#but it turns out that you're wrong. that you're good enough. not that none of the failures were real or that they were all in your head

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙂𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙚, 𝙎𝙥𝙞𝙣, 𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨, 𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙩

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader x Eve Wilkins

Warnings: None

Tags: Platonic kisses, flirty chaos, soft girl solidarity, poor Mark is doing his best

Word Count: 1,660

Synopsis: Mark Grayson thought he could handle a little casual skating night with friends. He was wrong. Very, very wrong. Because you and Eve showed up in matching earmuffs, holding hands—and more. Are you dating? Are you messing with him? Is he dying? Probably. But at least the hot chocolate’s good.

Mark Grayson had seen some things.

Aliens. Interdimensional monsters. His dad using his face to punch through a train and all its passengers.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for seeing you and Eve hold hands at a skating rink while wearing matching earmuffs.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself, gripping the rink wall like he was clinging to the last shred of sanity.

It had started innocently enough. Eve invited him out for “a casual little skate night. Us, William, and [y/n], no pressure.” Which might as well have been code for a trap designed by God to test his emotional fortitude.

Because there you were. Laughing with Eve. Sipping hot chocolate with two hands, like you were trying to keep them warm after all that intense hand-holding.

And then Eve helped you tie your skates.

You were sitting on a bench, one leg stretched out, the other bent, and Eve crouched down in front of you like she did this all the time—like she was your dedicated skate assistant or something.

Mark stood a few feet away, awkwardly holding his own skates like he didn’t just realize he might not be the main character in this scene.

“You good?” William muttered beside him.

“I—yeah,” Mark said, voice cracking. “Totally. Just… watching.”

He immediately regretted saying that, but William was too busy adjusting his hat to notice.

Eve tugged the laces tight, knotted them, and patted your knee like she’d just fixed a masterpiece. “There. Try not to fall and die.”

You beamed at her. “You always take such good care of me.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. That felt... loaded.

Then you leaned in, resting your head on Eve’s shoulder, smiling so sweetly it could’ve been pulled straight out of a perfume ad.

Mark’s heartbeat stuttered.

Eve turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing your hair. “You’ve got lip balm on your nose again.”

“I like it shiny,” you said with a little grin, not moving.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eve mumbled, and then—without missing a beat—she kissed you.

Right on the mouth.

Soft, casual, no fanfare.

Mark died. Quietly. Internally. With grace.

His soul left his body and ascended into the rafters of the skating rink, where it hovered, stunned, trying to process what it had just witnessed.

They kissed. Like it was normal.

You didn’t even react like it was a big deal. You just smiled against her lips, murmured something Mark couldn’t hear, and then started adjusting your scarf.

Meanwhile, Mark stood frozen, eyes wide, throat dry. Had time slowed down? Were his skates melting? Was this a stroke?

He looked around—surely someone else had seen that. But William was digging through his pockets for his phone, and the rest of the world just kept spinning.

He looked back at you two.

You were chatting again. Laughing.

Laughing.

Mark blinked. “Did they—did you—did that just happen?”

William glanced up. “What?”

“They kissed.”

William squinted. “Eve and [y/n]? Yeah. They do that sometimes.”

“They what?!”

“They’re just like that, man.”

Mark felt like the entire foundation of his reality had shifted two inches to the left. “Since when is that a thing?!”

“I don’t know,” William said, shrugging. “Since always? You need to calm down. You're looking at them like you're in a telenovela.”

Mark turned back just in time to see you poke Eve in the ribs and burst out laughing as she tried to trip you with her skate.

They were fine. Everything was fine.

Except Mark, who was now very seriously reconsidering every platonic interaction he’d ever witnessed.

He did not scream. He absolutely did not Google “how to tell if your two crushes are dating each other and not you.”

He just skated. Poorly.

Later, Mark cornered Eve at the cocoa stand. “I just—so, you and [y/n], huh?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Me and [y/n]. What about it?”

“I didn’t know you guys were… you know.” He made a vague, flappy hand gesture that somehow communicated both romance and meltdown.

Eve blinked. “We’re not.”

Mark paused. “You’re not…?”

“We’re just friends.”

Mark stared at her like she’d said you were both celestial beings sent to test him personally. “You kissed her!”

Eve shrugged. “Yeah? She looked cute. And she got hot chocolate on her lip. You would’ve done it too.”

“No!” Mark squawked. “No, I would not have just casually—that’s not a normal friend thing!”

Eve gave him a baffled look. “Mark. You fly around in spandex and yell about justice. Don’t talk to me about normal.”

He tried asking you directly. Big mistake.

“So like, you and Eve?” he asked, trying to sound chill and definitely not like he was about to scream into a snowbank.

You looked up from your churro. “Yeah?”

“You’re dating?”

You snorted. “What? No. We just kiss sometimes. It’s fun.”

Mark short-circuited. “...For fun?”

“Yeah, like—mutual admiration and pretty girl solidarity, you know?”

He absolutely did not know. His brain was now smoke and static.

“Oh,” you added, “and she’s been helping me get over my ex.”

Mark’s heart fluttered. Hope? A chance?

