#and something about someone seeing what I needed and getting it for me without a thought even giving it a second thought

[drchucktingle]

self-diagnosis

there are a lot of older autistic buckaroos, like myself, who were diagnosed decades ago, and while i see some folks in the community roll their eyes or gatekeep about idea of autism self-diagnosis becoming so common in young buds, i love this movement. it takes nothing away from me or my identity

what it DOES do is create a way of personal understanding for young buds who might need this help. it creates a sense of solidarity. AND FOR US OLDER BUCKAROOS it does something unexpected: when i say ‘i am autistic’ i get almost no pushback and complete understanding now. people say 'oh okay'

back in my day, someone skilled at neurotypical masking could NEVER just say ‘i am autistic’ without pushback. there was either confusion, or anger, or dismissal, because folks simply did not even UNDERSTAND what autism was. you think ‘you dont look autistic’ is common now? shoulda seen back then.

so if you are also one of these older autistic buds and you are tempted to gatekeep, just remember: this is a SPECTRUM, and the more examples of the width of that spectrum we have, the better for all of us. we are out here proving love TOGETHER. heck yeah buckaroos love is real

[maskedbyghost]

Hear me out, possessive reader plays a prank, or maybe to see how it would work out and starts acting wayyy less possessive, to the point of being a normal partner..

I NEED SI REACTION

Anon, I love your fucking mind. I had the best time writing this, literally giggling and kicking my feet while imagining Simon spiraling because his crazy girl went "normal mode" on him and he couldn’t handle it for even a second. BASED ON THIS IDEA

You barely looked at him when the waitress called him handsome.

You just smiled to yourself and kept sipping your drink, didn’t glare at her, didn’t grab his hand and lace your fingers through his, didn’t scoot closer in your seat or wrap your arms around him like you used to, and Simon sat there blinking at you like he’d just been slapped across the face.

And then when you walked past a group of girls at the grocery store and one of them giggled and said something about his arms, you didn’t even flinch, didn’t even frown, didn’t even murmur something low and territorial under your breath the way you always did, and Simon actually almost tripped over the cart trying to get a reaction out of you, heart hammering so hard.

You used to get pissed if he so much as looked at another woman too long, used to give him that smug little smirk when you caught someone staring at him, used to lean into him and press your mouth to his ear and mutter "mine" so dark and low that it left him shivering for hours, and now? Now you were just... chill.

Way too chill.

He caught himself thinking insane things like maybe you were losing interest, maybe you were getting ready to leave, maybe you finally realized he wasn’t enough for you, maybe you were pulling away slow and silent to make it easier when you walked out for good, and by the time you got home, Simon’s brain was working overtime, replaying every interaction, every glance, every smile you had given that wasn’t just for him, every time you hadn't touched him when you should have.

You didn’t steal his hoodie when he tossed it on the couch.

You didn’t scroll through his phone and make snarky comments about the girls who liked his photos.

You didn’t pull into his lap when he sat down to watch TV.

You didn’t tell him to shower because he "smelled like other people," which he always secretly loved, even though he rolled his eyes and grumbled about it every time.

You just... existed next to him.

Detached.

Simon sat there on the couch while you scrolled on your phone, completely casual, legs tucked under you, not touching him at all, and he was spiraling so badly he almost convinced himself he could physically see the relationship disintegrating in real time, piece by miserable piece.

He thought about asking if you still loved him.

He thought about proposing on the spot just to lock you down before you could change your mind.

He thought about texting Johnny and asking him if it was normal to feel like your entire world was slipping out from under you because your girlfriend wasn’t being a possessive lunatic for five seconds.

Finally, when you stood up and stretched and said, "I'm gonna head to bed" without even glancing at him, without even saying goodnight or trying to drag him with you, Simon couldn’t take it anymore.

He launched off the couch and followed you, heart pounding like he was about to get left behind at the airport or something, stomach twisted into a knot.

You climbed into bed and flipped onto your side, facing away from him like it was nothing, like you hadn’t spent months curling around him like a vine the second he lay down.

He just stood there at the foot of the bed, breathing way too hard for a normal human being, feeling an honest-to-God panic attack brewing in his chest.

"Love," he said, his voice way shakier than he wanted it to be.

You didn’t even roll over. "Hmm?"

He swallowed hard, hands fisting at his sides. "You don’t want me anymore."

You snorted. Actually snorted. "What are you talking about?"

Simon clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. "You—you’re not even—you didn’t get mad when that girl flirted with me. You didn’t steal my hoodie. You didn’t call me yours even once. You’re acting like we’re—" his voice cracked and he cursed under his breath, "—like we’re normal."

You turned slowly, propping yourself up on your elbow, and the look you gave him was so infuriatingly calm he almost burst into tears on the spot.

"You mean," you said, so evenly it made his eye twitch, "like a normal girlfriend who trusts her boyfriend?"

He stared at you, chest heaving, entire body screaming at him that something was wrong.

"You’re gonna leave me," he said, absolutely sure of it, absolutely certain this was the beginning of the end.

You blinked at him for a second, like you were trying very hard not to laugh in his stupid, panicking face, and then you moved so fast he barely had time to react—you were grabbing him by the front of his shirt, hauling him down onto the bed, straddling his hips, and pinning him there with your thighs as your hands locked around his neck, firm but not tight, just enough to make him shut up and listen.

"Listen to me, you stupid, beautiful man," you said, voice low and furious in that way that made every nerve in his body light up, "you need me just as much as I need you. You belong to me. You hear me? You are fucking mine. I’m not going anywhere; I’m never fucking leaving you. I don't want normal; I want you wrapped around my fucking finger where you belong. Don’t ever doubt that again."

You leaned in closer, your nose brushing his, your hands still gripping his neck just enough to keep him pinned under you, and you added, your voice dropping even lower, smug and wicked, "And maybe I wanted you to lose your fucking mind for a bit. Wanted you to see how much you love it when I’m unhinged about you."

Simon just exhaled like he’d been punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time, his whole body sagging against the bed.

He groaned, almost whining, burying his face against your chest with a muffled, desperate, "Fuckin’ hell, don’t ever do that to me again, you psycho."

But his arms were wrapping around you like steel, holding you so tight, and when you laughed and tugged his hair gently, he actually sighed in relief, like his whole world had finally clicked back into place.

"You’re crazy," he muttered again, not even trying to sound annoyed, his voice almost grateful.

"You love it," you said against his hair, grinning wide enough your cheeks hurt.

"Yeah," he breathed, voice raw and low and real, "yeah, I fuckin’ do. I need you crazy. Need you to ruin me a little. Keep me yours."

You kissed the side of his head, smug and sweet and savage all at once, and Simon just kept breathing you in, letting that awful gnawing terror bleed out of him one slow second at a time until there was nothing left but you, your hands, your voice, your body wrapped around him like armor, pulling him deeper, anchoring him exactly where he belonged.

And he was fine, better than fine actually, and exactly where he needed to be.

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

i can't even explain how much i love this idea...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[asterafroditis]

Hi! Can I request a reader who is the wife of Lilia ( respectively the mother of the boys), she is also a fairy so she looks very young. One day she comes to visit the boys at the NRC and the freshman/sophomore/pop club members/house keepers (depending on which of the boys you are writing about) see her and say "what's a girl doing at the NRC? She's so pretty, maybe ask her out on a date (can do without the dating part)" and the boys respond with "dude, that's my mom/wife...".

𐔌 . ⋮ fae matron .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Platonic Cater, Kalim, Floyd, & Ace x fem! reader and Lilia x fem! reader

𓏵 652 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, she/her pronouns used, fluff

I'm going to assume the boys means the other Diasomnia students (´⌒｀;)... This selection is also pretty random, I just chose people Lilia has had good interactions with throughout the story (￣∇￣)

feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

It’s not every day someone unfamiliar strolls through Night Raven College—especially a woman. Word spreads quickly: some pretty girl with otherworldly looks is heading toward the school from the forest path. She’s graceful, warm-eyed, and clearly very beautiful, but she looks too young to be a visiting alumnus, much less anyone important.

─────────────────────────

Cater blinks and lowers his phone, nudging one of his friends who was standing nearby. “Whoa. Who’s that? Total stunner alert.” He squints, adjusting his phone camera a little like he’s trying to subtly zoom. “Pretty sure I’ve never seen her around before. You think she’s like... a new school nurse or something? NRC’s seriously upping its game.”

Before he can open his camera app, a small frame appears beside him.

“Cater,” Lilia says casually, hands in his sleeves, “you do realize that’s my wife, right?”

Cater freezes mid-tap. “...Say what now?”

Lilia chuckles, clearly enjoying this. “Fae don’t really age like humans do. She’s older than you, you know.”

Cater’s jaw drops. “Bro. BRO. I wasn’t trying anything, I swear! She’s just, y’know, super pretty! No harm in lookin’, right?!”

Lilia just hums. “Mm-hm. I’ll let her know you think she’s pretty, then.”

“NOPE—I’M GOOD. THANKS. #OUTOFHERE!”

─────────────────────────

Kalim is squinting curiously, a friendly grin on his face. “Whoa! She’s dressed like a noble or something! Is she lost?” He waves cheerily. “Hey! Do you need help finding someone?”

Before she can respond, Silver steps between them calmly. “She doesn’t. She’s here for me.”

Kalim blinks. “Huh? Wait... really?”

“She’s my mother— err.. Lilia's wife,” Silver says, tone even, eyes already starting to droop again like this is just another Wednesday.

Kalim sputters. “That’s your mom?! She looks—uh—I mean—wow! She’s really elegant!” He scratches his neck sheepishly. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to be weird!”

Silver just nods. “You weren’t. Just... remember that the next time you see her.”

“Noted!”

─────────────────────────

Floyd watches her pass by with mild interest. “Eeeeh? Never seen her before. She’s kinda cute. Got that floaty vibe like a jellyfish... soft lookin’...” He starts walking toward her like a shark catching a scent. “Maybe I’ll give her a squeeze and see what kind of noise she makes~”

Before he can get too close, Lilia materializes behind him. “Touch my wife and I will turn you into something squishable.”

Floyd turns slowly, blinks at Lilia, then lets out a barking laugh. “Eh?! That’s your wife?! You’re serious?” He tilts his head at her again. “Guess I see it. She dresses kinda like you.”

Lilia nods, clearly pleased. “She has excellent taste.”

Floyd stretches his arms lazily. “Tch. Boooring. Was hoping I'd get someone to scream.”

─────────────────────────

Ace nudges Deuce and tilts his chin toward the fae woman. “You seeing this? What’s a girl doing at NRC? She’s... kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

“Do you EVER engage your brain before speaking, human?!”

Sebek’s voice booms from behind them, nearly making Ace jump out of his skin.

“That is Lady Vanrouge! Wife of Master Lilia, esteemed matriarch of the Diasomnia household! How DARE you—!”

“Okay, OKAY, I didn’t know!” Ace holds his hands up in surrender. “She looks like she could be a student, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Sebek scowls, teeth clenched. “You will hold your tongue around her. Show some respect!”

You wave a hand gently, stepping in with a calm smile once you heard the familiar yelling of a certain green-haired freshman. “It’s alright, Sebek. I know he meant no harm.”

Ace, still sweating, mumbles, “Yeah, uh, sorry. You're real pretty and all, but I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on…”

Sebek’s chest puffs proudly. “Lady Vanrouge has always commanded admiration—just not from you.”

[bjlipss]

— i would love to go back to the old house;

★ synopsis: you and satoru make a promise to marry each other if you’re both still alone by thirty.

miyan’s notes: no curse au, no warnings, maybe some realness, just fluff and smut. wc: 3681.

you’re both seventeen, laying on the grass behind the school gym, where the sun’s dipped low enough to cast everything in a warm, golden haze.

it’s late spring—almost summer—and the scent of cut grass clings to your clothes, sweet and sharp. someone’s left a soccer ball abandoned a few feet away. the world feels lazy and endless, like nothing important could ever happen here.

you’re side by side, arms brushing but never quite touching, your pinkies just barely grazing sometimes when one of you shifts. satoru’s sunglasses are crooked on his face, and he doesn’t fix them. his white hair is fanned out messily over the grass, and there’s a blade of it stuck behind his ear. he hasn’t noticed.

he was dumped yesterday. you heard about it from someone else before he told you—his ex apparently said he was too much. too loud, too intense, too everything. it made you kind of furious, but you didn’t say that. you just sat with him today, like always.

your first real relationship ended last week. it wasn’t even dramatic. just two people slowly realizing they didn’t quite know how to hold each other anymore. still, it left a hollow feeling in your chest, one you’re pretending isn’t there.

he exhales, slow and dramatic. “you ever think we’re just… cursed or something?”

you snort. “that’s a little dramatic.”

