. would you be interest in that?"

"i guess. he's gonna come around even if i say no, isn't he?"

"yeah i guess so." y/n waved her hand towards him, telling him to move slowly.

"hey. mind if i join you?" he looked at abby. she nodded and looked back at her food, not wanting to engage with him.

andy took a seat next to y/n and set his bag down. "remember the gifts i mentioned?"

"mhm." y/n looked at her phone, wanting nothing more than to text quinn.

"well i brought a couple of them with me and was hoping you girls would accept them."

"presents?" abby set her food back on the plate and turned to face andy as he pulled out 3 gifts. he placed them on the table and abby began opening them.

"i told you i wasn't going to accept any gifts from you, andy." y/n eyed him for a second and went back to her phone.

"i know. but i was hoping you would accept this one." he placed a small jewelry box in front of her, finally catching her attention.

"you really think this is going to make me forgive you, andy? it's going to take a lot more than a necklace." she opened the box and she felt her eyes begin to water. inside the box was a locket with abby's name & birthday, while inside the locket was a picture of the sonogram & a picture of abby when she was 2. y/n's favorite picture. "i'll accept this one gift. but that doesn't mean you're forgiven."

"that's okay. it's a start, right?" he smiled his trademark smile and picked a piece of cheese off y/n's plate.

he ended up being so good with abby and everything he was doing was proving he really was a changed man. y/n hated that she was starting to fall back into his orbit so easily.

later that night, y/n actually let andy into her apartment for dinner. he even joined her in tucking abby in for bed. it felt like they were a family as andy put his arm around y/n when they walked out of the room. she walked him to the door and before he left, he turned to her.

"i just want to thank you again for allowing me to have this day with you guys. i know i've been a terrible person in the past but i hope today was proof that i'm really trying to change. and not just for abby. i'm trying to be a man that deserves someone as wonderful as you."

"you're still on probation, but if i'm being honest, your behavior today has shown a lot of promise."

"i'm glad you feel that way." he slid his hand down her arm and gently grabbed her hand. "i missed you, y/n."

"goodnight, andy." against her better judgement, y/n leaned up and placed a kiss on andy's cheek before he left. just as she was about to shut the door, quinn came out of his apartment.

"hey. how was your day?"

"it was surprisingly good. i think andy may actually be a changed man."

"well, be careful with who you give your heart to. i'd hate to see you get hurt, y/n."

"i appreciate you looking out for me, quinn. but i promise not to get too invested in this, just in case."

"you know i'm only saying this because i care about you, right?"

"i know. and i appreciate it." y/n touched quinn's arm the way andy had touched hers earlier. "thank you."

"you're welcome." he smiled and looked at where her hand was placed. "are you and abby free tomorrow? i have the day off before we have to go on the road for a week and i wanted to spend the day with my favorite girls before i go."

"i'm sure abby would love that, but i won't be able to make it. i work in the morning and i don't know when i'll be home."

"oh." quinn looked at her. "i totally understand. your job is important."

"i'll let you spend the day with abby tomorrow and the first day you get back from the trip, we can spend the day together. i'll make sure to book it off. i promise."

"okay. i would really like that."

"i'll drop abby off before i go to work, alright?"

"sounds good. i'll see you in the morning."

"good night, quinn." y/n kissed his cheek and headed back to her apartment.

quinn was never going to get used to the way she could freeze him with just one simple action.

----------

tags: @alwaysclassyeagle @justagingerliving @marroonwitch

[moonymarvel]

Exams (oneshot/mcu peter)

🂱︎ pairing: mcu peter parker x female reader

🂱︎ synopsis: Peter gets caught up studying for his exams.

🂱︎ genres: established relationship, fluff

🂱 warnings: none :) for my first fic I thought I'd keep it nice and fluffy

🂱 notes: my first fic on here! I've posted this ages ago on Wattpad (ew) but I think it deserves to be put up on here too :)

The door to Peter's bedroom creaks open as it reveals dozens of papers all over the floor, pencils scattered across his desk, a calculator for some reason webbed to the wall, but no Peter in sight.