You smiled. “But don’t worry—Eve promised she wouldn’t let me date another emotionally stunted guy with secret feelings. She’s so supportive.”

Ah.

There it was.

Mark nodded slowly. “Cool. Cool cool cool. I love that for you.”

You patted his arm. “You’re such a good friend, Mark.”

And just like that, he died again.

—

The three of you were standing near the edge of the rink, the chill in the air mixing with the warmth of the cocoa in your hands. Mark was trying to stay casual, but his eyes kept darting between you and Eve, who were just so comfortable with each other. Like it didn’t matter that you’d just shared a kiss on the rink. Like it was as casual as breathing.

And maybe that’s what did it.

Maybe that’s why he noticed how your lips lingered on Eve’s. How you gently traced her jaw, eyes closed, completely unbothered by how intensely affectionate you were being.

Then—oh God—you kissed her again.

Mark didn’t even know where his thoughts went anymore. His brain had just short-circuited. He stared at you both, wide-eyed, his heart rate kicking into overdrive.

“Uh,” he muttered, then cleared his throat, trying to act like everything was perfectly fine. “You two… uh, you two are just really affectionate, huh?”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Eve said, her grin way too knowing. She nudged you playfully, but her gaze flicked over to Mark and lingered there for a second too long. Then, she went back to you, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Oh my God,” Mark mumbled. “It’s like I can’t—what even is—”

You turned to Mark, totally unfazed. “You okay, Mark?” Your voice was sweet and unbothered, like you hadn’t just caused absolute chaos in his brain. “You’re kind of… pink?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, brushing it off, but his hands were suddenly clammy. His fingers tightened around his cocoa cup like it was his lifeline.

You just grinned at him. “Well, you’re looking a little… frazzled. Here, have some of mine.” You thrust your cup at him, clearly way too calm about the situation.

“Uh, thanks,” Mark said, trying to play it cool. He took a tentative sip, but it was as if the universe was out to make him implode. He felt something drip onto his bottom lip.

“Whoops,” you said with a little shrug, stepping closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “You’ve got a little something there.”

Before he could respond—before his brain could even register what was happening—you kissed him.

It wasn’t the casual, quick peck he was mentally prepared for. No, this was lingering.

Soft. Slow. Your lips brushing over his, gently nudging his mouth open as if you were trying to get every last drop of hot chocolate from his lip. Mark’s whole body froze, his eyes wide, heart thudding in his chest as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening. Was this a joke? Was he imagining it?

And then, just when he thought he might combust from the sheer shock, you pulled back just enough to lick your bottom lip. As if you were making absolutely sure that not one drop of cocoa had been left behind.

Mark’s breath hitched in his throat, his brain screaming WHAT and WHY, but his body was already way too lost in the moment to argue. He barely even registered the quiet laugh that escaped Eve behind him.

“Better?” you asked, still smiling sweetly at him, like you didn’t just knock his world sideways. Mark couldn’t speak. He was completely dumbstruck. His mouth was too dry, his tongue too thick to form words.

“Mark?” Eve teased, stepping forward now. “You okay?”

He blinked a few times, trying to piece himself back together, but all he could do was shake his head, which only made you laugh.

“I think I broke him,” you said, and the look in your eyes was one of pure mischief. Mark couldn’t decide if he wanted to die or kiss you back.

He cleared his throat again. “I—uh—okay. Okay. Well, I gotta… I gotta go. Yeah, I’m, uh, gonna… Yeah.” He looked around, like there was an escape route. “I’m just gonna—”

“Wait,” Eve called after him. “You don’t want some more cocoa?”

Mark turned around so fast he almost tripped on his own feet. “NO,” he yelped. “I’m good. Thanks. I—uh—no more hot chocolate.”

And as Mark sprinted away, both you and Eve just watched him go, arms still casually linked.

“Well, that went well,” Eve said with a satisfied grin.

You smirked, taking another sip of your cocoa. “I think he likes it when we kiss. Don’t you?”

Eve chuckled. “I think he’s still trying to figure out if we’re doing this for real, or if his brain just broke.”

[night-daily]

Did I catch your attention? | Kei Tsukishima x fem! reader

summary: You're always alone in the library when you're feeling stressed and you need a quiet place, but now there is a blonde guy and his noise music.

warnings: none!

a/n: thanks to my friend who forced asked me to watch haikyuu and now im obsessed with all of them.

and please let me know for any mistakes, thank youu

You have been in a bad mood since the morning. First, you were late for school because you didn't hear your alarm. You ran to your first class but the teacher wasn't happy you interrupted him, so he didn't let you in, and you missed your class.

Second, you didn't have a chance to check the weather before going out and now you were suffering the consequences, it was cold as fuck and your school jacket wasn't enough.

So yeah, you were in a really bad mood but you thought going to your favorite place to relieve some stress was the solution. Oh, how wrong you were.

As soon as you opened the library's door you saw it was crowded. The exams were coming so it wasn't a surprise to see half school there. Sighing you looked for a place to sit, but every table was occupied.

But then you saw him, a blonde guy with headphones sitting alone, perfect.

You thought of asking him if you could sit there, but it was an empty table and a public space so why would you need to ask? You sat down in front of him, taking out your books to put them on the table.