“it’s me,” he says, turning his head toward you, and you can see the curve of a grin forming. “drama is my whole thing.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t say no. he quiets down again, goes back to staring at the sky with a look that’s a little more thoughtful than usual. birds are flying overhead in little staggered v’s, and there’s a faint breeze brushing your skin.

then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, he says, “if we’re both single at thirty, let’s just marry each other.”

you blink. the silence after feels loud.

“what?” you laugh, eyebrows lifting. “what kind of pact is that?”

he shrugs, still looking up. “a realistic one. we already know each other’s worst habits. you can tolerate me. that’s rare.”

“you’re an idiot,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “but sure. yeah. a backup plan. solid.”

you mean it like a joke. like a throwaway thing. but then he turns his head toward you, and his glasses slide down his nose just enough that you can see his eyes—really see them.

“no,” he says. “i’m serious.”

you stare at him. he’s not laughing. there’s something oddly earnest in the way he says it, like he’s offering something fragile and important without realizing it. like a promise he doesn’t expect you to keep, but wants you to want to.

your heart does a weird thing. tightens. pulls.

you swallow. “okay. me too.”

neither of you says anything after that. the sun dips lower. the breeze picks up. the world moves around you, but for a moment, it’s just the two of you in that quiet stretch of time, young and bruised and hopeful.

your pinkies brush again.

this time, neither of you pulls away.

—

years pass.

at first, the promise is a soft, silly memory tucked into the back of your mind like a note in a locker you never emptied. you think about it sometimes—on your birthday, when your heart gets broken again, when you see a wedding invitation in the mail and wonder how people keep getting so lucky. the pact becomes a kind of quiet comfort, a lighthouse in the distance. not real, but there. always there.

you go to university. he does too. different cities, different people, different rhythms. you both grow into yourselves slowly, awkwardly, like plants reaching for light in the wrong season. you learn how to love better. how to walk away when you need to. how to be alone and not hate it.

you date people who are kind. people who challenge you. people who hurt you in ways that teach you something. some of them ask about him, the boy in the old photos, the one whose name still slips out when you’re tired or wine-drunk. you always brush it off, say he’s just someone from your past. nothing more. nothing to see here.

he dates too. once, you find out through a mutual that he’s seeing someone seriously—a girl who’s smart and sweet and nothing like you. it bothers you more than you want to admit. but you never say anything. you just keep your head down, push it away like you do with everything else that hurts. you’re happy for him, you think. you should be.

life moves fast, and slow, and fast again. you move cities. he changes jobs. there are stretches of time where you don’t think about him at all—and then suddenly everything reminds you of him again. a song he used to hum under his breath. the way someone else laughs. a white-haired stranger passing by on the street, so close to the version of him you remember but not quite right. the ghost of him lingers, not haunting you, but following you in the corners of your life.

and then, there are the moments when life tangles your paths back together.

—

it’s your friend’s birthday—an old classmate who’s turned their tiny apartment into a chaos of people and warm lights. the kind of party that’s too loud, too crowded, but you’re here anyway because it’s easier to go than stay home. the tension of being alone hits you in the chest as soon as you walk in. everyone’s happy. everyone’s with someone. everyone’s moving forward, but you’re stuck at some point in the past, lingering in the gap between where you were and where you should be.

you almost don’t go, tired from work, emotionally drained. but you show up, because something tells you to. maybe it’s because you promised yourself you’d stop running from things that make you uncomfortable. or maybe it’s just the weird way life works, pulling you toward the people and places you’re not ready for yet.

you’re standing near the kitchen, sipping a drink you don’t really care about, when you hear it—a laugh that cuts through the noise, familiar and unexpected. a laugh you know instantly, one that hits you in the chest like a familiar song. it’s a sound you haven’t heard in years, but it’s like it never left.

you turn, the crowd of people blurring out of focus, and there he is.

satoru.

he’s leaning against the fridge, talking to someone you don’t recognize, his hair a little longer, his shirt untucked, uncuffed. still so him, but also… different. his face is older, but still beautiful in that effortless way, the same white hair, the same sharp eyes that seem to know you even from across the room.

he sees you. he freezes. and for a second, it’s like time holds its breath.

“hey,” he says, voice soft, almost surprised. “you look…”

he doesn’t finish the sentence. but you hear it anyway. you look the same. you look different. i didn’t expect to see you here.

you smile like you’re not unraveling. like it doesn’t matter that your heart just skipped a beat. “it’s been a while.”

he hugs you then, warm and solid. it lasts a second too long. too much unsaid between you both, but it’s all there in the tension of his arms around you. the promise is still alive in the quiet air between your breaths. but neither of you mentions it.

he leaves before you do.

—

months later, it’s a late-night convenience store in tokyo. you’re tired, bleary-eyed, the kind of exhausted that comes from too many late shifts and not enough sleep. you’re reaching for instant noodles and a bottle of tea when you hear the shuffle of footsteps behind you. you don’t look, too focused on the shelves in front of you. but then you hear it—his voice, soft but unmistakable.

“you live around here now?” he asks, stunned.

you freeze for a moment. and then you turn.

there he is, standing in the aisle like he’s part of some strange dream. his hair is tied back messily, longer than before. he’s holding a bag of sour candies, blinking at you like he’s not sure if you’re real or if his tired eyes are just playing tricks on him.

“yeah,” you say, suddenly self-conscious. “just moved a couple months ago.”

“me too,” he says, a little sheepish. “just moved last week. tokyo’s a lot different from what i remembered.”

you laugh, and for a moment, it’s like you’re both seventeen again, standing in the hallway after class, talking about nothing. only now, it’s quieter. more knowing. there’s a little more space between you both, but you don’t feel it as much as you think you should. he’s still satoru, after all.

you talk for a few minutes, small things. the weather. work. how both of you somehow managed to end up in the same city again after all this time. his hair’s longer now, and so is yours. there’s something different about him, something worn into the lines of his face, but you’re still the same. you’re still the same. the realization hits you like a wave.

when you say goodbye, there’s a small flicker of something in his eyes. like he wants to say something else. something important. maybe you do too. but you don’t.

you both go your separate ways, the moment slipping away with every step, but neither of you forgets it. not really.

—

another year passes. you’re invited to a mutual friend’s engagement party. you don’t know it’s mutual until you arrive and see him standing on the balcony, glass of wine in hand. his back is to you, but you recognize the way his shoulders sit under the weight of the world, the way his posture softens when he’s trying to relax.

you hesitate. for a second, you think about leaving. about turning around and pretending you never saw him, never heard that familiar laugh or felt that same ache in your chest. but you stay. something inside you says that this is the time. that maybe, just maybe, the universe is ready for you to have the conversation you’ve been avoiding for years.

you walk over. he turns, and his eyes widen when he sees you.

“this is getting ridiculous,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “we keep showing up like we’re being summoned.”

you laugh, but it’s a little more nervous than you mean it to be. “maybe we are.”

you talk for fifteen minutes, small talk mostly. his girlfriend is waiting inside—he doesn’t say that, but you can tell. he’s polite, but distant this time. something in his eyes is different, more guarded than you remember. and it’s strange. it feels like a wall has gone up between you both, and you can’t figure out why. you want to ask, but you don’t. it’s not your place.

something tightens in your chest, a quiet jealousy you don’t want to feel but can’t help. so you excuse yourself early.

—

and then there’s the funeral.

someone you both knew in high school. someone you weren’t close to, but close enough to go. it’s raining—of course it is—and your coat is too thin for the chill. the crowd is subdued, the kind of heavy silence you only get at funerals. you stand off to the side, trying not to draw attention, but then you spot him across the crowd.

he’s standing alone under an umbrella, his jaw clenched. his eyes are cast downward, but when he looks up, he sees you. his gaze sharpens, like he’s unsure if you’re really there. but then he steps toward you, slow and hesitant.

you don’t speak much. just stand side by side beneath the gray sky, the rain soft on your faces, like a veil between everything that was and everything that could have been. you don’t know if it’s the weight of the moment or something else, but it feels like you’re both seventeen again, standing in that quiet space between friendship and something more.

afterward, when you’re on the train home, your phone buzzes. a contact name that hasn’t been on your phone for a while.

satoru: thirty’s not that far.

you stare at the screen for a long time, the words sinking into your chest like a stone. the promise that’s always been there, waiting for the right moment to be spoken. but now, in the quiet of your apartment, you don’t reply.

you think about it. about everything. about how he said it, softer than usual, quieter than you’re used to. you think about his eyes, the way they followed yours. the rain on his umbrella. the years that have passed.

you think about his voice, and you wonder if he remembers the exact words. you wonder if he ever stopped.

—

… you almost don’t go. again.

the invitation sits unopened on your counter for days before you cave, peeling it open with the tip of your key. you don’t recognize the name on the envelope immediately, but inside, there’s a handwritten card. a friend-of-a-friend, someone you once shared a table with at a dinner party, who remembered your smile. you had forgotten about them, honestly. but here they are, inviting you into their life, into their celebration. their quiet reminder that life moves on, and people keep finding their paths while you still seem to be standing still.

“it’ll be nice,” your coworker says when you mention it offhand. “dress up, eat fancy cake, forget your life for an evening.”

you smile. nod. pretend it’s not terrifying—the thought of being surrounded by people who’ve figured it out—who’ve found their person, their path, their place in the world. the thought of seeing them again—the ones who chose their someone. and you’re left holding only the pieces of a promise, one you had never quite stopped waiting on.

but you go anyway. because you said you would. because maybe, just maybe, it will be easier to let go of things you’re holding onto by showing up. by being there.

the venue is small and beautiful, tucked in a quiet corner of the city. ivy climbs up stone walls, winding their way to the second floor, the kind of building that feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something important to happen. soft music spills out from the inside, cascading into the courtyard where the last rays of the day spill gold over everyone’s skin, turning them all into something fleeting, something perfect.

you wear a color you’ve always liked on yourself, something soft and simple, but still carefully chosen. it’s funny—how you’ve started choosing your clothes more for yourself than for anyone else. how you’ve learned to dress for the person you’ve grown into, not the one you thought you’d be. you smile as you check your reflection one last time. and then, you spot it—lipstick on your teeth. for the first ten minutes, you don’t know, and then someone kindly points it out, their laugh light and warm. you laugh too, grateful for the small kindness. you take a drink from a glass of champagne that’s almost too pretty to touch, as if it should be saved for something special, and for a second, you almost feel like you belong here.

you don’t know many people at the party. that’s fine. you’ve never been one to throw yourself into the middle of things. you’ve always been the one to drift at events like these, skimming the surface, smiling politely, offering a few words here and there, but keeping your hands folded in your lap when you sit, staying small, staying unnoticed.

you make it through the ceremony. the vows are sweet. you clap when you’re supposed to. you eat a few hors d’oeuvres, and when the music gets too loud and the voices start blending into a buzz, you slip away to the balcony. it’s quiet out here. the city hums beneath you, distant and untouchable. for a moment, you let yourself breathe.

and then you hear it—laughter. soft, familiar. close.

you turn, already knowing. already feeling the weight of it before you see him.

he’s standing a few steps away from the doorway, talking to someone you don’t recognize. sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie a little loose like he’s just been letting the night happen around him. his hair’s still white—shorter now, messier, and there’s something about the way the years have softened him in places you never thought could soften. his eyes still hold that distant glimmer, the one you always tried to make sense of. but now, there’s something more grounded in him—something that matches the tiredness you’ve started carrying around yourself.

he’s changed. and he hasn’t.

your chest tightens.

then, like some invisible thread has tugged at his spine, he turns.

his eyes land on you.

and the world tilts, just slightly.

he goes still.

you don’t move either.

something deep in your ribs aches with how long it’s been, with how many almosts have collected between you over the years. so many moments where he almost looked back, where you almost said something, where life almost collided and made sense. but it didn’t. not then. and maybe not now.

his expression shifts—surprise first, then something warmer. softer. something like disbelief, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, one that you can’t ignore. maybe it’s a memory. maybe it’s hope.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer. his voice is quieter than you remember, like he’s afraid to break the moment. “i didn’t know you were coming.”

you swallow, suddenly aware of how dry your throat is. “me either. i didn’t know we had mutual friends.”

he lets out a breath that sounds too much like a laugh. “of course we do. fate’s had a weird sense of humor since we were seventeen.”

you don’t say anything. you just look at him.

his eyes scan your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. he looks at you as though you’re someone he never quite expected to see again, and it feels like he’s seeing all of you, not just the parts he remembers. he’s still beautiful in that effortless way—how he’s always been—but now, there’s something real in it. something tired, something weighted, something that speaks of the years between. of all the things that have happened since.

you speak first. “you look good.”

he smiles slowly, his mouth curving up in that easy way that always made your heart trip. “so do you. better than good.”

you roll your eyes a little. “still laying it on thick, i see.”

