#at least take me to dinner first so i can get a good look at whos trying to call me a bitch

[jimilter]

on the borderline — 05 | pjm. (m)

Park Jimin has been your buoy, your anchor and the ship of sanity that guides you to shore amid storms of self-doubt, nearly all your life; as have you been his. That is not to say nothing has ever brewed beneath the surface of platonic friendship, or that the two of you have never been victims to mistiming. Regardless, you would never risk the friendship you have with him now for anything. Even if you have to hurt him – or even yourself – in the process.

pairing: jimin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: angst | drama | friends to lovers!au

word count: 7.6 k

— warnings: swearing + repeated mention & description of sex (some gets detailed and explicit, hence the rating!) + mention of a past toxic relationship + perhaps a present toxic relationship? + the worst kind of emotional constipation + misunderstandings + lies and pretense +one-sided feelings + reader is a bigger mess + jimin is a mess too :/

— note: HAPPY NEW YEAR 2025, PEOPLE! <3 it was excruciating getting back into this one but it was also kinda therapeutic bec real life has been whooping my ass :( i have begun writing the sixth part too bec i truly forreal wish to complete this series without taking another year helP!

ps. the rating, genre and warnings mentioned above pertain to this chapter, only.

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𝐕 ⇢ 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 ♪ between heaven and disaster

07:03 AM | Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 hey sorry i missed all your calls and texts :( i figured u would ask abt seokjin and the date and i kinda didn’t wanna talk abt it not necessarily in a bad way just a “let me figure it out first” way which still doesn’t excuse ghosting u so i AM rly sorry :( how was your flight? and the dinner meeting?

07:16 AM ↳ SHE LIVES!!!!!! ↳ Good morning Grumpkincess <3 ↳ All that you said about your date has just made 1000x curious now yk ↳ Oh, and I had a horrible flight ↳ My partner drooled on my $70 shirt 😭 ↳ Barely had time to change it before our meeting at 4 UGH

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 good morning WHAT now ? that better not be a new pet name park jimin

↳ Yes it is, Grumpkincess ↳ A grumpy pumpkin princess ↳ Adorable right?

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 ykw your cringe ass deserved getting your shirt ruined karma 🖕

↳ Ihy 🖕 ↳ Ok enough of this can we pls talk???

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 ??? are we not talking?

Jimin rears back from his phone almost violently. Did you, of all people, really just imply that texting is equivalent to talking? He is pretty sure that of the entire time that the two of you have lived in separate towns, you have spent more than half of it on video calls with each other.

That is talking for the two of you.

Or at least it used to be, before he got onto this flight which has apparently landed him in some parallel universe. 

He immediately sits up in bed and calls you.

And you immediately disconnect the call.

What?

His jaw is still dropped when his phone vibrates in his palm again, indicating an incoming voice call from you. Scowling, Jimin nearly whines a what the fuck into the phone.

“I look like dogshit, dude, please,” you groan from your end.

“Seriously? You’re telling me you won’t show me your face because you look bad?” Rolling his eyes, Jimin reclines on his bed, a little assured at hearing your voice but also a little confused by your words. “Dude. I’ve seen you with puke all over your clothes, I’ve seen you with cum on your face, I’ve seen you with a black eye, I’ve seen you with—”

“Okay, I get it!” you interrupt with another groan. “I feel like dogshit, then. Is that better?”

Now he is concerned. “No. Obviously. How can that be better? Babe, what’s going on? You’re being…”

“Weird? Bitchy? Whiny? Annoying?”

“No, just…” He bites his bottom lip. “A little unlike yourself.”

“Wow, that's worse.” You give a small sigh. “I’ll be fine, I just need to recalibrate my head. Don't worry.” 

How can he not worry when you sound this tired and timid? Jimin almost wants to ask if Seokjin has something to do with it. But then his brain starts to conjure up images featuring exactly how that man could have tired you out and that leaves a bad taste in his mouth, followed by a series of negative emotions that make his heart race and his head hurt.

He went through this same series of emotions last evening, too, when you didn’t respond to his messages. He doesn’t want to give himself enough time to analyze any part of it, though, because he isn’t ready to face what he might uncover.

“How can I help?” he ends up asking, because putting his mind to literally anything else would be better than self-introspection right now.

You don’t respond immediately and everything is so quiet that Jimin can hear your breathing on the other side. Then you hum. “Honestly? Just give me a little time, Min. I’ll be fine.”

“Time? As in…time away from this conversation?”

“Yes, dork. Some time by myself, with my thoughts.” You chuckle as you say the words but Jimin doesn’t find them funny. 

He swallows the tight discomfort in the back of his throat and scoffs in response, though. “Well, okay then. Your funeral. And here I was thinking I will tell you about this weirdly snobbish butler-assistant guy the clients brought with them to the meeting last night.”

“Wait, butler-assistant?” You exclaim with a curious scoff, and Jimin smiles at the spark of the familiar humour that tinges your voice. “What the fuck is that?”

“Escapes me! They had this Alfred lookalike guy driving their limo, who joined in when they sat at the table with us, and—get this—dude kept interrupting me to tell his boss the time every fifteen minutes! What fucking clownery!” Jimin pauses to inhale, slightly disappointed when he hears you give a distant chuckle. You’re not invested. Your head’s somewhere else. He doesn’t want to share his story anymore. “I might sock him in the face if pulls that shit again, today.”

You give a hum in response, which sounds decidedly half-hearted. “I’m sure your intimidating scowls would’ve scared him away already, Min. He probably won’t join your meeting today.”

Jimin’s mouth slowly parts at the unfamiliarity of your remark. You never miss any opportunity to roast him about being a pacifist. How did you allow his claim of throwing a punch to go by so easily? 

And intimidating scowls? What happened to calling them ‘little bitch stare-downs’?

First you refuse to show him your face, sticking to this annoying voice call that’s overheating his phone because he doesn't have his airpods with him right now, and then you’re talking in a language that is so unlike you.

The discomfort in the back of his throat swells into a strange feeling that reaches the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, I hope so… Sure.” His words come out low, hoarse and confused. So he clears his throat and puts a grin on his face. “Anyways! You sound like you need a fat nap to function like yourself again – I'll allow you to have that.”

“Mm-hm, I agree.” It could be his imagination, but you sound almost relieved. “I’ll call you soon, okay? Say hi to Tara for me.”

Jimin grunts and disconnects the call, immediately tossing his phone away as if it has personally offended him. Well maybe not the device, but the caller certainly has.

Just then, the door to the suite’s balcony opens and shuts, footsteps making their way to the other twin bed opposite the one he's lying on. He's almost counting down the seconds before a comment is made, and he doesn't have to wait long, when:

“Trouble in paradise?” comes Min Yoongi's taunting lilt.

Exhaling in ire, Jimin rolls his eyes. “For the last time: there’s no paradise to trouble, Yoongi.”

“You know what I mean, dude. You look worried. And frustrated. It's got to be about…her.”

Jimin winces at the emphasis on the pronoun. “She's not Voldemort, dude, you can say her name. What the fuck?”

“Ah, is that so? Then how about… the love of your life?” 

“Yoongi! Stop with that already, man. It's not like that between us, we’re just friends who lean on each other for support,” Jimin speaks on autopilot, having perfected the words he has been repeating ever since his colleagues got to know about your existence in his life. “It’s a strange dynamic but it works out well for—”

“Oh, shut up, King of Delusions. About time you stop fooling yourself and me with that bullcrap.” Now it's Yoongi's turn to scoff at Jimin. “Your feelings for her are becoming more and more obvious with time. And if I can see them with such clarity, I bet that you can as well. Which only means that you’re knowingly turning a blind eye. And it is pissing me off.”

So, yeah, this isn't the first time Jimin's hearing this lecture from his friend. 

It’s always the same story whenever any mention of you happens in Min Yoongi’s vicinity. Jimin should, ideally, be immune to the non-stop badgering, but the older guy somehow always manages to bring in fresh points to the table, so Jimin is forced to react with even louder groans, each time.

“When the hell are you going to admit you’re in love with her?”

“I’m literally not,” Jimin’s complaint comes out as a whine, and he mentally counts down the seconds till Yoongi will bring up the fact that he was stopped from pursuing you by Jimin. He wonders if the actual reason why Yoongi does this is because the guy still has a crush on you and feels resentful towards Jimin for not letting him ask you out. “Please stop.”

“You’re not in love? Sure, buddy. You forbade me from pursuing her like some alpha male protective of his mate… doesn't get more soulmate-y than that!” Yoongi rolls his eyes with a grimace. “When the fuck are you going to face yourself?”

“This again? Seriously? I've told you countless times that I did that because she was uncomfortable with your affections,” he reminds Yoongi for what feels like the hundredth time. “I was being a good friend.”

“Right, and she still doesn't know anything about it, does she? She still thinks I stopped pursuing her because I lost interest. Why haven't you told her you had a talk with me?”

Jimin closes his eyes and drags both his palms down his face because Yoongi is absolutely correct. “I… Because it doesn't concern her.”

Yoongi is silent for a while. When Jimin peeks past his fingers to see if the guy may have fallen asleep, he finds Yoongi gaping at him. “Are you even listening to yourself? You stopped me from pursuing her because she's uncomfortable, but telling her about it doesn't concern her? Make it make sense, Park!” He scoffs. “Does she even know we're friends? Does she know you're on this trip with me?”

Jimin remains silent, slowly turning his head to the other direction. “Not really. Told her I'm accompanied by Tara,” he mumbles, only for Yoongi to give a dramatic gasp.

“What? She doesn't know we're friends? Why the fuck would you lie to her about me? Are you ashamed of me, you asshole? And Tara, of all people? What the fuck is wrong with your head?”

Jimin almost laughs at Yoongi’s horrified expressions, but then stops himself because he half suspects the guy might toss him off the balcony if irritated enough, and they’re on the twentieth floor. “It's just… It never came up, I guess? I… don't really talk to her about work much…” His excuse is so weak it makes him physically cringe.

“You were literally just crying to her about our client's butler…”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Jimin sits up, sliding back to rest his head against the headboard, and looks up at the ceiling. “I don't know why I couldn't tell her. But it's not because I'm in love with her, okay? That doesn't even make sense because I still tease her about you for fun. And I also didn't stop you from pursuing her because I wanna be with her, or anything. I don't have those kinds of feelings for her. Promise.”

“Okay. What kind of feelings do you have for her then?”

Jimin opens his mouth to reiterate that you're just friends, briefly shutting his eyes in exasperation—and then freezes. 

An entire cinematic reel of images sets in motion behind his closed eyelids, all featuring your eyes, your skin, your warmth — and his intimacy with them. The darkened haze of your gaze when he pulled away from kissing you. The softness of the skin of your shoulder when he dug his teeth into it; the taste of your skin. Of you. He can nearly smell the scent of your hair in his lungs and can hear the short, hitched breaths you puffed out next to his ears. 

His heart rate kicks up and sweat dots his forehead within the seconds it takes for him to open his eyes again.

It is as if he got dunked into scalding hot water, stifling him and overwhelming all his senses all at once. He feels warm all over. His chest feels heavier than before.

Shit.

This isn't the kind of behavior someone’s ‘just friend’ would exhibit. These aren’t the kind of thoughts he has ever had about you, before.

Shit. 

“Well?” Yoongi is looking at him expectantly with zero judgement in his gaze. “What kind of feelings, Jimin?”

He and Yoongi share a sort of bond where they serve as each other’s sounding boards about decisions that they take at work, with their team. That is not to say that they aren’t good friends and only talk about work. But it’s just that these conversations have never really included much honesty from Jimin’s end whenever the topic hovered over you. 

Jimin can feel that he is about to change that now, though. 

He breathes in and honestly confesses to Yoongi what he hasn't even said to himself out loud, yet: “They’re… confusing.” 

Yoongi nearly jumps off his bed and lands on one corner of Jimin's, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. “Confusing? Not strictly platonic the way they used to be? Dude…” He shakes his head in awe. “This is new. What's changed?” 

Jimin fiddles with his thumbs, lips pursed together as he finds himself caught in a very uncharacteristic fit of nervousness. “So there's this… this thing that happened before I left for this trip… And it changed some things, I guess?”