You balanced the plate of newly baked cookies on one hand as you made his way across his room, using your other arm to balance yourself as you looked down on the floor trying not to step all over his notes.

"Peter?" You called out.

There was no answer but the sudden sound of a keyboard clicking from behind you. Nope, not from behind, on top of you.

You take a cookie and reach your arm up to the ceiling, and feel his hand touch yours and steal the cookie away.

"Are you gonna come down?" You asked finally looking up at your boyfriend, sitting cross legged on the ceiling, typing away on his laptop.

"Sorry darling, give me a second." He replied biting into the cookie, a few crumbs falling on your shoulder.

You brushed the crumbs of the hoodie of his you were wearing, and checked the time on your phone. It reads 6:12pm.

"I texted you I was on my way here, did you get the message?"

"Er--" He says pulling his phone out of his pocket, to see your message pop up on the screen.

"I guess I did, sorry, been preoccupied." He replies, absentmindedly putting his phone down (on the ceiling) only to have it fall down to you, with your reflexes quick enough to catch it before it made contact with the ground.

"You should get down here soon. Your head looks like it's ready to pop like a balloon." His head did in fact not look like it was about to pop, due to his spider-powers that allowed for him to comfortably remain upside down. You did however want to stress that it was about time he give himself a break. You make your way to his bed, putting his phone down on his side table.

"mhmm, in a minute. I think better up here. Maybe it has something to do with the blood flow to my brain or the lack of distractions on my ceiling." He replies still not having looked at you properly once since you got here.

"Peter?"

"Yes y/n." He replies

"What time do you think it is?" You add.

"Uh, 4:00." He replies.

"Wrong, it's almost 6:15 so I think it's about time you head back down here and let gravity do its job."

He finally looked at you, his brown hair falling every which way.

He sighs, and closes his laptop. You make your way under him once again, catching his laptop as he let it fall to your hands. He followed suit and jumped down, coming nose to nose distance to you.

"Hi." 

"Hi."

He lands a quick kiss on your nose. He stumbles, tripping over some pencils scattered around the floor.

"Falling for me are ya?" you tease.

"always." he replies.

You make your way to his bed, and he settles his pretty little head to rest on your stomach, your hands lacing around his brown curls.

"Ooft, should have probably come down sooner." He says suddenly breaking the peaceful silence.

"I figured, you were up there for like 2 hours?." You replied.

"4."

"4 what?" You asked

"I started at 2, I've been up there for 4 hours."

"PETER!"

"What? Like I said, I focus better up there."

"You have to take better care of yourself! Have you even had a drink of water since then?" You asked

"Uh, no..."

"Let me get you a glass then--"

"It's fine I'll get one myself." He replies getting off you. He reaches the door and turns the knob when the sound of the metal crunching under his hand bring your attention to him.

He releases the knob, only to find it crumpled like a piece of paper.

"Sorry, er... It happens when I'm tired and forget to control my strength." He adds shyly before exiting the room.

"you web-head." you reply. He chuckles and exits the room. Your curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to check out what Peter's been working so hard on. 'Ew, calculus.' you think to yourself as you flip through his notes.

You hear Peter enter the room behind you, and he sets his glass down and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his head on your shoulder and pressing his chest against your back.

"Ew, calculus right." he says, you chuckle lightly under your breath.

"my brain hurts." he hums into your hair.

"haha, I can tell." you reply going through one of the equations he couldn't seem to finish.

"mhmm" he replies tiredly, taking in the fresh scent of your shampoo.

"one of these pythagorean conjugates is wrong." you add suddenly.

"hm? No, I triple checked that." Peter replies.

"Nuh uh, you might've just read it wrong but this is meant to be cosine not cotangent." You add lifting up the paper to his eye line and pointing out his careless mistake.

"No. NO WAY!" He says pulling away from you and snatching the paper out of your hand.

"I KNEW SOMETHING ABOUT THAT WASN'T RIGHT!" He adds, one hand almost crumpling the paper and the other pulling at his already disheveled curls.

"Maybe you're just not as smart as you think, bug-boy." you reply laughing at his distressed state.