“you used to like that,” he murmurs, and there’s something vulnerable in the way his voice dips, something nostalgic, almost like he wants to reach back through time and pull out the version of you that used to smile when he flirted. the version that used to think it meant something. “used to smile when i flirted.”

“used to,” you echo. but your voice is gentler than the words. there’s a quiet understanding between you now. something that was there before, buried beneath everything that has passed.

a beat passes.

and then he asks, almost cautiously, “are you still with anyone?”

you shake your head.

his eyes flicker, searching yours for something. for a sign. “me neither.”

your stomach flips.

there’s something there in his gaze—something that feels like an opening, like a crack where the past might slip back in. you both stand there, framed by the golden glow of the setting sun and the hum of music drifting in from the party. it feels like the air around you is waiting. like the universe has been holding its breath, waiting for this moment, just to see what you’ll do now. to see what the two of you will decide to do with all the time that has passed, with all the unspoken things between you.

“you remember,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “what we said, back then?”

you don’t pretend you don’t. you nod. “yeah. i remember.”

his hands slip into his pockets. he shifts a little, as though unsure of himself, and his eyes stay locked on yours. “at some point i started to think it was just a joke. something we said to make the world feel less uncertain.”

“me too,” you admit, the words soft and honest. “but it never stopped feeling real.”

he tilts his head, watching you, and you can feel the weight of everything hanging in the space between you. “i kept waiting,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost unsure. “not on purpose. not always. but every time something ended, every time i felt alone again, i’d think—maybe we’re still heading there. maybe we just haven’t caught up to the promise yet.”

your breath hitches. it feels like the air is too thick. too much. too many years folded up between you.

“and now we’re thirty,” he says, a small, stunned smile tugging at his lips. “and you’re here. and i’m here. and i don’t want to waste more time pretending like i don’t want this.”

you look at him. really look at him. and suddenly, all the years, all the almosts, all the moments where you left too early or he looked back too late, they don’t feel like failures anymore. they feel like steps—each one leading you toward this. this moment. this chance to finally make good on something that’s been waiting.

you take one step now.

closer.

his breath catches when your fingers brush his, like he’s not sure if this is real, if it’s happening. And then, when you don’t pull away, when you stay there, your fingers lacing together as though it’s always been that easy, something shifts. The years that kept you apart, the missed chances, the long silences—they start to fall away.

you lean in.

and when you kiss him, it’s not loud, not dramatic, not bursting with fireworks.

it’s quiet.

it’s soft.

it’s like coming home.

it’s like finally keeping a promise you never really stopped waiting on.

[bubblegumgothglados]

We've been mutuals for quite some time and I've always respected your opinions on bdsm and in general, they're tend to be well written and thoughtful. So I'm going to very generously assume this is written in good faith and respond in kind.

1. I should have put a disclaimer talking about consent and communication being mandatory. Kinda thought I didn't have to? Kinda thought it was known that we don't do bdsm without communications and consent? I didn't put a consent warning on my fingernail pulling guide so why should I have to here? I've written about consent dozens of other places, should I put a disclaimer on every post? Or better yet between every paragraph? Between every word??? (I'm being shitty here and I know it, I probably should have written a short paragraph on consent and communication at the start of this post because things like this tend to leave the circle of people who know me and therefore know I'm a huge advocate for ethical kink)

2. Infantilization. Yeah my bad, I can totally see how it could be read that way and how that could make people uncomfortable. I've been a parent for that 12 years and a CG too so in relating things to my own experiences I can often be condescending and belittling. Any reminder to be mindful of that is appreciated.

3. They might not want to loose or they might seek situations where you both loose. Totally valid point, absolute miss on my behalf for not mentioning that and possibly over simplifying. Thank you

4. Me: describes a category of submissive. You: "yeah but what about {describes someone who doesn't fit into that category}". Sorry how is this a useful addition? What were you trying to say here? What, actually, was your point? Let me make this real clear; anyone who enjoys being bratty, not as a means to an end but in and of itself, is a type 3 by my definition. And like, if you don't think these are useful delineations then don't use them? But what I've found in my almost decade and a half of being a domme is that most submissives just want to obey and be good, and a reasonable portion of them have learnt one way or another that they can only get what they want by being bratty. But they're not actually enjoying it they're enjoying what it gets them and they'd be much happier if they could get what they want without having to be a brat. That's why I find it useful to look at their motives and figure out exactly why they are doing what they're doing. Which seems like a pretty harmless and easy to understand point. I could absolutely have written several paragraphs about the wide array of ways brats want to play or the emotions they want to play with, I didn't feel that was within the scope of what I wanted to say in this post.

5. "If either you or your dom don't like the game you're playing, change the game into something you both like". Couldn't agree more. Does not contradict my advice "if your brat is winning change the game" which maybe I need to elaborate on? What I'm trying to say here is it's easy to get caught "fighting" (in quotation marks because this is all consensual fun and games) on one axis, but you don't have to "fight" on the axis they're challenging you on, you can flip the script and verbally flank them "hitting" them where you know it'll have an effect.

As a final note I really do enjoy brats and brattiness, I enjoy struggling and fighting, I'd only want to help someone change for their own good in ways they want to change not against their will.

OK so brats

They're actually really easy to control once you understand their motivation. And generally I split them up into three groups.

1. Attachment issues. Brats in this category need constant reassurance that you love them but often can't communicate that to you. So they seek this reassurance by breaking rules to test if you care about them enough to put them in their place. It's not a game and it should be taken seriously. If you're consistent with your rules they will eventually learn that they are loved and will stop intentionally breaking rules. If you've ever parented a 2-4yo you know what I mean.

2. Masochists. These brats, some way or another, have learnt that the best way to get their dom to hurt them is by acting out. You can control these brats by: a) internalising that punishments aren't good tools for training. b) using pain as a reward. c) reassuring them that there's nothing wrong with wanting pain and rewarding them when they use their words.

3. Fucking Brats. These brats just enjoy fighting, they want you to fight back and they want to loose. You can control these brats by refusing to engage or by communicating to them that this is not the time and you don't want to fight right now. You can train the brat out of them by using disappointment but honestly if you don't also enjoy the fight then you probably shouldn't be playing with this type of brat.

Secret 4th option. Obedient submissives who just like to banter and have been labeled brats by people who have never experienced an actual brat.

And remember; if your brat is winning then change the game

[botanicsoul]

Behind the Screen

Pro Hero | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Blogger Reader | Aged Up

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧. 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

—

You post it as a joke. Kind of.

It’s late, and you’re curled up in bed with your fanfic draft open and half a Twix in your mouth. Your followers are going wild in the replies, and you’re riding the high of being the “unofficial Dynamight smut queen” of the timeline. You’ve been known for your over-the-top thirst tweets, but this one? This one’s feral.

—

@/blastyourbackout

“Dynamight wouldn’t even take the suit off. He’d fuck you with the gauntlets still on, breathing heavy through gritted teeth, all ‘Shut up and take it—this is what you wanted, right?’”

—

You toss your phone. That’s enough unhinged behavior for the night. Until the morning comes—and you wake up to hell.

Your tweet is trending. His name is trending. People are tagging him.

—

“this is NASTY and i love it.”

“@Dynamightofficial please read this and confirm or deny.”

“If Dynamight didn’t do this, I’d be shocked.”

“SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM”

“@Dynamightofficial thoughts??”

Then it happens.

—

@Dynamightofficial :

“Who tf is behind this account.”

“If you’re gonna talk like that, be brave enough to show your face.”

You nearly throw up. Your DMs? Melted. And sitting right at the top.

[Private Message – @Dynamightofficial]

“You write a lotta shit for someone who hides behind a screen.”

“You really think I’d leave the fuckin’ suit on?”

“Show me your face if you’re gonna say it like you know me.”

Your heart is pounding. And you shouldn’t. But you do. You send a selfie. Just a soft one. T-shirt, messy hair, bare face. You look like someone who absolutely shouldn’t be writing the filth he just read.

There’s a long pause.

He starts to finally type:

“…fuck.”

“You’re cute.”

“like super fuckin’ cute”

“You don’t look like someone who says I’d blow your back out against a fuckin’ window.”

You:

“I mean… would you?”

Him:

“You really wanna know?”

“You clearly think you know it all, writing the way you do.”

“So what—wanna let me show you what it’s really like?”

You pause. Breathless. Fingers trembling.

“Yes.”

⸻

A few days later, the meet-up actually happened.

You gave him your address—half-joking, half-panicking when he immediately replied with a thumbs up and a “Bet.”

You spent the next two days spiraling.

Cleaned every inch of your apartment. Shaved, exfoliated, moisturized places you didn’t even know needed it. Practiced how you’d open the door without looking like you were seconds from passing out. Told yourself it was just casual, just fun, just… whatever. you totally weren’t about to get fucked dumb by your fav pro that you write smut about.

Except it wasn’t. Because now. He’s at your door.

And he’s in the fucking suit.

Mask off. Jaw set. Gloves still on. That big, broad chest rising and falling.

Black and orange, thick with tension and sweat and that sharp smoky scent that clings to him after a patrol. His hair’s a mess. One gauntlet is attached, the other dangling from his hip. And he’s just standing there—broad, massive, silent—like he owns the whole building.

You freeze. Your heart slams.

“…Hi,” you manage to say.

His eyes drag over you—down your legs, over the shorts you probably could’ve made smaller and the tank top that wasn’t technically meant to be seductive, but absolutely became that under stress.

“Damn,” he mutters. “You look even better when you’re nervous.”

You try to laugh but it comes out breathless. “You really wore the suit?”

“uuuh yeah? did you think I was gonna show up here in a hoodie after all the shit you wrote about this thing?” He steps closer. “Thought I’d let you see it up close before I ruined your sheets.”

Your knees go weak.

You try to respond—something witty, something smug—but your words get caught somewhere between your throat and the fact that he’s already inside. Pushing the door shut behind him. Glancing around like he’s checking for cameras, or exits, or maybe just where he’s gonna lay you out first.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low. Rough. Already undoing the gauntlet from his wrist with one hand, tossing it aside.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah.”

He smirks—steps in closer until you’re backed up against the nearest wall, breath catching.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been losing sleep over the way you said I’d fuck you in this suit.”

You stare up at him, completely wrecked just by his presence, and whisper, “Was I right about some of this stuff I wrote?”

He dips his head down, lips brushing yours—barely.

“I’m here to fact check it.” he growls.

You shudder.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, eyes dragging down your body like he’s mentally ripping off every layer.

He hasn’t even touched you properly yet—but your back’s against your door, your legs are trembling, and Bakugou’s towering over you like he’s already won.

“That tweet got me thinkin’ about you all fuckin’ day, baby. Let’s see if you write better when you’re sore.”

His hero suit creaks with every breath. Heavy-duty gauntlets still locked around his wrists. His undersuit clings to him, black and orange and unforgiving across his chest, his thighs—everything.

“You scared?” he asks, voice low. His hand comes up—gloved fingers trailing under your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Or just nervous I’m actually gonna live up to that filthy little imagination of yours?”

Your breath catches.

“…both.”

He smirks. Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything you wrote about—demanding, rough, obsessed. He kisses like a man starved. Like he’s been reading your tweets on loop.

And god, when his hand slides down your waist—those big gloved fingers gripping your ass, hoisting you up—your back hits the wall and you let out a soft, stunned whimper.

“That the sound you make when you’re not behind a screen?” he growls, lips dragging along your neck. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re even better in person.”

You try to answer, but he’s already slipping one hand between your thighs, dragging his knuckles over your heat—still covered by your shorts.

“Wrote that I’d be mean with it,” he murmurs. “That I’d tease you. Make you beg.”

His gloved finger presses just right over the damp spot in your underwear.

“So beg.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You feel insane.

“P-Please.”

He groans. “That all I get after all those filthy paragraphs?”

“Dynamight—”

His eyes flash. “Katsuki.”

You pant, skin burning.

“Please, Katsuki.”

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He carries you to your room practically kicking the damn door down. Your back hits the mattress, but he doesn’t follow right away. He stands at the edge of the bed, breathing heavy, gaze dark and hungry.

