#because of how much I’ve loved the last two | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cumironi · 2 days ago

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I’VE GOT YOU, BABY jjk men

feat. gojo geto nanami toji sukuna shiu higuruma

sum. they thought it would be a normal night. playful bickering, eat dinner together, maybe makeout session while you two are giggling like a lovesick fool. but heart cancer? stage 3? yeah, not on their bingo cards.

warning. non-sorcerer jjk men! 23 you & 31 them, established relationships, heart cancer, death mentioned, bit angst to comfort, fluff, and not very heart warming.

GOJO SATORU

he was supposed to be in meeting.

supposed to be.

but instead he was dramatically sprawled on the couch in your apartment, shirt half-buttoned, socks mismatched, one leg hanging off the edge like he was modeling for an early 2000s teen magazine. blue eyes flicked up from your coffee table, where your textbooks were open and your laptop screen glowed with your thesis draft. he had the attention span of a goldfish, and you were used to it by now. what you weren’t used to was the man pausing mid-ramble about how coffee shops should have loyalty programs that give hugs instead of free drinks, the moment you slid the envelope across the table toward him.

“what’s this? did you finally write me a love letter?” he grinned, picking it up and waving it. “wait—let me guess, you’ve confessed your undying love for my devastatingly good looks and impeccable fashion sense. i knew the mismatched socks would win you over.”

you smirked, resting your chin in your hand. “close,” you said. “just my medical results. fun lil update from my body.”

he blinked. the paper unfolded in his hands, and for once, he was quiet. his eyes moved faster than usual. you could feel the shift in the air. from playful to something dense. cold. heavy.

he read the words again.

“stage 3, heart cancer… twenty-four percent chance to live…”

“i know, right? guess my cells just got bored of behaving,” you laughed. it was too loud. too sudden. too wrong. “could be 24% chance or survival. maybe 50%. depending on how charming i am in the oncology department.”

you force a shaky laugh. “guess i must’ve loved you too much. my heart couldn’t take it.”

for a beat, there’s nothing. nothing.

it’s a joke. a bad one. a last-ditch attempt to soften the punch. your eyes betray you anyway — tears sparkle at the corners like broken glass, and the tremble in your fingers doesn’t go unnoticed.

“shut up,” he whispered. not in his usual joking way. his voice cracked at the edge, like he’d bitten into something sour and was trying not to spit it out.

you shrugged, crossing your legs like you were just talking about the weather. “i’m still hot though, right? at least if i kick the bucket, i’m going down with great cheekbones.”

“no. nope. return to sender. i don’t accept this bullshit,” he murmurs, voice cracking through the sarcasm. “you don’t get to pull the tragic heroine card on me. that’s my thing.”

you try to laugh. “so dramatic…”

“i’m the drama. not you. you’re the soft, pretty, sunshine type who cries during dog movies and hogs the bed. you’re not allowed to die. i won’t allow it. i’ll— i’ll—”

“you’ll what, kiss it better?” you tease.

“why the fuck would you joke about this?” his voice rose. panic behind the volume. the paper in his hand crumpled a little.

“because if i don’t, i’ll start crying,” you replied, softer now. looking at him with tired eyes. “and i really, really don’t wanna cry in front of you. you’d never let me live it down.”

“you idiot,” he breathed out, standing up so fast the coffee table shook. his hands were trembling. he paced once. twice. then suddenly dropped to his knees in front of you like gravity had yanked him down.

“you’re not going to die,” he said. like a promise. like a threat to the universe. “i’ll fight death himself. with my sunglasses. and sarcasm. and maybe a bazooka.”

you blinked. “you don’t know that.”

he grabbed your hands, clutching them so tightly you could feel how cold his were. “you think you can drop something like this on me and then just—laugh about it? you think that’s fair? i love you, you dumbass.”

you looked down at him. this ridiculous, beautiful man kneeling like you’d just proposed marriage instead of dropped a medical bombshell.

you sniff, smile crookedly. “i love you too.”

he grins, forehead pressed to yours. “good. you’ll fit right in with the chaos i’ve got planned for your recovery. step one: we replace your heart with mine. step two: we break into a hospital and demand glitter IVs. step three: we live. got it? we’re gonna fight this. i don’t care if i have to bribe, blackmail, or bend space-time — you’re staying with me. you’re not allowed to leave.”

you choke out a laugh against his shoulder. “that’s a pretty bold threat to make to the universe.”

“you think i won’t square up with the universe?” he pulls back, eyes shining with something wild and terrified and real. “i’ll fight fate with one hand and spoon-feed you pudding with the other.”

you look at him, tears falling freely now, and he smiles — a little broken, a little soft.

“besides,” he adds, voice trembling as he kisses the corner of your mouth, “you still owe me like, twenty dates. and my hoodies back.”

he stared at you.

you smiled. a little cracked. a little crooked. “worth it.”

“i swear to god,” he growled, burying his face in your lap. “if you die, i’m haunting your ghost just to yell at you.”

you ran your fingers through his hair. soft. familiar. he was shaking. he didn’t want you to see. “you’re not going to die,” he whispered again, like if he repeated it enough times, it would rewrite your diagnosis.

“but if i do,” you said gently, voice steady for both of you, “please keep wearing mismatched socks for me. preferably ugly ones. the uglier, the better.”

he lifted his head and kissed your knuckles. then your palm. then your wrist. like he could map your pulse, hold onto it, anchor it. i’m gonna annoy every doctor on this planet if that’s what it takes,” he muttered. “i’m gonna sit in every waiting room and argue with every nurse and—”

“you’re already annoying,” you smiled, brushing tears off his cheek. “just keep being you, toru. okay?”

he choked out a laugh. a real one. raw and messy and breaking. “yeah,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “okay. but just so you know—if you think i’m gonna let you go without a fight, you’re really underestimating how stubborn i am.”

and you believed him.

because it was satoru gojo.

and he was chaos and comfort and love in human form.

GETO SUGURU

you didn’t expect him to come over tonight.

he had been buried in work lately—endless stacks of logistics and community events and trying to solve the world’s problems like he didn’t already carry the weight of it on his shoulders. so when he texted you “omw. bring that pouty face I like,” you assumed he was just being his usual flirty self. nothing serious.

you didn’t expect to be sitting on your bedroom floor in an oversized hoodie with a manila envelope on your lap, legs tucked beneath you, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you heard the familiar knock-knock-knock. two beats, then one. his rhythm.

he walked in with a drink carrier balanced in one hand and a bouquet of flowers that looked like they were arranged by a man who walked into the shop and said “whatever she’ll like, just make it look expensive.” his eyes lit up the second they saw you, and he gave you that half-lidded smile that made it look like he knew every secret about you.

“what’s with the envelope, babe?” he asked as he kicked his shoes off and slid beside you on the floor. “you trying to sue me for being too good-looking? because guilty as charged.”

you snorted. “nah, i’d win that case against gojo way faster.”

“mm, true.” he nudged your knee with his. “what is it then?”

you clear your throat and drop the letter dramatically on the floor next to him like it’s a bomb. “got a broken heart. me. officially. medically. romantically tragic.”

geto raises a brow, gaze drifting from the letter to you. “did i forget an anniversary again? that sounds serious.”

giving him a lazy smile. “worse. i’m in a love triangle with death and a statistics chart.”

you handed it over. said nothing after.

he cocked an eyebrow but took it. slid the letter out like he was opening one of your essays. started reading.

his smile dropped.

his breath caught.

and for once—suguru geto didn’t say anything.

he finished the page. eyes moving over the last line again. and again. his fingers curled around the edge of the letter so tightly it crinkled.

you felt like vomiting.

“stage 3, heart cancer,” you said lightly. like it was the weather. like you’d just found out the vending machine was out of your favorite chips. “only twenty-five percent chance of making it. which is still, like, a quarter! that’s one out of four. i’ve played worse odds at those arcade claw machines. like flipping a coin with feelings.”

“don’t—” his voice was hoarse. “don’t joke about this.”

“why not?” you forced a grin. “i thought you liked my dark humor.”

he turned to you so fast, your smile faltered.

“i do,” he said, barely a whisper. “but not when it’s hiding how scared you are.”

and that was the worst part. the way he saw through you. you looked away. bit your tongue. tried to force another joke but your throat closed up and it never made it out. “you should be crying,” he said softly. “you should be screaming. you should be throwing things or cursing god or making me carry you everywhere like a princess.”

“yeah well,” you mumbled. “you’ve always liked me better when i’m quiet.”

“don’t say that.” his hand cupped your cheek, turning your face toward him. “don’t ever say that.”

you blinked. his thumb wiped away something you didn’t realize had fallen.

“baby—”

“i’m going to be here for all of it,” he said firmly. his voice steady, even if his hands trembled. “chemo. surgeries. crying fits. mood swings. i’ll buy you every stupid snack craving you have, i’ll hold your hair back if you puke, i’ll even let satoru come over if you’re bored enough to tolerate him.”

“wow,” you said, voice thick. “must really love me if you’re willing to suffer through that.”

he laughed, but it cracked halfway through. he leaned in and kissed your forehead. your nose. your cheeks. slow. deliberate. like he was memorizing your face before the world dared to change it.

“you’re the love of my life,” he murmured against your skin. “and i don’t care what percentage the doctors give. you’re not leaving me.”

you tried to joke again. to keep it light. but when he pulled you into his arms and held you like you were made of glass and might disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough—

you broke.

and he just let you.

silent. steady. his hand rubbing circles into your back. his voice a whisper. “i’ve got you, baby. every step. every breath. we’re fighting this. together.”

NANAMI KENTO

he was never one for surprises.

nanami lived his life in clean lines and structured time—an adult in every sense of the word. the kind of man who folded his clothes before bed, who ironed your uniforms when you were too tired, who always had a clock running in his head. you were chaos in comparison. soft blankets thrown over chairs, tea mugs with lipstick smudges left by your bedside, textbooks covered in doodles. yet somehow, you and him had always fit together like an odd, unlikely pair.

tonight, he showed up exactly at 7:00 p.m.

punctual, like always.

“i brought you dinner,” he said, holding up two paper bags. “i made sure it’s from that place you like with the spicy tofu you claim doesn’t make you cry but always does.”

you smiled, opening the door wider for him. “ah, you remembered. see? you do love me.”

he gave you a flat look, setting the bags on your kitchen counter. “i tell you every day. if you need evidence beyond that, i can start writing it down in your planner.”

“ooh, planner declarations of love? sounds sexy.”

he gave a soft, almost-smile. you could tell he’d had a long day. the way he rolled his sleeves up, undid the top two buttons of his shirt, and sighed like he was finally somewhere safe. you wanted so badly to keep it peaceful. to let him enjoy one evening without—

but the envelope sat on the kitchen table. taunting you.

“ken,” you said softly, “before we eat… can you read something?”

his brow furrowed. “is this another one of your thesis drafts? i told you i am not proofreading any more literary analyses about how tragic men are secretly hot—”

“it’s not,” you said, quieter this time.

he walked over. saw the envelope. took it wordlessly.

you watched him read. nanami read carefully—line by line. never skimmed. never rushed. so it took longer. you could hear the second his breath changed. shallow. barely audible. then it stopped altogether.

he didn’t speak. didn’t ask questions. he simply folded the letter back up and set it down with precision. like it was something sacred. dangerous.

“why didn’t you call me when you got this?” he asked, voice low. serious. his control was razor sharp, but you could hear the grief pressing against his throat.

“i… didn’t want you to leave work in the middle of a meeting,” you muttered. “and i didn’t wanna cry about it either. figured i’d tell you in person. like a grown-up.”

“stage 3, heart cancer is not something you break like a casual news update,” he snapped—then immediately closed his eyes, sighing. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“it’s okay,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself. “i figured you’d be mad.”

“i’m not mad,” he said, walking around the table toward you. “i’m terrified.”

“it’s still there,” you whispered. “it’s just… fuzzy now. like a dream i can’t quite remember when i wake up.”

you looked up at him. that composed, unshakable man. and for the first time in a long time, nanami looked lost. “you’re young,” he said, almost to himself. “you’re in college. you have plans. you talk about the future like it’s something guaranteed.”

“you really mean that?” your voice cracked.

his jaw clenched. he pulled you into his chest, his hands pressing against your back, like he could physically hold you together. you could feel how hard he was trying not to fall apart. “then i’ll remember it for you,” he said quietly. “your future. your dreams. if you forget them… i’ll carry them until you can take them back.”

“of course,” he said, resting his chin on your head. “you’re the love of my life. i didn’t choose you for convenience. i chose you because i wanted every part of your life—good and bad. if this is what we’re facing now… then we face it. together.”

you buried your face in his chest, inhaling that familiar scent of bergamot and black tea. the comfort of his heartbeat. the way he was always so steady, even when the world wasn’t.

“but just so we’re clear,” he said, pulling back slightly to look at you, “you’re not going to die. not anytime soon. not before i make you my wife.”

you blinked. “wait—what?”

“i’m not proposing,” he said flatly. “not while you’re crying. but you should know… that’s where this was always headed.”

your tears doubled. “ken—”

“shh,” he kissed your temple. “we’ll talk about it after dinner. and after you stop pretending tofu doesn’t make you sob like a child.”

you laughed. you couldn’t help it.

and for the first time since getting the diagnosis, you let yourself feel safe.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

toji was already lounging on your couch when you got home.

shirt half unbuttoned, legs spread like he owned the place—which, okay, he kind of did at this point, considering how often he crashed here. one arm slung over the back of the couch, the other nursing a can of beer he probably picked up on the way over. he didn’t look up when you walked in, just tilted his head slightly and smirked like he could smell the anxiety radiating off you.

“you look like shit,” he said casually, eyes still on the muted TV.

“thanks, baby,” you replied, dropping your bag by the door. “your romantic side is really showing today.”