Yoongi blinks at him, expressions dropped to a deadpan. “You slept with her, didn't you?”

“Wha—how the hell—”

“I’m older than you, I've seen more in this world than you have, so hush with the theatrics. Tell me what happened after that.”

Well. Where does he begin? “She… went on a date with a guy, so—”

“A date? Right after the day you had sex with her?”

Jimin clicks his tongue and shoves Yoongi's shoulder. “Yes and it's not a big deal, okay? We decided that we are going to move ahead and remain the kind of best friends we've always been. And she'd made plans for that date before we slept together, so it's all completely fine.”

Yoongi is squinting at him by the time Jimin stops speaking. “Hm. Is it, really? All completely fine?”

“Yes, it is! I just said it was!”

“O—kay? So what's the problem, then? You decided you both would move ahead and you did – what's the catch? You don't like that she's being normal?”

“No, that's not it. She… wasn't exactly normal, either. She sounded…” Jimin gulps the nerves that block his throat as the prospect of losing your friendship swims up in his vision. “She sounded off. Different. Distant.”

“Oh, boy… Are you scared that she hit it off really well with her date and moved away from you?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “That's impossible.”

Yoongi gives a smirk which unnerves Jimin in all the bad ways. “Is it? Because if it isn't the possibility of her growing distant from you and closer to someone else that's been troubling you, your issues are way deeper and definitely scarier. Good luck, pal.”

Throughout the entire day full of meetings that Jimin goes through, Yoongi's words keep circling in his head. Did it really bother him that you went on a date? He swore up and down that you guys will remain normal and that night will remain just a memory. So obviously it was correct of you to go on that date you’d planned in advance! 

Why the hell is he acting up when you're doing exactly what you both planned you'd do? 

Jimin chooses to have lunch by himself, in one corner of the cafeteria, leaving Yoongi to mingle with the clients, and mulls over his situation and state of mind. 

Maybe he is bothered by your date. And maybe he is so bothered because it was too soon. 

Because he can't get the images of that night out of his head the way he thought he'd easily be able to. 

When he tried to nap on the flight, he saw you riding his dick. When he got into the shower, he saw your teary face after he'd eaten you out good. He had to touch himself to take the edge off, praying that Yoongi wouldn't hear him, and that literally helped with nothing.

Does he actually… want you? 

The last time this happened was around six years ago.

Jimin sips at his almond milk as memories of a time he’d thought was distant and forgotten cascade through his brain.

The two of you were juniors in college. He'd recently gotten out of this toxic relationship that had sucked all the joy out of his life and was spending his days sleeping in and skipping classes, and his nights drinking with friends. It was 2 am when he saw an Instagram post of you posing sweetly for the camera and all he could think of was how badly he missed you. How he hated the fact that you went to different colleges because he wanted to see you so bad. 

He'd left a series of drunk texts in your DMs, of all places, telling you that you were the best girl he'd ever met and that you were perfect in every way and how happy you would make someone by being theirs. You'd replied the next morning, thanking him for being a sweetheart and then told him that you’d found the lucky one – because axolotl had finally asked you out on a date. 

Jimin would never admit it to anyone, but he’d been really upset and extremely jealous of that stupid asshole. It had gotten to the point where he over-inserted himself into your relationship to let fucking axolotl know that he’d come first in your life. That is not to say that the dude wasn’t toxic enough by himself. But when Jimin saw the way his actions were causing you hurt too, he decided to retreat.

That was when he swore he would step back and be the best bff to you at every step in life.

And he’s been on that road pretty religiously!

All the flirting he gets up to with you is totally harmless and only for fun because he enjoys making you blush. Which is probably why he tried to categorize that night under this ‘harmless fun’, too. But it’s clearly not working. 

He’s restless. He needs to return home and see you in person.

He needs to ensure that he can still be your friend despite all these thoughts plaguing his brain.

What the hell is going to do if he doesn’t arrive upon the desired answer, however? He hasn’t the slightest clue.

Jimin spends the rest of the day waiting for your call – which never comes.

He texts you when he’s done packing his bags after his last meeting, but you don't respond.

The heavy feeling in his stomach grows heavier and heavier – until it becomes so suffocating that he has to come out to the balcony and breathe in some fresh air.

Except – smoke fills his lungs upon the first inhale, and he wrinkles his nose at Yoongi’s cigarette.

“What? Can't a guy enjoy a smoke in peace? We have to be at the airport in an hour.”

“Oh, no, don’t mind me. Please relish every bit of your death stick, by all means.”

Yoongi snorts at his words, and snuffs the remainder of the cigarette out with a roll of his eyes. “Your panties are in a twist again. What's happened now?”

“I'm fine.”

“Sure. And everything's okay between you and she who shall not be named?”

For a moment, Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip, watching the way the remnant smoke swirls away from the balcony and disappears into the late afternoon sky. Then he sighs. “I don’t know. She hasn’t responded to any of my texts and she didn’t call me. She’d said she would. I feel too fucking tense, it’s like my neurons are collapsing in on themselves.”

“Oh, man… If only you were a smoker, I would have procured you some of the best weed in the market. Would have taken the edge off with a handful of puffs.”

Jimin scowls at the guy. “Thank you for your consideration. Think I’ll just hit myself over the head with a saucepan and call it a day.”

“Stop stressing out so much, you moron. We’ll be back there in four hours. Take a cab straight to her place and talk everything out. Distance is a bitch that creates miscommunication. It’s just a matter of hours.”

Jimin nods to himself.

Just a matter of hours.

Just a matter of hours.

He can’t do it.

Jimin parted ways with Yoongi the moment he grabbed his luggage at the airport, and made a beeline for the cab he booked to take him to your place. He booked the ride in advance, even before he shot you a text informing his arrival back in town.

But just as his butt touches the leather seats – he realises that he can’t ambush you at your place.

So he regretfully gives the driver his own address and agrees to pay the extra amount that this re-routing would cost.

He shuts his eyes and lets out a deep, guttural exhale of frustration. Just a few hours ago, he couldn't wait to get to you fast enough.

And now, when he is at such a short distance away from actually being able to approach you and have a face to face conversation, his nerves have shackled him down and he cannot get himself to do it.

Some part of him believes that he needs to have a proper talk with himself about what the hell has happened with the dynamics the two of you share before he can prepare himself to have one with you. But some part of him believes that to be just a cop out. Which isn’t a complete lie, because at the end of the day, he is deathly afraid of losing you.

He needs to destress his mind.

But you’re the person he turns to when he needs to destress his mind.

Maybe… he can call you? That won’t be as risky and potentially devastating as paying you a visit, right?

Right. It can’t be. And he’s gotta talk to you because he misses you like crazy.

When his cab finally slows down before his apartment, his anxiety has reached a high that is making his forehead sweat despite the car's AC. Hopping out of the vehicle, he pays the driver and quickly gets into his apartment.

“It’s all gonna be fine, Park,” he mumbles to himself in a lame attempt at a pep talk while he changes out of his clothes and hops into the bathroom for a quick but hot shower. “She's your best friend in the world. You won't lose her. To anything.” He thickly swallows. “Or anyone.”

Donning some sweatpants and a t-shirt, he walks into his living room with his hair still wet and opens up a window to let some fresh air in. The sun has just sunk beneath the horizon, leaving behind some remnant daylight and a beautiful orange hue. Inhaling the crisp evening October air, he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

07:42 PM | Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 woohooo! welcome back to the town, dork <3

He smiles at the text and calls your number.

You pick up the call within seconds of its ringing, filling his phone screen with your entire form that is seated in your bedroom’s bay window.

Jimin’s words sort of get stuck in his throat at the sight of your gorgeous self dressed down in grey lounge pants and a pastel yellow hoodie. 

Wait, gorgeous? You look exactly the way you have always looked. 

And… you have always looked gorgeous, haven’t you?

Jimin can feel his palms beginning to sweat. No, Yoongi was wrong. He wasn’t ready to face you. He isn’t ready to confront all that has changed in his perception of you, when you are exactly the same person that you have always been. 

Your hair is wet, as if you just exited the shower too. And the way your hoodie drowns your entire body seems like the most adorable thing in the world to him. Your cheeks have a darker tint to them, too – caused by warm water, excitement about talking to him, or something else entirely? He hasn’t a clue. It just makes you look prettier and his heart beat louder.

Jimin is suddenly overcome with the urge to run all the way to your place and envelop you in a hug.

And you both never hug—both certifiably allergic to physical affection.

Fuck, he wishes he was there so that he could cup your pretty face in his palms and cover your kissable lips with his own. His fingers twitch with the urge. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

“Welcome back, dork!” you announce, spreading your lips in a joyous grin. “Are you sleeping with your eyes open wide?”

Broken out of his crisis-inducing trance, Jimin forces a chuckle out of his throat, “I—I was gonna sing-song ‘honey, I'm home’ to you, but you picked up the call t—too fast.”

Fuck, did he just fucking stutter? You don’t seem to have noticed, thankfully, because you simply laugh some more. Your eyes are big and bright and brimming with affection, even if you've pursed your lips in a faux display of anger.

He feels like he missed looking into their depths. Has it really been just two days since he last saw you?

Wait, not even fully that – he left your place yesterday morning.

And now he’s on a freaking video call with you, clutching onto his phone like it’s his lifeline, nearly panting for your attention and affection as if he’s been starved for it. 

Shit, shit, shit, he is supremely screwed.

“Honey’s glad you’re home, too, I guess?”

Your response is ten-on-ten on-brand with the sort of banter the two of you engage in. It makes him believe that everything is actually good. That it’s all gonna be alright. 

Jimin smiles and hopes to God he doesn’t look as stupidly lovesick as he feels in the moment. A lost puppy finally returning home to its owner. 

Cursing under his breath at his train of thoughts, he reclines sideways on one of his sofa chairs and fluffs his wet hair away from his forehead. 

“So, how was your trip? How’s Tara?”

“Trip was good. Productive. We sealed the deal – despite the stupid Alfred-ass guy. And Tara’s fine, too.” He tries his best to disguise his wince as a smile. “Rushed home the moment we touched down.”

“Oh, her husband must’ve picked her up, right? Forgot she's married.” You nod to yourself, scratching your head and furrowing your brows in thought. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine. Had to sit next to a guy who fell asleep the moment we took off, and constantly kept leaning his head on my shoulder. It’s just a three hour flight! He couldn’t stay up that long?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes because the guy he’s talking about is actually Min freaking Yoongi. “I think I have a cramp in my right side because of him.”

You chuckle at that, popping some salted almonds into your mouth. “So what’s the plan for the week? You got office tomorrow?”

“Yep! Although we both are allowed to go in a bit late.”

“That’s considerate of your company.”

There’s a dull pause in the conversation which Jimin uses to wordlessly admire your face on his phone screen, again. He remembers the way other guys used to compliment your eyes, or the length of your nose, the plumpness of your lips, and how he used to just roll his eyes at their words because he didn’t see what they saw.

Well, now he does. He sees all of that and so much more. He sees it and he craves it. 

If not kiss you then at least see you. Be in your proximity. Admire your smile without a camera distorting it into pixels.

He wishes to visit you. He feels ready enough. Composed enough. He will keep himself safely off of risky topics. 

Like, come on. He is twenty-seven. Mature enough to handle himself enough to not make a fool of himself or accidentally ruin a friendship that he holds dearer than his life. Of course he is.

“So, what about you? Any plans for the night? Should I come crash?”

It’s out before he can overthink—or even fully think—of a proper, saner, more sophisticated way to pose the question.

And given the way your eyes widen slightly, regret singes his tongue that articulated the words. “Uh…”

Catching himself in time, Jimin sits up and makes a show of narrowing his eyes at the screen. “What? What is it? What are you hiding, little wench?”

A laughter bubbles out of you, but he can sense your awkwardness through the expressions you wear. It guts him. Swallowing thickly, he raises his eyebrows and beckons you to speak.

Finally, you exhale and purse your lips. “Well, um. I, uh, kinda have Seokjin coming over later?”