His suit’s half-unzipped now—exposing his chest, glistening with sweat and tension—but everything else stays on. That thick black material clings to his arms and thighs like sin. The gauntlets drop to the floor with a heavy thud, but the gloves? Still on. And he flexes his fingers slow—just to watch you squirm.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he mutters, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to memorize it. “Sittin’ there on your little blog, makin’ people think you’ve got me figured out.”

Your thighs squeeze together. He notices. Smirks. “Lemme show you how right you were.”

He crawls over you like a storm. Muscles shifting under his suit, voice dipping low, filthy, as he shoves your shirt up, lips ghosting over your stomach.

You arch when his teeth graze your hip. “Katsuki—”

“That’s right, baby,” he mutters, pulling your shorts off slow. “Say my name when you write about this later too.”

He pushes your thighs open, and he goes down. Tongue eager. Desperate. He eats you out like he’s proving a point—like he’s got something to prove to every single tweet you’ve ever posted. Groaning into you, gripping your thighs tight like he wants to leave handprints. You’re moaning, shaking, gripping the sheets, and he’s just eating it up—literally.

He comes up with his mouth slick and eyes wild. “Not even close to done with you.” And he isn’t.

He flips you. Presses you into the mattress. One hand on your hip, the other grabbing your wrist and dragging it up the bed.

“Hold that headboard, princess.” You feel him line up—still in the damn suit—and your breath catches as he sinks in.

Slow. Deep. Bruising.

“Fuck,” he hisses, jaw clenched. “You feel like I imagined. So fuckin’ tight, so wet—shit.”

You cry out. He starts moving. Harder. Deeper.

Every stroke is a claim. His hand slides down your back, then back up to wrap around your throat—not choking, just holding. Just letting you feel it.

“Write about this next time” he growls into your ear. “Write about about me makin’ you cum multiple fuckin’ times.”

You whimper—high, breathy, wrecked.

“That’s right. Take it. You wanted this.”

“I did,” you gasp. “I wanted you—”

“You fuckin’ got me now.”

When you fall apart—completely, wildly, back-arching and moaning his name like a prayer—he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

Because he’s obsessed now. Addicted.

Your thighs are trembling. Your voice is hoarse. Your sheets are a mess—twisted, damp, clinging to your skin like the heat of him isn’t already enough.

He’s still going.

“One more,” he grits out, thrusts snapping into you slow and deep. “C’mon, baby—just one more for me.”

You’re barely hanging on—nails dragging helplessly down his back, vision blurry with overstimulation, body trembling under him as he rocks into you, all tight grunts and low, broken groans.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Takin’ me so good—fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”

You moan, shattered.

He growls, fucks you harder, chasing his release like a wildfire. And when he finally gets there—when you clench around him, gasping out his name in a breathless sob— He snaps.

“Knew it,” he groans, hips stuttering. “Knew I’d fill this pussy the second I saw you.” oh, and he does. Deep. Warm. Heavy. Flooding you.

He keeps moving—shallow, deep rolls—just to push it in. Just to feel it drip. Just to make it last. His head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin.

You barely register him pulling out until you feel it—messy, hot, dripping down your thighs.

“fuuuck you’re beautiful” he murmurs smirking down at you. Wrecked, ruined, glowing. He lays down beside you, just looking at you like you were a fucking trophy.

He then reaches for his phone.

—

[New Tweet – @Dynamightofficial]

“Just fact-checked one of your little fantasy tweets. 11/10 accuracy. Would reread. Would re-enact.”

—

You see what’s he doing and it snaps you out your daze, your eyes go wide. “You didn’t—!”

“Too late,” he shrugs. “Let ‘em guess which one it was.”

You grabbed your phone just as quick to quote it.

—

[New Tweet – @blastyourbackout]

“Just know the gloves stayed on.”

—

The internet breaks.

You can barely feel your legs.

And Katsuki Bakugou? THE pro hero Dynamight?

He’s already rolling over, tugging you to his chest, muttering in your ear, “Hope you’re not tired, princess. I’ve got a lot more tweets to prove right.”

[xjulixred45x]

NRC Staff with Pregnant Yuu!

Suggestion from @donanimee

Okay, first things first, the odd man out we all hate: CROWLEY.

Now, to be fair, I don't think Crowley would be as bad to a clearly pregnant Yuu as he would to a normal student. Sure, he's still extremely negligent and utterly unaccountable, but he wouldn't give Yuu the same responsibilities (just to maintain the appearance of "someone kind helping a poor woman in a vulnerable moment").

Their interactions remain the same, though Crowley strikes me as the kind of person who treats pregnant women like big babies or as if they're dangerous due to hormones (and yes, he'll use the hormones excuse constantly), especially when Yuu gets mad at him and tries to demand answers. His response? Talking to her like she's a baby in the most frustrating way possible.

If Yuu is especially emotional (again, pregnancy hormones are no joke), Crowley will awkwardly try to comfort her, but he doesn't do much else to support her. Things like doctors, appointments, or clothes will have to be handled by Yuu. 2/10, don't ask for his help, it's the same as nothing.

Sam, on the other hand, is someone Yuu interacts with most often, whether it's for grocery shopping or just when she needs something from her shop. If Yuu goes to Sam's shop alone, he usually accompanies her to Ramshakle and helps her with her shopping (with the help of the shadows, of course). After all, he can't let one of his favorite customers hurt her back.

Sam also tends to "conveniently" have things on sale when Yuu comes shopping, things that make her life easier, ESPECIALLY if Yuu is short on money. Sam is more empathetic towards a pregnant Yuu, and therefore she has better opportunities to negotiate better prices with Sam.

If Yuu needs help with anything, she can ask Sam for help. With ANYTHING, she can ask for things like baby supplies, maternity clothes, etc. Think of it as an investment, free of charge. 8/10, recommended, but he's not available all the time.

VARGAS OH MY GOD. He does a complete 180-degree turn in his attitude toward Yuu compared to how he treats the other students. While the first-years have to do exercises worthy of Spartan warriors, Yuu does basic gymnastics. Yuu even ends up learning several Lamaze exercises thanks to Vargas! It's almost envious that Yuu can skip the hellish exercises, but Vargas doesn't seem to mind.

Even if Vargas isn't the smartest, he's someone who believes men should help women, especially pregnant ones! So he acts like a stereotypical gentleman with Yuu, opening doors, carrying heavy things, etc. And he urges the other students to do the same (if anyone causes Yuu any trouble, that means more hellish exercises).

Definitely helpful and very motivating, 10/10.

Trein is the one who most reproaches Crowley for his neglect of Yuu when he finds out about her pregnancy. His paternal instincts kick in, and he becomes Yuu's main emotional support. Trein can't imagine what it must be like to have a baby far from home, in an unfamiliar place, without your family to help you—it's almost a nightmare. And he won't let Yuu fall into despair.

Trein often comes to Ramshakle to check on Yuu, sometimes bringing food, sometimes even repairing some things in the dorm. If Yuu is in college or some higher education, Trein can give her some private lessons, and generally be there for Yuu when things get... dark. Yuu can afford to be more honest with Trein; he understands her fears and frustrations better than anyone, and he can reassure her that her emotions are valid and that everything will be okay.

Trein can lend her various things for the baby! he still keeps several things from when his daughters were little girls/babies; he could even give her a crib. Yuu could trust him with her baby any day. 10/10, highly recommended, just two parents who understand each other.

Last but not least: Crewel. He's much less demanding with Yuu, even turning a blind eye if he sees her struggling with the subject. Considering that Crewel's class is prone to...accidents, it's likely that even Divus implements some extra safety measures, especially as Yuu's pregnancy progresses. At some point, he even gives her a free pass to skip class and send him her homework from home, it's not worth the risk of Yuu and the baby getting hurt during class.

Did you see how he calls all the students Pup or Puppy? Well, he likes to call Yuu Top Dog! (This applies to all Yuu!Parents), he definitely thinks her diligence and motherly attitude toward the students is adorable, so he tends to go easy on her. Along with Vil, he's one of the ones who takes Yuu shopping for things like pretty maternity dresses (or comfortable shoes).

Yuu is one of the few students who has access to the potions cabinet in case she feels particularly ill due to pregnancy hormones (backache, headaches, vomiting, stomach aches, etc.). 10/10.

Conclusion: Ask any adult in this school for help, as long as it's not Crowley.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[gay-dorito-dust]

been thinking about dante with an artist!reader who secretly draws him (he finds out anyways). like he knows they can draw but suddenly stumbles upon a whole different sketch book and sees beautiful drawings/doodles of him in either his human form or devil trigger even. I can imagine he’d be a lil’ emotional bc “never thought someone could see me this way” and then confronts the reader about it (its all cute and stuff*barffss*)

Dante had never once knew a day where you were without your sketchbooks, pens, pencils, a handful of colouring pencils and a incredible talent to bring whatever you drew to life. It didn't matter what it was that you were drawing becuase it always came out looking better then the actual thing; art was a massive part of your life with some of your favourite works were pinned to your walls, showcasing your range as well as your clutered desk filled with half finished sketches and images that you were using as references were strewn about the desk too.

So when you had asked him to grab something from your room, a sketchbook? pencils? that weird manakin that you use when drawing people? He couldn't remeber exactly what you wanted as it went in one ear and out the other. So he thought if he grabbed whatever his eyes landed on and pray that it was the one that you needed, however what his eyes first saw was your open sketchbook on your desk, and on the two page spread was sketches and drawings of him and his devil trigger form.

Dante's breath hitched in his throat as he felt himself move on it's own towards the open sketchbook on your desk to get a better look of the sketches, only to be left without without any air within his lungs as he saw how you saw him; dangerous but in the beautiful way possible with how you made the red within his coat stand out, or how you made gold mingle with the red of his devil trigger pratically glow in a heavenly light as his horns looked more like a halo then actual devil horns.

You even made his wings looked beautiful on their own with how you made them look as though they had collected all the colours in existence and selfishly hoarded them within his demonic looking wings!

You made him look ehtreal, like he wasn't a demon but instead an angel with a unique look that made him look demonic, and it was enough to have dante a little caught up in his feelings as he didn't exactly held a fondess towards his demonic heritage as it was only something that granted him more benifits for demon hunting and nothing more. Yet here you were making him wanting to appreciate this aspect of himslef when he goes through all of your sketches, only to find more of his devil trigger and himself whether it'd be him fast as sleep or eating pizza and strawberry sundaes; You made him look like a work of art only ever seen within a museum along with the other admired masterpieces.

Something he didn't think anyone would ever see him -especially his devil trigger form- in that particular light and you only proved him wrong by drawing him the way you saw him on the daily, and enough to draw him in bulk within the precious pages of you've sketchbook, something you've told him stuck with him about how you didn't draw anything you didn't view as beautiful or was worth showing it's hidden beauty.

So seeing him within your sketchbook only made Dante feel more honoured to be viewed as beautiful by you, to be the muse that you spent countless and tireless hours working on to perfection late into the night, to be something you wanted to display the truest beauty of by drawing him from the heart of an artist and the end result was something Dante couldn't have fathomed at all.

Further forgetting what he had came into your room orignally for, Dante rushed out the door and went down the stairs in a flash as thougg he was running out of time, capturing you within his arms as he burries his head within your neck and catching you by surpise. 'Jesus Dante, what's gotten into you.' you laughed as you heard him purr soflty in your ear, making you smile and begin to run your fingers through his hair gingerly. 'what's going on within that head of yours?' you add barely above a whisper as his arms tightened on your waist.

'I saw you're drawings of me.' was all he said, still in someway in disbelief that you could make someone like him look like something worth drawing, worth any aspect of portayal as anything other then some half demon that people stay clear of.

You stop caressing his hair upon hearing him say this, which only made him groan as he nudged his head further into your neck needily, huffing and pouting like an overgrown puppy dog that desperetly craves affection constantly. 'You did?' Dante hums. 'what did you think of them?' you asked, nervous now of what his thoughts and opinions on them were.

'i've never had someone draw me, or see me like you do.' Dante says. 'You know i've never liked my devil trigger, nor the fact that i'm half demon, but yet seeing your drawings of me have made me want to be kinder to myself and not be so harsh to a part od me that you view as beautiful.' He adds, kissing the side of your neck as you caresed his hair once more, making him purr once more as his eyes closed in content upon feeling safe.

'Silly Dante.' you cooed, kissing the side of his head, 'of course i see you as beautiful, always have and it doesn't matter what form you take because you'll always be my beautiful muse, devil trigger or my sweet toothed man,' you finished, wanting nothing the to make Dante see that he was all the man you ever seen him as no matter what, it was the least you could do in hopes of showing Dante that he was worth the time and effort you put into your drawings of him; You do it a hundred times over again if it meant getting squashed tightly against his chest as he purrs into your neck like an conent cat.