“you want romance, go read a damn poem.” he finally looked at you. eyes narrowing. “you okay?”

you shrugged and walked into the kitchen, not answering. you knew that tone in his voice. low. suspicious. the kind he only used when he felt something off and didn’t like it one bit.

you took your time. poured a glass of water. leaned against the counter. stared at the envelope in your hand like it might explode if you set it down.

“toji,” you called.

“hm?”

“can you come here?”

he groaned dramatically but stood, beer in hand, and sauntered into the kitchen. he leaned against the counter across from you, expression unreadable. he scanned your face like he was piecing something together.

you handed him the envelope without a word.

he took it. read it.

you watched every flicker of emotion pass through his face. confusion. stillness. a furrowed brow. the tightening of his jaw. and then—rage. not loud. not messy. quiet. slow-burning. the kind that sat in his chest like a bomb with no timer.

he didn’t say anything at first.

just set the envelope down and looked at you. dead in the eye.

“how long have you known?”

“just a few days.”

“and you didn’t tell me?” his voice was low. flat.

you sighed. “i didn’t want to see your face like this.”

“like what?”

“like the world ended.”

he stepped closer. his voice dropped even lower.

“you think i give a fuck about the world?” he said slowly. “i care about you. you think you can just carry this shit alone and joke your way through it? you think that’s cute?”

“i didn’t want you to panic,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze. “i didn’t want to cry. or make it real. if i said it out loud—”

“then i’ll say it for you,” he interrupted. “you have heart cancer. stage 3. twenty-four percent odds. and guess what?”

you finally looked at him.

“we’re beating the shit outta those odds.”

you blinked. “what?”

he crossed the distance between you and pulled you into him. his grip wasn’t gentle—it was grounding. like he needed to feel your heartbeat against his chest to believe you were still here.

“you’re not dying on me,” he said, voice rough. “you hear me? i’ve lost enough people. you’re not going to be one of them. i’ll chain you to the damn bed if i have to. feed you. fight the doctors. i don’t care.”

“toji—”

“nah, shut up. you’re not allowed to talk until you admit i’m right and that i’m hotter than your oncologist.”

you choked out a laugh. “okay. you’re right. you’re hotter than any man with a medical license.”

“damn straight,” he muttered, lips brushing your forehead. “we’re getting through this. and i don’t care if you lose your hair or your strength or your mind a little bit along the way. you’ll still be mine. all of you.”

you didn’t say anything. didn’t need to. you just stood there with his arms around you, the only place that felt like home when everything else felt like hell.

he kissed the side of your head and sighed. “fuck. now i gotta start acting like a responsible adult.”

“guess you better start taking your vitamins, old man.”

“if i die before you, i’m haunting your ass. every time you try to pee, i’ll slam a cabinet door.”

you burst out laughing. crying. something in between. he held you tighter.

“that’s better,” he muttered. “cry in my arms like a normal person, not in the shower like a movie heroine.”

and just like that, you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

you found him in the bedroom, stretched across your bed like a damn king—which, technically, he insisted he was. shirtless, as usual. arms behind his head, eyes closed, expression too calm for a man with a bloodstained past and a mouth as foul as his reputation. the room smelled faintly like sandalwood and your shampoo, which he secretly used but would never admit to.

you stood in the doorway with the envelope clenched in your hand.

“oi, sukuna.”

his eyes cracked open, one brow lazily lifting. “what, brat? come to beg for kisses or annoy me until i carry you to class again?”

you forced a grin, walking in slowly. “tempting, but no. i’ve got something for you.”

“better be food or something perverted.”

you sat beside him, the envelope now shaking a little in your fingers. you hated how that tremor betrayed you. sukuna didn’t miss it. his eyes shifted to your hand, narrowing.

“what the hell is that?”

“diagnosis,” you said simply, tossing it onto his chest.

he caught it midair, scoffing. “what, did they finally diagnose you with being insufferable?”

“close. heart cancer. stage three. they gave me a twenty-four percent chance of living.” you tried to say it lightly. like it was a weather report. “cloudy with a chance of death, haha.”

sukuna didn’t laugh.

his eyes scanned the page. slower than usual. and his silence—it wasn’t dramatic, it was dangerous. the air felt like it thickened. you could almost hear his jaw clench.

“tch,” he scoffed. “twenty-four percent? what a bunch of weaklings. you don’t need their odds. you’ve got me.”

you blinked at him. “...you?”

“yeah. i’m keeping you alive. i’m not letting you leave me over some pathetic little tumor.”

you tried to keep the smile on your face, tried to keep the mood light like you always did. “damn. here i was thinking i’d finally get some peace and quiet.”

he sat up then—so suddenly the bed shifted with the force. his hand gripped your chin, tilting your face toward him, his expression unreadable but his eyes blazing.

“don’t you dare joke about dying,” he growled. “not to me. not when you know what it would do to me.“

you tried to look away, but his fingers held you still. “sukuna…”

“do you know what i’ve done to people who’ve left me?” he whispered, and for once his voice wasn’t teasing—it was trembling.

“terrible things,” you murmured. “you’ve told me.”

“and yet, you’re the only one i’ve ever let touch me without blood on your hands,” he hissed. “the only one i’d share my bed with. laugh with. let sleep on my chest like some damn lovesick fool.”

you bit your lip. your bravado cracked. “...i’m scared.”

and that was all it took for him to pull you into his lap, arms winding around you with the kind of desperation he rarely ever let surface.

“good,” he muttered into your shoulder. “you should be. but not because of death. because if you think i’ll let you go through this alone, you clearly don’t know who the hell you’re dating.”

you buried your face into his neck, breathing in his warmth, his scent, the familiar thrum of something ancient and furious living in his chest.

“you’ll lose your hair?” he murmured. “i don’t care. you’ll puke every day? i’ll hold the damn bucket. cry at three a.m.? i’ll cuss out the moon for looking at you wrong.”

you choked out a laugh. “the moon, huh?”

“fucking moon thinks it’s allowed to shine on you while you’re in pain? not on my watch.”

he leaned back slightly, cupping your cheek now with uncharacteristic softness. “you don’t need to act strong for me, you little brat. cry. scream. sleep for days. whatever you need. i’ll be here.”

“...even when i look like a zombie?”

“you already look half-dead when you wake up. won’t be much of a change.”

you smacked his chest. he grinned.

and then he pressed his forehead against yours, a rare show of intimacy, his voice dropping so low you barely caught it:

“you’re mine. and i don’t give a fuck if it takes all my strength, my fury, my everything. you will survive this. not because the doctors said so. but because i won’t let you die.”

and for once, even with your heart breaking and your future uncertain, you believed him.

because when a monster like sukuna swore something, the universe listened.

SHIU KONG

the sun was already setting by the time you made it to his office.

you found him exactly how you expected: sleeves rolled up, shirt slightly wrinkled, tie loosened like he’d been too busy all day to care about appearances. he was hunched over his desk, fingers typing something sharp, probably threatening someone with policy violations and scary legal jargon. a half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside his monitor, untouched for hours. the room smelled like cologne and stress.

you stood in the doorway, clutching the envelope.

“shiu.”

his eyes didn’t lift right away—just one flick of them toward you, annoyed, until he saw your face. that was all it took.

he straightened. “what happened?”

“nothing,” you said too quickly. “or, i mean... something. yeah. i brought you something.”

you walked in, trying to act normal. like this wasn’t going to detonate his whole night. you placed the envelope on top of a stack of case files like it was a stupid postcard or a coupon for pizza.

he picked it up, his frown deepening with every line he read.

“you’re joking,” he said flatly.

“i wish.”

he looked at you. hard. no emotion at first—just that sharp, calculating gaze that made grown men fold. but you knew him too well. you saw the cracks right away: his fingers tightening around the paper. the twitch in his jaw. the breath he held too long before letting it out.

“stage three?” he said. “twenty-four percent survival?”

you leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to keep it light.

“well, if i was a stock, you probably wouldn't invest in me, huh?”

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped.

you blinked.

“jesus, shiu, calm down—”

“no. i’m not calming down. you walk into my office with this,” he shook the letter, “and joke about it? you think this is funny? you think i can just read this and go back to work?”

you stayed quiet.

he stood up, pacing now. one hand dragging through his hair, the other still holding the paper like it was covered in blood. his voice dropped low. rough.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“i didn’t want to ruin your week.”

he turned slowly. "you think any of this matters if you’re not in it?"

that one hit harder than you expected. your throat tightened.

he sighed harshly and stepped toward you, eyes dark, voice steadier now but no less intense. “look at me.”

you did.

he cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he was trying to memorize every inch.

"you don’t get to carry this alone,” he said. “not with me around. not for a second."

you bit your lip. “i didn’t want you to treat me like i was dying.”

“i’m not treating you like you’re dying. i’m treating you like you’re mine. and you are. and i don’t care how brutal this fight gets, how many appointments we sit through, how sick you get, how tired—i’m staying.”

you exhaled shakily, and his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you against him like he could keep the sickness away just by holding you tighter.

“you’re not allowed to go before me,” he murmured into your hair. “i’m the old one here, remember?”

you smiled weakly. “so what, you’re giving me permission to outlive you?”

“i’m giving you orders. and you always listen to your boss.”

“you’re not my boss, shiu.”

“wanna bet?”

you leaned your head against his chest, finally letting your tears soak into his shirt. his arms stayed locked around you like a shield.

“i’m scared,” you whispered.

he kissed your temple, voice rough and sure.

“then be scared. just don’t be alone.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he always stayed up too late when he was working. piles of case files, half-drunk cups of green tea gone cold, classical music humming low in the background like it could drown out the weight of the world. the desk lamp lit his tired eyes in soft gold, his brows furrowed in that focused way you knew meant he hadn’t even noticed the time—or eaten.

you hovered at the doorway for a second, gripping the envelope. stage 3. 24%. ugly numbers typed in a clinical font that suddenly felt louder than the damn music.

“hiromi.”

he glanced up, his features instantly softening the second he saw you. “you’re still up. what’s wrong?”

you tried to smirk. “well. i’m about to ruin your night. so buckle in, counselor.”

he frowned and pushed his chair back, straightening. “what happened?”

you crossed the room, placed the envelope down in front of him like you were handing in an assignment. “that’s my diagnosis.”

he didn’t move for a few seconds. just stared at it. like touching it would confirm the dread blooming in his chest. but he opened it, scanned the words, and then—

his shoulders stiffened. just slightly. like a man being sentenced.

“heart cancer,” he murmured, voice almost too calm. “stage three. twenty-four percent survival rate.”

“yeah,” you said with a dry chuckle. “bit dramatic, right? could’ve given me a 30% for optimism.”

his eyes snapped up to yours, unreadable.

“you’re making jokes?”

“if i don’t, i’ll cry. and i figured one of us should hold it together.”

his jaw tensed, and he stood slowly, walking around the desk with a kind of methodical grace that always made your heart skip. he stopped in front of you, one hand resting on your cheek like he was scared you’d vanish.

“you’ve known… how long?”

“got the results a few days ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?”

you looked down. “i didn’t want to be the reason you stopped working. you’ve got enough to deal with. i didn’t want to be another case file on your desk.”

he flinched like you slapped him.

“you’re not a case file,” he said firmly. “you’re not just another name. you’re—” his voice broke, just a little. “you’re everything.”

you couldn’t hold it anymore. your voice cracked. “i’m scared.”

his arms were around you instantly, firm and grounding. his hand cupped the back of your head, pressing you into his chest like you belonged there and only there.

“then be scared,” he whispered into your hair. “and i’ll be scared with you. but don’t think for a second i’ll let you go through this alone.”

you held onto his blazer, gripping the fabric like it could anchor you. “i don’t want you to see me fall apart.”

“i’ve seen people fall apart,” he said. “i know what that looks like. this isn’t that. this is you being brave. this is you still showing up, still standing, even when you're hurting.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy. “what if i die?”

his hand slid to your cheek, thumb brushing a tear away. “then i’ll have spent every last day making sure you knew you were loved. and if you live—and you will, because you’re stronger than any verdict—they’ll write books about how you told death to wait.”

you laughed through the tears. “that’s a little dramatic, even for a lawyer.”

he smiled, just barely. “i learned from the best.”

and then he kissed you—soft, reverent, like a man clinging to hope.

“we’ll fight this,” he whispered. “and i’ll be with you every step of the way. suits and all.”

i made this after re-watch now is good and just can’t help myself. i know, i know it was basic, classic drama, the girl is sick, has cancer, everyone wrote about it, i know. but i enjoy writing this so much, i may or may not make a mini series about them, do you guys will enjoy it if i make this longer? please let me know! 🫣

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elixirfromthestars · 2 days ago

Text

Two idiots in love are my absolute weakness, so you have me hooked from the second I read that. 🤭💖

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

“You’re telling me you share an apartment with a man who looks like that and you haven’t fucked him?” Natasha stares after your roommate as he heads to the bar to grab the drink he promised to purchase you for losing a bet the weekend before.

^ Nat my dear that is an excellent point 👀🩷 Because I don’t know how long I could go having that man walk around and not lose my mind at how gorgeous he is 😩💕

“Well if you’re not interested, do you mind if I go for it? Pretty sure he’d be the best sex of my life.” Your heart drops through your stomach like an anvil. The thought of Bucky being intimate with anyone, let alone your best friend, is enough to send you into a spiral.

^ No because my heart would’ve sunk too ☹️💔

“You know if you give it a chance, you might find he likes you too. He’s got a smitten little smile for you.” This is what you’re afraid of. Hope.

^ I totally get her because it’s like on one hand when you have a crush you can be a little blinded to things around you, so other people might be able to see what you can’t—but they also might misinterpret things so I completely understand being afraid of hope 😭

The buoyant feeling in your chest which swells as you picture what dating Bucky might actually be like. How soft his lips would be against yours, how he’d mumble sweet devotions against your skin before tasting every inch of you, how in a room packed to the brim like the bar you’re in now, his eyes search for yours and everyone else in the periphery fades into nonexistence because you are the focal point of his entire world.