"No, I just have a genius girlfriend!" He drops the paper and picks you up by the waist and spins you around. Your laughter fills the room and that would've been enough to light up Peter's whole world. He set you down slowly and covered your face with soft kisses, leaving your mouth for last.

"Thank you." He adds, his eyes looking deep into yours.

"Not a problem my spider-man."

[arrrion]

Not Just a Mirror

Stanley Snyder x GN reader

Synopsis: In which one of the American that woke up from stone is actually a genius actor that can mirror everything perfectly.

Disclaimers: reader is obsessed with perfection.

I never know what to put in disclaimers...

Anyways, this is the first idea I got for Stanley but I'm actually not confident on how it will turn out.

This is also based on the oc of my sister so it will depict her oc's reflection, hope you like it sista <3

Enjoy!

When the the stone before your eyes cracked and collapsed to the ground, you vision got blurred. You felt blinded for a while. It was so long since you could see color that you started forgetting what it was like.

The stone on your body fell on the ground, along with the pieces that were on your eyes. You got up from your position and took a glance around you. Nature had took its liberty and you were facing a forest untouched by humans. Your eyes fell on a sign. It only had an arrow and something about a base? If this wooden sign was here it only meant that someone had woken up before you did. And of they let this sign here it also means they probably won't attack you? You grabbed what you could on your way and started walking, following the arrow's direction.

On your way you find several other statues with the same sign. You just had to follow it. You were quite far from the base but that won't discourage you. You had worse in life.

You genuinely thought, while on the ride, that if after the big catastrophe people had started a new civilization, you had to find it. You were an actor, more of a theater actor, your only goal was to please people. It was your talent, your only option. Your parents had made you this way, a people pleaser.

The travel took less than a week I'd say. You had to stop several time to rest. Nights were cold but hopefully you had survived. You could play survival play all you want, nothing had prepare you to actually survive in a forest for this long.

So you arrived almost but naked in front of a little field of corns. It was only baby plants but you knew it was gonna grow big and good. Your presence was immediately reported to Xeno and you had only waited a few minutes, enough for you to decide if you go further or not, and the man with white hair appeared in front of you.

"Greetings, you are one of the elite that survived all those years in stone. We are rebuilding a civilization, would you like to join us ?" Obviously Xeno wasn't gonna let you go but a little courtesy won't kill anyone? You nodded, a little sour in the throat.

Xeno immediately gave you clothes and once you were inside a sort of lab, he started his questions by asking what you were doing before petrification.

"I'm an actor. I played in both films and theater." The unpleased face Xeno made wasn't even a little hidden by the man.

"I see." He thought. You understood that in the stone world, an actor wasn't really what you would need the most. "And do you have a hobby of yours? Other than acting."

"I... No. I spend all my time perfecting my talent." The doctor let out a sign. You wouldn't blame him. He gave you little job that were simple. It was things you could do fast, way faster than Xeno think.

So each time you finished your tasks early, you just walked in the base, searching for people that needed your help. And when you found nobody or you already helped those who needed, you would spend your time watching them work. It was what you did back in the modern world. A simple glance at something and you could repeat its movement. That was your talent.

You weren't always good at acting, but your body was the best at replicating. You started as back-up. You could be just a npc in the back of a play in a theater or a back-up in a film, doing a figure instead of the actor on stage. And later on you took classes for the face part. Your name grew more and more and you finally got a prize for your talent.

Lately you found yourself looking at where Stanley Snyder was training. It was early on and most of the people was building, Stanley would help of course but Xeno had just made a new riffle and he was training with it. Your eyes were locked on him and when he was gone you would take something that could have the same weight and would replicate the position Stanley had when shooting.

You already had a gun in your hands before, you tried to shoot with a real one to copy the exact movement when you had a fake one. But it was different to watch Stanley do it. It wasn't just because the man was in the military. He had a manner to shoot, a manner he had built with the years. And you felt excited. Would you be able to copy this ? It was years of expertise against you, that had shoot once or twice in your life.