Dante pulls away to look you in the eye, mimicing your soft smile as he rests his forhead against yours, high off of your words as he wished he had met you earlier in his life but regareless he'd treasure you with his whole heart for as long as he can. 'Your too good to me sweetheart, far too good for me but i'm too selfish to let you go now, far too greedy to let anyone else be seen the way you see me.' he says, nudging his nose to yours.

'Then be selfish all you like becuase i'm not going anywhere, im content here in your arms as life with you is an adventure i wake up each morning eager to greet with open arms.' You tell him, pecking his lips soflty as another purr ripped from his throat. 'but please for the love of god don't leave pizza boxes laying about again or i'm cutting you off from having strawberry sundaes for a month.' you added with a pointed look as Dante pales, knowing this was bound to come to light no matter how much he kisses and cuddles you to death.

'Dully noted sweetheart, dully noted.' Dante said, hoping you wouldn't actually cut him off from his strawberry sundaes.

[inuiiwonderland]

PARENTS?!

You knew something was off the moment you woke up a few minutes before your alarm went off and how you and grim were able to have a peaceful morning without chaos.

Words: 2k

Heartslabyul x gn reader!

I just combined the word mama + papa and got MAPA so yeah…..

-

Something about today didn’t feel right

For starters, you woke up a few minutes before your alarm went off, you and grim were able to shake off the sleep and actually got out of bed without a fuss for once!

And then, the two of you actually got ready on time and even had time to eat some breakfast before heading out to class. For the first time in forever!

Then, the whole walk to class was peaceful and no one came by to disturb the peace. In fact, you two barely saw anyone on your walk to class.

Which was….weird

You and grim for once made it on time to class, 10 minutes early to be exact!

Okayyyyy…..maybe the sevens are finally giving you a break!

As you and grim chatted, you couldn’t help but look around.

“Hey, where’s Ace and deuce?” Grim also looks around before shrugging.

“Don’t know and don’t care! Anyways, we should definitely have tuna salad for dinner-“

Suddenly the door slams open with a loud BANG

Both you and grim yelp and turn to see who the culprit was behind the loud noise.

There by the door stood a boy who seemed to be a student at heartslabyul huffing and puffing as he tried to catch his breath.

“What is the meaning of this?” Crewel says sternly. One perfectly trimmed eyebrow raised as he waits for the poor student to explain why he nearly knocked out his classroom door from its hinges.

“S-so *GASP* S-Sorry - professor *GASP* crewel!”

“Mind explaining?”

“T-the p-prefect! We need the prefect!”

Ah, there it is

You knew it was too good to be true

“Why?” You asked. Both confused and a little annoyed.

“It’s urgent! The housewarden has requested you to come to the dorm!” The boy says. You look at crewel, the man just sighs as he gives you the go ahead. You pick up grim and walk down to where the student stood.

“Lead the way…”

-

Every step you take as the boy leads you to the chamber of mirrors causes the pit in your stomach to grow worse and worse than before. You have absolutely no idea what type of trouble awaits you in the heartslabyul dorm.

Was it another overblot?

Did someone accidentally lose all the hedgehogs and decide to put the blame on you???!

Did Ace and deuce do something that caused the whole dorm to be in ruins and have riddle ask for you specifically because you’re their friend?!?!?!

You don’t know, and you’re not ready

Upon arriving at heartslabyul, you were confused by how calm and peaceful the dorm was in. No ruined hedges, the roses are painted red and aren’t dead or ripped apart, the maze or anything isn’t on fire, no one is running around with a lost head!

The dorm looks to be fine

So

What’s the emergency?

You turned to the first year, confused.

“Uhh….the dorm seems to be fine? What is the emergency-”

“Follow me!” He quickly grabs ahold of your hand before YANKING you inside the maze. You and grim both yelp and you quickly try to match his pace as he expertly moves through the maze.

Jeez this is one of the more confusing mazes in the whole dorm and this first year already knows it like it’s the back of his hand!

You noticed some muffled voices in the distance, the closer the three of you got the more clearer it became. You could make out both Ace and deuce! Seems like they were running after something or… someone by how loud they were and the sound of “stop!” And “get back here please!” Left their mouths.

Oh sevens help you

“I brought them!” The first year shouts.

You could not believe your eyes

It was like a scene from a cartoon. Ace running around after what seems to be a- KID?!

Wait wait wait-

EVERYONE IS RUNNING AROUND TRYING TO CATCH MORE THAN ONE KID???

You see Ace chasing after a 8? 7? Year old boy while deuce seems to be holding something- wait no he’s holding a freaking baby!! Deuce is holding a baby in his arms while he chases after another little kid.

And then there’s cater. He’s busy running around trying to catch the two little girls who currently have his precious phone in their hands. The two giggle while cater prays to the sevens they don’t drop or break his phone.

Trey is busy listening to the little girl yap about the different baking techniques that even HE didn’t know existed and you swear he’s taking notes.

And riddle? Actually you don't see riddle anywhere. But you do see two children awkwardly standing near a corner as they watch everything unfold before their very eyes.

“What the actual fuck is going on” Everyone stops at the sound of your voice. The first year that was standing beside you gulps before BOLTING out of there. Not before whispering a small “good luck” on his way back to the maze.

Now with everyone’s eyes on you, you feel uneasy.

“Henchmen….I think we should also run back inside the maze” Grim whispers as his eyes don’t leave the scene in front of him.

“Yeah…good idea” You whisper back. You take a couple steps back, ready to also bolt out of there but was stopped when all the kids screamed and RAN their way towards you.

“MAPA!!!” They all scream. Both you and grim also scream but in terror as you both were tackled straight to the ground by the little mob.

“Mapa mapa! Where were you?!” One of the kids screams excitedly. She has bright orangish hair that reaches her back along with very interesting eyes. Both her and what you assume is her twin sister because of how eerily similar they look, they each have different eye colors. Similar to the leech twins.

One of them, her right eye was a beautiful green and her left was a nice e/c, while her sister's right eye was e/c and her left was green.

Yep definitely twins

“W-what? Mapa? W-what’s going on?”

“Mapa! I'm so hungry! Can we go home and eat?”

“Mapa, I’m tired. Can we go home?”

Mapa mapa mapa

Sevens you are going to go crazy!

And then when you think it can’t get worse, you hear a loud and whiny cry.

You turn to deuce who yelps and quickly tries to calm down the crying baby in his arms. One of the kids that was one of the reasons you got tackled quickly got up and ran towards deuce. She made little grabby hands signaling him to give her the baby. He gently gave her the baby and she was able to calm down the poor little boy as she rocked and hummed him a lullaby.

Yep that’s older sister right there

“Okay….seriously what’s going on, who are these kids, and where is riddle because the only reason I’m here is because of him who rudely requested me!”

“Yeah! Also where did that freshman go? He’s about to get a good a-”

“You’re a parent now”

“WHAT?!” Both you AND grim screech.

You look down to one of the kids. He eerily resembled Ace but the one thing that made you pale was the sight of his eyes.

Then you turned to the two more quiet children. They both had the same striking red hair along with the cute heart shaped strand on top of their heads.

Okay…

You then turned to the last one. She had short green shoulder length hair and the cutest dimples ever. She stared at you worriedly.

“Mapa are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost”

“I-I think I did”

After a very long and confusing conversation, from the kids and the others. You have come to terms that you are now officially a parent.

Eh you were hoping to wait until you were 26 but I guess it’s okay.

From what the other have told you, you now know who the kid’s fathers are.

Ace: one 8 year old son named Aiden

Deuce: two kids, one 7 year old daughter named Evelyn and a 3 month old son named Luka

Cater: two twin daughters named ruby and Amelia, age: 9 years old

Trey: one 7 year old daughter named Emma.

And lastly, riddle: two kids. One 9 year old boy named Felix and a 7 year old daughter named Alice.

“Mapa, have you seen father?” Felix asks quietly. Alice stands behind him with the same look.

“Ah! Uh no I haven’t….where is riddle?” And just like that, the housewarden was summoned.

He looks puzzled to say the least. His eyes scan the area before stopping to look at the kids that were in the room.

“What in the great sevens is going on here?!”

“Father!”

“Papa!” Both Felix and Alice say. They were excited to see their father and quickly jumped to hug riddle.

“F-father? What-” Ace whistles as he watches the flustered housewarden.

“Fatherhood is looking real nice on ya housewarden” he teases. The housewarden face turns a bright red as he tries to form simple sentences.

“I-I w-what?!”

“Father, when are we going home?” Felix asks curiously.

“Yeah when? I’m starting to get hungry!” Little Alice chirps.

“I think we should feed them something first. Half of them have complained that they are hungry” You suggest. You carefully took baby Luka from Evelyn as you could tell she was getting a little tired. You smiled down at the small cute bundle in your arms.

He had the same bluish hair and cyan eyes just like his father. While Evelyn was the exact carbon copy of you.

Cute

-

“So you’re telling me you have no clue on how they got here?”

Crowley stood behind his desk with the biggest grin ever as you, crewel, and everyone from heartslabyul gave him the most deadpan look.

“Wellllll I do have a small theory! Oh look how cute they all look! This one looks exactly like you my dear!” Crowley beams. You rolled your eyes.

He has no clue

“Is there any way to get them back home? I’m sure their parents are freaking out” Riddle says.

“We all know you are” Ace mutters. Deuce nudges him with a small glare as Ace just shrugs.

“What’s your theory?” Trey asks the headmaster. He tries not to sigh in annoyance as Crowley begins to coo and play around with his quote on quote “grandchildren”.

“Ah! Didn’t the kids say they all saw a bunny before waking up here?” You frown.

“Bunny?”

“Rabbit!” Emma corrects.

“All the kids have mentioned seeing one” Trey says.

“Do any of you guys remember what else happened?” You ask. All your kids turned to you. Some think and others just as confused.

“I-I remember” You all turned to Felix who slowly went a bit red after seeing everyone’s attention on him.

“Oh now thinking about it, the bunny did lead us somewhere!” Young Alice chirps.

“Where did it lead you my dear?” You ask softly. She smiles as you caress her hair.

“The bunny led us to a hole!”

“A rabbit hole” Felix adds.

“Ah! So some sort of portal!”

“Did all of you also get led to a hole?” Deuce asks curiously. Emma's eyes light up as she nods.

“Yeah!”

“The rabbit had my ball! So I went after it” Aiden says. Slowly all the kids tell their side of the story before being transported here.

“But I don’t get it, how do they go back?”

“Mm, seems like there must be something else to this” Crewel says. Brows furrowed in deep thought.

“For now, I think it’s best that you guys take them in and care for them while me and Crowley find a way to return them safely at home” He says.

“So we’re babysitting?!” Ace screeches. Deuce smacks him upside the head as he scoffs.

“That’s your kid! Maybe you should’ve wrapped it before tapping it”

“Deuce!”

“What? It’s true!”

Now then…..these next few days are gonna be interesting.

To be continued?

[sirxlla]

OKAY IVE SEEN SOO MANY BATBOYS SHOWING READER THEIR SCARS

BUT

Reader showing batboys their scars!!!

Could be from anything preferably past abuse something

Showing Him Your Scars (Batboys)

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

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Prompt: above ^^^^

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

Dick: Working together on the force for so long allowed the both of you to get close. Your doctor recommended that you have someone take care of you and the Captian told Dick it's his job to make sure I won't do anything stupid or try to heal from a stab wound you got in your arm, it's nothing bad, it'll heal in time but its making doing just about anything a pain in the ass including changing.

"I can help, Y/N. Let me. It's got to be painful. Let me help you change...Look, I'll even close my eyes if you want." Dick closed his eyes to show you he was honest, even covering his eyes like a kid which made you smile.

"No, it's fine, Dick. I'd rather you have your eyes open to do this. The last thing we need to do is irritate this wound any further." You said before Dick uncovered and opened his eyes and gently guided your shirt off making sure to be incredibly careful of the wound on your arm. His eyes scanned all the other scars on your torso; he's surprised at the sheer amount of scars you have.

"I think you might look more badass than I do." He gently traces a scar on your back. "I remember almost all of these, I didn't know your wounds were this bad."

"Yeah, but you know...sometimes you can't stop just for the sake of it; bad guys need to get caught."

"Yeah but not at the expense of you. You're way too valuable to keep getting hurt"

"Yeah? To who?" You asked with a bit of anger; you felt like you were always taking care of everyone else, but no one took care of you, and Dick answered you with one single word that meant everything.

"Me." His blue eyes gazed into with nothing but pure sincerity.