^ THE IMAGERY 🤭💗💗 You have me giggling and kicking my feet over here at imagining this 🥰

Reading the reader’s inner turmoil and her back and forth with herself is so relatable as a plus size girlie myself 🥺🩷 I’ve gotten better with the voice inside my head, but reading some of this stuff is like reading younger me’s thoughts and it just makes me want to give the reader a big hug 🥺❤️‍🩹

“Here you go, Sunrise.” His nickname for you ignites a flame in both your cheeks, and you’re forced to look down at the table in attempts to hide your reaction. He started calling you that within the first week of moving in, realising your love for staying up to read all night, until the sun came up the following day.

^ Wait that is such a cute nickname omg 🥹🌅💛🧡 And the reason behind it—ahhhh!! 🤭💛🧡

You try not to read into it too much that you are the only person you know of that Bucky has a nickname for. He’s just being friendly. A nice roommate.

^ friendly….a nice roommate…🫠 idiots in love will one day be my ending but it’s okay 😌💖

You are so far gone for him.

^ And I so relate to this. 🥰

His finger traces a light trail down your bare forearm which lights your skin on fire. You’re not even sure Bucky’s aware he’s doing it, it seems so casually intimate, such a soft touch as his eyes bore into yours, but it sends your brain into a meltdown. “Oh Sunrise, you don’t know the kind of heat I can bring if I really tried.”

^ TRY ME 🤭 SURPRISE ME 🤭💖

His face is so close to yours you can smell the beer on his breath and see how he wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue. He’s got these freckles scattered along his high cheekbones which reach the tips of his ears, that you want to place delicate kisses to, learn the constellations of pigmentation over his body so you could point them out blindfolded. And those fucking eyes, they’re impossible not to fall in love with. Those saxe eyes which hold so much wonder and tenderness, which seems to pool in the slightly darker flecks at the centre. You really would be perfectly content if those eyes were the last you ever see, being lured underneath the waves of blue to your doom, but like a siren's victim, you’d dive in with a smile on your face.

^ MUTUAL PINING MY BELOVED!!! 🤭💕💕💕 ITS ALWAYS THE LITTLE THINGS 🥰❤️❤️❤️ All the tension in this scene was so *chef’s kiss* and I am just ahhhhhhhhh!!! 💕💞💕💞 You write in the most beautiful detail Em, I am in awe of your writing!! 🫶🏼 Your prose is so wonderful I love it!! ��❤️

“I’m gonna go up to the bar and see if I can flirt my way to scoring a shot.” She announces as she stands, a shameless look passing between you and Bucky. “Some of us don’t have sex personified living in the next room we can flirt with to buy us free alcohol. You kids have fun continuing whatever that was. Just make sure to use protection.”

^ Oh, Nat you little—I love you for that 😂🩷🩷 She’s like the extroverted friend that adopted an introvert a.k.a. the reader 😂🩷

“Sex personified, huh? Is that what you two were whispering about behind my back before?” You might just burst into flames if you actually admit that to him, but the cocky smirk he shoots you suggests he is already fully aware how much sex appeal he has.

^ I mean…looking at us like that….were we wrong? 👀💗

“No, not that it’s any of your business, but don’t act like you don’t know how gorgeous you are Barnes.” There’s a sparkle in his eye as he smiles and scrunches his nose in that way which makes your tummy somersault.

^ The way I pictured the nose scrunch perfectly in my mind and it just brought the giddiest smile on my face 🥰❤️ Thank you for that image my darling 😌💖

Bucky quickly goes through the rules you were vaguely familiar with already, then shows you how it’s done by throwing two darts into the single twenty score area and then hitting a bullseye. He looks proud of himself too, and it brings a smile to your face just how cute he looks. Is he trying so hard to impress you?

^ Trying to impress her omg that’s so adorable 🥹🩷

“It takes a special kind of talent to miss by that much Sunrise.” He snickers, but his eyes still softly gaze at you even as he teases. “Shut up, it’s my first attempt.” You playfully rib back.

^ Mutual pining and cute banter? oh, how I love these two already 🥹💕

“C’mere, let me show you.” He stands at your back, so close you can smell his aftershave, a spicy cinnamon that reminds you of home, as his touch ghosts along your arms. He fiddles with your fingers, delicately directing them where he wants them on the dart. You’re pliant to his every command, conforming to the stance he wants you in, you even tilt your head up when he uses two fingers under your chin to carefully guide your eye line to where he wants it. Holding the small projectile in line with your eyes, you’re extremely aware that Bucky’s examining you, gazing at your profile, the curve of your nose, the undulations of your lips. You feel exposed, like he’s critiquing you, but when the outcome of that is him beaming a besotted smile in your direction, you feel like you must have done something right. You let the dart fly, barely able to concentrate on where it’s going, too caught up in how close Bucky is, how his hand rests on your waist like he was made to hold you, how his broad chest behind you is as solid as a wall, yet would be the perfect place to rest your head as you fell to sleep every night.

^ THE TENSION!! PERFECTION!! 🫠🩷🩷🩷 If that man was holding me that close I would not be able to concentrate on anything else I swear 😮‍💨💖

It punctures into the board this time, scoring a measly four points, but it’s sufficient for Bucky to wrap his arms around your middle, rest his head on your shoulder and give you a squeeze as he lowers his husky voice in your ear. “There you go, great job Sunrise.”

^ Ahhhhhhhhhhh 🥰 The things I would do to stay like that forever 🤭💞

He’s sitting at the table where you just left him, chatting up one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. It’s as if someone’s poured a bucket of ice cold water over you. This devastating, borderline nauseating, chasm cleaving your chest in two is exactly why hope is the most dangerous feeling to cultivate unchecked.

^ Oh no ☹️💔 I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding, but our poor reader nooooo ☹️💔💔

It feels like there’s a cyclone wreaking havoc in your stomach as you watch their interaction. It looks sort of casual, at least given how far they are seated apart in such a noisy room, but there’s an axe carving your heart into splinters at the mere thought of what flirty chat is bouncing between them, the smile curving on his lips, and you find yourself needing to turn away. You know you can’t lose what was never yours in the first place, but then why does it feel like your soul is disintegrating and being sucked out of your body through a hole in your sternum?

^ Wreck my heart in the absolute prettiest detail, seriously 💔 This paragraph was so hauntingly beautiful and I could just feel the pain in my own heart too ☹️💔

What you don’t realise as you make your hasty exit, head down to avoid watching Bucky flirt with the beautiful blonde, is that he watches with an aching heart as you take every step without so much as saying goodbye - because he notices everything about you, in every scenario, hoping for any fraction of your attention in return.

^ MUTUAL PINING + IDIOTS IN LOVE + MISUNDERSTANDINGS = THE DEATH OF ME 😭

He swiftly grabs his jacket to chase after you, muttering a quick apology to his coworker he really doesn’t mean. He sees enough of her Monday to Friday for her to consume his weekends as well, especially when it's taking time away which could instead be spent with you.

^ And he’s going after her right away?? Ughhhh my heart 🤧🩷🩷

“Firstly, you're daft if you think I’m letting you walk that far by yourself. I’d be worried about you the whole time.” He tilts his head to the side and it reminds you of a sweet puppy gazing at their owner with fondness, willing to pursue them anywhere. “Secondly, you’re not ruining anything. It’s no fun without you there anyway.”

^ He’s so sweet to her 😭🩷🩷 I wish the reader could see just how special she is to him 🥺

Warmth blooms in your chest that even though it’s just as roommates, you’re the one Bucky’s returning to the apartment with. He’s not going home with Nat, or any other stunning girl he could pull with a single flirty glance. Instead it’s you who he drapes his jacket around when he notices you shivering and slows his large strides to allow you to keep up as you walk casually back home. Taking your time to extend your conversation and absorb the scent of his coat as you pull it tighter around yourself.

^ I’m going to lock these two in a room and make them talk 😂🩷 They’re so cute and they need to confess!!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Em, my darling, thank you so much for submitting this piece for my writing challenge 🩷🩷 My apologies for letting life get too much in the way that it took me some time to get to this fic 🥺 I mentioned this already, but your prose is so pretty I swear I’m obsessed with it!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼 I’m so soft for these two, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to, but I definitely added the part two to my reading list because I need to see these two get a happy ending 😭🩷🩷 Love you lots, and thanks again for participating!! 🥹🩷🩷

Right Here, Waiting

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Fem!Reader

PART 2 > >

Summary: You’re pining after your insanely attractive roommate, but are convinced he doesn’t feel the same way.

Prompts: Roommate AU for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s 108th Birthday Celebration & you can’t lose something you never had for @elixirfromthestars’s cinema writing challenge 🎥

Warnings: strictly 18+, talk of sex, TRIGGER WARNING internal monologue references reader having issues with weight & eating, sucking in her stomach, VERY insecure reader, angst in the form of belief of unrequited love, jealousy, idiots in love

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: as the winner of this very close poll, here is a little roommate AU with our beloved Bucky 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“Men and women can just be friends you know.”

“If my roommate looked like yours, I’d be jumping his bones every chance I got.”

He’s way out of my league, and as much as I might want him, he doesn’t think of me like that, is the rather depressing thought that has been replayed on loop in your mind since the devilishly attractive yet sweet as an angel Bucky Barnes moved in with you.

But instead of voicing aloud your insecurity, you simply hum in agreement. It’s easier than trying to explain your one sided crush that’s only ever going to end in heartache.

Nat’s much more the type he’d go for anyway, beautiful, skinny, quick witted. Everything you’re not. She’s always the one who gets attention from guys at places like this, whereas you’re the ‘approachable one’ who gets asked if Nat’s single.

No one’s ever interested in you, especially not when you’re sitting next to your much hotter, thinner best friend.

“C’mon, there’s lots of guys here you could take home. You really have to make things awkward by sleeping with my roommate?” You try to sound as calm and collected as possible, but the lump in your throat betrays you.

Nat gives you a knowing look, seeing straight through your weak facade. She is your best friend after all, and knows you better than practically anyone in the world. “Of course I wouldn't, darling - I’m just trying to get you to admit you like him.”

There’s something almost worse about Nat knowing you’re crushing on Bucky - she can be so incessant, honing in on something and making it her mission to see it come to fruition, even if it’s to a bitter end. Which is exactly how your one sided crush will play out if she tries pushing you together.

You have an understanding which she hasn’t grasped yet that Bucky would never be attracted to you like that, and you’d rather spare your poor heart from his rejection and find a way to be content with friendship than risk hearing you’re too big, too unattractive, too much not his type for anything to happen.

“Can we just drop it. We’re roommates, nothing more.” But you know Nat’s incapable of letting something go once she’s got her claws sunk into it. You mostly love her for it, but in this one instance, it’s a right pain in the ass.

“You know if you give it a chance, you might find he likes you too. He’s got a smitten little smile for you.”

This is what you’re afraid of. Hope.

But it’s that blind belief which will tear your heart to tatters. Hope will be your cause of death in the end. The expectation of a happy outcome despite all available evidence which will be your ultimate downfall.

“Don’t be ridiculous, look at him, there’s no way he’d ever be interested in me.” But yet, despite how much you tell yourself you’re destined for heartbreak, you can’t quite snuff out that last ember of hope deep in your chest when Bucky turns around with your drink in his hand and smiles reflexively as his eyes set on you all the way across the room.

“I hate it when you put yourself down like that.” There’s a glint in Nat’s eye like she wants to say more, but she notices Bucky returning from the bar and the words die in the back of her throat.

You try not to read into it too much that you are the only person you know of that Bucky has a nickname for. He’s just being friendly. A nice roommate.

“That’s the last time I bet you anything to do with food. Clearly you can eat and drink me under the table any day.” You know he’s just teasing about your bet, who could eat more spicy Indian food without needing to take a drink to subdue the burning heat on your tongue, but any comment related to the amount of food you eat or your weight always hits a little too close to home.

“Thanks Bucky.” Taking your drink from him, your fingers brush, sending goosebumps shivering down your arm, and his dazzling blue eyes regard you with what your hopeful heart believes is warm adoration. “At least you’re not being a sore loser this time round.”

“Excuse you, I’ve never been a sore loser. You just like to bend the rules to suit yourself.” He retorts before taking a sip of his beer, and you find it impossible to look away from how his perfectly plump lips cover the opening and his Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a sip.

You are so far gone for him.

“Sore loser.” You call in a sing-song voice that makes him chuckle in that way you can feel down to your bones. “Don’t blame me just because you can’t handle the heat, Barnes.”

“Oh Sunrise, you don’t know the kind of heat I can bring if I really tried.”

And those fucking eyes, they’re impossible not to fall in love with. Those saxe eyes which hold so much wonder and tenderness, which seems to pool in the slightly darker flecks at the centre. You really would be perfectly content if those eyes were the last you ever see, being lured underneath the waves of blue to your doom, but like a siren's victim, you’d dive in with a smile on your face.

There’s a cough from your left which breaks the trance Bucky’s eyes have you in. You would never admit it aloud, but you’d forgotten, just for a brief moment, that your best friend was at the table with you.

Nat’s looking at you with a bold grin and you know before she even opens her mouth that she’s about to say something cheeky and probably completely against your wishes to keep your yearning devotion a secret.

Nat walks off without another word, but after her quip, you find you can’t look Bucky quite in the eye.

You’re positive in this moment he’ll laugh at the insinuation that anything remotely romantic or sexual exists between you two and you brace yourself for the puncture to your heart.

But instead, he just looks at you with those big blue eyes and smiles warmly, as if Nat had simply commented about needing to use the restroom to excuse her absence.

It feels like your heart is beating in your throat as you answer and you pray he can’t hear the difference in your voice.

“No, not that it’s any of your business, but don’t act like you don’t know how gorgeous you are Barnes.”