He lifted his eyes from the book he was reading to see who was there and why suddenly the table had a bunch of books, notebooks and a bottle of water, all in different places. He glared at you, his stuff were all organized while you were messy.

Feeling his gaze on you, you look up from the book you tried to read but it was impossible with the loud music blasting from his headphones. You weren't happy with his company either.

Neither of you took your eyes off each other.

You pointed at his headphones, “I can hear your music” You said forcing a smile. Tsukishima of course paused his music to hear you but the annoyed look on your face was funny and he was tired from studying so why not take a break? “I have good taste, don't you think?” He said, looking back at the book on his hands and not even trying to hide the smirk on his face. And if it wasn't enough he was playing his music louder if that was even possible.

But he picked the wrong day and the wrong girl to mess with.

Be nice, be nice, be nice

You stood up from your seat with both hands on the table “Turn down your music, we're in the library not a club” He only lifted an eyebrow, you waited for him to say anything like an apology or something but nothing came out of his mouth.

And without a warning, you almost threw yourself at him if it weren't for the table between you. You tried to take his phone, but he was faster, moving his phone away from you as if he was waiting for you to do that. And instead of taking his phone your hands got tangled in the wires of his headphones pulling his glasses off by accident.

Crack.

You both looked down at the floor where his broken glasses were. Everyone in the library turned their heads to see what whats going on. You cleared your throat, “Sorry” it wasn't clear if you meant it for disturbing the others or for breaking his glasses but you moved quickly, untangling your hands from his wires and walking to get his broken glasses.

Finally, your eyes were on him and before you could say anything, he took the glasses from you.

“Look you gotta admit it was your fault, you weren't supposed to move and—” Tsukishima scoffed, “Is that supposed to be an apology?” You looked at him as if he had grown a second head, “What should I apologize for? I wasn't the one with the loud music” “And I wasn't the one who threw himself at you” “I mean half of the girls throw themselves at you, you must be used to it by now, no?” A cynical smile was now on your face, “So you know who I am, no wonder why you did that, trying to catch my attention then? Original but not interested” He left you with your mouth open like a fish.

“...Asshole” You murmured walking to your chair after a few seconds of silence. It was the first time you had been left without a clever comeback and he just knew it by the smug look on his face.

You decided to ignore his presence by reading your book, again. But you noticed he was having problems to read his book.

Of course, i broke his glasses.

You closed your book with more force than necessary causing the people, including Tsukishima, to turn to look at you.

In a second you were sitting by his side. You snatched the book from his hands and this time you did take him by surprise. “It wasn't enough for you to annoy me with your loud music now i know who had been taking the book i needed since yesterday” Tsukishima looked at you confused and was about to reply but you cut him off.

“Shut up, I'm gonna read for you so don't talk” You were so close to him, so you wouldn't need to raise your voice in case the students wanted to complain about you two.

And just like that, you started reading, in a peaceful voice, unlike his music. He closed his eyes still listening to you, yeah you were way better than music but he wouldn't tell you.

Your knees were touching but none of you dared to move. It was... strangely comfortable. Maybe too comfortable. Well, after all, you did catch his attention.

[silverwhittlingknife]

So you're a go to source for all things Dick&Tim bros and you tend to write primarily from Dick's POV. So, odd question, but if you were to summarize their relationship from his POV in FIVE panels which panels would you pick? Keeping in mind that one specific aspect of their relationship that you love needs to be clearly represented by each panel (loyalty, trust etc). I hope this is a fun challenge and not an annoying question so if you don't want to answer that's cool! Have a wonderful day!

No more talk. The same thoughts run through two minds... (SotB 29) / You're my equal. My closest ally. (RR 1) / I can't stop thinking how much I rely on him. (GoG 3)

25 Feelings Dick Has About Tim

This was such a kind ask & a cool challenge which I totally failed; here are TWENTY-five panels of Dick's POV on Tim sdfdsfds Look, I got carried away! Marcia and Cindy! The boys!!

OKAY SO BEFORE I GET TO THE PANELS A FEW NOTES:

WARNING THAT THERE ARE SOME NEGATIVE EMOTIONS IN HERE because I love conflict but but but you gotta remember those are not the final word!! They are complicated people and sometimes they get mad at each other BUT ultimately their relationship is so hugely important in both their lives & they love each other and rely on each other so much -!!! <3

Also I have CONCLUDING THOUGHTS at the end about what Dick's POV leaves out (mostly: a lot of Dick defending & protecting & supporting Tim, which Dick does instinctively but isn't very self-aware about most of the time)

I have loosely organized my list into 5^5 format (5 categories with 5 examples each!), so if you want to skip to a relevant one, here are the categories!!