You made it your goal. Every time you had time, you would work on your memory to replicate the blond's move. You spend a lot of time watching him whenever he was walking nearby. You'd analyze the way his muscles moved and correct yourself later on.

And this constant eying on the soldier wasn't discreet, you weren't trying to be in your defense. It grew on Stanley's temper and he had to confront you. For him, you were just a creep that was watching him do anything like a psycho. He made sure nothing was up for him to do and went for you.

And here you stood, positioned exactly like le smoker had done every time he shoot.

Stanley was stunned. For a second here he thought he was seeing himself. His past anger went down but now he had tones of other questions. He approached you with determination.

"So this's why you keep ya eyes on me?" Your arms calmly fell down, like the blond would do, and you let out of what you had in your hands. Your body turned to the tall man.

"Just doin' this when I have time."

"So what are ya? A fast learner or somethin' ?" Stanley knew this wasn't just fast learning. You had the exact same position as him. There was no way you just did it by accident.

"Clearly not. I'm an actor, I can replicate everythin' I see." You said like it was nothing.

"Yeah, right. You do realise not every actor can just "replicate what they see" like ya?" He crossed his arms.

"Ah" Your lips formed a thin line.

"So, like, if I show ya other things ya could do it?"

"I could" You had picked his interest.

Stanley spend a lot of time with you to show you his moves. He understood that you where like a mirror. Wich meant that if he wanted to form a real soldier he had to put lessons in your head. But it was way easier to teach you than the other soldier he had back in the modern world. Just the fact you could copy everything perfectly was incredible. It was like two Stanley were guarding the colony.

Xeno quickly learned about this and let's say it was an happy surprise for him. It didn't really ring a bell when he heard your name but now it made sense. He was gonna make great use of your talent.

But for now you where occupied with the blond. He was formatting you into the perfect copy of himself. And it was bringing him satisfaction seeing you be so competent.

And it was feeding your esteem to see how you could copy him.

But, one day you overheard people talking about how weak you were, were you really thinking of doing like Stanley without his strength? It went on your head. Of course you had some muscles, you needed them to do some figures back on the stage. But none of them was enough for a soldier. And even though you had gained some more with the training you had, it wasn't enough.

You made sure to train harder, and behind Stanley's back. You were just not satisfied with how slow you were. You had to be perfect with this. And if it meant more muscles, you would do anything to be exactly like Xeno's best friend.

But nothing goes long under Stanley's nose.

You were training in the middle of the night when the tiredness of your arms and legs was to much. Your body collapsed to the ground and you grunted.

"That's what you get for being to greedy" Your eyes went wide for the first time in so long. "Surprised to see me ?" Your eyes went searching for his but you could feel his anger without seeing them. You did your best to sit and let your head down. You were guilty. "You are under my command. And I do not remember telling you to train like a madman, even at hours like this."

"I'm sorry." You wanted to say more but your mouth stayed shut. Stanley eventually signed. He crouched in front of you and made you you were facing him before speaking.

"Ya don't have to be so rude on yourself like that. We have plenty of time to make ya the best. Rewards comes with hard work, remember it. Now go to sleep or I'm not teaching ya tomorrow." You smiled. Maybe this man couldn't copy everything like you, but you always feel like he his one step before you.

Bonus:

Stanley got up and was gonna go to sleep to when he didn't hear you move. You were actually trying to get up but your body was to tired. You looked up at him, embarrassed, and he just controlled a laugh before going to help you.

Yeah you would never overtrain again after this humiliation.

I feel like I always chose the bad parents...

I headcannon that Stanley speaks without accent when he's mad.

Anyways, I really have to write something more cheesy? I don't know, maybe I'm to shy??

My sister's oc name is Mocha if you're willing to take this information ;)

Then, see you soon !

[faeryseiko]

Ahead of me || Katsuki Bakugo

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A/N: Hi ! I haven't wrote since 2022 so I'm sorry if this one sucks but please take the time and tell me your thoughts on this one !! It is a song lyrics based fic, I LOVE the quirk I just cooked and might do an AO3 story with it...

WARNINGS : season 7 BIG SPOILERS. death, blood.

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Muffled screams, tears running down soft cheeks.