There’s a sparkle in his eye as he smiles and scrunches his nose in that way which makes your tummy somersault. You could be fooled into thinking you were back in your apartment alone with him, the only girl within a hundred miles with the way his pupils grow wide and fixate solely on you in this bar crowded with people much more alluring than yourself.

You shake your head, almost imperceptibly, trying to rid your mind of sanguine thoughts that are just setting you up to be greatly disappointed.

You can’t get your hopes up.

There’s a dartboard which becomes available beside your table and you stand with your drink. “C’mon, last weekend you told me you’d show me how to play this ridiculous game and I’m holding you to that.”

It’s not that you don’t already understand the principle of darts, but when Bucky promises to spend more time with you, you’re not about to turn him down.

There’s this gleam in his eye you can’t quite place as he stands and follows you to the dark corner of the bar. You want to believe it’s something of endearment at calling him ‘gorgeous’, a fondness he reserves only for you, but you try reminding yourself that’s the kind of false hope you’ve been desperately shoveling out of your chest and you have to be stronger to not allow such optimistic concepts to penetrate through your defences.

Pushing that thought from your mind, you step up to take your aim. Your first throw goes very astray, not even hitting the dartboard at all, but instead sticking into the wood panelling about a foot below it.

You feel horrified that you’ve just embarrassed yourself, not only in front of Bucky, but the entire bar. Looking around with a sheepish grimace, you find fortunately no one is paying any attention to you, and when your eyes land on Bucky, you can’t help but both burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that lasts so long you’re cheeks start to hurt.

“It takes a special kind of talent to miss by that much Sunrise.” He snickers, but his eyes still softly gaze at you even as he teases.

“Shut up, it’s my first attempt.” You playfully rib back.

“C’mere, let me show you.” He stands at your back, so close you can smell his aftershave, a spicy cinnamon that reminds you of home, as his touch ghosts along your arms.

He fiddles with your fingers, delicately directing them where he wants them on the dart. You’re pliant to his every command, conforming to the stance he wants you in, you even tilt your head up when he uses two fingers under your chin to carefully guide your eye line to where he wants it.

Holding the small projectile in line with your eyes, you’re extremely aware that Bucky’s examining you, gazing at your profile, the curve of your nose, the undulations of your lips. You feel exposed, like he’s critiquing you, but when the outcome of that is him beaming a besotted smile in your direction, you feel like you must have done something right.

You let the dart fly, barely able to concentrate on where it’s going, too caught up in how close Bucky is, how his hand rests on your waist like he was made to hold you, how his broad chest behind you is as solid as a wall, yet would be the perfect place to rest your head as you fell to sleep every night.

You try not to think about how large your stomach is as he holds you, sucking in slightly, instead trying to savour the feeling of being in his arms. If he recognises how fast your heart is now beating against his chest, he doesn’t mention it.

The two of you continue to play your game, forgetting all about the hearty atmosphere of the bar, just enjoying each other's company, and your atrocious attempt at beating Bucky in a game he’s had far too much experience with.

You suspect he downplays his skill - you hope to spend more time alone with you, but more than likely just so you don’t feel completely embarrassed by your endeavours.

Once he’s beaten you for a second time, you find a free table to set yourselves, before you go up to the bar to order a second round. You can’t seem to shake the smile off your face as you give the bartender your order. A sense of light optimism builds in your chest, Bucky’s just given up his night to spend with you as you make a fool of yourself playing darts.

He could be out with anyone, giving them all his attention. But instead he’s with you. Eyes softening and an enchanting smile spreading on his features as if he’s already precisely where he wants to be.

You turn to look back at Bucky to find the one thing in the world that could dampen your high spirits.

He’s sitting at the table where you just left him, chatting up one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.

It’s as if someone’s poured a bucket of ice cold water over you. This devastating, borderline nauseating, chasm cleaving your chest in two is exactly why hope is the most dangerous feeling to cultivate unchecked.

She’s absolutely stunning, with shoulder length blonde hair, a glittery, low plunging top that brings out the radiance in her light eyes and accentuates her fit figure. She’s everything you’re not, everything Bucky deserves, and everything that makes you so acutely aware of how much physical space you take up in the world.

How someone as beautiful as Bucky could never be attracted to the likes of you when women like her walk on this earth.

You know you can’t lose what was never yours in the first place, but then why does it feel like your soul is disintegrating and being sucked out of your body through a hole in your sternum?

Bucky’s single, the two of you aren’t even remotely dating, you are purely roommates. You just so happened to have a spare room available at the same time he broke up with his ex and needed somewhere to sleep. You were a convenient solution to the awkward situation he found himself in.

And you’ve never been anything more.

He has every right to flirt, fuck and date whomever he pleases. Which decidedly isn’t you.

You search out Nat who’s over by the other side of the room, your extremities almost feeling numb as you walk past so many groups of friends and handsy partners, knowing that the one person who consumes your entire world simply views you as just someone whom he shares a bathroom with and occasionally bets wagers of buying a round of drinks.

She’s flirting with some handsome, tall stranger who appears to have bought her a couple drinks. You don’t want to ruin her night either, but you know she’d be irate if you disappeared without telling her.

All you want is the comfort of your bed, snuggled underneath a mountain of blankets where you can escape into a world where Bucky isn’t flirting with someone who is both much prettier and much thinner than you.

Should you even go home if Bucky brings her back to the apartment where you’d be subjected to listening to the entire affair?

Probably not, but at this point you just need to get out of here, as far away as possible from the scene which is causing your throat to constrict and tears to sting behind your eyes.

You touch Nat on the upper arm to pull her attention. “Imma head home.”

Her line of sight specifically redirects to the table you were seated with Bucky at, to find the source of your crushing heartbreak.

“Alright, then I’m coming with you.”

“No, please stay, have fun, I’m fine it’s just getting a little loud in here.” You lie through your teeth, but after pretending all night you're not about to start admitting your feelings now. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The look Nat gives you is a clear indication she doesn’t believe your fib, but you simply turn away from her piercing eyes and stalk towards the door, trying to avoid bumping into the crowd of people in your path.

“Sunrise, wait up!” You hear a very familiar deep voice call from behind you just as you’re about to put on your headphones. You’d know that voice anywhere, even if he hadn’t used your nickname.

“Bucky? What’re you doing?”

“You think I’m gonna let you walk home alone this late at night?” He says with such an ease, as if it were the only possible outcome given the situation. Like he didn’t have a drop dead gorgeous woman in the bar waiting to take him home and do downright pornographic things to him.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your fun. It’s only a couple blocks, I can walk it myself.” You can’t find it in you to feel guilty about pulling him away from the woman inside, especially not when he looks so content having followed you out into the cold night air.

Dammit, there’s that incessant hope again.

You really are too enamoured with him for your own good. Even if it wasn’t tonight, you're just setting yourself up for a more agonising downfall in the end.

Part 2 > >

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#elixirscinema #em ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#lovely mutuals ♡🎀♡#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes angst

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clockwayswrites · 1 day ago

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A Hill to Die On Chapter 5, part 3

masterpost tiny short bit. please no concrit/editing. life is hard enough right now

“Next outfit, next outfit,” the group chanted. Their ability to ignore the side eye from the sales woman was impressive. Maybe it’s because they knew if she tried anything with them, Cass had the Wayne card to pull out. Dick did too, of course, but it was a hit or a miss if he would use it. Not because of how he was dressed, of course, but it would depend on if Cass seemed willing. He liked to see her stand up for herself, they all did.

Caroline fussed with her hair for a moment before stepping out of the dressing room. It she was more of a blusher, she’d have flushed brightly with the newest string of compliments. Obeying Dicks hand motion, she did a little twirl. A camera went off if she did so.

“Sending this to you to send to Danny, because this? This is totally date night material,” Babs said.

“Or,” Stephie said, drawing the simple word out as long as she could. “You could just put him in a group chat with us and we can sent them ourselves!”

“I don’t think you quite understand the not scaring him away part of earlier,” Caroline said as she brushed a hand over the the skirt. It was a lightweight, pleated fabric that faded from opaque black to a sheer red. She loved how it move.

“Ashamed of us,” Cass said somberly.

“No!” Her head shot up as she assured them quickly. It was a joke, mostly like, but if it wasn’t… She tugged at the black top where it barely hung onto her shoulders. “You’re all amazing. And I don’t really think you would scare Danny away, after all, he put up with us, but do you know how special that is? To not only find someone who doesn’t mind what we are, but to embrace it? And above that what I am? Or rather, what I’m not, I guess. I just…”

“You just aren’t ready for the meet the family and friends,” Dick finished kindly. “I get that, especially when it’s us. You want more time for the two of you first. Ah—I mean three of you. Maybe four.”

Caroline let out a relieved breath. “Exactly. And I really think that all of the family should know about me first. Which is already moving much quicker than I might have planned. Not that I’m not glad for this, I’ve enjoyed today, but it is… a lot.”

“Okay,” Dick said. His eye were that sad sort of kind that knew they should expect him to show up at the apartment again soon. He’d want to give them, and especially Tim, a chance to talk.

“Was teasing,” Cass said.

“Yeah, same,” Steph said, an apology in her smile.”

“I wasn’t,” Babs said, “This outfit it absolutely date night material. Now go try on the last few things. We still need shoes and bags.” She paused before adding, “And lingerie.”

Dick grimaced slightly. “I’m going to learn things about my little siblings I don’t want to know, aren’t I?”

“You could always leave,” Steph pointed out with a smirk.

“But girls night!” Dick whined.

“Exactly,” Babs said. “So we have to talk about cute boys and or girls. You’ll live.”

“Rude,” Dick said with a sniff as he flopped dramatically over the arm of the sofa they were occupying.

Caroline held back a laugh and disappeared back into the dressing room.

It was a lot, but it was a good a lot.

#dp x dc #a hill to die on #danny/sysTIM #Danny/tim

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mattrempeswife · 1 day ago

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HER PLACE

series: blue and blind hearts | part: 01 02

pair: quinn hughes x f!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers.

warnings: unrequited love, emotional angst, tension with quinn’s girlfriend, pining, jealousy, feeling like an outsider, reader trying to stay composed.

summary: you visit quinn again in vancouver, expecting things to feel like old times. but his girlfriend is around and this time, it’s clear she doesn’t like sharing space with the girl who knows quinn better than anyone. you try not to notice how different things feel. but you do. you notice everything.

fia’s note + chit chat: there’s no official taglist for this series, but if you’d like to be tagged just let me know!! anyway random (but kinda wild) update: i just found out that my high school crush goes to california state university long beach and he’s majoring in hospitality (i think?). and honestly… i think i might still have a crush on him (to be fair, i’ve liked him since i was in 5th grade, so this is basically a legacy crush). imagine if any of you, my lovely readers, happen to study there too?? omg not me sounding like a complete stalker. i swear i’m normal (most days).

You told yourself not to expect much this time.

It had been months since you’d last seen Quinn in person. And things were different now that he had a routine, a team, a city, and a girlfriend. You reminded yourself of that on the flight to Vancouver.

Over and over and over and over.

A quiet mantra in your head ‘This isn’t like before. Don’t act like it is.’

Still, when he met you at the airport with that familiar grin, this soft and boyish, the one that made your heart ache a little every time you felt yourself slipping.

“Missed you,”

He said, wrapping his arms around you in that effortless way that always made you forget to breathe.

You clung to him for a moment longer than you should’ve, inhaling the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hoodie, the weight of memories pressed into his chest.

“I missed you too,” you said softly. And you meant it.

His apartment was cleaner than you remembered.

Minimalist, polished… less like Quinn, more like someone else had touched it. You noticed the throw pillows first, neatly placed. Then the matching hand towels. A few candles. Subtle signs of Sophia.

You didn’t ask. You didn’t have to.

“She’s been helping me decorate,”

Quinn offered anyway, watching your eyes drift around the space.

“Said it needed… warmth.”

You let out a breath of amusement.

“Guess she’s not wrong.”

He grinned.

“You used to say it looked like a frat house.”

“It did. You had a hockey stick as a curtain rod.”

“Hey,” he defended with a laugh. “That was innovation.”

But the laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes. Because back then, the apartment had felt like it belonged to both of you.

Movie nights. Takeout containers. Your hoodie stuffed into the corner of his couch. You were part of it then. Now, you were just a visitor.

A guest in someone else’s home.

Sophia was already there when you arrived.

You weren’t expecting her, Quinn had mentioned she might be out with friends, that the two of you would have time to catch up.

Apparently, plans changed.

She stood as soon as you walked in, a polished smile on her face and a glass of wine in her hand.

“Y/N, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

You forced a smile in return. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, definitely,”

She said, her gaze lingering on you just a second too long.

“Quinn talks about you all the time.”

You glanced at him, but he was too busy dragging your suitcase inside to notice the tension in the room.

“Well,” Sophia said brightly,

“I made dinner reservations for all three of us tonight. I hope that’s okay.”

Your stomach twisted. You were supposed to be here for him. But now you were crashing their date night.

“Yeah,” you said.

“Sounds fun.”

She smiled again. The kind of smile that said good girl. The kind that let you know exactly who she thought you were ‘the friend’ who didn’t know when to let go.

Dinner was… uncomfortable in the way only long-held resentment and unspoken truths could make it.

Quinn sat between the two of you, oblivious to the friction. You laughed when he did. Nodded when Sophia made small talk. Picked at your food while she picked at his arm.

She was pretty.

That effortless kind of pretty, the kind you could tell hadn’t worked for attention a day in her life. She ordered for both of them without asking, corrected him when he got a stat wrong, and leaned in when she spoke to him like the rest of the world was background noise.

And still, Quinn looked at her like she’s the only star.

You stared at your glass of wine and tried to stop picturing what it would feel like to throw it in her face.

When you got back to the apartment, you went straight for the couch.

Sophia disappeared into the bathroom to shower. Quinn threw you a blanket and offered you the bed.

“She won’t mind, I swear.”

You refused. You always refused.