Jason: Jason was always nervous about anyone seeing any of his scars; once you happened to see them, he froze in nervousness. Would you think he's weird or ugly because of the scars that litter his skin? As you noticed the worry in his eyes, you very slowly brought your eyes to meet his as you slipped your shirt off.

Jason's eyes widen as he sees the scar that runs down the middle of your chest and disappears between your breasts.

"I had open heart surgery when I was a teenager. I used to hate it, but without it, I'd be dead or a much different person. Scars tell a story, a path to now." You said as you reached your hand out to touch his autopsy scar; it's so similar to yours but different. Just as beautiful.

"Can- Can I?" Jason asks as he reaches his hand out slowly to the scar on your chest. "It- It's beautiful."

"Well, if mine are, then yours have to be too. They're pretty badass." You smiled and showed him a few smaller ones that you'd gotten for dumb stuff but the way you embraced them made him feel so much better about his. You gently kissed the scar on his chest and in time he'd see his scars the same way you see yours.

Bruce: Anyone who's been around Bruce for any amount of time knows how many scars he had. Little did he know you had plenty of your own, so one day, as you were over at his place, you had asked him about scars and what he'd think if you had some.

"I suppose that depends on the scars, Love." His blue eyes gazed into yours with a bit of worry. "You have scars?"

"Don't judge okay?" You asked as you lifted your shirt and showed him the scars on your back; they looked like burns. Bruce's fingers grazed over what appeared at a closer glance to be cigarette burns.

"I wanted to show you before you found out when I was changing or sex or something...My dad he- he used to put them out on my back when I was a kid. Every guy I've ever been with just kinda laughs a bit."

"They laughed? Darling, this isn't something to laugh at; I mean, if you want to, then by all means, that's fine, but no one else should laugh at your pain." His fingers graze over them gently; he doesn't know what to say, so he says the first thing on his mind. "They don't distract from your beauty for even a second."

Your shoulders fall as you relax against his touch; he isn't blaming you or laughing or making you think you're ugly for the ugly actions of your father. He's amazing, he's reassuring and he's one of the best men you've ever known.

Tim: "What's the scar above your lip?" He asks you randomly as he rests his head in your lap, looking up at you.

"What sca- Oh! Um...It's super stupid, but when I was a kid, I liked to dance on the coffee table at my Grandmas and I busted my lip open...Grandma said I barely cried, and the next day, I was back to dancing on the table." You laughed as the memories flashed behind your eyelids.

"You never told me you were such a good dancer." Tim smiled back as he teased you.

"No, I was awful." You pulled down your shirt a little to show off the scar on your collarbone. "This was from ballet class, I did too many spins and smacked into the mirror. There's so many all over, just my clumsiness or dancing or both."

"So no dancing for you, I suppose. Either that or I get some really thick shoes, and then you can just stand on my feet, and I can do all the work." Tim teased a little as his eyes scanned your scars slowly as he took a moment to imagine the things you told him.

Damian: Training in the League isn't for the weak; real swords are used and real wounds are created. Damian knew you probably had several scars but you'd never showed them to him. He was curious and wondered if the number he had might be similar to yours.

"Can I see your scars?" He asked while the both of you were spending quality time reading together.

"My scars?"

"Yeah, I just wanna see if we have about the same amount."

"Yeah, I don't mind. I guess?" You pulled your long-sleeve shirt off as he pulled his off. Damian's eyes widened as he noticed how you had at least triple the scars that he did from training.

"They didn't put Lazarus water on the deep ones?" They had usually put Lazarus water on Damian's wounds if they were deep enough, he thought that they did that for everyone.

"Only if it hits bone." You corrected him, they never wasted a drop of Lazarus unless it was life for death for the regular soldiers in the League.

"Oh." Damian was surprised but also not. His grandfather wouldn't have wanted the Demon's Head to be littered with scars; he needed to look like he was better than them all. Damian runs his fingers over your scars on your back and he made himself a promise as well as you. "Things are gonna be different when I'm leading the League."

-> Masterlist

-> Send me prompts if you'd like

[silenceofserenity]

Haikyuu Boys as your Boyfriend.

PART 1 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

↳ Includes: Kuroo, Kenma, Akaashi, Bokuto, Tsukishima & Terushima

Part 2, Part 3

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Kuroo Tetsurou

Dating Kuroo means pillows don't exist anymore - he loves resting his head on your thighs instead.

He loves challenging you with trivia competitions but he picks out questions only he knows, so he can brag to you about how smart he is.

I doubt this man knows how to cook and is probably the type to say, "but baby, the way you make it is just so much better!"

On that note, he's a food stealer. If you go and make yourself something to eat, just know he's taking portions when you're not looking.

He'll randomly text you science facts as a way to start the conversation, "hey, did you know that there are more trees on Earth than stars in the galaxy? anyways, I miss you."

His lockscreen is the ugliest photo of you just to annoy you, but he has a hidden photo album with all of your pretty photos named 'my girl/my boy/my partner'.

Wears your hair ties on his wrist 100%.

He's incredibly proud of his body and will take any chance to flex his biceps in front of you.

He'll text you, "please don't be mad" and then follow it up with a photo of his cat next to a broken plate because he swears you can't get mad at a cat.

Grabs your chin when you're distracted just to kiss you and whisper, "focus" in the most smug tone.

Tries so hard to be nonchalant but there is not a single nonchalant bone in his body.

Kozume Kenma

When he's gaming, he will let you lie on his lap and will instinctively play with your hair.

He lets you paint his nails when you're bored, acting like he doesn't care but he actually think its adorable.

Most of your dates consist being at his house or in a quieter setting like a little cafe.

After training, he'll come to you and rant about his teammates, "Yamamoto spiked it so hard he hit Kuroo in the face and no one laughed. I was the only one that laughed. Also, I tripped on a ball and Kuroo said it was karma, can you believe that?"

Loves cuddling with you - whenever you're over he becomes extremely clingy.

If he's gaming and you fall asleep beside him, he'll lower the volume, slide a blanket over you and keep glancing at you in admiration.

He's not the jealous type, but if he sees someone flirting with you he will make fun of them after they leave, "did he really just offer you (food you hate)? Idiot. I know you hate that."

Mario Kart competitions - that's all.

He has really specific spotify playlists for every scenario and has an extremely long one that's like 52 hours of songs you like for when you come over.

He hates PDA but when he gets overstimulated in public, he likes to hold pinkies or something small like that just to get your attention.

Expect random texts from him at any given time - like one at 2am in the morning asking to hop on minecraft.

Akaashi Keiji

I already know this man know how to cook a good meal so you better be ready for the best dish ever.

He's extremely observant and loves watching you speak, so he notices everything - a new habit, a subtle frown or even a slight change in tone of voice.

He loves reading in his spare time, and once he read one of your favourite books, annotated it, and gave it back to you with neat sticky notes saying, 'this part reminds me of you.'

On his phone, all of his notifications are off, except for you (and bokuto) but your name is starred and pinned at the top, always.

When he's annoyed or frustrated, he'll text you saying, 'can I call you? I need to hear your voice.'

After a rough day, he will show up at your house with your favourite snacks, a blanket, and your favourite movies to watch together.

He's the most grounding person, and always knows exactly what to say without sugarcoating it, 'you're capable. You're smart. And you don't need to prove it to anyone to be valid.'

Big believer in forehead kisses!

He lets you read over his shoulder, even if he's deep into schoolwork. If your head rests against his, he doesn't flinch. Just smiles a little.

He's memorised your schedule so he knows when to text you 'good luck' when you have that one evil teacher.

When you're crying, he doesn't panic. He just pulls you into him, rubs your back and mutters, "it's okay, my love. I've got you."

He loves listening to you rant while his fingers just softly trace all over your skin, humming at certain things you say to let you know he's still listening.

Bokuto Kotaro

Bro is literally your biggest fan. You could sneeze and this man would be looking at you in awe.

He absolutely adores it when you wear his jerseys to his games, he'd shout, "LOOK THAT'S MY BABY!!" in public. Especially in public.

Clings to you post-practice - arms wrapped around your waist, forehead resting on your shoulder as he whines about being sore and hungry.

Has NO poker face. If he's happy, you'll know. If he's sad, you'll know. He's also so dramatic when he's upset, "so this is how I die. Heart shattered, and all alone."

He will talk about you to anyone that will listen. Poor Akaashi is actually a victim of this.

This one time when he was in one of his sad moods, you were sitting with him in silence, and letting him rant when he suddenly looked up at you and said, "thank you for being patient with me."

He sends voice messages instead of texts because he claims texts don't show enough emotion but he always gets distracted when sending them and talks through 5 topics before getting to the point.

Random bear hugs. All the time. He loves hugging you, he says you're his safe space.

Probably sleep talks - like you'll wake up to him murmuring, "that's my baby, don't touch them or i'll fight you." He also wouldn't remember it in the morning.

He needs reassurance, but sometimes it's for the most random things. This one time he asked you if you still thought he was cool...

He's definitely got the most chaotic and weird food combinations that he tries to make you eat, "It might look gross but it's made with love, so just try it!"

Tsukishima Kei

Acts like he's not paying attention when you're ranting, but actually remembers every single detail.

If anyone ever says anything to you, he'll defend you but then deny it right after with that stupid smirk on his face, "no, that wasn't defending. I just hate stupid people."

When you're overwhelmed, he won't pressure you to talk - he'll just sit beside you and let you tell him when you're ready.

He definitely follows those dinosaur pages so he can get all the new updates on 'how dinosaurs really looked back in the day.'

Gossiping sessions with him go so hard because he has no filter and will literally say it as it is, "did she actually say that? Jesus, I'm surprised her boyfriend hasn't broken up with her yet."

He let you wear his glasses once, and he made it your contact picture. He claims it's because 'you look stupid' but we all know he loves it.

Pretends he hates PDA but he secretly likes it. You held his arm while walking together once and he called you clingy, yet didn't do anything to stop it.

He's weirdly competitive about game nights and if you beat him in Uno or Mario Kart, he'll go quiet for a bit before saying, "one more. That didn't count."

The only person he will help study is you. Hinata asked him once, and he said no straight up, but as soon as you asked he told you to meet him after school (Hinata has never lived this down).

He always makes height jokes and if you say something he thinks is stupid, he'll look down and say, "what was that? I can't hear you from down there."

He sends you random memes and just adds a comment like, "this is you."

Terushima Yuji

He's the type to compliment you in the middle of an argument to throw you off, "you're so hot when you're mad, you know that?"

Loves post-practice cuddles where he'll literally wrestle you into a hug and then just collapse with his head on top of your stomach.

He always talks through movies like he actually cannot stop talking. "wait, babe was that guy the killer? I though-" "shut up." "Okay, my bad."

His love language is physical touch and always needs to be in some form of contact with you - arm around your waist while walking, head in your lap when watching a movie, legs thrown over you when cuddling.

He's an incredibly unhinged texter and sends the most random messages: "opinions on matching tattoos?" "If you were a zombie, I'd let you eat me." "Look at this dog I saw today, we should get one. Or maybe a baby?"

Carries snacks for you and pretends it's not on purpose. He'll whip out one and be like, "oh you're hungry? Lucky I packed an extra bar. Total coincidence, I know."

If you attend his training, he will get totally distracted by you. You'll be in the stand watching as he turns to look at you, winking just in time for the ball to smack him right in the face.

Honestly, he's quite a messy person, and probably has clothes all over the floor in his room but he uses it as an excuse for you to wear them. "I left them out on purpose for you obviously!"

Gets pouty if you don't kiss him before he leaves, "oh okay... guess i'll just die then."

[izzih22]

Paige coming home and she have a big bruise and Azzi ask her what happend and Paige is not saying anything

By the way I LOVE your story

Say That Again

Note: I kinda did a little twist on it also thank you so much means a lot!!

Paige Bueckers didn’t usually lose her temper.

She was composed, dominant, and the face of the school—confident enough to not need to prove anything to anyone. Everybody knew her. Everybody wanted something from her. And she carried it all like it weighed nothing.

Except when it came to Azzi.

⸻

It started with Azzi staying home.

She was curled up on the couch with a hoodie and a textbook, her legs under a blanket, eyes tired from studying. Paige had walked up behind her and pressed a kiss into her hair.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” she murmured.

Azzi smiled without looking up. “You go. You haven’t had a night with the girls in forever.”

Paige hesitated. “I’ll probably be late.”

“That’s okay,” Azzi said, tugging her wrist. “Just text me when you’re headed back.”

Paige leaned down, kissed her again—slow, lingering. “I’ll be back before you miss me too much.”