"If I could, I'd be your little spoon"...

I looked as Shigaraki threw Bakugo's body like an useless doll that he didn't want to play with anymore. My heart was beating strongly fast in my chest. I got up on my feet and ran to his side, sliding on my knees as I did so. I started to scratch my arms, the red powder falling on the hole of his chest.

Quirk name : Philosopher's stone

I kept scratching, normally it wouldn't even take a second before healing. But it didn't this time. I felt my own blood rolling on my arm and saw it going to mix with his on his chest. I heard Best Jeanist next to me as he just saw the student he taught yet learned so much from.

"No. No no nonononono" I started to panic as my eyes watered down. I was shaking a corpse, trying to wake it up. I put my forehead on his and was breathing uncontrollably.

"Y/n-san, with you around, we will not be scared of our injuries anymore. I know we can count on you !"

I remembered Izuku's words, now stabbing me as I felt useless again in my life. My best friend was lifeless before me and I couldn't even bring him back or save him.

My quirk wasn't a flashy one, nor did it help for defense. I had to work harder to prove myself worthy of being a hero. The number of times I felt useless watching my class fight as I could only stand watching on the sidelines. I hate it, I'm thankful for Aizawa that have let me show my worth.

"Your quirk is special, Y/n. Great sacrifices and hard work will have to be done to reach it's full potential."

I was shaking, taking his numb upperbody on my knees as I carressed his cheek with my thumb. His beautiful crimson eyes were now turned a pale pink color and his mouth gaped open to show the last breath he took. I let my forehead fall on his chest.

. . .

"One day, I'll become number one and will beat all bad guys like All Might !"

It was one of these times where Bakugo and I's parents would hang out and we would play in the park together. We were on top of the slides as we practiced our hero poses while laughing.

"I'm excited to see my quirk so I can now start ny hero journey, aren't you Bakugo?" I asked with a smile and to this he nodded with a proud smile.

"I already know mine will be awesome ! You'll just have to wait and see. It'll be so strong that it will surpass even All Might and AH-"

I jolted in surprise and panicked as I saw Bakugo fall from the slide's top. I carefully went down and sat down next to him. He winced in pain as he was holding his arm. After a few seconds, a blue color was appearing and that's when I knew it was broken.

"Bakugo, y-your arm-"

"Shut up I know !"

He tried to not let his tears fall and when I saw this, that's when I suddenly took his arm. I don't know how this happened... Even today, I am not able to reproduce what I did that day, but when I touched his arm, his arm healed itself, but in the process broking mine completely.

Bakugo smiled as he saw his new and healed arm.

"Y/n! Your quirk it finally came-"

His eyes widened, seeing me holding my arm in pain. His smile disappeared and I don't know what he thought at that time. That I had an useless quirk ? That I was pathetic ?

. . .

That day was my quirk's first appearance and I couldn't understand how I did it. I had the properties of a stone made with alchemy. Yet, I couldn't understand them exactly.

"And kiss your fingers forevermore..."

But then, it clicked.

I gently lift up Bakugo and hugged his figure, closing my eyes in the process. I focused on him, I had to.

"but big spoon, you have so much to do..."

Water filled my eyes as I sobbed, hugging him tightly, knowing this was my first and last.

....

I remember when I saw Bakugo and Deku fight against eachother, their first fight when they were teammed up with Uraraka and Iida. I looked in awe at both strenght.

Even though Izuku used to be quirkless, he showed himself worthy for All Might to give his quirk. Bakugo was mad and confused at the time, mad that Izuku had showed up randomly one day with a quirk that was strong. And confused on how it happened.

I was selfish to think that... but with Izuku I felt less alone next to Bakugo with his amazingly strong quirk. I had to work extra harder and might never catch up to them.

I also remember at the festival, against Kirishima I was nothing but an easy target. I have cried that day so hard, I even wondered what I was doing at U.A and why I stayed. Also on why our teacher kept me.

Aizawa taught Shinsou and I to still be strong even with a quirk that didn't give us boosted strenght, rapidity or stamina.