You didn’t want to know what it smelled like in there.

He sat beside you for a while, scrolling through TV channels and talking about the team. You kept your eyes on the screen, but your thoughts kept drifting.

“It’s not the same anymore,” you murmured.

“What isn’t?”

“This. Us.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

You turned to look at him.

“We used to talk about everything. Now I feel like I’m just… here. In your way.”

His expression softened.

“You’re never in the way, Y/N.”

But you didn’t believe him. Not really.

You woke up sometime after midnight to the sound of quiet footsteps.

Quinn stood in the kitchen, shirtless, half-asleep, drinking from a water bottle. His hair was a mess. His face looked tired.

He jumped when he noticed you sitting up on the couch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he whispered.

“Not really.”

He walked over and sat beside you again, this time closer. His knee brushed yours.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

You smiled, even though it hurt.

“Me too.”

A silence settled between you. One thick with unsaid things.

Then, suddenly.

“Do you think she likes me?”

He blinked. “Sophia?”

Quinn looked at you, confused.

“What are you talking about? Of course she—”

“She doesn’t,” you interrupted, quieter now.

“She doesn’t like that I know you better than she does. That I’ve known you longer. That I’ve seen you at your worst and didn’t leave.”

He swallowed. Didn’t argue.

You looked down at your hands.

“I think she knows something you don’t.”

“Like what?”

“That I’d do anything for you,” you whispered.

“That I always… have.”

He didn’t respond.

You didn’t need him to.

The next morning, Sophia was quiet. Too quiet.

You caught her watching you across the kitchen while you sipped coffee from Quinn’s mug. The same one you always used. The same one he used to save for you.

“Y/N,” she said sweetly.

“How long are you staying again?”

You blinked. “I leave tomorrow.”

She smiled. “Oh. I thought it was longer.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to. You could already feel her irritation simmering beneath the surface, barely masked by politeness.

Quinn walked in moments later, oblivious as always, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She turned in his hold, kissed his cheek, and stared at you the whole time.

It was all so quiet. So calculated.

You wondered if he even noticed. If he ever would.

That night, you packed your bag.

There was still a full day left on your trip, but you couldn’t stay. Not like this.

Quinn found you standing by the front door with your suitcase.

“Leaving already?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

You met his eyes and gave him a sad little smile.

“Because I don’t belong here, Quinn. Not anymore.”

His face fell. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you said gently.

“And it’s okay. People grow up. They grow apart. You have your life here. Your team. Your girl. You don’t need me like you used to.”

He stepped forward. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“It’s true. You know it is.”

He stared at you, torn between what he wanted to say and what he couldn’t bring himself to admit.

“I’ll text you when I land,” you said.

“Get some sleep.”

And with that, you walked out.

No goodbye hug.

No final glance.

Just the soft click of the door closing behind you and the sound of your heart breaking all over again.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes x f!reader #quinn hughes x fem!reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes nhl #quinn hughes x oc

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caxasy · 3 days ago

Text

caleb x male reader, based off of the card stage oberver bc i played it and ltr smirked the entire time bc mc is soooo me

-> implied childhood friends (atp assume every caleb x male reader is a childhood friends trope tbh), mc's name is lily, caleb is #gayaf <3

“oh my god, no way!” lily’s voice exclaimed, knelt over caleb’s belongings. “you won’t believe what i just found!”

“hm? snooping doesn’t get you anywhere, lily,” you chide her, not entirely interested as you help put away his belongings.

”snooping does in this case!” she bounds over to you with a smile on her face, “look what i found!”

“a piece of paper?” your eyes watch her expectantly, “and that is significant because…”

“because it’s not just a piece of paper! it’s a love letter, without a doubt!” she points at it, “look it’s got his favorite stickers plastered all around it!” she points to the little figures. an airplane, apples, oranges, and even some cute animal stickers.

“did you open it?” you ask, not out of curiosity, but more so in a warning way.

she shakes her head, “of course i wouldn’t actually read a love letter to caleb-oppa, that’s so weird! but, look at the evidence, it’s all pointing towards a love letter! it was even stuffed in his planner, the one written with all his assignments, which means he kept it there because it was something of utmost importance to him! what else would it be besides a love letter!” her rambling continued on as she followed you around his room. it seems she had given up cleaning and organizing in favor of trying to convince that what she had found was truly groundbreaking.

“hm, maybe it’s all those coupons he kept from you that you wrote when you two were kids,” you muse, not putting it past caleb to keep things like that. no, he definitely did, “it probably is, honestly. you know how he is and how he loves holding you to your word like that,”

she pouts, shaking her head, “he’s already used up all the ones i’ve given him…i think, or at least, that’s what it feels like,” she murmurs the last part of the sentence in a dejected tone, looking tired at the memory, “i swear he’s used countless coupons in the past couple months, just for stupid stuff too!”

“you’re the one that wrote them,” you comment, ruffling her hair to see her expression screw up in even more annoyance. “and if it isn’t coupons, then i have no clue what it is…or why we should even care,” you try subtly reminding her that caleb’s love life, if it was even that, isn’t necessarily your guys’ business.

“you don’t care? what if someone steals caleb from us? he’s already graduating — learning that he’s getting into a committed relationship just means less time for us!” she reasons and you almost chuckle at her obviously, very serious concerns.

“who’s stealing who exactly?”

speak of the devil and he shall appear.

lily nearly squeaked before she hurriedly shuffledso that your taller figure was blocking her body from caleb’s view, hiding what she was doing, quite literally, behind your back.

“nothing, lily just has a raging suspicion-”

the girl had immediately covered your mouth with her hand, standing on her tippy toes to do so. you tilted your head in confusion, widening your eyes at her as if silently saying “what gives?” but she just shushed you with her finger to her lips.

“nothing, i was just saying…how messy your room is! and how you have so much stuff! like, how are you even going to fit this all in one suitcase?” she starts rambling, a habit that she has when she lies, but caleb doesn’t press on further. instead, he opts to wave his hand at her dismissively.

“i can sort through the most of it by myself,” he says in a matter-a-fact tone.

“oh, so you just invited us here days earlier from your actual graduation to show off then?” you tease, looking around at his room, “i mean, look at all the photos on your desk of the friends you’ve made, its cute how much of a social butterfly you are, caleb,”

he looks at the stray photostrips and pictures he has on his desk, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck, “well, those photobooths always give extras, so i can’t just not take them,”

”it’s good to see you were well acquainted, they all look so friendly,” you say, a smile on your face as your eyes trace over the photographs.

your words seem to snap lily out of her stupor as she rushes forward and begins observing the photo, scanning all of the faces in the pictures.

“wait, tell us about all of them! i want to know more!” her enthusiasm seems off-putting to both you and caleb, but the latter doesn’t say anything and decides to appease her. he lists off of a lot of names, noting their relationship to him with simple words like “classmate” or “study-buddy”.

“why didn’t you have any girl friends? girl, space, friends?” now this made caleb falter slightly, confusion written across his face.

”uhm, i don’t know? they just weren’t in my social circle like that,” he says it casually, as if it’s really not all that important. but to lily, and her mission in proving that caleb has a secret, hidden girlfriend, it’s of all the importance.

“you’re such a liar! all the girls in highschool would woo over you, you mean to tell me they didn’t even try being your friend in college?” she scoffed at the idea, showing how unbelievably a bad liar caleb was being. but he was telling the truth.

“i’m not interested in girls anyway!” he exclaims in defense of himself, eyes flickering to you in realization of what he said before he corrected it, “er- i mean! getting to know girls like that! ugh, pip-squeak! you and your silly questions are really making my mind melt!” his gaze looked at your reaction for a split second, but he snapped his head away from your eyes when they made eye contact with his. the reaction made you quirk your brow up in intrigue.

meanwhile, lily just giggles behind her hand, enjoying the way her interrogation is playing out, “hm, your reaction says otherwise! i think maybe you have a secret you’re not telling me and oppa,” hearing yourself be dragged into the conversation, you lazily look over at the two. “i’ll get it out of you eventually, dummy caleb!”

“why do you even care that much? weirdo…” caleb murmurs, walking away from her and to get some of his things off of his bed, which was scattered with a bunch of belongings.

he reaches for his planner, spraying the pages open in fluidity. he repeated it a couple of more times before dropping it onto the bed and looking through the other stuff in front of him.

if you hadn’t known him better, you would think he was just looking for something underneath all of his junk. but you and lily could see it; the hint of franticness and panic in his movements. without even seeing his face, he seemed to be more frenzied than a couple seconds earlier.

“uhm, are you okay, caleb?” you ask, walking over and seeing his face, eyebrows pinched together in worry.

“i’m, uh, fine. just looking for something,” he explains in a rush, “you guys haven’t touch the things on my bed, yet, right?”

you shake your head, speaking for yourself before looking over at lily, who you know for a fact did. that’s where she got that “love letter” from anyway, that planner that caleb just flipped through about 10 times.

“nope, not yet,” you deadpan at her lie, but caleb seems to believe her. he runs his hand through his hair before shaking his head.

“nevermind, i’ll look for it later,” he turns around to face you properly, taking your wrist in his hand and pulling you with him, “let’s head out for some fresh air, i have to do some shopping for dinner,”

you and lily share a look of confusion, wondering what got caleb all jumpy. hurriedly, you grab onto her wrist as well, caleb now dragging the two of you out of his dorm room and onto the streets of skyhaven.

when you arrive at the supermarket, lily glues herself to your side to continue gossipping about the supposed love letter she found, “see? he wouldn’t act that way unless it was a love letter! i kind of want to read it now,” there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes, but you flick her forehead in disapproval.

”why don’t you just ask him, lily?”

“but there’s no fun in that! i want to hear him say it,” she whines, punching your shoulder, right before holding your arm close to her body. the two of you walk in sync with each other, as she pressed her cheek to your sleeve. “it’s interesting to think about caleb getting a girlfriend, isn’t it?”

your face makes an expression she can’t read, “not really, he’s charming and like you said before, he’d always get attention in highschool,”

“yeah, but highschool isn’t even serious,” she waves her hand, eyes rolling, “didn’t people confess to you all the time too? and look where you’re at now! still single!” she sticks her tongue out at you, teasing you.

“haha,” your mocking laughter makes her giggles even louder, “don’t speak as if you know everything either, lily, you graduated from highschool, like, last year,”

“i know enough,” she says with finality, “i know that caleb was super worried about that letter and he was super flustered explaining his girl-friend situation earlier. he’s probably thinking of her right now,” she sighs, dreamily almost, as if she’s envisioning caleb and his secret relationship. “one of you needed a girlfriend sooner or later, i’m kind of glad it’s caleb! means that he can stop hogging you all to himself, finally some lily and [name] time together!”

“nobody hogs anybody,” you try to reason, but she just rolls her eyes and pouts, “plus, i’d be happy for him too, but you’re beyond excited,” you laugh, finding her investigation equally odd and endearing.

“what are you two talking about over there? stop making me look like a guy that’s here all by myself,” caleb halts in his step, waiting for you two to catch up before he grabs your hand, “c’mon, hyung, i need help picking what meat we should have for dinner tonight,”

“hey! i was just talking to him!” lily cries out, following after you as caleb tugs you away.

“yeah, and you’ve been talking to him for the entire day — my turn, pip-squeak,” he says, tone light and not that serious, but his expression doesn’t have a hint of a joke being told. you’d call it a warning glare, but it wasn’t that hostile…right?

“ugh, just like i said, hogging,” lily comments to herself, busying herself in looking at the snack and chip section. “i’ll be waiting here!”

”that wasn’t very kind, caleb,” you chide, once again playing peace maker between the two. he just shakes his head, grip on your wrist only tightening.

“you guys are only here for a couple of days before i have to be sent off to that program, even farther away from home than skyhaven. you two spent the entire day yesterday and today together. meanwhile, i haven’t even been able to spend more than 10 minutes with you — alone,” caleb’s ramblings make you affectionately ruffle his hair, a sad smile on your face.

“okay, well, we’re here together now so it’s okay. don’t be so mean to lily next time, though,”

he rolls his eyes at the mention to mind his manners again, “she knows what she’s doing and she always gets away with it because you let her!”

“careful how you speak, one would think you dislike her — which we both know is the opposite. you adore lily,” you say as if reminding him, but he just groans.

“only don’t like her when she takes away my time from you,” he says, leaning more into your figure. the height difference between you two wasn’t much, the shoes you were wearing making you only a couple of centimeters taller than him. but when he was hunched over, into your frame, it made him look shorter and smaller than he actually was.

“oh, you big baby,” you run your hand through his dark hair, tugging at the roots at the base of his neck, “c’mon, tell me what you want to eat and i’ll choose the best ones,” you coax him, making him unbury his head from your neck and look at the selection.

“pork belly,” he says simply, before turning his head back into your skin, breathing you in.

“oooh, you have a grill in your dorm? we can have samgyeopsal,” it was almost mouth watering to think about.

“hm, we will have to use the shared kitchen but no one would mind, so it’s fine,” he leans more of his weight on you, making you chuckle slightly at his clingy behavior, “it sounds yummy. promise to grill my meat for me?” he asks gently, making you smile at his childish request.