Below the cut:

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1-5)

On second thought, he's endearing & fun (#6-10)

Grief is complicated & he's all tangled up in mine (#11-15)

I love him & think highly of him (#16-20)

I rely on him & though it's hard for me, I trust him (#21-25)

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1 - 5)

1) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze me and Bruce, but he doesn’t know me at all, he should get lost (New Titans 61)

2) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze Bruce but he doesn’t know Bruce at all, he should get lost (Gotham Knights 26)

3) He is so nosy about stuff that is MY business (Robin 0)

4) He sounds like an insincere suck-up half the time... but okay, fine, if you push him he's got a sense of humor about it (New Titans 65)

5) I'm sure he's a better vigilante than me. It's my fault for being a failure, but I resent him anyway. (Nightwing 9 - Dick's having a nightmare)

On second thought, he's kinda endearing (#6-10)

6) He worries too much and gets anxious so easily, but it makes him fun to tease (Robin 67)

7) I'm not that competitive - okay, so maybe I'm a little competitive, I gotta make sure he doesn't get a swelled head (Prodigal)

8) I'm supposed to be his favorite! It is not cool for him to be fanboying over my not-girlfriend's not-boyfriend!! (Birds of Prey 19)

9) We have fun together. I can kick back and relax when it's just the two of us. Plus I get to boss him around a bit. (Prodigal)

10) He’s always trying to reassure me, and I guess it's a little comforting, but also he doesn’t really get it. Or me. He makes excuses that he shouldn't, because he doesn't understand that I suck. (Nightwing 64)

Grief is complicated and he's all tangled up in mine (#11 - 15)

11) He reminds me of everything I try not to think about. Sometimes the memories are so strong it hurts to look at him. (Batman 441)

12) WHY IS HE BEING IMPOSSIBLE ALL OF A SUDDEN??? THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING (Nightwing 139)

13) We're the same. He says all the things I don't let myself think about. It's like arguing with myself. (Nightwing 139)

14) He thinks he gets to tell me what to do but he doesn’t, fuck him (Battle for the Cowl)

15) Life sucks, so what. I sucked it up so he should too (RR 1)

I love him and think highly of him (#16 - 20)

16) He’s the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have.  If someone hurts him I will hurt them harder. (Nightwing 6)

17) I can't handle the idea of losing him. (Nightwing 97)

17) He’s so good and I’m not. I'm afraid I’m bad for him. (Nightwing 110)

18) He’s better than me, and it’s kind of a relief because I know no matter what he’ll be okay. (Gates of Gotham 3)

19) In my head he’s the responsible one.  (Gotham Knights 10)

I rely on him, and though it's hard for me, I trust him (#20-25)

20) I know I have to trust him but I'm afraid he'll make the wrong choices and get hurt (Nightwing 139)

21) I'm sure I know what he should do because I see myself in him - not that I can take my own advice, but he should (Blackest Night 3)

22) I trust him.  When I’m losing my grip on things, he pulls me back. (Gotham Knights 10)

23) I want him to trust me (Red Robin 12)

24) He can tell when I'm lying. Sometimes he sees my weaknesses better than I wish he did. (Detective Comics 874)

25) He’s always there when I need him. (Teen Titans / Outsiders Secret Files)

Final rambling thoughts:

TIM: Uhh, okay, so I'm just skimming this list - do you really trust me? you're not just saying that? - but anyway, I'm confused because you left some stuff out? Like some stuff that's kinda important? DICK: No? I think I got everything? TIM (starts counting on his fingers): The time I was having a bad day but then I called you. The time I got captured by Two-Face but then you saved me. The time I fell off a train but then you saved me. The time I fell off a building but then you saved me. The time I fell off a different building - DICK: I feel like you're trying to make some kind of point but I'm not sure what it could be.

SO THE THING IS, I put 25 panels in here and not a single one has Dick catching Tim when he’s falling!!! But I think that's a central motif of their relationship from Tim’s POV, not Dick’s. I love Dick, but in some ways I think he is spectacularly un-self-aware.

And I think he especially has a lot of blind spots about Tim. He kinda intermittently gets that Tim admires him, and he enjoys it in a playful I-get-to-boss-you-around way. But Dick tends to consistently underestimate all of his own good qualities & skills, and he meets Tim at a point in his life when he's especially down on himself & his abilities. And so he's unable to see his own influence on Tim, & therefore unable to fully understand a lot of Tim's priorities and loyalties and motivations, because you can't actually understand Tim without understanding Dick's impact on him. There's a fascinating moment in Bruce Wayne: Murderer when Dick's completely blindsided & upset to discover that Tim doesn't entirely trust Bruce, even though this has been a definitive fact of Tim's whole thing ever since he showed up with his Batman needs Robin theory, and Barbara has to actively remind Dick of the obvious-to-everyone-except-Dick fact that a lot of Tim's loyalty is to Dick, and Tim loves Bruce but feels free to be more wary of him. (And to give Bruce credit: this is not something he ever begrudges.) But anyway Babs points this out, and Dick manages to sorta process it for about five seconds, but he cannot actually accept it into his worldview so instead he discards it at the speed of light and goes off and has an argument with Tim instead sdfsfdsf

All of Dick's virtues - Dick's kindness at the circus and Dick's determination to fight through grief and Dick's rigid sense of morals and Dick's vigilante skills and every time Dick has ever backed Tim up or listened to him or protected him or saved him from something or just been casually kind to a stranger in Tim's presence etc etc etc - all these things loom really large in Tim's mental story of Who Dick Is, and What Dick And Tim's Relationship Is. Tim meets Dick before he meets Bruce, trusts Dick more than Bruce, aspires to be Robin instead of Batman. And so in Tim's default version of the story, Dick is the super-special and admirable hero and Tim is... nobody in particular, a tagalong outsider who's barely managing to be a hero, not part of Dick and Bruce's family and not part of their story, who, if he's VERY LUCKY and tries REALLY HARD, might be able to fight his way to proving himself and offering something to Dick that Dick will value, if Dick doesn't get fed up with him first.