I have made so many good friends at U.A, but I knew that if for whatever reason someone had to leave, they had too much potential, too many hopes and dreams for it to be them.

"And I have nothing ahead of me..."

I have made so many great memories, so many. I felt my chest getting lighter and breathing turned so easy to do. Weights on my shoulder turned into empty ones, you know that feeling before falling asleep ?

And as my chest softly stopped to move, I felt against my ear a heartbeat. By now, I was too weak to great him happily like I usually do.

I wish we had more time, more time for me ask for his help for math homework, more time for him to look behind him to look at me, as if having me helped feeling more confident.

Or more time for me to go shopping one last time with Mina, one more time for Shinsou and I to proudly look at our better fighting forms, one more time to play video games with the squad.

More time so I can admire the developpment Bakugo has made on himself.

Maybe, I can finally be useful to you, Katsuki ?

....

Bakugo's eyes opened softly as he heard Best Jeanist yelling out someone's name. Surprisingly, it wasn't his.

The pain he had felt on his chest left and the blood disappeared, he still felt some weight on his chest. He had a hard time moving, but when he looked down, he saw your h/c hair, your normally e/c vibrant eyes that were now closed forever.

He would call you a dumbass, but he knew you wouldn't hear him this time. He would call you a selfless idiot, because since the day you had your quirk, the coolest quirk he've seen in terms of healing, that's just who you've become.

His eyes watered down. He focused so much onto catching up with Deku that he hasn't looked behind him at the person who destroyed themselves just to catch up to him.

And now, it was too late for him to simply catch your hand to help you run with him.

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

song : Your Best American Girl - Mitski.

[tenebraevesper]

Sonic X Shadow Takeover Analyzer (Part 1)

I was so excited to hear this Takeover since it is only Sonic and Shadow talking to each other and answering question. It is one of those times where you get to see their dynamic without anyone else's input.

Since I feel like I could write an essay about these two, I decided to instead put all my thoughts into bullet points, this being Part 1 of my list:

First of, congratulations to Shadow for hosting the Takeover! Shadow sounds so proud of having managed to take over the channel and having gotten a whole year for himself. At least until Sonic reminds him that he is also there.

Why does Sonic's mind immediately jump to ''marriage'' when he hears the word proposal? Is he still bummed over the fact that he didn't think of proposing to Shadow?

I never thought I'd live the day to hear Shadow saying ''Sonic x Shadow''. I know it's referring to the game, but shippers are going to have a field day with this.

Shadow finally got his #AskShadow. Sonic is not happy to lose to him.

The best way for Sonic to annoy Shadow is to just be around him, with Sonic adding how he'd slowly take his time when they're racing and drag it out, much to Shadow's chagrin. God, I love how Sonic trolls Shadow.

Sonic doesn't know about Doom Wing... and he forgot about Black Doom! X3

I love how Sonic's idea in a body swap scenario with Shadow is to brag about himself, while Shadow's idea is to tell everyone how Sonic is stupid... and more importantly, telling that to Amy. Sonic sounds really flustered, and while I get the Sonamy joke... I'm pretty sure they threw that in because they knew the Sonadow fans will go wild over this.

There you have it folks! Shadow doesn't hate Tails, but he will beat him up if he stands in his way. I also love how Sonic immediately jumps to Tails' defense - big brother gotta protect his little brother.

Sonic loves the journey, while Shadow points out how you need to learn from the experience to not make the same mistakes. I love their philosophy, since they mesh so well together... and it also feels as if Sonic wants to go on a journey with Shadow.

I love the scenario of Sonic and Shadow babysitting Cream and them arguing over their methods (Sonic, the twelve scoop ice-cream cone scenario is really specific).

Did Sonic just invite Shadow on an ice-cream date? As Cream's babysitters, but nonetheless, it is a date. And he also knows what Shadow's favorite ice-cream flavour is.

Okay, start the counter for how many times Sonic attempts to convince Shadow to go out with him.