The way Jimin’s jaw drops to the floor hasn’t a smidgeon of acting to it. “Say what?”

You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. “Yeah…”

“I… Didn’t you say you didn’t wanna talk about the date?” His voice comes out hollow and plain, absolutely unlike what it usually is.

“I did, yeah, but I also said I needed to figure it out. And we’re, um, just figuring things out. I’ll tell you when—”

You cut off with a jump as your doorbell goes off in the background.

Seokjin is there. Seokjin is at your place. To be with you. To hold you, kiss you, touch you — and probably more.

Jimin feels the floor disappear from beneath his feet. His stomach is lurching and he is free falling. 

“I'll, uh, I'll be right there!” you call in the general direction of the door, casting a hesitant glance towards your phone.

Jimin's free-fall increases in velocity.

“Is that… him?” he asks in a scratchy whisper, face nothing short of horror-struck.

And when you give an almost shy nod, Jimin's brain short-circuits and he can't see a thing.

“Well, okay then! Have a great time! See ya later!”

He disconnects the call and allows his phone to drop down into the carpet beneath the chair he’s seated on. 

Despite trying his hardest, Jimin can’t stop his mind from making up images of you and Seokjin entwined in bed, with you making all the sounds that Jimin elicited out of you not forty-eight hours ago.

Fuck.

He feels shaken up. 

Getting up, he walks into his kitchen and grabs a bottle of water.

“It’s fine,” he tells himself. “It’s just weird because it’s too soon. Otherwise it’s good. It’ll be great. She needs this. I told her to go for it.” 

He clears his throat and sips some more water.

“They’re just sleeping together, anyway. She isn’t going to fall in love with him overnight. And if she does, she’ll tell me… And I’ll support her because she’s my be–best friend in the world.”

Even as the words leave him, they scorch his insides on their way out. His brain feels fuzzy with all the misplaced anger, regret and loss he feels. 

It’s half past two in the morning and Jimin is scrolling brainrot content on social media to put his mind off of the activities you might be getting up to. If you'd be in your bedroom or if you'd be in the living room, in front of the TV. 

If Seokjin would be eating you out in the same spot where Jimin—

Okay, here's a video of fifteen rubber duckies! They're being squashed at the same time! They're making such a horrendous but hilarious sound!

Needless to say – he isn’t doing a great job keeping himself distracted.

Groaning at himself, he refreshes his feed and gets ready to scroll again. And then he comes to a halt.

A post from you has popped up. 

It's a selfie featuring you and Kim Seokjin, seated in your car, heads tipped together in the middle of the seats, grins on your faces and cones of vanilla ice-cream in your hands. A passably normal and arguably cute picture.

Until Jimin’s eyes travel to the content below the picture.

He sits up in his bed upon spying the ‘💝’ emoji you’ve captioned the post with.

A heart emoji? You abhor those! Last time you willingly put one on your social media was way back when you were still with axolotl!

Oh…

Oh no…

Does this mean that you and Seokjin…?

And when the fuck were you planning to tell him?

Jimin needs to talk to you. Soon.

Foregoing any texts announcing his arrival, Jimin decides to steer his car towards your place, right after work on Monday. He gets off an hour later than you, so there’s no chance he won’t catch you.

But as he locks the vehicle and makes his way up your apartment, it hits him that there is a very real possibility that he might find Seokjin in there with you. And Jimin is completely unprepared to confront the man without having a conversation with you first.

So he presses the bell with his fingers crossed – and gives a sigh of relief when you open the door by yourself.

You’ve changed out of your work clothes and are dressed up in the same set of hoodie and lounge pants he saw you in during the video call, yesterday. And his urge to capture you in a hug and then smother you in kisses is back.

Stifling it all, however, Jimin focuses on the social media post he saw and allows the feeling of irritation and betrayal he felt upon spotting the heart emoji to wash over him, again. 

Then he grins at you. “Surprise?”

Your gaping mouth closes on a chuckle and, rolling your eyes, you let him in. “Unannounced but not unpleasant, hey.”

Jimin resolutely looks away from the couch in your living room, unwilling to let his resolve to confront you weaken by any means, and heads straight to your kitchen table to occupy one of the bar stools.

“So. How’s work?” He asks, leaning over the counter a little, and squints at your form as you busy yourself pouring a glass of orange juice for him.

“Uh, what? Work’s work. Did you come here to ask me that?” Your head tilts to the side in a question and Jimin exhales in defeat.

“No. Obviously. I'm here to ask you about Seokjin.” You tense at that and Jimin gives a scoff. “Okay, don't you dare try to whip up a story! You didn't tell me on Saturday – fine. You barely told me anything yesterday, harsh but acceptable. But now I'm here and now I wanna know what's going on. And if you dare try to look for a way out this time, I will drive a knife through your gut.”

He didn't mean to go that dark, but your behaviour has gotten on his nerves so awfully, that he couldn't help it.

“Wha–Jimin! I told you I'm still figuring it out…” You avoid his eyes as you speak, playing with the drawstrings on your hoodie. “I'll tell you first thing when I have clarity.”

“Well, I think you do have clarity but you’re just refusing to share it with me. And you need to hurry the fuck up with that because I'm losing patience here.”

Your forehead furrows. “Hey… You can't rush me to make up my mind about someone! It's bad enough that you pushed me to go on a date with him.”

“But I'm literally not rushing you? I saw that social media post you made, and you captioned it with a…heart emoji. You never make public gestures of affection with someone so quickly, so I just wondered if you had developed actual feelings for the guy, beyond the admiration you claimed to have for him. I was concerned about you. What choices you'd made.” He looks away from your face and down at his manicured nails. “As your best friend.”

Your sharp inhale draws his attention back to your face, and he is met with a somewhat cautious expression. “Oh? So you're being a concerned friend? That's – that's the only reason why you'd like to know about me and Seokjin?”

Jimin's breath gets caught in his throat. What did you just ask him? What did you imply?

He frantically searches your face to look for cues that would guide him towards the right way to respond to your question, but all he can find is impatience and thinly veiled disappointment.

The amount of confusion he feels makes his head spin.

He can either be honest – or he can play this safe. And given the amount of risks he has taken with you recently, he would very much rather stay in the comfort zone for once, even if it means that he has to lie.

“Sure. I mean…what other reason could there be? Right?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat and your eyes lose a bit of their sparkle. Before Jimin can even begin to analyse what the hell any of it could be about, you're straightening up again with a determined set to your shoulders.

“Yeah. That's right. No other reason. None at all. You're a concerned friend, that's good. That's great.” You lick your lips and then walk around the counter to sit on the other stool, next to him. Your eyes are hesitant when they meet his own. “Because Jimin, I've been wanting to tell you something. I've thought about this throughout the weekend, and… I really, truly regret that night. What we did was stupid, careless and extremely catastrophic. We shouldn't have slept together.”

Jimin feels a part of his soul crumble and wither at those words.

His brain slows down, gaze grows heavy, and his lungs have to put in extra effort to keep his breathing steady. 

Stupid, careless and extremely catastrophic.

His fingers tremble when he tries to reach for the glass of juice, so he pulls them towards his palm and forms a fist to hide them from you.

“You… why?” He hates himself for sounding as small and lost as he does. Clicking his tongue, he runs both his palms down his face and looks up to meet your saddened eyes again. “I mean it's great that you moved on the way we'd planned, but you don't have to regret the night we shared. It's okay. You can have it both ways.”

You shake your head, eyes even more sadder than before. “But I don't want to. We are supposed to be friends forever, Jimin. You and I… We can’t - I… I can’t lose you. To anything. So I can't do what you’re doing. Cherish that night's memory and behave normally. I need to forget and I need you to know that I wish it never happened. And that I'm… I'm sorry that I’m not strong enough.”

Jimin tries to swallow past his dry throat, only to cough when he can't. 

It kinda sounds like you're afraid you might want him still, so you are nipping the possibility in the bud by denying that the two of you ever crossed the line. It kinda sounds like you can’t move ahead because of that night, so you wish to act as if it didn’t happen.

But you are lighter on words and heavier on nibbling your lip, so maybe you've somehow figured out how precious that memory is to Jimin and you’re just trying to spare his feelings, which – ouch. 

He knew he was becoming pathetic but he didn't realise it was this pathetic.

Scoffing, Jimin gets up and shakes his head. “Don't worry, I wasn't getting any ideas about us doing a repeat of what happened, if that's what you were concerned about. I only want the two of us to resume being the best of buds and share everything the way we used to.”

“No, Jimin, that's not—I mean, you wanted me to give Seokjin a real shot and I did. And so I don’t want there to be anything that holds me back from being honest about it.”

The set of words hurt him more than they should, but he moves past them to address his main concern that you still seem to have missed. “Hey, listen to me. I didn't come here to hound you about Seokjin because I have a problem with what's going on. I came here because I have a problem with you not telling me what's going on. I have a problem with you believing you need to keep it from me for some stupid, untrue reason that you might’ve made up in your head.”

You don't say anything for a while, don't even look up to meet his gaze. Your lower lip stays between your teeth and your eyes don't look away from the kitchen counter where both your hands rest next to the untouched glass of orange juice.

And then you suddenly look up and into his eyes, determination all over your face. “You need to get a girlfriend.”

Uh.

What?

Gaping at the offputting, crooked smile that overtakes your face, Jimin slowly shakes his head as he wonders if he might've heard you wrong.

“Yeah,” you continue, nodding to yourself, “I feel guilty, Min. I’ve broken our no-dating pact, so it's only fair if you get to leave, too.”

Woah. Two dates with a guy and you've already declared your pact broken? And yet you wouldn't say a word about Seokjin beyond the fact that you’re pursuing it because Jimin asked you to.

He is quite literally too stunned to speak.

You laugh a little, looking almost nervous. “What? Don't tell me you fell in love with me or something, Min. That night was purely physical, right? We're mature enough to remember that.” 

The words hit him in a bad way, because you very clearly said them in a way that was meant to hurt him. Of course it was purely physical! But nothing between the two of you can ever be without at least some semblance of emotion because you both go way back! Even the playful insults you toss at each other and the jokes you share carry affection, intimacy and meaning. 

He doesn't have the slightest clue what you've been trying to do all this time, but if you truly want to rile him up and upset him tonight, he's going to forfeit and give you the satisfaction of having succeeded. He hasn't got enough mental strength to decipher the meaning of everything you're doing and then try to diffuse the grenade you've built.

So Jimin steps away from the counter and gives a loud scoff. “Don't be ridiculous. Of course not, there's no way in hell. How could I ever be in love with someone like you? Look at your emotional range and look at mine. I know, better than anyone else in the world, that you’re incapable of love. I know not to love a rock. I'm not stupid.”

Your face falls and eyes turn glossy, but Jimin can bet you aren't hurting like he is. You can't. That's one of your superpowers – compartmentalising so well, you sometimes don't even see the hurt that devastates others. 

“R–right. Didn't have to insult me, but you're right.”

“Why?” Jimin scoffs. “Isn't that what our relationship is about? Being friends? Laughing together? Insulting each other?”

You frown at him. “Why're you talking like that? Why are you getting angry at me?”

Jimin blinks at your words, watching the way your eyes look truly clueless, and sheer sadness envelopes him. 

Because it hits him now. Maybe you didn’t say those words to hurt him. Maybe he underestimated your inability to feel. Maybe you really don't get why it was special. Because you really didn't feel why it could be special.

Maybe nothing between the two of you has ever carried any emotion to it, for you.

You have no idea about the emotional turmoil he's been in the past two days when he couldn't get you out of your mind, because you were on a completely different page. This is why it was easy for you to go on that date and then call that guy home the next day.

The night you shared with Jimin doesn't matter to you. Jimin doesn't matter to you.

Not the way he thought. Not the way you do to him.

And his evolving feelings for you, whatever they end up becoming, would only serve to be an inconvenience in your life that you would just ask him to sort out instead of helping him wade through them because… 

This is who you are. 

This is who you've always been.

This is the girl he met in eighth standard, had a crush on, became lifelong friends with, had sex with, and developed more than platonic feelings for.

This is you.

He doesn’t know how to deal with this realization. He can’t deal with this sitting in your kitchen. And he can’t deal with this without a drink.