“of course i will. should we leave lily to fend for herself then?”

he laughs as if the joke you told was too funny, but that’s only because he knows that lily would never grill her own meat, relying on one of you two to do it for her, “yeah, just wait to see how that’ll play out,”

“probably another fight between the two of you,”

“probably,” caleb hums, watching you with a dreamy smile on his face.

he’s been trying to keep his need to be near you to a minimum, but he’s feeling a bit too angsty to hold back. ever since you’ve arrive, as he told you earlier, he’s barely had any alone time with you. he thought that the three of you were going to sleep in his dorm room for the entire stay until his graduation day, but the academy wouldn’t let him.

so, an unfortunate solution was you and lily rooming together in a hotel that was a couple of blocks down. and since the school was being strict on curfews and staying out anywhere that wasn’t your own dorm, he wasn’t able to stay the nights with you guys. he assumes the academy is just paranoid of the big graduation ceremony being ruined, but it just annoyed him to no end.

he was only able to spend, what felt like, passing moments with you. so he was really trying to soak in the alone time you two would get now, even if it was in the supermarket.

it didn’t help that he couldn’t find one of his most prized possessions earlier. the thing that was hidden in his planner, that he strategically kept there so he always knew where it was. his fingers twitched in anxiety at the thought of it being currently missing. he swallowed harshly, reminding himself to turn his room upside down until he found it. he wouldn’t leave until it was back with him, safe.

the letter he thought was missing when it was currently sitting in lily’s purse that was slung over her shoulder.

only because it was a letter you had written for him to only open once he graduated from college. what was written inside, he had no idea. and he had been so patient — for years since you had handed it to him — to not open it and take a peak at it. but now that it was time for him to properly unravel and read it, it goes missing.

it was enough to make worry and anxiety creep into his mind every couple of seconds. he had to find that letter. it was the one thing that kept pushing him along on nights where the assignments became too much, when the exams were so stressful. it was his grounding anchor to keep going until he was finished. he thought of it as his ultimate reward coming from you.

he needed that letter.

... should i make a pt 2 ...

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shizuturnspages · 2 days ago

Note

VERY important question: is yan Diluc a cuddly sleeper?

YES. YES HE IS. But also… no. Let me explain. 😌

Yandere Diluc as a cuddly sleeper is… a whole damn spectrum of contradiction. Because this man has two modes:

Mode 1: The Stiff-Backed Tsundere Bundle of Repressed Love

At first? This man sleeps like he’s guarding a war council table. Arms crossed. One eye open. Greatsword within reach. He tells you that “you should sleep first,” and when you wake up? He’s still sitting there, watching you with a haunted intensity and a cup of tea that went cold four hours ago.

"You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you." No, Diluc. No. You just forgot how to lie down like a normal person.

But here’s the thing: he doesn’t mean to be like this. He’s been touch-starved since childhood, and intimacy is both everything he craves and everything he fears. The first few nights, he might keep a respectful distance (even if you’re locked in his mansion with nowhere else to go), thinking he's being “kind.”

Mode 2: The Touch-Deprived Koala Who Will Never Let You Leave Again

… And then one night, you roll over in your sleep and nuzzle into him without thinking. Or maybe you grab his shirt in your dreams. Or worse: you whimper.

He freezes.

And that’s it. That’s the moment. His brain shuts down, restarts, and by the next second, you’re being held like the last ember of warmth in the world.

He doesn't even mean to cling like this. But his arms go around your waist, then your back, then your entire body gets caged in like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve if he lets go.

He doesn’t sleep much—but when he does? He’s all in. You're not going anywhere. If you shift, he shifts. If you sigh, he kisses your forehead half-asleep and murmurs “shhh… I’ve got you.”

He wakes up first and just stays there, watching you sleep with that intense, quiet gaze. Thumb gently brushing your arm. “Mine,” he murmurs to no one.

#shizuwrites #shizuyaps #writers on tumblr #fyppage #fypシ #fyp #yandere #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc x you #yandere diluc #cuddles

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straows · 2 days ago

Text

“Why are you so clingy?” P.4

—In which, after waking up in bed with a certain someone, you start to question things.

A/n: this is wrapped up in a nice little bow. (Final part.)

<<part one, part two, part three

You didn’t open your eyes when you woke up. Your head ached, absolutely pounding.

Fucking wine.

And even tho you had a hangover that was just as bad as a kidney stone, the warmth you felt around you was intoxicating. It had you sighing softly and curly further into said warmth.

Except, said warmth loved.

Said warmth had a heartbeat.

Said warmth smelled fucking amazing and painfully familiar.

Forcing your eyes open, your whole body tensed when you were met with a muscular chest. Then the feeling of strong arms wrapped around you registered—

Oh shit.

Immediately, you sat up so fast it had Gojo jolting away. His voice rough and gravelly from sleep, his eyes squinting as he looked up at you. “What’s wrong, sweets?”

“You— You. WHY are you in my bed?” You tore at out bed so fast you were tripping over your own feet. Almost busting your ass as you yanked on a hoodie over your shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. “Did we— oh god. Oh no.”

Your skin crawled. You were mad. So mad. Mad and sick. Your stomach hurt. Why did you do this?

“What? No. You got drunk last night off wine, and I took you home. You kept whining about wanting me to stay so… I did.” Gojo shrugged and rubbed his eyes, before sitting up, back against the head board.

“..oh.” Now, that anger was replaced by embarrassment and that sick feeling only deepened.

Ok. So this is my fault.

“Relax, we didn’t do anything.” Gojo crossed his arms, biceps flexing as he did, “but we could if you wanted to.” He winked.

“You are insufferable.” You rolled your eyes, finally calming down. Putting a hand on you temple, trying to calm the migraine— you made your way into the kitchen. “This is so fucking stupid. Fucking wine.”

Chugging down a glass of water, you stared at the stove top. That was, until you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

And oh, that feeling of warmth and that familiar scent. It felt so nice, and yet so sickening.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Gojo murmured against your shoulder, not missing the way you side eyed him.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember?” His brows were furrowed now, almost offended.

“No??”

“You said you loved me. That you missed me.” Gojo filled in the gaps, and turned you around in his hold. Eyeing you with so much hope.

You stared at him for a long time, a long long time. Debating whether or not that was true, regardless it didn’t matter. “So what? Not like we’ll ever get back together.” You pulled away, huffing at the way your heart ached slightly as his shoulders slumped.

“Wait what?” Now Gojo was pulling you back. “It does matter, because if you do love me, we can— no we need to get back together.”

“And why would I? You’ll just become an asshole all over again. Remember? ‘Why the fuck are you so clingy?’” You did air quotes before slapping his hand away.

“But— but come on now, I’m— I was stupid. I took you for granted. I’d never do that to you— not ever, ever again. I will spend the rest of my life making you see how I’ve changed if I need too.” Taking a step closer to you, “please, please just give me another chance. Do you want me to get on my knees? Want me to beg?”

You glaring at him, “yes.” You didn’t think he’d do it. When you’d dated him before he was all pride. ‘Worlds strongest’ this and ‘chosen one’ that.

However, your breath stalled in your throat when he knelt down in front of you, literally on his knees as his hands found your hips. His eyes almost puppy like as he literally begged you.

Like a sinner at an alter, pleading for forgiveness.

You hated how much you like it. How it made you so happy to see him like this. So weak that he’d beg— on his knees.

“Please baby, I swear on everything— I swear on my eyes that I’ll never hurt you again. If I ever do— you can have them.” He pressed gentle kisses to your knuckles.

You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “…you ever, and I mean ever, talk to me like you did— behave like you did, to me again— I’ll hold you to that swear.” Your hand held his jaw, fingers digging into his jaw.

He nodded so fast, and when you pressed your lips against his, he was just as fast to stand up. Kissing you like a man starved and you were a tall glass of ice cold water.

Gojo’s hands held your hips in an iron grip, pulling you flush against him. Lord he was moaning into the kiss, murmuring about how thankful he was— how much he missed this, missed you.

You weren’t much better. Your nails clawed up his arms, his chest, dragged through his hair just to tug slightly hard.

“Missed you so— fucking much.” He grunted against your lips. Already hard and throbbing and oh so pathetic.

“You really are a desperate ex.” You smiled against his lips.

“Yeah, ‘m desperate for you. Sure as shit not your ex anymore.” He leaned down to press bites and nips all across your shoulders.

Now that had you smiling. “Yeah. Not my ex anymore.”

Your next kiss was sweet, all love and adoration.

This time, you knew he wouldn’t fuck this up. Who’d want to lose their eyes?

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alynnia · 1 day ago

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Astra’s Champion

LaDs men if they were boss fights |Part 1 Sylus and Rafayel|

《This is written from the perspective of playing an action game boss fight in the realm of Bayonetta, Devil May Cry, No More Heroes, etc with “cutscenes” at the start and during transitions of the fight. I’ve left most of the abilities and weapons the reader has open so it can be up to you on how you’d want your character to fight specifically. This will be incorporating their myths, creative liberties taken for the sake of cool and things get really over the top in their 3rd phases because I’m a sucker for the cinematics. Good luck. 》

Cw: Descriptions of reader getting their ass kicked and small death cutscenes of the love interests. NonMC Reader, a touch of thalassophobia I think.

Premise of the game: You play as a being created by Astra tasked with taking out the MC for reasons unknown, but you're going to have to get through her love interests first. They know you are after her and will do everything within their power to stop you. Everything. But something about you unnerves them. You resemble her. Be it physically or an aura you have, the men can sense her within you somehow. Perhaps Astra did this to get them to let their guard down or there is more to your connection with her that you're unaware of. Upon winning each match Astra will bestow a blessing on you and the love interests will drop loot.

Using your own Evol, special set of skills, and an outfit embedded with protocores you've collected on your journey, you might stand a chance against them. You may fight them in any order but Zayne will always be last.

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Sylus Boss battle

Phase 1: Street Fighter

The two of you meet on top of the roof of a skyscraper in the N109 Zone, the blood moon held high in the sky casts a spotlight for your stage. You can hear a record playing classical music nearby, its quality is clear for the most part but there’s an occasional skip or delay in the next note. The Onychinus leader casually stands across from you at the edge of the roof sporting his usual black and red top shrouded by a coat over his shoulders. His smirk is hollow, maybe even strained if you look close enough.

Sylus uses no weapons. He just slowly saunters toward you with his hands in his pockets (hips swaying just a tad as he does) like a runway model. He believes you’ll be easy to take care of, there’s no rush. Only until he or you get close enough does he start attacking with wide swinging kicks and jabs with a moveset similar to what you'd see in a fighting game.

And that’s exactly how his stage plays at first.

If you get too far away he'll use his evol to yank you to him and decks you square in the jaw before getting right back into beating you down. It’s recommended to stat your outfit with high atk and crit protocores because this beast of a man is a tank who keeps fucking healing himself so you'll need to deal blows that are stronger than his healing. The more you deplete his HP, the more he taunts you. He's starting to have fun, your own moves reminding him too much of his nights of sparring with MC.

His special move is a flurry of blows not unlike something out of Jojo, juggling your body in the air if you get caught in his whirlwind of fists and kicks. Then for the finishing blow, Sylus’ black and red mist forms a fist and punches you into the cement, giving way from its force as your body crashes into it. If you lose to him in this phase there's a special animation where he lifts you up high with his evol and disintegrates your body.

Phase 2: This isn’t even my Final Form

Sylus deems you worthy enough to see his second form and finds you...amusing. far more interesting than the dregs of the N109Z and even on par with his beloved. He has no shame in letting you know how good you are to have made it this far so you are “rewarded.” After going through a painful looking transformation sequence, yet still smiling the whole time, the dragon ascends up into the sky, moon at his back. A beautiful sight to be sure but there’s little time to admire when he snaps his fingers and is raining meteors down upon you, a dark laugh echoing in the night. You need to quickly run to dodge the AOEs following the patterns on the ground. Full on Red Choctober (ifykyk) as his opening move.

Survive? Good. Now he's diving down, swiping at you with his claws before flying back up again. Over and over, divebomb after divebomb. He is having way too much fun toying with you and you’ll need to dodge, block or if you’re skilled enough, counter those swipes with your own move. Finally he lands for a more vicious fist (claw) fight but he's using his tail too. Just like in his first phase, he's grabbing you when you get too far but using his tail instead of his evol. This time if you’re caught, it's wrapping around your leg and slamming you into the ground over and over again. Aside from these new additions, the fight is similar to the first phase.

Phase 3: Drag on Dragoon

You're still alive? Oh, he's going to show you something special. Sylus walks backward to the edge of the building, never taking his eyes off of you. With the snap of his fingers and the sound of a page turning, the swirling mist of blood red and black void surrounds his form as he falls backwards off the edge, his laugh echoing all the way down. The red skyline fades with the turn of the page and flower petals obscure your vision. You’re now surrounded by a field of Daturas, the sunset painting a much warmer canvas above than before. Your attention is snatched away as the light of the sunset darkens, blanketed by a massive wing. It belongs to a black massive dragon, entangled in vines blooming with the same Daturas in the field. He’s half the size of the skyscraper the two of you were just on moments ago. At the center of his chest sits the ruby, the same one from his previous form pulsating with light in time with his heartbeat.

You know what you must do.

The ground isn’t safe. Sylus is snapping his jaw in your direction, fully ready to snip off a limb. You’ll need to dodge roll out of the way to avoid his teeth. When he’s not trying to bite you, he’s trying to snatch you up in his claws. If you don’t get out of the way in time, he succeeds and begins squeezing. You’ll need to struggle to break free or stab his hand with your weapon if you have one. Offended by the gesture, he flings your body back to the ground, turning around to swipe his tail at you. This is your chance. You're gonna need to jump and run up his tail to get onto his back and reach his neck. Climb the scales on his neck and do your best to avoid being grabbed again. The jewel is your goal. When you strike, you will get knocked off and have to try to get back up on him again. (Ride that dragon baby) but during this time on the ground, more meteors are falling, large claws are breaking through the earth trying to grab you and he continues his attempts to bite and grab you. Strike his gemstone heart three times.

Exhausted, when you finally land the last strike, the slain beast collapses. The flowers dissolve and wilt away leaving a barren field and the wheezing body of a dragon. He’s confused on how this is even possible, there is only one person in this world that could take his life. The faint glow of gold glittering in your hand is the last thing he sees before dissolving. A red light flies up into the sky. Well done.

✨Astra’s Blessing ✨

-Self Healing. You gain the ability to regain a portion of your HP during your fight at max 3 times.