I love how Sonic knows how to challenge Shadow and Shadow falls for it despite his reservations, even if it's something silly like a thumb war. Sonic knows exactly how to get under his skin and Shadow just goes along with it, much to his chagrin. X3

Sonic, Shadow and Silver have a Big Brother, Little Brother relationship! Love how they're ready to help him at any point of time and how Shadow respects Silver.

So, Sonic forgot about Elise? To note Sonic 06 technically did happen, but the universe did get reset.

I adore that Shadow acts like he doesn't care whether he's Sonic's biggest rival, but the moment Sonic starts trolling him by placing him between Zavok and... Dodon Pa? (What?) - Shadow gets irritated. It's obvious that Shadow wants the recognition of being Sonic's main rival, and knows Sonic is messing with him.

Did Shadow just laugh at the Joe Mama joke?

Shadow correcting Sonic's Macarena bit is hilarious, especially since neither of them know the lyrics. Also, obligatory Macarena singing is obligatory.

I love how Shadow shares Omega's ''enthusiasm for blowing things up''. We saw him enjoying himself blowing up G.U.N. property alongside Omega and Rouge in Sonic X Shadow Generations: Dark Beginnings, so I'm not surprised. Sonic then immediately figures he also needs to hang out more with Omega,... perhaps in hopes to get closer to Shadow?

Shadow pointing out how Tails is the reason why Sonic's always in trouble is not wrong. These two can be a disaster when together as siblings tend to do.

''Shadow, have you ever given Sonic a present on his birthday?'' ''No, my presence is more than enough.'' There are several things to discuss here:

Shadow is willing to buy Amy a present in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, but couldn't bother get anything for Sonic, which is hilarious. Especially since we know that it was Rouge who convinced him to go to Sonic's birthday by promising him a rocket.

Shadow arrived at Sonic's birthday just after he was traumatized by watching Gerald and Maria return to their own timeline, knowing this was the last time he saw them again. I doubt getting a present for Sonic was on his mind at that time.

Shadow claims his presence is enough of a birthday present. I interpret this as him claiming that he is Sonic's birthday present and you can't stop me.

Sonic teasing Shadow about the Hot Honey concert is so hilarious... until Shadow reveals they're going on another concert, and Sonic's mood drops. Honestly, Sonic, if you want to go to a concert with Shadow, ask him out!

Sonic being so intrigued and even saying that he's jealous over Shadow smiling in Big's presence, and then suggests a fishing trip with all three of them. Not only does he want to see Shadow smile again, but he is still persistent about getting his date.

Shadow chooses to save Sonic from danger because he knows Sonic will get himself into trouble, so he needs keep an eye on him. This is completely out of Sonic Prime and I'm loving it! It really shows that Shadow cares about Sonic.

Sonic isn't too enthusiastic about going with Amy on shopping trips. Shadow, on the other hand, just buys what he needs, which is understandable... Sonic then immediately uses this as an opportunity to invite him on a shopping date, even saying how he'll make it fun. Shadow immediately accepts the moment Sonic turns it into a race.

They mention the matching outfits (possible reference to Sonic Speed Simulator)! Sonic believes they have similar tastes, Shadow calls it a coincidence and insists it means nothing, which Sonic doesn't buy at all.

''But if we do ever go to a party, you know I'm picking the outfits.'' Sonic is still desperately trying to get that date and Shadow is not budging. These two sound like a married couple.

I love how Shadow respects Sonic enough to refuse beating him in a swimming competition, even if he reasons that it's because Sonic would drown, so he wouldn't be able to see the look of the defeat on his face.

Sonic immediately mentions a ''plummeting to Earth contest'', which is just... woah! I didn't expect him to go that far. Shadow gets an UNO Reverse on him by teasing him about needing floaties. Go Shadow!

Sonic keeps his chest fur short to stay aerodynamic and run laps around Shadow. You guys do know that hedgehogs circle around each other in order to court?

Frontiers!Sonic voice is back! Shadow sounds baffled. X3

So, Classic Sonic is just chilling in the room. Shadow likes him because he's silent, though. I suppose Modern Sonic is taking notes... or not.

#Sonic X Shadow Takeover Analyzer (Part 2)

#Sonic Cyber Revolution (Masterlist)