So he collects his coat and walks out of your house, ignoring your calls of his name and choosing his own sanity over you for once

© jimilter | 2025

[crackedpumpkin]

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟎𝟗 |

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

“I don’t get it.” You cross your arms, glaring at Jay, who looks like he’s seconds away from tearing his hair out.

“What’s so hard about down-up-left, smash-up, then down again two times ?” He jabs a finger in your direction, his tone accusing. His game controller lies abandoned on the carpet, thrown there in his dramatic rage-quit.

“Firstly, how dare you assume I know anything about this game,” you retort, raising a brow. Your own controller dangles limply from your hand as you return his glare with equal intensity. “Secondly, you’re the one who was lacking a teammate. In case you didn’t notice, I was busy trying to kill those aliens you let through.”

Jay groans, dramatically slumping back on the couch like the very fabric of existence has betrayed him.

To be fair, he’d given you little choice but to join him. He’d texted you the second your classes ended, announcing that it was his turn for guard duty. After a week of being chaperoned by Nya and Kai (who at least managed to stay professional about it) you were left with Jay. Fun.

Nya had dropped you off with a laptop full of incomplete Word files and a heap of boredom. It didn’t last long. Jay had instantly yelled for you to join him in the game room, and, well, here you were.

“Hello.” Zane’s voice cuts through the argument as he enters the room wearing a pink apron, carrying a plate of cookies. You seize the distraction, leaving Jay to sulk on the couch as you swipe one from the plate.

“I assume you’re having fun?” Zane asks, though you suspect he already knows the answer.

You smirk, nodding. “He can never know how I kicked your butt last time we played this game,” you whisper, giving Zane a conspiratorial glance.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Zane replies, though there’s a subtle hint of mischief in his tone.

You pat his shoulder, taking another bite of the cookie. “Good man.”

It’s then you notice something off. It’s not the blinking arcade lights in the corner or the disorganized pile of vinyl records waiting for salvation. Neither is it the foosball table that’s been turned on its side or the random origami paper on the ground.

“Where’s everyone else?”

Zane tilts his head, as though mentally ticking off a list. “Sensei Wu gave the students the day off. Nya and Kai are still on patrol. Lloyd is in the strategy room with Pixel, and Cole stepped out to grab some pizza for dinner.” He pauses, glancing at you. “Will you be staying?”

You sigh wistfully, longing for a slice of Hawaiian pizza. “I wish. But I’ve got dinner at home I can’t skip. I’ve already been out with you guys too often this week.”

“For your safety,” Zane reminds gently. “This thief, whoever they are, is still at large and remains a significant threat. However, Lloyd mentioned an update earlier. Perhaps you’d like to join me to hear it?”

Your gaze flicks to Jay, now fully engrossed in setting up a solo game, and then to your laptop perched on the table. “Yeah, alright. Lead the way.”

Zane guides you through a set of doors and into a lift, which hums softly as it descends into the depths of the base. The doors slide open with a hiss, revealing the familiar sight of the strategy room, bathed in the soft glow of monitors.

Pixel is the first to notice you, offering a welcoming smile. Lloyd glances over his shoulder, his brows lifting in surprise. “Hey,” he greets, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t expect you down here. How’ve you been?”

“Could always be better,” you reply with a shrug, matching his casual tone. His grin widens, and you can tell he’s already picking up on your vibe.

“Heard there’s an update,” you say, gesturing to the room. “Anything I can do to help?”

Lloyd hesitates for a moment before nodding to Pixel. She presses a button, and in an instant, holographic screens materialise, casting a pale glow over the room.

You try to read the text, but it’s dense. Paragraphs of information fly past faster than your brain can process. Instead, your attention is caught by a sketch of a masked figure, their features obscured, and a blurry CCTV photo beside it.

“That’s the thief,” Lloyd explains, stepping beside you. His tone grows serious as he gestures to the photo. “Unfortunately, this is the clearest image we’ve got. All the cameras surrounding the jewelry store went offline during the heist. Pixel’s still analysing the footage for anomalies, but so far, nothing adds up.”

“Convenient,” you mutter, squinting at the screens. “So they knew how to cover their tracks.”

“Exactly,” Lloyd replies, his expression grim. “Whoever this is, they’re good. Too good.”

“And the Scrolls?” you ask, noticing another screen displaying text about their ancient origins.

“They’re connected,” he says, voice tight. “The thief’s after them for a reason, but we’re still piecing together why. If they get their hands on all of them…”

The weight of his unfinished sentence hangs heavy in the air.

“Well,” you say, crossing your arms and forcing a smirk, “guess it’s a good thing you’ve got a team of ninja and a… very stressed university student on the case.”

Lloyd chuckles lightly, the tension easing just a fraction. “Yeah. Guess it is.”

Pixel steps forward, her mechanical fingers tapping on a keyboard. “We’ve highlighted the thief’s potential next targets. With your permission, Lloyd, I can brief her on the details.”

He nods, and you step closer to the screens, your smirk fading as you take in the gravity of what’s unfolding.

“I believe Cole mentioned this at dinner the other night,” Pixel begins, swiping her hand across one of the holographic screens. The image shifts, revealing three distinct scrolls. Each is wrapped with a different colored string. One red, one blue, one gold, and sealed within ornate tubes etched with intricate patterns.

Pretty.

“These are the only three Scrolls whose locations are known,” Pixel continues. She points to the red scroll first, its intricate casing glowing faintly on the screen. “The Scroll of Fate. This was stolen here in Ninjago the night of the charity auction.” She taps the image, and it zooms in to show an empty display case surrounded by police tape.

Your hand curls into a fist at your side, recalling the way the ground had collapsed in on you with that stupid gauntlet the thief had worn when they punched the floor. 

Her finger moves to the blue scroll. “This is the Scroll of Dreams, located in Cloud Kingdom.” The image shifts to a floating realm wreathed in mist. It looks almost ethereal, your eyes widening in awe. 

Finally, she gestures to the gold scroll. “And this is the Scroll of Destiny, housed in the Temple of Light.” The screen transitions to a simple temple atop a grassy mountain, its white stone walls and red accents glowing under the bright sunlight. 

“Wait.” You hold up a hand, frowning as a memory tugs at the edge of your mind. “Didn’t Cole say there were four?”

Lloyd and Pixel exchange quick, knowing glances. You narrow your eyes, suspicion bubbling up.

“The fourth is… different,” Zane chimes in, stepping forward. His tone is calm, but his words carry a heavy undertone of solemnness. “Its location is a mystery, known only to its guardian, who guards it fiercely. Even its name has been lost to time.”

“Great,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “So it’s like some mythical hide-and-seek. What happens when the thief gets their hands on these three?”

“The first three Scrolls can be combined to form a map,” Zane explains. “A map that reveals the location of the fourth Scroll.”

You frown. Even the very notion sounds complicated. What’d they use? Glow-in-the-dark ink?

“Exactly,” Lloyd says, his jaw tightening. “That’s why we need to figure out the thief’s next move before they can get their hands on the others.”

Pixel nods. “And we must also understand why they are targeting you. Their intentions remain unclear.”

Looking at the ground with a defeated sigh, you kick at an imaginary pebble. Great. Juuuust great.

“Yes,” Lloyd says, his tone sharpening as he turns to face you fully. “Are you sure there’s no one you might suspect? Someone from your past, or even recently, who might have a connection to this?”

“What?!” You gape at him, incredulous. “Dude, I just moved here. I barely know anyone, and my enemies list is at a solid zero. I think. I’m pretty sure.” You pause at his sceptical look. “I’m sure.”

Lloyd exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as his shoulders tense. “I had to ask.” 

“Maybe try asking the thief next time they pop up,” you quip, leaning back against the table. “Pretty sure they’d have more answers than me.”

Lloyd shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. Pixel offers a small smile, attempting to ease the tension.

“Regardless,” she says, her tone soothing, “your safety remains our priority. We will continue to monitor the Scrolls and the thief’s movements.”

“Good to know,” you reply, though the idea of being a walking target gnaws at the edges of your thoughts. Vulnerability isn’t an option, so you shove the unease aside and straighten your back.

Lloyd steps forward, his gaze softening. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

You nod, forcing a small smile. Pixel parts her lips, about to say something before another voice pipes up. 

“I got the goods!”

All heads swivel toward the lift. Cole strides in, pizza boxes stacked high in his arms, his grin as wide as ever. He stops short, eyebrows quirking as he takes in the scattered documents and glowing screens. His eyes land on you, and his grin shifts into a wry smile.

“You gonna stay for dinner or what?”

— — — — — 

You did not, in fact, stay for dinner. But right now, you wish you were back at the monastery. Anywhere but here, sitting next to Emily of all people. 

She cheers when the fireworks go off a short distance away, your dad gesturing back as he lights up another one. What was supposed to be a calm, peaceful dinner quickly turned into a kidnapping when he sprung the surprise of a beach hangout instead.

Emily had been caught off guard too, warily glancing in your direction before nodding when he grinned widely. Now, here she was, sitting awkwardly beside you, the two of you making an unspoken agreement to ignore each other as much as possible atop an old Barney the Dinosaur mat he’d somehow found.

“Here.” Her voice snaps you out of your brooding. She holds out a sparkler, its long, unlit stick wavering slightly in her hand. You glare at it, suspicion and annoyance bubbling up. Of course, she’d try to break the awkward silence with a gesture like this.

You don’t move at first, staring at the sparkler like it’s a snake ready to bite. However, your love for the stupid small stick wins out. Huffing out a breath, you snatch it from her hand, your fingers brushing briefly against hers.

Dang it.

“Thanks,” you mutter, though the gratitude is purely for the sparkler, not the person handing it to you.

She nods, looking away. 

A candle flickers a few feet away, stuck in the sand. Your dad had set it up earlier, claiming it was for the sake of convenience before running off to light up the more whimsical fireworks near the coastline.

You shuffle over, careful not to let the grains stick to your jeans, and lean forward to light the sparkler. The tiny flame catches with a hiss, and it comes to life in a shower of glowing embers.

For a moment, you just watch it, letting it dangle limply from your fingers as it sputters and sparks. The light reflects in your eyes, the embers reminding you of a certain someone. But the joy is fleeting. It fizzles out far too soon, leaving only the acrid smell of smoke and a charred stick.

You toss it aside, brushing your hands off. A firework whistles into the sky, bursting into brilliant red and gold. Emily claps beside you, her enthusiasm grating on your nerves.

You glance down at the sand, grimacing at the thought of it clinging to your clothes. With a resigned sigh, you shift closer to her. Anything to avoid the gritty annoyance.

She glances your way, perhaps sensing the movement. Her mouth opens like she’s about to say something, but she seems to think better of it, turning her attention back to the fireworks.

Another one explodes in the sky, showering the night with brilliant light. You tilt your head up, watching it fade. For a second, you close your eyes. It makes it easier to pretend that Emily isn’t there, that it’s your mother instead. 

Then, she hesitates. You can feel her glance, the kind of awkward sideways look that signals incoming small talk. Silently, you pray for the moment to pass before it even begins.

But of course, your prayers aren’t answered. They never are.

“So…” she begins, her voice tentative. “How’s Master Wu’s classes going?”

You tense, not expecting her to bring that up. Your gaze flicks toward her briefly before returning to the waves you can barely make out in the dim candlelight that slowly sweeps onto the shore. “They’re… fine.”

She nods, clearly trying to gauge whether that response is an opening or a dead end. She chooses the former, her tone turning almost casual. “He’s… quite something, isn’t he? You know, I actually met him once. A while back.”

That catches your attention, but only slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, a little fondly. “At one of my book signings, of all places. He showed up right at the end of the event, stood patiently in line with this serene expression. At first, I thought he was in the wrong place, but nope. He handed me a copy of Heartstrings of Eternity —”

You can’t stop yourself from blinking at her. “Wait. Master Wu… a romance novel?”

She laughs, light and easy. “That was my reaction too. But he was very polite about it, said he appreciated the deeper themes and my perspective on fate.”