“I already miss you,” Azzi whispered.

⸻

Downtown was packed.

The whole team had come—Jana, Ice, Caroline, Aubrey, KK. It was one of those places where nobody checked IDs too hard and the bartenders knew who Paige was without her needing to speak. Guys nodded at her, girls stared at her, people whispered. It was always like that.

She didn’t care. She leaned against the bar, drink in hand, laughing at something Caroline said when she heard it.

“Yo,” Caroline muttered under her breath. ���Tell me I didn’t just hear that.”

Paige turned.

A group of football guys stood a few feet away, and one of them—the loudest—was talking way too freely.

“I’m tellin’ you,” he was saying, “that little shooter Fudd? Girl’s bad as hell. Got that sweet face, but you know she’s probably wild behind closed doors.”

Paige went still.

“Yeah,” his buddy chimed in. “Bet she cries when she—”

She didn’t hear the rest.

Paige’s grip tightened on her glass. Her jaw locked. Heat flared behind her eyes. Her friends saw it immediately.

“Paige,” Ice said, hand on her arm. “Don’t.”

But she was already walking over.

The guy turned just in time to see her coming. She didn’t yell. Didn’t raise her voice. Just stood in front of him, straight-backed, eyes cold.

“Say that again.”

The guy blinked. “What?”

“You said something about Azzi Fudd. Say it again.”

He smirked, clearly amused. “What, is she yours?”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Yeah. She is.”

That got a reaction—a few surprised looks. Some whispers. One of the football guys laughed.

“Oh. Damn. That’s cute.”

Paige stared at him. “You think so?”

“Relax,” he said. “We’re just talking. No harm in a compliment.”

“That wasn’t a compliment. That was disrespect.”

His smirk widened. “If she’s really yours, then you’re the one who gets to see her cry, huh?”

He barely got the words out before Paige hit him.

One clean punch—fast, sharp, brutal. The bar exploded into noise. His head snapped back, and he stumbled into a table, knocking over drinks. His friends rushed in. So did Paige’s.

“Paige!” KK shouted, grabbing her shoulder.

The guy lunged back at her, and his fist caught her cheek—hard—but she barely reacted. Ice shoved him away, Jana held Paige back.

“Get her out of here!” KK barked.

She was still trying to go after him, hands shaking, chest heaving. But the moment had passed. Security was on the way. Someone was yelling about calling the cops.

Caroline grabbed her coat. “Come on.”

⸻

She didn’t go back inside.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t even check her face in the mirror of the Uber. Just stared out the window, breathing through her nose, fists clenched.

She didn’t text Azzi until she was standing outside the apartment door.

[11:57 PM] I’m home.

⸻

The second the door opened, Azzi was standing there.

Her eyes swept over her, instantly taking in the bruise on her cheekbone, the red mark near her lip, the way Paige looked unsteady for the first time in forever.

“Paige,” she whispered. “What the hell happened?”

Paige didn’t say anything at first. She just walked in, dropped her keys on the counter, and sat down slowly on the couch.

Azzi followed, heart racing. She crouched in front of her, reaching up to touch the bruise gently.

“Babe. Talk to me.”

Paige blinked slowly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“I handled it.”

Azzi sat next to her, close but cautious. “Handled what?”

There was a long pause. Paige’s voice was low when she finally answered.

“Some guy was talking about you. At the bar.”

Azzi frowned. “About me?”

Paige nodded. “Football player. Loud as hell. He said… some shit I’m not repeating.”

Azzi’s stomach dropped. “What did he say?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Paige—”

“I said you don’t need to know,” Paige snapped. Then immediately softened. “Sorry. I just… he was being disgusting. Like, full-on disrespectful. And I wasn’t gonna stand there and let people laugh about you like that. Not when you weren’t even there to defend yourself.”

Azzi exhaled slowly. “So you fought him.”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “I swung first.”

Azzi let out a shaky breath. “Jesus.”

“I didn’t lose,” Paige added.

Azzi gave her a look, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “Of course you didn’t.”

Paige leaned back, finally relaxing just a little. “He got one hit. That’s it.”

Azzi moved closer, sitting beside her and tucking her knees under her. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“I wasn’t thinking about me.”

Azzi looked at her for a long moment. Then she cupped her face carefully, brushing her thumb over the side that wasn’t bruised. “You’re such an idiot.”

“An idiot who loves you.”

Azzi kissed her—slow and sweet, her fingers tangled in the collar of Paige’s hoodie. Paige kissed her back like she needed it. Like that fight meant nothing now. Like she was hers again.

Azzi pulled back slightly, whispering against her mouth, “You always act like nothing touches you. Until someone comes for me.”

“You are me,” Paige said hoarsely.

That made Azzi pause. Her chest rose and fell with the weight of it.

“I love you,” Paige added, voice raw. “Don’t make me sit here and act like I don’t.”

Azzi kissed her again, deeper this time. She shifted to straddle her lap, hands on her cheeks, their mouths soft and desperate, like they were making up for all the time Paige had spent pretending she was fine.

“I’ve got you,” Azzi whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Paige let herself lean into it. Let herself be held.

⸻

Later, after Azzi had cleaned her up and tucked her into bed, Paige lay there on her back, arm draped around Azzi’s waist.

“You know,” Azzi murmured against her shoulder, “you didn’t have to fight him.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, “but I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because he said your name like it meant nothing. Like you were just some girl. And I couldn’t let that slide. You’re mine.”

Azzi turned her face into Paige’s neck. “I love you too.”

Paige smiled, finally soft. “I know.”

[dammit-tazmuir]

For all the things this fandom refuses to believe and chalks up to John's lies, the thing that baffles me to see so many believe without question is the idea of Perfect Lyctorhood.

Guys. Guys, there is no Perfect Lyctorhood.

Or at best, if there hypothetically could be, it's nothing we've ever seen. Paul is the closest thing and I know a lot of you would not consider Paul perfect. John did not achieve Perfect Lyctorhood, and it wasn't even his idea to claim he did. A quarter of NtN extensively details that he didn't.

The old Lyctors didn't know what Alecto was. John definitely told them more than he would have liked to, because of course she doesn't lie and is too obviously inhuman to hide it fully. But if they knew everything, Mercy wouldn't doubt that Alecto ever had a genetic code; she would know she didn't, or that any genes she might've had were made from John's own blood and bone.

Because they didn't know what she actually was or what actually happened (foreshadowed too by Mercy's "if you had lied about anything else" lines, when actually he did), they drew the wrong conclusion. They assumed something different in his process allowed Alecto to persist. But we now know the truth is that Alecto was simply too big to consume. She didn't die because she was already limitless. This will never apply to another human. But he lets them believe their conclusion because he thinks it's better and easier to talk his way out of than them figuring out the real truth.

It does remain possible that Anastasia and Samael were genuinely on the cusp of that breakthrough, but I honestly doubt it. That was another conclusion drawn by the Lyctors as a follow-up to the previous wrong one, and when John answers, he visibly hesitates. It feels like he's once again going, "....Sssure, yes, let's go with that." I don't know what Samael and Anastasia WERE on the verge of. Maybe they would have become gestalt like Paul, and the possibility of just one dying was why Pal begged Cam "don't look back", and John was afraid of the power they'd achieve (could Paul have greater thalergy than a normal Lyctor?) and/or of just the others seeing a different process and getting mad at him.

AND/OR, ACTUALLY? Especially if their attempt was one of the earlier ones (around the middle rather than the end), but even if it wasn't: I think a Paul situation has a STRONG possibility of being exactly what happened. John's most outright lies are usually the ones other people tell that he just nods along with. When it's from himself, if it's not feigned incompetence, he usually goes for half-truths and misleading truths. He says Anastasia panicked halfway through and if he hadn't stepped in they would have both died. I think it's very possible that John panicked halfway through as he realized what they were doing, and that it's genuinely true they would have both died— in the same way Camilla and Palamedes both died, to create someone new.

And we know how much John hates change. How desperately John needs to keep his specific people close. What are the odds he was so afraid of losing both of them and being left with a new person he didn't know, couldn't predict, and couldn't easily control with them having a whole Lyctor's power and maybe more? Especially if Cyth and Loveday, Cassy and Nigella, Cyrus and Valancy, Ulysses and Titania, maybe even G1deon and Pyrrha— if any others hadn't undergone the process yet, and there was a chance they'd see Samastastia and decide that was the path they wanted too. If he thought this meant he might lose all his friends instead of only the less favored half.

Either way, though, based on everything we know, there is no simple soul swap that results in dual immortality. Even John and Alecto involve a fusion of megasoul. "You and she are one." (This is also likely how a seemingly real facet of John could talk to Harrow in Alecto's dream.) And we've seen through NtN, the soul longs for the body. The body longs for the soul. A body housing a different soul doesn't last long, even when those souls ARE semi connected. A body even temporarily renting space to a foreign soul is a massive strain, like Cam carrying Pal.

Lyctorhood inherently involves death and consumption and acting against nature. It is the indelible sin. It's possible that Grand Lysis avoids that sin by making it about mutual death, about giving instead of taking, but it's still bittersweet at best. I highly doubt we're going to see a perfect solution that fixes everything, at least via more necromancy, because that's not the kind of series this is. It's messy, beautiful in its flaws, embracing the understanding that life is change and things can never be exactly as they were, and can rarely be exactly what you want, and letting go and moving on are necessary parts of life eventually.

Don't misunderstand! I do think Gideon will either be resurrected (perhaps the last true one ever) or there will be another way for her and Harrow to happily be together. In Gideon's case, there was nothing natural about her death, and the decision to say "no" is a rejection of the system that led to it.

I just also think the odds of rewriting the laws of life and death entirely are more likely than Lyctorhood But With No Consequences. It always has consequences. There is no Perfect Lyctorhood, but there's something good on the horizon, whatever form it takes. After all...

"There are more worlds than this. Come with us. We are the love that is perfected by death, but even death will be no more. Death can also die. There's still time, Ianthe. Time for you and for Naberius Tern."

[ijustwannabecool]

Hi, I don't know if you take requests, but if you do, I have a big one (sort of?) Idk if you're a fan of 1D, but Theirs a video of Louis (I'll post the link down on the bottom) and his then gf were walking out of the airport. Louis gets annoyed with all the cameras surrounding them (her mostly) and, like you, defends her, but then later finds his gf in the corner with girls on top of her beating her. And I wondered if you could do something like that (angst and a bit of fluff) with either Max or Charles?? If not, it's totally okay.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bljCMQUDeEc

Caught in the Chaos

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary… Charles just won his home race in Monaco. Overwhelmed with emotion, he tries to celebrate — but the chaos of the crowd spirals out of control, and it’s you who gets hurt. In the best moment of his life, he almost loses the only thing that matters.

Trigger warning: Monaco GP victory, emotional overload, crowd chaos, hurt/comfort, protective Charles, raw aftercare 

A/N: I hope I did your request justice and that you enjoy reading it. Let me know what you guys think of the story. Happy reading. Have a beautiful day! 

Request are open (:

Like, reblog, comment, enjoy.

——

The streets of Monaco bled red and white. Ferrari flags. Smoke flares. Banners hanging from balconies.

Charles had done it. Against all odds — after years of heartbreak — he won his home race.

You stood beside him at parc fermé, your hand tightly linked with his, as the roar of the crowd grew deafening. Charles stepped forward slightly, lifting his arms to wave at the sea of fans — and you saw it.

The way his chin wobbled. The way he blinked rapidly, trying to hold it together. The way his heart cracked wide open for everyone to see.

He was overwhelmed. Ecstatic. Broken. Healed. All at once.

You squeezed his hand, grounding him. He squeezed back — almost painfully tight — like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

He needed this. This moment was his.

But Monaco wasn’t built for calm.

Security was thin. The crowds were thicker than anyone anticipated. VIP guests and fans with access poured into the paddock area, chasing the emotion, the euphoria.

You barely noticed how quickly things changed. How fast celebration turned into frenzy.

"There she is!" "Get a picture with her!" "Charles! Look here!"

Charles tensed immediately, slipping into protective mode — positioning himself slightly in front of you without letting go of your hand.

"Please, doucement," he said, trying to reason. "She is not the show."

But no one was listening.

Phones shoved in your face. Hands brushing your arm, your waist. Someone grabbed your wrist — hard.

You gasped, trying to pull away — but the crowd surged forward.

In the chaos, your hand slipped from Charles’s. You stumbled backward, hitting a barrier with a sharp cry.

Pain flared through your ribs. You blinked, disoriented — the world spinning, flashes blinding you.

And then— Charles.

The moment his eyes found you — hurt, vulnerable, scared — something inside him snapped.