🎁Items gained 🎁

-Eye of Desire: Allows user to see weak spots in opponent, increasing crit rate

-Datura flower

❤Affection bonus? ❤

-If you fight him unarmed and manage to win, not only will you hear more flirty dialogue, but you’ll trigger a flag for later.

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Rafayel Boss battle

Phase 1: May I have this dance?

You push through the tall doors of a mansion, entering a chaotic mess of a studio filled with paintings, some incomplete and others fading with age and many blanketed by white sheets. Sitting atop a ladder, the figure with a mop of mauve hair holds his finger up without needing to look at you. He says nothing, adding the last stroke of paint to his latest masterpiece. A portrait of…you? No, it’s not you but your true target. Rafayel's gaze lingers on the painting for a moment longer before he finally turns to greet you…by throwing a knife. Just as you sidestep the attack he’s descending down from the tall ladder, landing perfectly on one foot with the grace of a dancer. The painter bows before you, hand outstretched to call back the knife to him, twirling it between his fingers with the flicker of flames. It begins.

Rafayel starts off with a good ol’ knife fight! But also a dance? Get too close to him and he’ll take your hand, fingers laced together and lock you in his grasp. His steps are elegant, fast and deadly. The battle becomes a rhythm game quick time event where you have to press certain buttons at certain times to dodge your head, lean back into a dip and twirl away while he's holding your hand and trying to stab, cut and slice you with the other. He moves in time with the bgm music playing so use that as a guide for your movements and reaction times. Dodge 4 of his attacks and you break free from his hold allowing you to make your own moves against him while he tries to cut you. Sometimes there’s a surprise 5th attack in his dance that comes at random so be aware. During the fight he’ll grab one of the sheets off of his painting and swirl it in front himself, disappearing into it and then reappearing behind you for another chance to stab you. Your protocore build will need speed but overall a balanced outfit should work as a fight with Rafayel will be more about rhythmic timing.

Be careful when he starts humming, this is your warning sign to get ready to stop and cover your ears because when he sings and you didn’t cover in time, you'll be stunned in place. Ears bleeding, taking damage and giving him a chance to dance-grab you again. He’s surprised you could survive his voice, impressed even and lets you know but certainly not for long. If you die in this phase, his finishing move is rewarding you with the full impact of his siren song. Eyes glowing faintly, he walks toward you slowly as he sings and you fall to your knees, enraptured by the aura of this god. You die, but at least you get to hear an awesome soundtrack that’s only available if you lose here.

Phase 2: Chain Reaction

Seeing as you’re not dead yet, Rafayel becomes frustrated. After backing you toward one of his paintings, a desert landscape, he smacks his palm directly onto your face, pissed off by the features that resemble her. The artist shoves you into the canvas, the page turning and you fall. A flurry of colors splash across your vision and you are lying back in golden sands. Your opponent’s outfit has changed, sporting black and deep purples, wearing a black mask over the lower half of his face. Even if his face is covered, you can still see the cold look in his iridescent eyes.

He continues to knife fight you but there is no more dancing. Instead, occasionally there will be chains raising up from the ground or flying in your direction with the intent of holding you in place. You’ll be able to hear it coming by the rattling before it strikes so be prepared to jump or block when it comes. If you do get caught, Rafayel is going to do one of two things: Set you ablaze while you struggle to get free. You’ll be taking damage for as long as you are in this hold so break fast. The other possibility is the sands of the desert bufferting you in a twister. Raf didn’t call this into creation but he will welcome it.

Phase 3: Deep Blue Sea

Catching you in his chains, this time he yanks you out of the painting, back into the studio then launched into another one. This time, it's on an ocean cliffside in the midst of a brewing storm. The pages turn and you’re slammed unceremoniously into the rocks, the chains disappearing and the waves of the sea crashing against the cliff. You look up to see Rafayel, standing there and staring at you. His eyes, no longer that beautiful mixed color but now glowing a dangerous blue. The waves of the ocean begin to rise up behind him in time with his breath until there is an eerie stillness. He opens his mouth. A beautifully haunting voice rings out, loud enough to burst eardrums but its melody is soft and cradling. Hypnotizing, and doubled over on itself like a dizzying chorus. You are stunned during his transformation as the waves swirl around his rising body and swallow him into the sea. It's silent for a moment and you're free from his voice…

Until a blue scaled webbed hand snatches you by the ankle, large enough to take hold of your whole calf dragging you into the water. Transformed into a larger version of himself, Rafayel in his mermaid god form is more like a sea beast losing bits of his humanity. Beautiful, but emits a great sense of power. Be warned, there is a time limit on this particular fight before you run out of air. Your god will now be providing the soundtrack himself via his voice, different from the one from the first phase and far more haunting, the thunder above proving the drumlike beat. The waves from his voice create rings that come at you according to the melody and beat. You must block them with the right timing (Drakengard 3 last song type of fight) and launch your own attacks at him, aiming for his throat and heart. During this, you'll also have to dodge flames swirling your way under the waters that also follow a musical pattern. Land enough blows on his throat and his singing will temporarily stop. He will resort to sharp tail whips and slashes. There will be a chance for you to come up for air when you grab hold of a bubble and float up to the surface, giving more time before he drags you back down again.

When the siren is silenced, before his final breath he sees a faint glow within your chest. He lets out one last sorrowful melody before he dissolves into seafoam and a pink light flies up into the sky. Good work.

✨Astra's Blessings✨

-Breathless. You no longer need air to breathe.

🎁Items Gained🎁

-Lumerian scales. Added to your weapon gives increased Atk

-Self(?) portrait

❤Affection Bonus? ❤

-As long as you maintain a perfect match beat for beat with his rhythmic challenges in each stage, you hear extra dialogue that’s almost flirty if you squint, as if he’s trying not to flirt and trigger a flag for later. If you fail the perfect combo at any point, it will not count.

Up Next: Xavier | Caleb (wip)

---

I'm not much of a writer but I like writing. LaDs has made me want an otome action rpg game and one way I can express it is designing the type of fights I would want to play. Xavier and Zayne are pretty much done but I need to do more reading on Caleb in order to get him down. Zayne is going to be posted last so I need to finish Caleb's first.

This is an open idea so if anyone else wants to play with it and/or do similar, feel free. It'd be super cool to see what kind of fighting techniques, weapons, evols and ideas others come up with.

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace rafayel #lads rafayel #non!mc reader #non!mc #my writing

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renae-nicole-lynn · 2 days ago

Text

More Invincible x Frankenstein's Monster!Reader Headcanons

A/N: Why? Sometimes I like the ideas I come up with. These are in no particular order in terms of timeline or otherwise, like bare minimum organization period, other than mostly being based in season 1

There is another part to ‘Why Him?” coming soon so keep an eye out for that, assuming I have it out before the hype completely dies if it hasn’t already 🫠. Also @sweatinghoneybee left a really cool analysis on my first headcanon post and you should absolutely read it.

As the old story goes, stolen limbs were sewn together to create you. And with a shock of electricity and the worst pain you have ever felt since, you became something from nothing. Originally after your creator for robbing the gravesites of heroes, the GDA finds you abandoned and Cecil, seeing the potential, decides to take you in and train you.

You’re taught how to hone your abilities through physical and mental disciplines, eventually excelling in hand-to-hand combat, shooting, and academics. Most of all, you’re taught how to survive, to blend into a crowd effortlessly. With a hologram watch(or bracelet depending on your style) that hides the two white streaks in your hair and the scars and stitches that hold your body together, you look as human as it gets. Sure as hell doesn’t feel like it sometimes, if at all.

Your costume is created from a material that can repair itself as fast as it can be pulled apart, making it easy when you have to detach a limb during a mission. Completed with holsters for guns, medical kit, etc.; tactile, not flashy, perfect for working in the shadows.

Once you’re deemed ready to start doing fieldwork, that's exactly where you start. You watch, you learn, you report to Cecil anything noteworthy.

You only really start doing civilian work when you start doing part-time missions with Team Teen and eventually with Mark. Even then you’re something of an urban legend, keeping your distance from civilians as much as possible last time you interacted directly with civilians it didn't end well. Most pictures of you are back shots and the ones of your face were too blurry to make out any defining features save from your signature white streaks and scars/stitches.

You and Mark were sitting across from each other at Burger Mart when he asked, “How come you don’t have a hero name?”

You take a sip of soda as you consider his question. “Why, ‘Weird Stitch Monster Thing and Invincible’ doesn’t scream ‘dynamic duo’ to you?”

After the discussion confession on the roof there was nothing like a formal agreement or secret handshake; the two or you as a duo just felt right, as both heroes and romantically, it was almost instinctive.

Mark rolled his eyes playfully. “Just curious, I’ve seen a lot of people online talking about it.”

You sat back against your side of the booth. “Having a name typically means interacting with civilians on some level regularly, something I clearly don’t do too often because Reasons.”

Mark winced. He knew what you were talking about, your first interaction with civilians gone bad was one of the first stories you told him.

“Besides the whole ‘mysterious person’ thing I got going on is enough for people to remember me by, no hero name required.”

This changed weeks later when some civilian heard Rex Splode call you ‘Corpse Bride’ and the name quickly circulated online.

Mark struggled and failed to not to laugh as you gripped his shoulders with utter panic and disgust. “I don’t care what my hero name is, it will not be something the poor man King Bomb-omb gave me.”

He snorted as he squeezed your hands comfortingly. “We’ll think of something.”

In the early days of your relationship, you weren’t used to casual displays of affection, i.e. holding hands or Mark’s arm casually wrapped around your shoulder. He’s patient with you, always asking if you’re okay before doing anything. Eventually, it’s as natural as breathing to you both.

Compared to your naturally chilly body temperature, Mark’s warmth feels like heaven oh the joys of being a reanimated corpse and a half-alien respectively. Whenever you’re curled up together you wrap your limbs around him and bury your face in his neck, getting close as you possibly can. Not that he’s any better, during the warmer weather the boy’s clinging to you like a koala.

Stealing kisses from each other while on patrol and sparring becomes a regular thing. It gets to a point where your friends/teammates learn to give a warning before they enter a room with the two of you in it, especially when you two began to take things a little further.

When you both have free time you’ll cuddle up in his room and read comic books together quietly. You two don’t talk, you don’t need to, just being in each other’s company was enough.

You are a nerd through and through. Sometimes when you and Mark hang out together you’ll go on science rants and geek out over a recent paper that was published. He never seems to mind though, you’ve even caught him staring at you with an adorably dopey look on his face as he listened to one of your rants

You cut your tangent off and looked at Mark guiltily. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…” You trailed off when you saw the look on his face.

He had his chin propped up by his palm, and he was watching you with a soft look in his eyes and an even softer smile on his face. When he realized you were actually looking at him, he blinked and quickly shook his head. "No no, don't apologize." His cheeks turned a light pink and he scratched the back of his head. "I like listening to you."

You awkwardly tap your fingers against the table. "Yeah?"

He shrugged as if it was the most simplest thing in the world. "Yeah, it's cute."

You look away, if you could blush would probably be pink like him. “I guess it’s fair considered how many Seance Dog tangents I’ve had to sit through.”

“Hey!”

You totally think he’s cute when he goes on his own tangents, don’t lie.

Of course, this means study dates with the classic kiss every time a question was answered correctly. Given your high intelligence and the motivation of getting to kiss you, Mark’s grades improve and Debbie loves you for it.

Speaking of which, when it’s time to meet the parents you charm and are charmed by your boyfriend’s mom. You think of her as a pillar of strength for being a wife and mother to heroes, she thinks you’re good for Mark because you keep him grounded inside and outside of hero life. Nolan was perfectly polite, asking all the right questions a parent should ask their kid’s partner; but you got the sense that he didn't approve of your relationship with Mark. It wasn’t until after his murder of the the Guardians of The Globe and using Mark to massacre Chicago.

As you sat beside his hospital bed, you thought back to the moment he left you and Will in the Burger Mart parking lot. I should have done more to keep him there, I should have ignored Cecil and gone to Chicago and helped…

Shouldn’ts went going to help you now. Your thoughts turned angry as you looked at Mark’s broken body. Omni-Man wanted to use the sweet boy you loved as a weapon. Next time you would be ready, next time you would defend Mark to your last breath.

Later, when you two had a moments alone, you just held each other in his bed.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

You felt his hold on you tighten. “I’m glad you weren’t,” you could feel him begin to shake. “God, if he had killed you- I need you to promise me if he comes back you’ll run.”

You pulled away just enough you were looking him in the eye. “I am not going to leave you! If he comes back we face him or anything else together!”

“I can’t lose you!”

“And I can’t lose you! So fuck running away, fuck you, we’re stronger together!”

“Why are you so stubborn?!”

“Because my boyfriend almost died and he’s asking me to abandon him if he’s ever in that situation again!” Your voice cracked, and this time you tightened your grip on him. “Never ask me to abandon you ever, please.”

The two of you stared at each other silently for a while before Mark sighed, letting his forehead fall against yours. “Okay.”

You let your eyes closed and pressed your palm against his beating heart.

He was here, broken but alive.

You were together.

Things were going to be okay.

“Okay.”

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #frankenstein’s monster!reader #fem!reader #gn!reader #m!reader

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raileurta · 21 hours ago

Note

I know Sparklings, actual baby cybertronians in teeny tiny form is fanon. And yet? I’ve been thinking about how Cold Forged, Protoforms, and Sparklings could exist simultaneously in a Transformers universe. What do we know about how new cybertronains are born?

Sparks will spawn in waves from the AllSpark/Well of the All Spark. These newsparks can then be placed into pre-constructed bodies (Cold Constructed) or in Protoforms where they will then develop more outlying traits. Sari Sumdak was a protoform, the Starscream Clones in Prime were wingless Protoforms…

And yet? In some iterations, there are clones or new bots created. Each presumably with actual sparks without generating from the AllSpark.

So where do Sparklings factor in?

A rare, last resort perhaps? An ability gifted from Primus? An old genetic process?