You stare at her, trying to picture Master Wu solemnly flipping through pages of a swoony love story. The mental image doesn’t compute, and yet, there’s a weird sort of charm to it. “Huh,” you say finally. “Never pegged him for a romance novel fan.”

Emily grins. “I didn’t either. But he has this way of making you feel like everything he does is somehow deeply intentional, you know?”

You don’t respond immediately, unsure how to navigate the conversation. Reluctantly, you offer, “Yeah. He’s… definitely got that vibe.”

To your horror, Emily continues. “He even gave me this little nugget of wisdom before he left. Something like, ‘The threads of destiny weave through all hearts, even in fiction.’ I’m pretty sure it was his way of telling me he liked my book.”

You hum absentmindedly, shifting slightly as the sand threatens to creep onto your clothes. A firework bursts overhead, painting the sky in gold and blue.

Emily watches the display for a moment before speaking again, her tone softer. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re taking his classes. He doesn’t exactly hand out invitations to just anyone, you know?”

Her words hang in the air, uncomfortably sincere.It would be easy to brush her off, easy to pretend the entire conversation didn’t happen and just not respond. But you’re reminded of the first time you met the rest of the ninja, how quickly you warmed up to their presence despite your whole soulmate situation.

Eventually, you nod. “I appreciate it. The classes are…” you hesitate momentarily, eyes flicking to her before casting them back to the mat beneath you, fingers tracing the outline of Barney the Dinosaur's mocking smile. “They’re good.”

You can hear her sharp inhale and already regret your words. Luckily, you’re saved from more conversation when your dad finally returns to the mat. He’s breathless, his forehead shining with sweat, but his smile remains as he collapses into the small space between Emily and you.

“Seems like my girls are getting along well!”

Emily parts her lips, glancing at you with uncertainty. You shrug your shoulders, offering probably one of the best responses you have given so far.

Your dad doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care about the awkward tension lingering in the air. With an exaggerated flourish, he pulls a plastic bag out from behind him, the Chen’s Noodle Palace logo emblazoned in bright red on the side.

“Dinner is served!” he announces, holding the bag up like it’s a trophy.

You blink. “Chen’s? Here?”

“Turns out they do takeaway for beach picnics now,” he says, pulling out steaming containers of noodles. “I had to wait forever, but trust me, it’s worth it. Best noodles in Ninjago City!”

You and Emily exchange glances, both skeptical. Your dad opens the first container, releasing a savory, mouthwatering aroma that has you leaning in despite yourself.

Emily perks up, her earlier hesitation forgotten. “That actually smells amazing.”

“I know, right?” Your dad grins, passing you one of the containers and some chopsticks. “Dig in!”

You take a cautious bite, the flavors immediately bursting on your tongue. Sweet, salty, umami…it is surprisingly good. You don’t realize you’ve taken a second bite until you catch him watching you with an annoyingly triumphant smirk.

“Told you,” he says smugly.

Emily is already halfway through her portion, nodding in agreement. “Okay, I have to admit, this is probably the best takeaway I’ve had in months. Guess they really improved ever since the original owner stepped down.”

Your dad beams, clearly basking in the success of his food choice. Just as you’re about to go for another bite, Emily taps her chopsticks against her container lightly, drawing your attention.

“Hey,” she says, holding up a golden-brown piece of tempura prawn. “Wanna try?”

You hesitate, the automatic response on the tip of your tongue. No, thanks. I’m good. But the way she holds it makes you pause.

“Uh…” you trail off, glancing at her offering. Before you can decide, she gently sets the prawn on the edge of your container.

“There,” she says with a small smile. “No pressure.”

You glance at the prawn, then back at her, reluctantly nudging it into the noodles with your chopsticks. “Thanks.”

Your dad watches the exchange, his expression softening. He doesn’t say anything, but the glint of pride in his eyes is impossible to miss. You shift uncomfortably, focusing on the noodles instead.

“Wow,” Emily says after a moment, gesturing at the food with her chopsticks. “I don’t know what’s better, the fireworks or these.”

“Definitely the noodles,” you mumble through another mouthful.

She chuckles softly, and for once in a long while, the air between you feels a little less tense.

— — — — — 

- [ Musketeer ] has changed [ Cake Enthusiast ] to [ Rocky’s Dad ] -

- [ Rocky’s Dad ] has changed [ Musketeer ] to [ anarchy ] -

Rocky’s Dad [ 11:02 PM ]: i always knew id be used for my dragon

anarchy [ 11:11 PM ]: lol what

anarchy [ 11:11 PM ]: lololol what is this name

anarchy [ 11:11 PM ]: do i even wanna know

Rocky’s Dad [ 11:20 PM ]: sry was in the shower

Rocky’s Dad [ 11:20 PM ]: at least make my name shorter

- [ anarchy ] has changed [ Rocky’s Dad ] to [ kole ] -

kole [ 11:24 PM ]: .

anarchy [ 11:24 PM ]: ?

kole [ 11:24 PM ]: anyw i got the short straw for next week

- Incoming Call from [ kole ]-

“Send me your schedule.”

“For free?” You put him on speaker, resuming your essay on the study of Borg Industries. “Don’t tell me you’re enrolling like Nya did. How does she even find the time?”

“You’d be surprised at her multitasking skills,” Cole replies, his voice tinged with amusement. In the background, you catch faint sounds of Jay and Kai bickering. The noise fades, and you suspect he’s left the room. “Anyway, since I’m your bodyguard next week, I figured we’d need a solid cover story.”

You hum, absently tapping the spacebar. “What kind of cover story?”

The line falls quiet. You glance at your phone, narrowing your eyes as if the device itself could pull an answer out of him. “What kind of cover story, Cole?”

After a beat, he says, “I think it’d be easier if we pretended to be a couple.”

Your hands hover above the keyboard. With deliberate care, you set your glasses aside and pinch the bridge of your nose. “...Why?”

“For starters, I’m not about to enroll in a business course I know nothing about. And second, people don’t ask as many questions when it’s soulmate-related. Makes it less complicated.”

You groan.

“Wow,” he says, his voice mockingly wounded. “At least warn me if you’re a hater.”

You highly doubt he’s offended. Secretly, you suspect he’s just as much of a drama queen as the others, maybe worse.

Pausing, you weigh your options. Unfortunately, it does make sense. No one would believe two "friends" willingly spending that much time together unless they were besties or soulmates.

Luckily for you, he falls into the latter.

“Fine,” you relent, “but we’re setting some ground rules.”

“Oh, agreed,” he replies, adding a theatrical shudder. “Rule one: we can never fall for each other.”

That draws a laugh out of you.

“Rule two,” you continue, “hand holding is allowed, but no PDA. I refuse to be that kind of couple.”

“Absolutely. We’ll save the PDA for the privacy of the monastery.”

You can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you close your laptop and pick up a pen to fiddle with. “Rule three: you pay for our ‘dates’.”

“Dates? As in plural?” he teases. “Didn’t realize you liked me that much.”

You snort. “Very funny, Brookstone. But you know I have to study to pass. You only had to take a few Zoom classes.”

“Hey, online university is hard when you’re saving civilians half the time.” He clears his throat, his tone softening. “Will you be okay, though? Studying outside, I mean.”

Your chest tightens at the shift in mood. You nod reflexively before realizing he can’t see you. “I’ll be fine. Corner seats in cafes are better anyway. Out of sight, out of mind, right?”

The joke lands flat, and Cole forces out a weak chuckle. “How about we swing by Papa’s? He’s been asking about you.”

“I still don’t get how you managed to charm him into giving you free stuff every time he sees you.”

“What can I say?” His smugness practically oozes through the speaker. “I’m just that amazing. Good-looking too, if I dare say so. And also smart. Can’t forget smart.”

You hum in mock agreement, though part of you begrudgingly acknowledges it. He is rather handsome. Objectively speaking, of course.

“Welp,” he cuts himself off with a yawn. “I’ll see you next week.”

“And hereI thought ninjas never run out of stamina.” You state, picking up the phone. “Goodnight, Cole.”

“Night.”

You hang up.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 

Taglist: @candyquokka @mossy-mika @em-100-blog @cursedreader @alicesmile1 @alexa24 @raegreenie4 @burdeningbitch @viennasthings @cadencannot @ml3czqo @nanasemo @certified-cole-simp @beescomet @theblindhag @mitbin24 @sweetlittlebumblebree @brooklyniswriting @cantbecreative @something-else3 @iinlovewithfictionalppl @itz-moonlight @jebesovovise @ryeheep @letthelightin2112 @classically-bored @clearlawyereaglewobbler @anajellyc @the-midnight-duck @fru1ty-bage3ls

[distinctlywhumpthing]

First Night Home pt. 2

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Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

Aiden jumps when Leo turns on the water. It seems like so long ago that he waited in this very spot on the first night. It’s fuzzy but he fixes his mind on those memories: Leo bribing him to come out from under the van with mini marshmallows; watching him cook dinner; even how scared he was, imagining how he might be punished for breaking the bowl. 

Anything but the last time he was in here. 

“Alright.” Leo takes a breath worthy of the size of this undertaking. “I’m gonna stay with you. We’ll skip the Saran Wrap and you can just hold onto my shoulders so your arms don’t get wet. Sound good?” 

He swallows and takes off his underwear. 

“Just look at me, okay? I’ve got you.” Leo lifts his hands one by one up to his shoulders like a slow dance. He’s so careful settling them there, especially his left hand, that Aiden’s covered in goosebumps when he’s done. Before he has a chance to breathe again, Leo starts to gently peel the tape and gauze from his collarbone and his arm. He curls his fingers into fists on Leo’s shoulders. 

“Sorry, sorry.” 

He’s not Harrison, he’s so far from being Harrison. 

It’s an insult to even have to draw the anti-comparison but his focus is like a scanning radio. It’ll lock onto the next strongest frequency whether he likes it or not. 

Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

It’s not the same as when Leo counted for him at the hospital. 

“Alright, ready?” 

He is not. He nods. 

In a graceless dance, they get him standing in the tub and under the stream of water. He grips Leo’s shoulders, tries to focus on his steadiness. 

“Is it okay? Not too hot or cool?” 

He jerks his head in a nod, even though that only answers the first question, keeping his eyes locked on Leo’s face just like he said. 

Not looking down at the blood-colored water circling the drain, just like— 

No. 

Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

Leo has to help wash the blood off but at least it’s a loofah. 

Not a washcloth. Not a sponge. 

He grits his teeth against the sensation, switches to counting straight up. Would he actually prefer a scrub brush and a cold hose? 

“Turn?” Leo poses it like a question, like there’s a choice. As if Aiden could bail right now. 

He lets Leo lift his hands off his shoulders, holding them up out of the shower spray. Turns to face the wall, raising his hands above his head to rest there, like he’s about to be strip searched. He starts to breathte through his teeth. 

Leo must hear the change because instead of the almost-scratch of the soaped-up loofah, it’s Leo’s hand that rubs circles across his shoulder blades. 

Aiden almost loses it. 

Trapped there, pinned against the tiles. He doesn’t want to look at them. But they are decidedly better than the ones he sees when he closes his eyes. He locks every muscle, forcing himself not to arch and twist out from under Leo’s too-careful, too-soft, too-kind, too-slow touch that he can only half feel. It’s all he can focus on and it goes on forever.

Even when Leo finally helps him turn around, replacing his hands on his shoulders, the other half of the sensation keeps ghosting across his back. 

It won’t stop. He wants to scream. 

Leo grimaces when he sees his expression. “Sorry, I thought— ”

“M’good,” he grates. 

Leo doesn’t push it. “You’re doing good, almost done.” 

A stab of guilt cuts through him. Leo’s helping him. Not hurting him, not even close. If only he could explain—

“Hey, nice choice.” 

It takes Aiden a moment to figure out what he means, he’s not pointing to anything. As soon as he realizes, his throat tightens and tears prick in his eyes. 

Lavender. 

When Leo wraps him in one of the giant, soft towels, something releases inside him and tears start running down his cheeks. He tries to hide them, lifting the towel to his forehead or hair to secretly brush them away before Leo can see. But it’s no use once he has to hand over the towel to get dressed. 

He gets as far as putting on clean underwear before Leo notices. 