The charming boy Monaco adored disappeared. In his place was pure, furious Charles Leclerc.

He shoved through the crowd without apology. Ripped people away from you. Didn’t care about cameras, reputation, PR.

Only you.

He was trembling when he reached you, hands flying over your arms, your face, your sides.

"Amour? Where does it hurt?" His voice cracked mid-sentence.

"I’m okay," you whispered — but you weren’t. Not really.

Charles saw through the lie immediately.

Without a word, he scooped you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

"You’re safe," he whispered fiercely, over and over, like a prayer. "You’re safe, you're safe, you're safe."

He carried you through the chaos, jaw set, face blank with fury.

He’d won Monaco. But almost lost you in the same breath.

And that was unbearable.

——

Inside the Motorhome

He sat you gently on the couch. Dropped to his knees in front of you.

Tears welled up in his eyes — not just because of the victory — but because he almost didn’t get to celebrate it with you.

"I was waving," he whispered brokenly. "I was looking for you in the crowd. And then—" He choked off, dragging his hands through his hair.

You reached for him, pulling him into your arms.

"You found me," you whispered. "You always find me."

Charles buried his face in your neck, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe — but you didn’t care.

You wanted to be held. You wanted to be his.

He pulled back slightly, cradling your face between his hands.

"I don’t care about Monaco," he said, voice low and fierce. "Not if you’re not here."

You kissed him — soft, slow, reverent — tasting the salt of his tears.

"You won," you whispered against his lips. "You’re safe. We’re safe."

And this time, when Charles cried, he didn’t hide it. Didn’t flinch. He just held you, letting the dam break — in the safety of your arms, the only place he’d ever needed to be.

——

Later that night Charles’s Apartment, Monaco

The drive back was a blur. Charles didn’t let you go for a second — his hand resting on your thigh, his other arm around your shoulders, as if sheer proximity could erase what happened.

He barely spoke. Just pressed soft kisses to your temple whenever he thought you needed them. Or maybe it was him who needed it.

The second you stepped into his apartment, he kicked the door shut and turned to face you, hands hovering.

"Can I?" he asked, voice almost a whisper, fingers twitching like he was desperate to touch you but terrified of hurting you.

You nodded.

Charles exhaled shakily, then lifted you into his arms again — bridal style — carrying you straight to the bathroom.

"I'll run you a bath," he murmured, setting you gently on the counter like you were something sacred.

He moved quietly around the bathroom, filling the tub with warm water, adding salts and a few drops of lavender oil without you even needing to ask.

You watched him — the slight tremble in his hands, the way his brows furrowed in worry.

When he turned back to you, his heart nearly broke again.

You were trying to be brave. Trying to smile for him.

Charles stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands.

"You don't have to be strong right now, amour," he whispered. "Not with me."

Your lip trembled, and before you could speak, he kissed you — featherlight, barely-there, full of apology and adoration.

He helped you undress carefully — gentle, reverent — every scrape and bruise treated like something precious, kissed tenderly as he uncovered them.

When you finally sank into the bath, he sat beside the tub on the tiled floor, not caring about the expensive suit he was still half-wearing, sleeves rolled up and knees tucked to his chest.

"You don't have to stay," you said softly, teasing.

Charles shook his head immediately. "I’m not leaving."

He dipped a washcloth into the water, squeezing it out carefully, and then began to gently wipe down your arms, your legs — his touch so soft it made your chest ache.

"You're safe now," he murmured with every pass of the cloth. "I promise you. You're safe."

After the bath, he wrapped you in the softest towel he could find, dried you off carefully, and helped you into one of his t-shirts — the fabric swallowing you whole.

"You look better in this than I ever did," he said with a tiny, broken smile, thumb tracing your cheek.

He tucked you into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin like he was building a fortress around you. Then, without hesitation, Charles slid in beside you, pulling you against his chest.

You melted into him instantly.

For a while, there was only silence — your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his heart, his hand stroking your back.

"Charles," you whispered after a while. "You can breathe now. I'm okay."

You felt his chest shudder under you. A hot tear slid down into your hair.

"I almost lost you," he whispered back, voice cracking. "In the best moment of my life... I almost lost everything that matters."

You lifted your head, finding his tear-streaked face in the dark.

"You didn’t lose me," you said fiercely. "You saved me."

Charles kissed you then — not a victory kiss, not a celebration — but something deeper. A kiss that said thank you for being here. A kiss that said I will never let you go.

You fell asleep like that — tangled up in each other, wrapped in the scent of lavender and salt and Charles.

And when you woke hours later, the first thing you felt was the warm, steady thud of his heart under your ear, and the strong arms still holding you tight — like he never planned to let go.

Ever again.

The end.

——

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed it. I apologize for any trauma this story may bring. please let me know in the comments what you guys think and if you guys have any ideas please let me know.

[jxwl4k]

Hi hi!!!

Can I request bakugo x reader where reader always wears glasses. Then one day they either lose or broke it so they have to navigate the school completely blurry because of poor eyesight,like full on tripping and bumping onto something/someone. And then Bakugo just guides them throughout the school to buy a new one. Also it would be a great time for bakugo to really look into the readers eyes without the glasses 😝😝

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Through blurry eyes .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ yn loses their glasses, and bakugou helps them navigate school.

It was a typical morning at U.A. High, and you were already running late, as usual. You rushed through your dorm room, stumbling around in your half-dazed state, trying to find your glasses. Your hands swept across the desk, the bed, and under your pillows, but they were nowhere to be found.

“Damn it!” you muttered under your breath, panic creeping into your voice. You needed your glasses, especially since your eyesight was awful without them. It was like looking at the world through a foggy window, everything just a blur of colors and shapes. You weren’t blind, but it sure felt like it.

You grabbed your bag and rushed out, hoping you could make it through the school day. But of course, fate had other plans.

The moment you stepped out of your dorm and into the hall, the entire world felt like a giant blur. You squinted, trying to make out anything in front of you, but everything was just a confusing swirl. You kept walking forward, but it was like you were walking through a haze, bumping into walls, desks, and.. oh, no someone’s foot.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot!” a familiar voice yelled.

You winced, recognizing the voice immediately. It was Bakugou, of course. You blinked, hoping your blurry vision would clear for a moment, but it didn’t.

You mumbled an apology, but Bakugou wasn’t having it. “You okay, dumbass? You look like you’re about to trip over your own feet.”

“Yeah, I… uh, I can’t find my glasses,” you admitted sheepishly, feeling embarrassed. “I can’t really see anything.”

Bakugou scowled, but it was more out of concern than annoyance. “Damn it, you really can’t do anything without those things, huh?”

You offered a weak shrug. “I guess so…”

Bakugou let out a frustrated sigh. “Whatever, just follow me.”

Before you could protest, you felt his hand grab yours, pulling you along. You couldn’t see his face clearly, but the way he was guiding you through the hallways was… different. His usual fiery, aggressive demeanor had softened, and you couldn’t help but notice how gentle his grip was.

“Come on, we’re going to get you new glasses,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You stumbled behind him, still unsure of where you were going, but Bakugou was surprisingly careful with you. He didn’t let you crash into anything again, leading you through the halls and down the stairs. His hand remained securely in yours as if he was determined to get you to safety.

As you approached the school store, you were still squinting and struggling to make sense of anything, but Bakugou was there, every step of the way. He helped you through the door, guiding you to the section with new glasses.

When you stood there, looking at the frames in front of you, you noticed something different. Bakugou, the guy who usually had his guard up around everyone, was actually looking at you really looking at you. Without your glasses, your eyes were the only thing he could focus on.

You felt self-conscious under his gaze, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel warm. Maybe it was the way his sharp, intense eyes softened just a little. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t yelling at you for once.

After what felt like forever, Bakugou picked out a pair of frames for you, nodding in approval. “These ones will suit you, dumbass,” he grumbled, though there was a hint of something kind in his voice.

You blinked, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

He just huffed, clearly trying to hide whatever softness was creeping into his expression. “Don’t mention it. Just make sure you don’t lose them again, alright?”

You smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “I won’t,” you promised, relieved that you could finally see clearly again.

As you left the store, Bakugou walked beside you, still not letting go of your hand. The world around you was clearer now, but there was something even clearer in your heart. Maybe it wasn’t just the glasses that helped you see everything differently.

© jxwl4k 2025

[chrepsi]

ˇ ⋆ ╱ sugar water - m. sturniolo

highschool!matt x highschool!reader

wc ; 800+

it started with a glance.

not the cliché kind, not the one where your heart drops and violins play in the background. no. it was quieter than that—less fireworks, more like the fizz of a soda can cracked open in a silent room.

matt sturniolo was the kind of boy you noticed without realizing you were noticing him. he was soft-spoken, eyes always flickering like he was halfway between dreaming and listening. he moved like music on low volume, like the hum of a song you forgot you loved.

and i was... me. i blended in. i stayed in the quiet corners of the school hallways, chewing pen caps and pretending to be too busy to care that no one said hi.

we had third period english together. he sat two rows to the left and one ahead. i spent most of that class pretending not to look at him. pretending i didn’t wait for the moments he laughed at something the teacher said, or the rare times he tapped his pencil to the beat of a song only he could hear.

on a tuesday that felt like a thursday, it happened.

he turned around.

"do you get what she’s talking about? this poem?"

i blinked. swallowed. looked down at the page like it could give me the answer.

"sort of," i said. "it’s about... wanting to feel something. even if it hurts."

he looked at me. like, really looked. not with the wide-eyed curiosity most people wore like a mask, but like he could see through the layers. through the silence. through the sugar-water sweetness i tried to coat myself in.

"that makes sense," he said, and turned back around.

i didn't breathe for twenty seconds.

we didn’t talk again for a week. then two. then suddenly, he was waiting for me outside class.

"hey. you like music, right?"

i nodded.

"wanna hear something cool?"

he handed me one earbud, the wire warm from his pocket. i took it. the song was slow, sad, and beautiful. lyrics like diary entries. like things you think but don’t say.

we didn’t speak while it played.

and just like that, i started living for third period. for the moments between bells. for the way our silences didn’t feel awkward, just comfortable.

like sugar melting in warm water.

the first time he made me laugh so hard i cried, we were sitting under the old bleachers, hiding from gym class.

"do you think if i just walk into traffic i can get out of running laps?"

"only if I come with you," i said, and he grinned.

he had that kind of smile. like he didn’t know it could break people. like he didn’t know it was rare.

"deal."

the laughter came in waves, crashing over us until i was clutching my stomach and gasping for air. and he just watched, eyes wide and lit up like i was something worth seeing.

we never labeled it. what we were. we didn’t need to.

there were days we barely talked, days when he sat with his head in his hands and i didn’t ask why. i just sat beside him. let him be quiet.

other days, he showed up at my locker with a piece of candy or a sticky note that said something like, "you looked sad yesterday. here’s a dumb joke to fix that."

i kept every note in a shoebox under my bed.

one day, he asked me what i wanted most.

"to matter," i said, too fast. then i looked away, embarrassed.

he didn’t laugh. didn’t tease. he just nodded slowly.

"you do. even if you don’t always feel it."

and that night, i cried in the shower. not because i was sad. just because someone finally said it.

the cracks started small.

he stopped answering texts. started showing up late. the music in his earbuds got louder. his eyes got quieter.

"are you okay?"

he shrugged. "just tired."

but tired turned into distant. into cold. into gone.

the last time we spoke was under gray skies. i found him behind the school, hands in his pockets, head down.

"you’re pushing me away."

he didn’t argue.

"why?"

"because you see too much. and i can’t handle being seen right now."

i wanted to scream. to shake him. to say i didn't care how broken he felt, that i wanted all of it.

instead, i whispered, "i miss you."

he looked at me, eyes shining. "i miss me too."

and then he walked away.

now, third period is just a class.

i sit in the same seat. i read the same poems. but it all feels like static.

sometimes, i listen to the song he played for me that day. let it wash over me. let it sting.

because sometimes, sugar water still hurts going down.

because sometimes, people leave.

but they don’t disappear.

they echo.

and i still hear him in the quiet.

<3 taglist ; @trevorsgodmother @pr3ttylittleslutt @v4lsturn @wildfluer @delilahsturniolo @courta13 @kisses4chris @chrispycremedonut @chrisspussygang @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @baebadoobee4ever @emely9274 @mvkyis @mattsbug @sturniqloo @mattsleftball @tits4matt @mothstvrnz @joanakaulitz @mialovesyouchris @belle-ee @owenstar @sturnsalcohol @joanakaulitz @cherryystemm @angeliolo @sturkneeohloww

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