But that's not Dick's version of the story!!!

Dick's version of the story is almost the exact opposite, a story where Dick's an outcast failure black sheep who's screwing up everything he tries, and meanwhile Tim is The Sudden New Perfect Robin Who's Better Than Me And Probably Bruce Loves Him More And Probably They Gossip About What A Loser I Am, mixed with a complicated edge of Tim Thinks He's So Smart But He Doesn't Know Me/Us At All. Dick gets much more attached to Tim over time, and Tim gets unnervingly better at the know-it-all psychoanalysis so then Dick gets to have complicated feelings about him being right instead of just annoyance at him for being wrong, plus Dick's relationship with Bruce improves a lot, so Tim stops feeling so threatening. But Dick never fundamentally changes his basic theory of their relationship in which Tim is highly impressive and capable, and Dick is not so much.

And so asking Dick about Tim is kinda like if you asked George Bailey to tell you about Harry Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life; like, you'll be there for five hours while he tells you how great Harry is, and how accomplished Harry is, and how he doesn't really get how or why Harry does the things he does, and maybe George does feel a little resentful or jealous sometimes, but that pales in comparison to all his admiration and trust for Harry who he loves so much, who's better than him in so many ways, and he's not gonna openly gripe but secretly he can't help but feel sometimes like he's such a failure in comparison to Harry, a perfect person who emerged fully formed from Zeus's head with all the virtues and also all the accomplishments, etc. etc. etc. --

-- and he will not actually remember the part where he changed and saved Harry's whole entire life unless you literally send him to an alternate timeline in order to force him to remember it. <3

[maryellencarter]

i think the hill i'm going to die on here is that lasting anti-fascist activism begins and ends with unrestricted social services.

protests are great. kind of indispensable right now. but in times when we can be less reactive, you want to know what you're protesting *for*, not just against.

today i saw a post elseweb saying "why aren't white women fleeing maga? they have to know by now that tradwife means sex slave". and like... it's very simple. they can't leave because they would end up like me.

they're, we're, deliberately made unemployable so that we'll have to marry whatever mediocre white man picks us out. as it happened, i was unappealingly intersex, fat, butch, and autistic, so none of the mediocre white boys of my generation ever took a second look at me, but that didn't give me job skills or career connections.

i knew multiple women whose husbands divorced them and took the house as part of their midlife crises. they had to send the kids to live with relatives and take dead-end jobs like bagging groceries because they were in their forties with zero job experience. if they'd rejected the worldview, if they'd alienated their families and what few friends didn't victim-blame them for the divorces, they'd have had nowhere to turn.

it's been over twelve years since i got out. psychologically, medically, i'm healthier. but i've chased a fresh start through half a dozen states. i spent my inheritance getting a degree. none of it helped. there are no supports for abandoning (or being abandoned by) your support network.

you won't defeat fascism until my people are free to leave the cult if they realize they want out. until we can access free housing to get away from financial abuse, free comprehensive job training and placement services to help us start careers, national healthcare so we can flee across state lines if necessary without losing any medical care we're lucky enough to have access to, protections for children and teens so they can flee without needing a parent's help... universal basic income would be really good but there are smaller steps that could help with financial independence.

and it all has to be available to everybody, including people you think are "unworthy". people who hold the wrong opinions. drug addicts. people whose husbands or parents make too much money. people who aren't from around here. unrepentant bigots. if they want out, you have to give them a path out. minds can change later, once people are less scared and less pressured.

(i'm ex-catholic. do you want to hear about what happens when you force people to profess certain beliefs in order to access basic assistance? i have two thousand years of examples.)

"but if they really wanted out they'd do the Right Thing and leave without support!" Better to be one man's sex slave than turning tricks on the street. "staying just proves they're actually evil and there for the bigotry!" Live in your car for six months in 100°F heat, twice, and then talk to me again. There's no virtue in cutting yourself off from society just to prove some kind of moral point. All that does is get you dead or worse.

("JT, you're not dead" I'm a fucking cockroach. Most people would be dead by now. Survival bias goes both ways; we're not all the same model of airplane.)

[yuukiiqwq]

Satoru was confident that you liked him back. He was positive. He had no doubt in his mind that you were going to be his pretty little wife. Is he getting ahead of himself? Sure, he is, but he's that confident. That's until he noticed how he hadn't received any chocolate from you.

It was Valentine's Day, and he still hasn't received any chocolate from you. Yeah, he had a mountain worth of chocolate from all those people who gave him it, but where was yours? He couldn't find it anywhere. He was sure that you would have placed your chocolate on his desk since you hadn't given him his. He double no triple checked all the chocolates, yet he could not find the one that has your pretty little name written on it. He continued to search through the chocolate pile for the fourth time today.