“Oh, Aiden…” Leo says in that too-gentle tone that only makes him cry harder. 

He gives up trying to step into the sweatpants and sits on the bed, immediately regretting the loss of Leo’s hand under his elbow. He drops his head into his hands and sobs. 

Through the cracks between his fingers, he sees Leo kneel. “Okay, that’s okay,” Leo whispers. He takes the sweatpants off his lap and gathers one leg top to bottom to slip over his foot. Does the other the same and lifts them up over his knees. Pulls socks onto his feet. 

It aches how gentle he is. How steady and unhurried. No one’s ever given him permission to cry before. 

He rests his hands on either side of Aiden’s head, thumbs overlapping Aiden’s. “Come here.” 

Aiden lets him move his hands down to the waistband of the sweatpants, ready to pull them up. He pauses to wipe the tears from his cheeks with the softest brush of his rough fingertips. Aiden feels like he might split in two. He can only ever remember crying like this once before, when she died. He doesn’t know why he’s crying so hard now. 

 Leo pulls him to stand and right into his arms. He’s barely aware of Leo threading his arms through a t-shirt, followed by another one of Leo’s old hoodies, because all he can feel is the steadiness of the arm Leo keeps locked around his waist. Like Leo knows he would otherwise fall to pieces. 

Once he’s dressed, Leo sits on the bed and pulls Aiden right back into his arms, holding him like he’s never letting go. He only cries harder when he realizes Leo rubs his back to the same cadence as his own steady breathing. Up as Leo’s chest rises, down as it falls. Giving him something else to hold onto, all the while holding him together. 

All the shadows cast by the rising sun are gone now. The light changed from warm to bright, morning sun all the more brilliant from the snow reflecting it right back at the sky. 

“Leo..?” It slips out, something between a whine and whisper that he’s not even sure is coherent. 

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“Mm’sorry,” he whispers. “Mmm….so’sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it’s all good.”

“Mmm…I—I—” He chokes on a sob, fingers curling into fists in Leo’s shirt. He almost didn’t get this. “I—mmm—”

“It’s all good,” Leo says him. “You don’t have to apologize for crying—” 

“Nnno, no—m’sorry, mmm’sorry, I-I—I—”

Leo stops trying to reassure him, just keeps rubbing his back in smooth, steady circles up and down, up and down. 

Aiden’s throat tightens. “I…mmm…w-w-w—” He shakes his head. Tries again from a different angle. “I-I…mmm…d-don’t…” He takes a deep breath. “W-w—” The word evades him again and he just skips it this time. He wants to say this. He needs to say this. “Mmm…t’go.” 

Leo’s hand stops and Aiden’s breath with it. “You don’t want to go?” 

A sob shakes through him and he nods. 

“Hon, we’re not going anywhere…?” 

He holds his breath. The voice in his head tells him he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have said ‘sorry’, should have said ‘thank you’, instead of trying to say more. 

“You don’t want to go? I— Oh...” 

Aiden can picture the change in Leo’s expression perfectly. He squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t bear to be wrong and catch a glimpse of anything different. Leo inhales to say something a few times but he doesn’t ever start. He doesn’t let him go either, so he can’t be too angry, but Aiden starts to feel the pressure of the silence like a door closing. It was so stupid to think—

He flinches when Leo moves him off his lap. “M’sorry—” he rushes to say but his voice breaks and it only sounds like another sob. 

“Hey, hey.” Leo’s hands find his face. “Look at me, hon.” 

He blinks away tears to find Leo kneeling in front of him again. “M’s-sorry,” Aiden whimpers, shaking his head. He wants to take it back. He’s sorry for saying anything that made Leo let go. “I—”

“Me too.”

A tear runs down Leo’s cheek and Aiden forgets whatever it was he wanted to say. He wonders what it would be like to lift his hand and brush it away with one of his fingertips like Leo does for him. He settles for bringing his hands up to hold onto Leo’s wrists. He feels worse than guilty that he’s upset Leo too, like this ache inside him is contagious. Aiden catches his bottom lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling, from pulling him back under the sobs.

Leo leans forward, bringing their foreheads together like he did at the hospital, and closes his eyes. “I’m so glad I found you,” he whispers. 

Aiden sobs, hands moving up to Leo’s shoulders almost on their own. Leo understands perfectly and pulls him back into his arms for the hug he wants. 

He’s shards and pieces but he’s here. 

And he’s not alone.

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[itwasntimethatdidit40]

First wip of the year.

Thank you so much for the tag @joelmillerisapunk , @thundermartini , @aurorawritestoescape , @milla-frenchy ❤️

I didn't have a damn thing last night but today I wrote something new, I'm just starting out and I don't know how long it will take me but it's an idea I've had for a long time.

There is a proverb in Italian that more or less says that if you do something on the first day of the year you will do it all year round, given a choice I would have decided to fuck Joel Miller but since that's not possible we settle for writing lol

My beloved Neighbor!Frankie and his girlfriend (that's you) will be back in a while ;)

You and Frankie have been together for four months now. Your neighbor, the man you spent a year hating revealed himself as the best man you’ve ever been in a relationship with.  You haven't said “I love you” to each other yet, you're taking it slow and you're perfectly fine with that, you know you have strong feelings for him but you don't know if he's ready to say it and the last thing you want is to ruin the best relationship you've had because of words said too soon.  So you respect his timing without forcing his hand. All you really want is to keep being with him, the man who can make you laugh in a second, with whom you like to do everything from the most mundane things like grocery shopping and running errands, to talking for hours and sharing with him, cooking, going to parties and concerts, even bickering. And sex. Ah, Frankie is a fucking magician.  The most shockingly fiery and at the same time sweet man you've ever had.  You feel you can be yourself at all times with him, he knows your flaws and frailties and accepts them. And from where you were starting out it already feels like a considerable accomplishment, you never thought that the guy who used to spend all the time judging you, once you penetrated his armor, was such a tolerant and nonjudgmental person. You haven't moved in together, but you sleep together almost every night, and yet, you are still trying to navigate your relationship without running the other one off before taking the next step. So when Frankie tells you that his mother would love to meet you, you get a little scared but you try to put on a good face. "You really don't mind?" he prods you.  You can never hide anything from him; Frankie has an ability to read from within you that you had never found in a man.  His eyes scan you and he has a cunning little smile as he sits on the other side of the table eating the eggs you prepared for him.  “Yeah, sure, don't worry, it's okay,” you nod, a little too forcibly, and Frankie knows it.  “You're nervous, huh? Look, it's normal” he tries to reassure you, his hand slides across the table until it meets yours. He squeezes it gently and then intertwines his fingers with yours.  “I'm sorry, she's been insisting for at least a month, I've managed to keep her at bay until now but she grilled me yesterday and decided that she's expecting us for dinner on Friday.” “Yeah...I just feel a little pressure, you know, but it's okay.” You admit. “Babe, she will like you very much, I'm sure.” You look into his eyes, those big eyes the color of coffee and chocolate, and that comfortable glow they give off immediately takes away part of the weight you feel on your chest.  “Are you sure?” you murmur. “Of course!” he smiles at you, ”Well, you're a little sassy but...” You slap his hand “Frankie! You're not helping me!” you complain.  “Come on, I'm kidding. She’s going to adore you, I have no doubt about it” he chuckles. “Mmmm we’ll see” you still mumble unsure. "Come here," he says softly.  You get up and walk over to him who welcomes you on his lap, you wrap your arms around his neck and he rests his forehead on yours looking into your eyes softly "she will adore you" he repeats "at least as much as I do.” The thing is this with him, he's been using synonyms for weeks, so you're pretty sure he's going to tell you the three big words sooner or later. "What if she doesn't like me?" you ask him and bite your lip, looking at him expectantly. “Uh, I don't want to stop fucking you, you know... so, you'll have to remain a clandestine relationship while I'm dating a woman personally chosen by my mom.” He jokes. You kiss him, muttering “god, you're so...”  He giggles and asks "how am I?" tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you closer to his chest, your tits pressed against him.  “an incredibly lovely fucking bastard.”

[drafthorsemath]

Last Line Challenge

I was tagged by @eclec-tech and I guess it's time to admit I've been thinking about adding a follow-up to my Tech Lives fic Waking Up and Coming Home. This is just a first draft and a little more than a line, but it's new years and it's been a rough holiday season for me, so here, have this.

While the metal attachments covering Tech's abdominal cybernetics had been initially sufficient, Crosshair and Phee had both noticed that they were becoming less comfortable every day. Along with his brothers, Tech was gaining healthy weight and having something closer to actual abdominal muscles, fat, and skin over the tubes that kept him alive would feel much more natural. Crosshair said something about finding a replacement one day after dinner, but Tech insisted it still worked adequately and rebuilding a new ship from what was left of the Marauder was a greater priority. Crosshair rolled his eyes, but knew Phee would have better luck the following day.

"Hey Brown Eyes," Phee softly said as she handed him some caf. Tech grinned and nodded.

"Good morning," he replied in the gentle tone he only used with her.

Phee nodded toward her ship with a, "Let's take a quick trip."

He didn't argue. He simply held her extended hand and followed. It was only once they were in hyperspace that he asked what brought this on.

"Medical supplies," she replied. She watched him stiffly turn in his seat toward her. "Tech. We're getting you an artificial skin. And while we're there we'll pick up some more bacta spray. The girls keep getting bolder on their island explorations."

He didn't argue, but retreated to his own thoughts on the matter. His eyes searched the control panel before him in the copilot's seat. His partner reached out to him and squeezed his hand.

"What's going on in that mind of yours?" she asked. "What's holding you back?"

Tech was brought back to the moment and pulled her from the pilot's seat and into his lap. He held her and after remaining silent for another moment he lifted his shirt. "You gave me this," he said, revealing the metal panel from her ship that now kept his implants safe. "I like carrying you with me," he said.

Phee's face melted with love and she pressed a firm kiss to his temple.

"Brown Eyes, you're carrying me right now." He smiled up at her and kissed the sweet spot just under her jaw.

"I promise we'll find a spot for it," she assured. "We can find a way for you to keep it close."

He was so used to taking things as they came. When the Marauder was stolen he said they would simply find a new ship, but that was his coping mechanism. He couldn't fix everything so he moved on; or at least tried to make it look that way. Now that he was home, he started to allow himself to be a little more vulnerable with her.

NPTs: anyone who wants to participate. Don't be shy. I'm just on a bunch of meds (imagine taking Nyquil and Prednisone at the same time) for an infection and can't decide who to tag. Happy New Year!

Also tagging @lightwise so she posts about that Gonky fic!

[loderlied]

mmm essay about sally and kid gort in the tags (cw for child abuse, mentions of suicide, animal cruelty and a murder attempt. i always hope i don’t have to say this but just in case: i don’t excuse or condone any of her or gort’s behaviour at all.) this is literally not even touching upon everything i have to say because i hit the fucking tag limit lmao. NOBODY READ IT’S BAD BRAINSTORMING I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT SOMEHOW

[roaringroa]

they should make a life where you don't have appointments, work, school and scheduled events every single day for months on end

[killdozerrr]

thanks for the anon, I know you're trying to feed on my negative emotions or whatever but that kinda stuff doesn't work on me. have fun being blocked because you still can't show yourself.

oh, also, for future reference, its "youre* a stupid bitch". thanks for playing.

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader

“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”

You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.

You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”

He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”

“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”

“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”

You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”

He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.

You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.

You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.

He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.

You laugh lightly, “What?”

He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”

You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.

“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”

He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”

“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.

He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”

You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”

He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”

“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.

“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.

No, it’s not fair at all.

It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.

You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—

The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.

You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.

“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”

He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.

He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.

“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.

You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”

You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.

He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.

Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.

He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.

As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.

You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.

Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.

He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.

He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.

He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”

You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.

The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.

And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.

At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.

Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.

He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.

He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.

You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.

“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”

His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”

You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”

“Jason—”

“Who did it?”

“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”

The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.

“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.

“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.

He stares at you. “In the hallway?”

You blink. “…Yeah?”

He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.

You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.

“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.

He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.

“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.

He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.

The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.

Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.

You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.

You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.

Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.