I would want these types of beings to be extremely rare. Sparklings born from two cybertronians are extremely rare—the initial spark forming from a tiny piece of both. It doesn’t always take. Protoforms and even Cold Constructed are the preferred method given Sparklings don’t form in a step down from an adult frame. They have to develop for years to reach “adulthood”.

What Sparklings and Protoforms have over Cold Constructed cybertronians are the ability to form with outlier abilities, new traits.

I don’t know.

It’d just be an interesting dynamic. Especially if a Cold Constructed was having a Sparkling.

Hmm I wouldn't know how sparklings would work. It could be one of those "this was useful a long time ago but not anymore but it would be too annoying to get rid of it so it's staying" kinda evolution moment. Like realistically speaking.

I do however find the idea of sparklings and protoforms being the only ones able to form outlier abilities or new traits; that's a very intriguing idea. In sparklings these could be extra potent as a trade off for their development time. Maybe more like a higher chance of getting a stronger trait? A hard gamble to say the least.

I imagine this also can apply to humans turned cybertronian. As a species there's not a lot of incentive from them to evolve or be able to in the first place, so this could be a good way to get around this lack of evolution drive. But because of general cybertronian pride and the love for efficiency they wouldn't do this. It's much less risky to go for the try and true method then waste your precious time on a chance of a stronger Cybertronian. It could explain why their technology advancements are so stinking slow and why their war has lasted so long. There's no new content being introduced to their species so it constantly stays the same with little headway.

I need someone to write about this dude; well future me might sort of do it when I make my tfp humans to cybertronian au. Slight spoiler I guess, regardless write it people!

#transformers #tfp #maccadam #transformers prime #tf #transformers x human #transformers x humans #humans turned cybertronian #humans turned transformers #transformers headcanons #cybertronians #cybertronian biology #ask #tf sparkling #cybertronian #cybertronian headcanons

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appleciders · 22 hours ago

Note

because you love the women of the pitt and I know you’re a lovely sapphic ship writer I have to ask. does trinity/mel strike you at all?

they strike me!! wrote this silly little thing that ended up not so little (but still silly) to try and get a sense of their voices for ya <3

(read here on ao3)

At the computer across from Mel, Trinity let out a groan and let her head drop to the desk.

“All good?” Mel asked, tentative.

“Yep.” Trinity did not lift her forehead from the tabletop.

“Oh, cool. Because you, um, look really thrilled.”

That made Trinity roll her head to the side, her temple pressed to the corner of the mousepad, which let her peer at Mel. Her cheek squished in a way that was oddly cute. “Oh, yeah?”

Mel fought a smile. She nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Trinity snorted. “Such a little shit.” With a sigh, she pushed herself up. “It’s my brother. Joey, the baby-est one. He got himself put back on academic probation.”

“That’s not good. What happened?”

“Snapping turtles.”

“Pardon?”

“See for yourself.” Trinity lifted her phone, and, in two pushes of her legs, rolled her chair over within viewing range.

Mel bent her neck. Onscreen posed a young man that she recognized from a photo on Trinity’s nightstand. He shared her cheeks and nose, though both his skin and eyes were light brown. He wore his wavy hair to about his chin. He was beaming, and in his hands, as advertised, he held a muddy, spiky, turtle-shaped mass.

“Whoa, aren’t those like super dangerous?”

“Only ‘if you don’t know how to handle them,’ apparently.” Her affect was drippingly sardonic. “Ugh. He’s doing field work for extra credit. I asked him how much credit he gets for losing a finger, but….” She bugged her eyes out.

“Sounds like a bona fide Steve Irwin.”

“Okay, well that guy died, so. Not helpful.”

“Oh, I’m– Sorry, that was–”

Trinity’s mouth slipped into a smirk.

“You’re very rude sometimes, you know that?”

Trinity leaned in, her eyes meeting Mel’s. Her eyebrows jumped conspiratorially. “So I’ve been told.”

This close, Mel could smell her shampoo, the one she kept in the green bottle on the corner of her bathtub. Warmth shifted in her belly, like a ladle had dipped in soup. Her eyes dropped to Trinity’s lips, and she made herself glance away, checking that no superior was impatiently waiting behind them and no patient was in imminent danger of death, then glanced back. She cleared her throat. “Alright, so did he, uh, get the turtle to take a midterm for him?”

Trinity pressed her eyes shut for a moment. “When he’s here, you’re so not allowed to talk to him. You’ll give him ideas.”

“Ooh, is he coming?”

“Yeah, that’s what he was texting about. His spring break’s coming up, and he had the choice to go home and get yelled at for a week straight, stay in his apartment with his not-boyfriend that just not-cheated on him, or finally come visit big sis in the Burgh. So, ding-ding-ding, lucky number three.” She hooked her thumb back at her chest, pumping on each ding. “Really makes a girl feel wanted.”

“That’s…sweet? Not sweet?”

“No, it is.” Trinity sat back, sighing. She looked at the photo, chin dimpling fondly, and rolled her eyes. “Just when he first asked, he conveniently left out the academic probation part. So now I have to budget in time to bully him into finishing his degree, on top of the already rigorous bullying schedule I had planned.”

“Sounds involved,” Mel considered. “But I mean, does he have to? Lots of people don’t go to college, I’m sure there’s plenty of work in the biological sciences that doesn’t require a BA.”

“Sure, yeah. But he’s in his last semester. Doofus just needs to pass, like, two classes.”

“Got it. That’s close.”

“He’s killing me. Anyway, would you wanna do dinner or something when he comes? Maybe bring Beccasaurus, too?”

“Oh?” Mel asked. She straightened her glasses innocently. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to talk to him.”

Trinity narrowed her eyes. “Obviously you’re meeting him.” The obviously, the unquestioning certainty, still made Mel’s heart skip. And her smile a little goofy. “And I think he’ll like Becca. His favorite movie growing up was the Jungle Book.”

“Mm. She is having a Jungle Book renaissance.”

“Would she be down? I mean, it’s cool if not, we can forget it if–”

“No, I think she’d like that. I can ask. What day?”

“Any. Whichever. It’s the 12th to the 19th. Text me what works and I’ll run it past his royal frogliness.”

“Frogliness?”

She flicked her fingers like she was shooing a fly. “Turtles, frogs. He has a hardon for the semiaquatic.”

Mel wrinkled her nose.

“Yeah, that was gross for me to say, too.”

“Hey, Tweedledee, Tweedledum!” called Dana, from the other side of the hub. “We’ve got a double MVC five minutes out, think you can fit it in to your morning tea time?”

“On it,” Mel said, jerking up.

“Don’t love that I was Tweedledum there,” Trinity grumbled, rolling back over to her station to save the chart she’d been halfway through.

“Oh, I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I’m not,” offered Perlah, heading past. She flashed Mel a grin.

Trinity called after her in Tagalog, something that read more as a grievance than an insult, and Perlah waved a peace sign over her shoulder. Trinity let her head tip back on the chair backrest, face to the ceiling.

“We should get ready,” Mel said. She closed out of the tablet and stood to leave it on the rack.

“Mm.”

“Trinity.”

Trinity looked up at her. She had double lines between her brows, and she was chewing her lip.

“He’ll be okay, you know. Joey. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

“Well, duh.”

Mel eyed her, unconvinced.

She scrunched her face and spun her chair so it properly faced Mel. “Okay, yeah, I know. It’s just.” She rolled her hands in the air. “You know.”

She didn’t say it like y’know, general y’—she said it like you know.

And Mel did. But before she could answer, a commotion erupted at the ambulance bay doors. Instead of replying properly, Mel grabbed Trinity’s fingers and gave them a brief, hard squeeze. Then they were both lathering their hands with sanitizer and gloving up, and then they were on.

“You’re not asleep,” Mel murmured. They lay in Mel’s bed. Trinity had her back to her, facing the door, where a dim yellow band beneath it provided the room’s only source of light. (Mel typically left a nightlight on in the living room/kitchen, for when Becca wanted to air fry French fries at three in the morning.) About two feet closer to the wall, Mel’s body traced the same curve as hers. It was in this position, as quotation marks, that they had shared most of their late-night conversations.

Trinity hooked her arm across her face, so her elbow covered her eyes and her close-clipped fingernails dug into her hair. “Stupid brain won’t stop.”

“Doing what?”

There were plenty of things to keep it going, as Mel well knew by now.

“It’s midnight, who gives a shit.”

Mel flinched, despite herself. “I do?”

There was a pause. Mel expected this.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” She twisted her head, searching Mel’s face in the dark.

“S’okay.” She nodded until Trinity seemed to believe her and settled again with her back to her. As she waited for the silence do its work, she took a crease of the sheets between her fingers, rubbing the layers of cotton together.

It was hardly thirty seconds when Trinity cracked. She let out a big puff of air. “I’m still thinking about Joey.”

Mel made a sound in her throat. Maybe feeling grateful was wrong, but she couldn’t help the relief that this, at least, felt within her wheelhouse. “It’s hard to turn off.”

“It’s– It’s stupid, I still feel like I need to stand in front of him. Get in between him and something.” Her back hunched as she curled tighter in on herself. “Only, there isn’t anything.”

“I mean, you’re worried about him. I get like that with Becca sometimes. Remember when she had to get her appendix out? I couldn’t focus for the whole week.”

“Yeah, but she was in legit danger. He just needs to turn in some late work.”

“I don’t think–”

“And now Huckleberry’s complaining about feeling hovered over. Which is ridiculous, I threw one salad pack at his head. I thought he was a fan of Veggie Tales. ‘Theology’ and all.”

“You threw…a salad pack at him?” This explained Whitaker’s big eyes when he’d found Mel in the stairwell and beseechingly suggested that she and Santos could benefit from a night in together.

“If that guy doesn’t get a leafy green in him, the next stiff breeze is going to blow him into a river. It’s barely March—I’m not in the mood to go swimming.”

It took Mel a second to piece all of that together. She thumbed sleep out of her eye. “Yeah, yeah. Sounds…worrying.” Never mind that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Trinity voluntarily partake in a salad pack herself.

“It’s not. Whatever.”

Mel smiled. She let her eyes roll up to the window. “Mhm.”

“God, don’t listen to me. You should be asleep. Sorry.”

Mel didn’t say that the sheer confined tension from Trinity’s side of the bed would have kept her up anyway. She had no desire for her to flee to the couch. Besides, she, unlike Trinity, was off tomorrow—she’d already planned to set her alarm back a little bit to make up for this, and she had protein pancakes in the freezer that Trinity had made for them on the weekend so she didn’t have to worry about breakfast for Becca, and Trinity had cleaned the kitchen after Mel had cooked dinner, so all she really had to do in the morning was walk Becca to the Center.

Hedonistically relaxing, in her books.

So she said, “Oh no, it’s fine. Should we call him?”

“Whitaker?” Trinity rolled onto her back, now, looking at Mel out of the corner of her eye. “Are you serious?”

“No, um. Joey. Sometimes hearing Becca on the phone helps my nervous system get the memo that she’s safe.”

“Thank God. Whitaker in bed with us is not something–” At Mel’s unimpressed look, she switched gears. “If I call Joey, he’s going to think I’m on, like, death’s door.”

“Mm.”

“What?”

“I mean, you could tell him you’re not?”

Trinity frowned.

“Just an idea.”

But she could tell that her idea had landed, and after about a minute, Trinity abruptly reached for her phone where it was charging on the bedside table. She found her brother’s contact in favorites—Beast Baby 🐸🦎🐢🦖🐍🐊🧃🦠💚, which was above her other brother, CHERNOBYL 🌋💣💩🫵🏼🖤‼️—who in conversation got, among other things, Cher, No-No, and Cherry Bomb, an awareness of which made Whitaker far more resignedly amenable to Huckleberry—and hovered her finger over it.

“I need an excuse,” she said.

Do you? Mel wondered. But she supposed she wouldn’t call Becca out of the blue and say, I was worried about you. She would probably just say, Hey, I missed you, wanted to hear your voice. Which would be the truth here, too, but maybe a bit emotionally vulnerable for the type of relationship Trinity and her brothers seemed to share.

Exiting out of the phone app, Trinity went into her photos and scrolled back a few days until she found the photo of the spider that had been in the corner of the bathroom. She texted it to Beast Baby. Only then did she go back and call him.

She put him on speaker. The ringing sounded loud in the dark, quiet room.

“I just remembered it’s late,” Mel said. “Will he be–?”

“He’s in college. He’s fine.”

“Yo.”

“Hey, Frogface. I just texted you a pic of a spider in my apartment. Am I in danger of imminent death?”

“Uh…” They waited as he pulled it up. “Looks like a bold jumper. You’re not gonna die, but it’s fast. That one’s pretty. You got a nice angle.”

“Watch out,” Trinity said, louder, to the air. “It’s fast.” After a pause, she dropped her voice again, and said, “Sick, I’m making Whitaker do it. What are you doing awake?”

With a bit of a groan in his voice, he said, “What do you think?”

“Studying?”

“All day, all night.”

“Nerd.” Some of the tension left Trinity’s shoulders.

“Says the mega-nerd.”

“Whatever.” But she was smiling.

“What are you doing awake?”

“Nunya.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s your homework on?”

“…Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re asking about my homework at…twelve oh eight.”

“I’m bored. Indulge me. Besides, explain to–”

“To retain, yeah, yeah.” They heard him shuffling papers, and then he began to go over something very specific about newt ecology with an interest Mel found endearing. As he talked, Mel watched Trinity’s eyelids start to flutter. Her own body grew heavy, sinking deeper into the mattress. He was safe; Becca was safe; Trinity was safe; and in the morning, there would be pancakes.

By the time Joey said, “Cool, right? That make sense?” both of them were sound, sound asleep.

#the pitt #trinity santos #mel king #the pitt fic #mel x trinity #heavily featuring santos's little brother lol #looked at this too long have no idea how i feel about it sending it out into the world!!#the next prompt fills i get to will be shorter. manifesting this

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