He must have missed it, right? Or did someone steal it? He swear he's going to hunt that person to the end of the Earth. Who dared to steal something that was rightfully his?

"Satoru, calm down."

He looked up at his best friend, who was trying to hold down a laugh at his panic.

"She'll probably give it to you later. The day just begun."

Right. Suguru is right. You'll give him his chocolate later. He's a good boy. He can wait.

That's what he told himself, but Suguru and Shoko have already received theirs this morning, and his is still nowhere to be found. Where is his chocolate? You're just sitting there in your seat, looking all pretty as if Satoru is not going through a huge dilemma because of you.

He couldn't help his hands that kept inching itself closer to the chocolate you gave Suguru. He wouldn't know if he snatched it, right? Suguru had received a lot of chocolate! He wouldn't know if he took it... was what he convinced himself before Suguru slapped his hand away.

"Satoru," he sighs.

"But Suguru!!!" Satoru whined as he sunk down into his seat.

"Be patient. You'll get yours soon."

But how soon is soon? Satoru isn't exactly known for his patient.

It was the end of the day, and still no chocolate from you. He asked Suguru and Shoko to leave first because he thought you would finally give it to him when both of you were alone. But you haven't. Where was his chocolate?

The two of you were approaching the exit of school, so Satoru made a quick decision, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into an empty classroom. He quickly shut the door and locked it.

"Satoru?" You asked in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"My chocolate."

"Your chocolate?"

"My chocolate from you! The symbol of your love towards me!"

"I didn't make you any," you replied smoothly. "Forgot to make them yesterday, so I woke up early today to make them, but I guess not early enough. I only had time to finish Shoko's and Suguru's. I didn't have time to make yours. Otherwise, I would have been late."

Satoru swear the world just ended. He looked down at his chest because he swears his heart ripped out of his chest at your words. Nope. Still alive. Why is he still alive in this cruel world? You had no chocolate for him? None? Not even a crumb?

"That's fine with you, right? I mean, you got a bunch of chocolate from other girls! You don't need mine."

He swear he is about to burst into tears. He didn't care about other girls. He didn't care about their chocolate. He wanted yours. How could you be so cruel and deny him of your chocolate? To reject him like this? He was devastated. No. Beyond devastated. Where is the closest cliff so he can jump off?

Pure silence radiated the room as Satoru tried to comprehend this horrible situation. Then he heard a small giggle slip pass your lips. That small giggle soon turns into a full-out laugh.

"You should have seen the look on your face, Satoru," you say as you try to stop laughing.

Was this funny to you? Why were you laughing at his suffering? Do you know how much he looked forward to today? To receive the cute little wrapped up chocolate you made for him? He dreamed of today, and you didn't have chocolate for him?

He then sees you reach into your bag and pull out exactly what he had imagined. A cute little chocolate box wrapped up in a baby blue color with a touch of white ribbon to finish it off. Fuck. He thinks he just got a heart attack seeing your chocolate. His chocolate.

"Princess, please don't joke like that to me ever again. You scared me half to death. I was going to jump off a cliff," he whined as he took the chocolate from your hand.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his dramatic behavior. "Stop being dramatic, Satoru. It's just chocolate."

A look of offense dawned his face as you utter those horrendous words to him.

"Chocolate? Just chocolate?" He huffed at you. He can't believe you as you treat this amazing god send gift as just chocolate. "Don't you dare call this just chocolate! This! This right here is proof of your undying love towards me!"

You laughed at his antics– "You're getting ahead of yourself, Satoru."

He delicately placed the chocolate safety away in his bag, treating it as a prized possession. He's looking forward towards white day. He already knows what he wants to get for you. He pulled you into a hug, nuzzling his face against your neck as he mutters– "You won't be saying that after I wife you up."

[saatorus]

for all the people who've suffered an emotionally abusive father :)

“I’ve told you multiple times, I don’t always have the time to coddle you. Don’t you understand? I get home from a tiring mission and you’re being like this—”

You try to tune it out. You try, you really do. But it’s hard not to feel a little bit of anger — no, hurt — at how insensitive your husband, Satoru, is being. You had waited all day for him to come home. Today was your goddamn fifth wedding anniversary. You had decorated the living room with fairy lights, made his favorite dinner, even wore the soft blue sweater he liked — the one he once said made you look like “something out of a dream.”

And yet, the moment he stepped through the door, it was like none of that mattered. His shoulders were tense, his hair still damp from a rushed shower, the scent of lingering sorcery clinging to him like smoke. You had wrapped your arms around him, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, whispered a “Happy anniversary, love” against his skin.

But he had just gently pushed you off.

Not harshly, no. Satoru was never cruel. But it was enough to make you freeze. Enough to stir that little ache in your chest you’d worked so hard to quiet over the years. Enough that it led to all this.

“I never asked you to coddle me, I was just—”

“Well, I was obviously indicating you give me some space. I don’t always have to kiss you and touch you. I get so tired sometimes and—”

“I know,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I get that you do. I just thought… I thought maybe today, of all days…”

Your voice cracks. You hate that it does.