“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.

He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”

You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.

“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.

You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.

This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.

“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”

“Is that a yes?”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”

He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.

You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”

Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.

“Hey, bud.”

He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.

Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”

He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”

He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”

He can’t see it, but Hood’s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”

Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.

Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steels his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”

The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”

Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”

“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?

Hood stands, making his way across the room casually. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”

Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.

Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.

Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”

Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.

[alexiroflife]

"first day"

fluff, happy fushiguro family, slice of life, megs' first day of school send-off

Synopsis: you've been dating toji for a while now and megumi subconsciously calls you mom for the first time on his way out the door

to sum it up: you adore the little family you've come to be a part of

WC: 1,701

Warning(s): none

"Megs!" you call out, standing by the front door awaiting the dark-haired boy's arrival. He soon shuffles around the corner from his room, throwing a bag over his shoulder with a tired expression on his face.

His father turns to watch him walk in, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. "The hell were you doing in there that took you so long?"

"Nothing," Megumi grumbles, moving to brush past the two of you to rush to the door. "I just wanted to look presentable, that's all."

"So you took thirty minutes to get ready?" Toji quirks a brow.

"Believe it or not, dad, some would say that's not enough time to get ready in the morning."

"Not at all, actually," you agree.

Toji tugs the corner of his mouth in judgment. " Well, you should know," he says to you. "You spend at least ten years in the bathroom when we have somewhere to go."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "That's such an overreaction. I never take any longer than an hour." Megumi and his father exchange knowing looks and you place your hand on your hip. "What?"

"Don't worry baby," Toji assures you. "It's okay to be in denial."

"We've timed it before. The last time we all went out to dinner as a family, you took two and a half hours to get dressed," Megumi adds.

"That's only because I had to shower and pick out an outfit then do my hair and makeup," you defend.

"Isn't that a little overkill? It takes me half that time to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and get some homework done."

"Whatever. Your sister would understand," you sigh.

"Unfortunately, she may be worse than you."

"Women," Toji tsks. You slap his bicep and he pretends to flinch, smirking down at you playfully. "Ouch."

"Alright, well, I'm ready now. I don't wanna be late," the sixteen year old says, turning back to reach for the door handle.

"Ah ah ah, wait!" you stop him. "You're not going anywhere without me getting a good look at you. Turn around, I wanna see how the uniform fits."

Megumi lowers his head and complies, turning back around stiffly for you to admire him. You press your hand to your lips to conceal your smile, eyes gleaming with pride as you look over the sharp navy jacket and pants he adorns.

"Awwww," you coo. "It fits perfectly! How does it feel?"

"Pretty good," Megumi nods, moving his arm around slightly to show his mobility in the fabric. "It's comfortable too. It shouldn't be a problem during missions."

"I still can't believe how quickly time has gone by," you muse. "You're already going into your first year at Jujutsu High! Are you excited?"

"You better be," Toji grunts. "Your uncle Gojo hasn't gotten off my ass about your enrollment for years. At least now, he'll finally shut up."

"I still don't understand why I have to have him as a teacher. He's such a moron, I doubt he'll teach us anything useful," Megumi mumbles.

"Moron or not, he's the strongest sorcerer of the modern age and he's helped out so much. I'm sure he'll be able to give you a good experience," you say positively.

"We talkin' about the same Gojo here? The one who trashed my house playing tag with Megumi and the dogs in the living room?" Toji points out and his son grits his teeth at the memory.

"Oh come on, Satoru was like twenty one back then. I can only imagine the crazy shit you've with the kids when you were raising them," you tease.

"You don't even want to know," Megumi exhales.

"Please, you came out just fine, didn’t ya?” Toji says, reaching out his hand to ruffle at Megumi's spiky hair. The teen recoils, craning his head away and shielding himself with his arm.

"Quit it. I'm not five anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're all grown up now, I know. Gonna be a first-grade sorcerer before I can even blink an eye."

"Who said that I would be first grade? I'm only a first year."

"Yeah, and look at who your pops is," Toji grins. "Plus, you got an advantage that I never had. You'll do just fine."

Megumi hums indifferently, doubting himself momentarily but accepting the words nonetheless. "Alright, are we ready?"

"No, not yet!" you pull out your phone quickly and open the camera. "I need to get pictures."

The blue-eyed boy slumps. "(Y/n), I gotta go."

"I know, I know, just a few," you promise, holding your camera up to capture his awkward figure in the frame. "Okay, smile."

Megumi doesn't, and of course you don't actually expect him to. Instead, he calmly stares at the camera with his arms at his sides, unsure of what to do with themselves. Toji moves to stand behind you, leaning down to take a peak at the million pictures you're snapping.

"Toji, go stand with him so I can get one with the both of you."

The two groan simultaneously. "Doll, can we just focus on gettin' the kid to school?"

"It's fine. His stuff is already moved into his dorm. We have time."

"But-"

"Shut up and go stand with your son, now," you glare firmly up at the green-eyed man and he huffs.

"Yes, ma'am."

Toji raises a hand to his hip and tilts his head boredly as he stands beside Megumi, the two of them sharing the exact same blank stare as they look into the camera. You squeal happily. "You two are so cuteee!"

"We done, now?"

"No, I wanna get one more with Megs, and then I'm good." The boys give you a look, but you wave them off. "I mean it! Gosh, here Toji. Take our picture."

Toji obliges, grabbing your phone from your hand as you rush over to the tall boy. His expression melts into serenity as you place your hands on his shoulders and lean your head against his arm, smiling widely at the camera as a hint of a smile touches Megumi's lips.

Toji's heart warms at the sight, watching the way his son grows comfortable in your presence. The picture of the two of you looks so natural t to him like you are meant to be a part of his family, which he knows you are.

He snaps the photo and nods. "Got it."

You exhale, turning to face Megumi. You brush your hands over his shoulders to straighten his jacket, ridding it of any lint and wrinkles. "Okay, Megumi, please remember to be safe."

"I know. I will," he nods.

"And don't be too reckless when it comes to training."

"I won't."

"And try to make friends. I know how easy it is for you to push others away."

"I'll try."

You press your lips together with a final sigh, looking over Megumi's face warmly. You wrap your arms safely around him into a hug, your emotions getting the best of you. You have spent the past year caring for Megumi like your own, and watching him head off to achieve his goals makes your heart swell with joy and fear all the same.

"Text me or your father or Tsumiki if you need anything. Anything at all," you tell him. He returns your hug gently.

"Okay," he chuckles lightly and you pull away. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"...I know you will..." you pout. "Okay, I'll let you go. Good luck. I hope you have an amazing first day. I'll see you at the end of the week, yeah?"

"Mhm. I'll call you to let you know how the day went later."

"Please do."

Toji hands you back your phone and walks toward the door with Megumi. "Let's get a move on," he says. He leans over quickly to peck your lips farewell. "I'll be back in a few."

"Don't speed, Toji."

"Speeding gets you places quicker," he winks and you suck your teeth disapprovingly. Megumi opens the door, his dad gripping the frame.

"Bye, boys. Stay out of trouble," you wave, eyes glassy as you watch Megumi walk out.

"See ya, doll."

"Bye, mum."

The three of you freeze the second the words hit the air, everyone stilling in their tracks.

You feel your heart burst as overwhelming happiness consumes you. Megumi keeps his face forward, hiding his reddening cheeks as he processes what he has just said. Toji stares at the back of his son's head, eyes wide, before he turns to look at you to find your shocked, giddy face.

You don't have any time to reply when Megumi clears his throat suddenly, sweat dotting his forehead, and he walks rigidly out of the house and swiftly down the hall without looking back.

Toji stays behind, keeping an eye on you when you look up at him, stunned. "Did he just...?" you murmur.

"Yep."

Your eyes immediately well with tears and your lips wobble, your hands flying over your mouth. "He sees me as his mom?" you whisper.

Toji chuckles, ducking down to you with his hand still gripping the door. "Of course he does. He's always adored you. Him and Tsumiki."

"I'm gonna cry."

The assassin chuckles softly, pressing his thumb to the corner of your eye gently. "You're already cryin.'"

"Shut up," you sniff. "God, I love those kids so much. I just wanna give him all the hugs in the world."

"And you'll be able to. There isn't a better woman on this planet to be there for the kids," he kisses your cheek. "That's why I plan t'marry you someday."

"Fuck you, Toj. You're gonna make me cry even more."

"Sorry, baby. Can't help talkin' about it," he leans back to the doorway. "Let me get the kid squared away and make sure he's not dyin' of embarrassment, then I'll be back to talk to ya about makin' this official."

"You're being for real?"

"Of course I am."

You lower your hands and beam. "Tell Megumi I love him and get back here soon."

"I will," he hums. "But I thought you said no speeding?"

"Just- make sure the two of you at least get to the school in one peace."

He smirks. "Will do, doll."

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR PRE ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS AND CREATING HISTORY BETWEEN CHARACTERS *  assorted dialogue for giving your characters a history and giving them past things or events to talk about, adjust as necessary

do you remember what i told you last time?

have you been doing well since i saw you?

that's not what you told me back then.

when was the last time i saw you?

you were shorter then.

i'm picking the restaurant this time.

we've known each other since we were children.

always knew i could count on you.

that time was different. this is worse.

you're not going to let me live that down, are you?

i seem to remember a conversation we had back then.

so you changed your mind about it?

do you remember our encounter in paris?

you should know me by now.

am i the only one that knows the truth?

we had a lot of help back then.

your mom told me to look out for you.

you just love bringing that back up to annoy me.

maybe don't mention my past indescretions?

this was never going to work out between us.

i told you not to get attached.

i know more about you than you think.

i was there, remember?

i'm not about to forget all the shit you put me through.

you told me you were going to try and make this work.

remember what i said to you?

the last time i saw you, things were good between us.

you never mentioned this before.

that was the longest flight of my life, and you made it worse.

can i still trust you after all that?

at least we tried to make something work.

we never discussed what happened between us.

okay, but i'm driving the car this time.

i haven't forgotten what you said last week.

i'm still thinking about your comment.

i didn't realize it was you when i first saw you.

you seem to make a lot of enemies around here.

there's not much for us to talk about.

we worked it out last time.

i know you far better than you know yourself.

we have a long history.

is that the shirt you were wearing last time?

what don't i know about you?

i haven't told them about us.

you were the only person i could go to.

you know me.

this is bigger than both of us.

i can't stand your driving.

are you taking me to the place we had dinner last time?

that's not at all what you said.

didn't we agree on that?

i thought i made it very clear where i stand.

are these the same people that came after you last time?

are you still going on about it?

can we talk about it?

staying silent about it won't help.

you're the only person who knows the real me.

this is a bad time to talk about your problems.

[dollishmehrayan]

HOW DIFFERENT BATBOYS APOLOGIZE AFTER A ARGUMENT ── .✦

a/n: Lowkey I feel like I’m like slightest but problematic in arguments (not me exposing myself) but srs I got this request by a anon! (Here) So yeah tysmm, I won’t be writing the argument because lowkey, I can’t do angst at this time 💔😞

(Tags: how different batboys apologize after a argument)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

The "I'm Sorry, But…" Apology: Bruce’s apology might be a little stiff at first. He’s not great with words when it comes to his emotions, but he does know how to make up for things. His apology might start with something like, "I know I’m… difficult, but I didn’t mean to hurt you." The real comedy comes in when he tries to "fix" the situation by throwing money at it—like suggesting an extravagant dinner or buying you a new wardrobe because, "I know it will make you feel better."

Trying Too Hard to Be ‘Normal’: He might try to act like he’s “not Bruce Wayne” for a second, attempting to be goofy to show you he’s truly sorry. Picture Bruce awkwardly trying to make a joke: "I’m sorry I made you feel like I was ignoring you. How about we go out… without my bodyguards this time? You know, like a normal date?"

The Silent Apology: More often than not, Bruce will show you he’s sorry with actions, like preparing your favorite meal or doing something thoughtful (such as leaving you a handwritten note or taking care of something you've been stressing about). But if you press him for words, he might simply mutter, “I’m not good at this… but I am sorry,” and leave it at that.