Satoru exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair in frustration before suddenly—falling silent.

Just like that.

Not another word. He turns his back, walks into the bedroom without so much as glancing at you again.

And it’s that silence that cuts deeper than anything else.

Because suddenly, you're not standing in your shared apartment with your husband. You're eighteen years old again, sitting on the bed in your room with a weird sense of despair coiling in your stomach, watching your father turn away after another minor argument he claimed wasn't worth his breath. Sitting there, trying to figure out what is wrong with you. You remember how he would go days– no, weeks, even months– without speaking to you, how you’d tiptoe around the house trying to be good, better, perfect — all so he’d finally look at you again.

It’s not the same, you know it isn’t.

But your chest tightens all the same. The air feels thick. Wrong.

And just like that, the old panic sets in. The kind that gnaws at your ribs and wraps around your lungs like a vice. You swallow hard, gripping your hands tightly in your lap. You’re back in a place you swore you'd never return to—feeling like a burden, like your love was too loud, too much. Like your father all over again, who’d shut down and ignore you for ages if you ever stepped even slightly out of line. You blink away the sudden sting in your eyes and sit on the edge of the couch, your fingers twisting in the hem of your sweater. You try to breathe, to rationalize, but the panic builds quickly, threatening to tip into something messy and raw.

And then suddenly—he’s there.

“Wait, what’s wrong? Baby—hey, talk to me,” he says quickly, eyes scanning your face. “Did I…? Shit. I messed up. I know I did. I’m so sorry.”

You look up at him, startled by the urgency in his voice. His blindfold is off now, and his cerulean eyes are wide, frantic. He drops to his knees in front of you, resting his hands on your thighs.

You shake your head, tears clinging to your lashes. “No, I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to cling or make it harder on you. I know you’re tired from missions, and I should’ve just… I could’ve wrapped everything up. We didn’t have to celebrate. I just thought maybe even a few minutes would’ve been nice.”

“No, no, no, don’t say that,” he whispers immediately, voice cracking. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t ever apologize for loving me. Please.”

You try to look away, but he gently cups your face, thumbing away the tears on your cheeks.

“It’s just… when you went quiet,” you murmur, “it brought me back to a place I hate. My dad used to do that. Walk away. Shut me out. Make me feel like I was nothing. Like I didn’t deserve even a word.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, this time softer. “I didn’t realize—I just thought you were being clingy, and I was tired, and I snapped, but that’s not an excuse. You didn’t do anything wrong. God, I just realised it’s our anniversary and I…”

You don’t realize you’re crying until he cups your face gently and wipes a tear away with his thumb.

His expression crumples, heartbreak swimming in his eyes. “God, baby, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to—fuck, I never want to make you feel like that. Ever.”

“I know,” you whisper. “You’re not him. But sometimes, my heart forgets. I just wanted to celebrate with you,” you whisper, voice trembling. “And when you shut down like that, when you go quiet… It makes me feel like I’m back there again. Like I’m that girl who was never good enough, never worth talking to.”

His expression falls.

“Baby,” he breathes. “No. No, no, no. You’re worth everything. You’re worth so much more than I can ever put into words. I’m so sorry for making you feel like that. I swear to you, I’ll never walk away like that again. Not from you. Never from you.”

He pulls you into his arms tightly, like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers. You bury your face into his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin, letting the warmth of his embrace slowly thaw the ice that had begun to creep into your heart.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “So much. I know I’m a pain in the ass sometimes, but I love you more than anything. Even more than sweets. Which is saying something. Like I’d ditch Kikufuku f’you—”

You laugh through your tears, and he grins like it’s the best sound he’s heard all day.

He pulls you into his chest again. “Never again,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion, “I’ll never walk away like that again. Not even when I’m tired. Not when I’m angry. You are never too much. You are everything.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you more,” he replies instantly, nuzzling your temple. “More than anything. And I know I don’t say it right every time, but I feel it every second I’m breathing.”

You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, until the silence finally feels safe again.

Eventually, he pulls back and flashes a small, sheepish smile.

“Come on,” he says, standing and lifting you up bridal-style, ignoring your surprised squeak. “Let me make it up to you. We’ll re-do the whole night, yeah? Lights, candles, that ridiculous playlist you made—”

“The one you said sounded like a 2005 prom?”

“Exactly. I hated it. Let’s play it right now.”

He sets you down gently on the bed, then kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips — soft and slow, like a promise.

“You’re everything to me,” he says against your mouth. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

This time, when he pulls you into his arms, there’s no tension in his shoulders. Just warmth. Just love.

And despite the rocky start, the night ends just how it was meant to: with candlelight dancing across the walls, soft music playing in the background, and Satoru Gojo curled up beside you, feeding you spoonfuls of lukewarm curry and whispering “I love you” between every bite.

Flawed, but perfect. Just like the two of you.