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

The Full-On “I’m Sorry, Please Forgive Me” Routine: Dick is extremely sorry whenever he’s messed up, and he knows how to make it entertaining. He’ll show up with flowers, chocolates, or maybe even your favorite ice cream. And then, with a totally sincere but dramatic flair, he’ll say something like, “Listen, I know I was an idiot, and I have no excuse except that I’m clearly emotionally stupid when I’m upset. So please, for the love of all things holy, let me make it up to you.”

Humorous Apologies: Dick might also make you laugh with his over-the-top apologies. Maybe he tries to outdo himself by setting up an elaborate “romantic” date, only for it to completely go awry (think spaghetti noodles flying everywhere or a very unromantic “romantic” location). He’ll laugh it off, saying, “Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly how I imagined it… but you have to admit, it’s unforgettable.”

The Super Dramatic ‘I’m Sorry’ Speech: After an argument, Dick is not shy about admitting when he’s wrong. He’ll deliver a heartfelt, exaggerated apology, something like, "I was a fool, and I see now that I was wrong. You are perfect, and I am definitely not. How do you put up with me?" Then, he might give you puppy-dog eyes, as if expecting you to immediately forgive him.

JASON TODD ── .✦

The “I Know I Messed Up, But… Here’s a Gift” Approach: Jason is quick to apologize, but it’s not usually with a heartfelt speech. Instead, he’ll show up with a gift—maybe something small but thoughtful, like your favorite snack or a new book he knows you’ve been eyeing. He’ll casually hand it to you and say, “Alright, alright, I messed up. But you know I’m not great at this, so here’s my attempt at being a decent human being.”

Comedic Self-Deprecation: Jason, knowing he’s not always the best communicator, might start with a little self-deprecating humor. "Look, I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, I am a jerk sometimes. But hey, at least I didn’t set anything on fire this time, right?" He’ll try to make you laugh with his inability to fully express himself, but you know he means it.

The “I’m Sorry, Now Let’s Get Back to Normal” Routine: Jason might awkwardly try to move past the argument, brushing it off with a gruff, "Look, I’m sorry for being a pain. Can we just… go back to how things were?" It's not the most eloquent apology, but it’s Jason, and it’s his way of saying he wants to make things right without diving too deep into feelings.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The "I Overthought This" Apology: Tim is a perfectionist, so when he messes up, he’ll overthink how to apologize. He’ll probably try to do something really thoughtful, like writing you a letter or planning a whole day dedicated to making it up to you. But the real comedy comes when he gets so wrapped up in planning that he’s awkward about it. "I, uh, made you a list of everything I could do to make it up to you, starting with… well, taking you out for dinner. You like sushi, right? But if you prefer something else, I can also—"

The "What Do You Need?" Routine: Tim might also take a very logical approach. He’ll ask, "What would you like me to do to fix this?" but in a way that makes it seem like he’s creating a spreadsheet of ways to apologize. "I’ve compiled some options for you to choose from. Option one: Dinner. Option two: A walk in the park. Option three: Let me do your laundry for the next week…”

The 'Nervous, Over-Apologetic' Tim: Tim is likely to be the one who apologizes over and over again. He’ll say “I’m sorry” about a dozen times in a single conversation, with increasing levels of anxiety. "I really didn’t mean it that way. I’m so sorry. Are we okay? You don’t seem mad, but if you are, I understand, and I’m really, really sorry."

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

The Reluctant Apology: Damian isn’t one to apologize easily, and when he does, it’s more formal. He might say something like, “I apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for.” And then he’ll awkwardly pause, before adding, "I... didn’t mean to upset you." The comedic part comes when he clearly doesn’t understand how he’s hurt you. He might ask, “Is there anything I can do to make it right? Or… was this just another one of your moods?”

The Unintentional "Nice Guy" Apology: Damian will give you something as an apology—perhaps a bouquet of flowers or something that he “found interesting,” but he’ll likely be very stiff about it, saying something like, “This is for you. I thought you would appreciate it. It’s… an apology gift.” He’ll be surprised when you react positively, since he’s convinced that you’ll just think it’s lame

A Small Gesture of Remorse: As an apology, Damian might ask you to join him for a quiet walk or for tea, giving you a rare moment of sincerity. He might even throw in a joke (but it’ll be one of those very dry ones), saying, “The tea will be of the highest quality, so I suppose that should count for something."

[hotyanderedaddies]

Trying to Ignore a Yandere Demon Who Wants to Claim You

[Yandere! Demon x GN! Anxious Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

"Whatever you do, do not-- I repeat: DO NOT acknowledge the demon in any manner. If you do, then he can latch onto you and take you."

The words of the psychic you'd contacted for help kept filtering through your head as you stared blankly forward, forcing your eyes to laser focus in on the bright colors of the TV. The volume was on full blast as you attempted to drown out the sounds of him.

"Darling," that eerie, deep voice echoed out. Its user was so close that could feel its hot breath wafting over your cheek, but you refused to give the slightest indication that you'd heard it.

"If a love demon decides that it wants you, then it'll follow you around nonstop like a lovesick puppy. It'll do anything to get you to notice it..."

The demon playfully ran one of his fingers through your hair, his skin hot to the touch. He completely dwarfed you, looking like he outweighed you by fifty pounds of pure muscle and was taller by at least two feet. His demonic proportions made him look hulking and menacing, yet whenever he looked at you, his mouth pulled into a large smile.... full of razor sharp teeth.

"Will you look at me, Darling?" he asked, sticking out his lower lip mockingly. "I love you. I only want to talk to my darling."

"Don't look at it. Don't listen to it. Don't react to its movements. The slightest indication that you're aware of its presence is a sign the demon takes that you've agreed to be theirs..."

The demon huffed, irritated. He stomped his way in front of the TV and glared at you with his glowing eyes. "I know you see me," he accused.

You refused to stop glancing forward, pretending that you could still see whatever show you were trying to watch.

The demon tore his shirt away from his body, showing off his impressive chest muscles. He held his arms out, as if to show off to you. "Check it out, Darling," he announced, "I'm bigger than most of the other love demons. So I can protect you and take very good care of you."

He slowly approached the couch.

"Because a love demon makes its presence known to only one person: their darling."

"I love you so much, Darling," the demon cooed, placing both of his hands on either side of your face.

You winced internally and tried your best to look deadpan, avoiding the demon's glare with all of your might.

You refused to break, because if you did, then you'd belong to a demon for all eternity.

But damn it, he was persistent.

Ever since he'd made his presence known to you last week, the demon followed you around everywhere you went, trying to get you to acknowledge him:

He'd cause a ruckus in class, throwing textbooks and chairs around, leading to the other students thinking that you were out of your mind and throwing them yourself.

He'd follow you into the shower and jerk off as you bathed, talking about how he couldn't wait to touch you himself.

He'd sing soft lullabies to you as you tried to sleep. And he would frequently get under the covers with you too, snuggling you from behind.

He'd follow you whenever you went grocery shopping, threatening to push one of the elderly shoppers in front of one of the moving vehicles in the parking lot. But you couldn't warn the other person unless you wanted to be taken by a demon. RIP.

He'd even gone so far as to set your dinner on the stove on fire, and you had to mutter loudly that you'd foolishly forgotten to turn the gas off.

He was growing impatient.

"Darling," the demon growled, baring his large teeth at you, "all you have to do is notice me, and I promise that you'll be all mine. All mine, and no one else's. Doesn't my sweet baby want that?"

He bit down on his lower lip for a second before perking up.

Before you could guess what was going on in his mischievous head, the demon pressed his warm lips against yours. They were soft to the touch and warm thanks to his high body heat.

It felt good at first, until he playfully bit down on your lower lip--

With a loud gasp, you jerked back and made eye contact with the demon out of shock. Oh shit...

"Finally!" the love demon laughed as your heart fell to the floor.

He lunged forward and wrapped both of his arms around you, yanking you deep into his embrace as if he were a cage. The temperature seemed to rise rapidly in the tiny living room as the demon began to transport you to wherever he dwelled, and to wherever you knew he'd never let you leave.

"W-wait!" you tried to beg.

"It's too late for that, Darling," the love demon laughed. "You're mine and I'm going to enjoy my prize all night long. I love you, Darling, thank you so much for accepting me."

"If you acknowledge the love demon, they'll take you away to be theirs forever, with no hope of ever escaping them or their crazed love..."

[saetoru]

underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((

- 🦋 anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.

contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending

money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.

it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.

he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.

and then the presents start to come.

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)

[heartmix]

Spoiled - LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x gn!reader

Word Count: 800+

Warning: making fun of the british (slightly), expired food

A/N: the idea popped into my head after watching max's stream a few days ago. Also i'm pretty sure its Lando's birthday already somewhere in europe!

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

Some days you wondered how Lando was still alive. Never mind driving a rocket ship on wheels for living, no, it was because he decide to put anything in his body without a second thought. Despite spending millions on cars and watches and other material items he didn't give a second thought about something he needs to survive, food. You blamed it on him being british and the fact that they don't have anything good to eat. You knew about the sweet potato incident, even if it was before you knew him. Finding out he went and ate spoiled food again was enough to give you the ick and put your foot down.

The plan was simple. Buy new groceries, do some meal prep and clean out the fridge for Lando while he was playing Tarkov with his friends. He mentioned that he was going to play all day and that max was going to stream later on in the night. That gave you enough time to run to the store and cook some easy meals so you could surprise him with a full fridge.

After waking up early and sending a text to Lando that you were going to drop off something later tonight, you headed to the grocery store to pick up everything you needed. A bunch of fresh produce to meal prep and some snacks that can last on the shelf for a few months. With Lando's strict diet (or lack of there) you pulled out all the stops for a healthy and tasty meal. 

As night time crept up you packed everything in bags and made your way over to his apartment. You got a notification that max started his stream a few ago so it was the perfect time to sneak in and fill his kitchen while dropping off some dinner. Any noise you made wouldn't be too out of the blue seeing as he knew you were coming and that you already had a key. 

While entering the house you could already hear the screaming and weird random sounds coming out of your boyfriends gaming room. That should keep him distracted for awhile. First you started with cleaning and sterilizing his fridge. Doubt he didn't have much which is probably why he ate expired chicken, but one could never be too careful. Once that was over with you packed away all his food that should last for the week. Seeing the finished product brought a smile to your face. At least he was going to be eating good for the week. 

Once his current raid ended you quietly made your way into the room being aware that his mic was on and that possibly a couple thousand fans could hear what could be said, even with this shit mic. When his door opened he saw you and an immediate smile was plastered on his face. 

"Hey baby." He smiled taking off his headphones and motioning you to come by him.

"Hi. I just came to drop off dinner. Don't want to keep you long." You smiled placing the plastic bag on his desk before he pulled you onto his lap.

"It's okay, raid just ended and the mic is off. Stay for a few seconds."

"Alright. I made you my famous stir fry. There's another serving in the fridge for tomorrow." You said bringing out the food and fork setting it up for him.

"What would i do without you."

"Eat expired chicken." 

"Haha i get it." He gave a fake laugh making a real one erupt from your throat. 

"Yeah you seriously gave me the ick. This was going to be a surprise but i stocked up your fridge and did some meal prep. You just have to heat it up in the microwave, although i'm scared you'll even mess that up." You laughed at another joke your boyfriend seemed to be the butt of. 

"Move in with me." All of the joking mood went out of the room as he looked at you with a serious almost pleading expression. 

For you it came out of the blue. Sure you've been together for almost two years and you've spent a good portion out of the year traveling with him to races, but moving in together never crossed your mind. It seemed like the next logical thing in the relationship but neither of you brought the topic up till now. 

"What?"

"Sorry, i was either going to blurt out that or marry me. I figure it's best to go in order." The words came out like it wasn't the most bizarre thing he could say in the moment. 

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, for you. So what do you say?" How could you say no to that adorable smile.

"Well someone needs to keep you alive." a smile slowly crept upon your face liking the idea of seeing with him more and being closer to him. Also it would save you money, monaco wasn't cheap. 

"Perfect." He said leaning in for a kiss before you pulled away. 

"I'm not kissing you after you just ate expired chicken."  

"That was yesterday!"