And the rest of the night passes in the glow of fairy lights and bad music, wrapped in the comfort of knowing that even in the moments where things falter — you always find your way back to each other.

yes this is entirely self indulgent and yes my father has been ignoring me for an exact month and yes this is a slight trauma dump but for anyone in a similar situation just know that you're never alone, and it will get better, i love you

[chiibabie]

ONLY YOU ♡

where they have a bad dream about losing you ft. rin, isagi, nagi, sae, reo, kaiser !

rin

rin sees you and sae together.

everything around him is white, but in front of him, is none other than you and his brother. you're holding sae's arm, and you smile so sweetly at him that it makes rin sick to his stomach.

turning around, you seem to notice him and give him a strained look, eyes darting around. rin opens his mouth but closes it, unsure of what to say.

finally, you speak up.

"rin.." you began, "I can't do this anymore."

rin feels his heart drop to his stomach. what do you mean? what are you even saying?

"what are you-" his words are cut off before he can finish.

"I-I'm in love with sae. I want to be with him. rin, I'm sorry, but I just don't love you anymore." you reveal, voice distant as you avoid his gaze.

your words feel like a slap to his face and his world begins to crumble. he wants you to reach out to you, to grab your wrist and tell you that he'll do anything for you to stay. what can his brother do that he can't? he feels his legs beginning to crumble before he slumps down onto the floor on his knees. rin doesn't want to let you go, he loves you too much.

sae gives him a disinterested look over his shoulder. he walks to where rin is, eyes cold as if he was mocking him, before crouching down closer to him and whispering something in rin's ear.

rin wakes up with a start.

he's sitting up, sweating and trembling as he gasps for air, his heart pounding in his chest. the room is dark and silent, but the weight of the dream still lingered. the haunting thought that maybe he wasn't enough, that you would choose someone else over him, even his own brother. he closes his eyes as he presses his hand to his face, trying to even out his breathing and convince himself that it's just a dream.

"rin..?"

he freezes. right, he forgot you were sleeping next to him.

"rin.." you whisper, voice groggy from sleep. "what's wrong?"

"nothing." he grunts. it's stupid, but he doesn't want to admit he just had a nightmare about losing you to sae. it's not real he repeats to himself in his head.

obviously you are not convinced. after all, rin is sweating and he seems so stressed, plus his shoulders are tense so it can't just be nothing. sitting up, you lean in to be closer to him.

"rinnie, did you have a bad dream? you can talk about it if you want, I'll listen," you offered. your voice is soft and comforting, and rin resists the urge to just rest his head on your chest. it makes him think that maybe you are too good for him. that he doesn't deserve you. that you deserve to be with someone who's better than him. maybe he should let you go. he loves you, so maybe he should let you go to be with someone who will really make you happy. after all, what exactly has he done to deserve someone like you?

but deep inside, he doesn't ever want to let you go. rin doesn't want to share your smile or laughter with anyone else. he wants you to smile only at him with that fondness in your eyes. the thought of you with someone else is enough to make him go crazy. which is why, he finally admits the truth.

"I dreamt that you left me for sae." he states, rather bluntly.

you blink.

before you can even speak, rin says something that makes your heart hurt.

"do you ever wish you were with someone else?" he asks. he's so vulnerable right now and so different from his normal cold nature. the dream must've really had an effect on him. since he's staring at the wall in front of him instead of looking at you.

"rin," you say, cupping his cheek as you turn him to face you. even though the room is dark, you can still see how his eyes lack any emotion except for insecurity and doubt. "I wouldn't ever leave you for sae, or anyone else. it's just a dream. I promise, I want to stay with you forever."

your voice is so honest and your words make rin feel as if a huge rock has been lifted from his shoulder. right, it's just a dream after all. besides, he would never let his stupid brother steal you away. he won't let anyone steal you away.

"okay." he nods.

gently, he lays back down and pulls you down with him, hugging you close to his chest as he rests his chin on your head. he doesn't say anything, but just holding you close like this is enough to make most of his worries go away. if he has to, he'll be better for you.

rin is tired and his eyes are on the verge of closing when he hears you whisper out a quiet, "I only love you, rinnie."

isagi

isagi is twisting and turning around in his sleep, eyebrows scrunched as a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. what exactly is he dreaming about?

in his dream, isagi is walking through the bustling city with you. the streets are busy and filled with people, but he's only focused on you. his only thought is you. in fact, you occupy most of his brain space. he's holding your hand, but you seem a bit distant. almost as if you're bored being there with isagi. even though you've been roaming around the city together for a while, he feels as if the connection between you guys was slipping through his fingers.

he sees you glance at your phone, as if there's something more important that's pulling you away. isagi tries to shake the feeling off, but it won't go away and he feels that nervous feeling form in his stomach.

the dream warps, and what he sees is horrifying and it makes his heart drop.

in front of him, is you. and rin. rin is on top of you on the couch as you're pressing kisses onto his face.

isagi can't move. the only thing that he can whisper is a quiet "what's...what's going on..?"

his voice seems to grab you and rin's attention as both your heads snap towards isagi's direction. instead of looking panicked at the fact that you just got caught, you gently push rin off you and sit on the couch. in the softest tone, you tell isagi something that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

"I've been thinking a lot, and...and I just... don't love you anymore." your voice is flat and distant, as if you're talking to a stranger.

isagi takes a step back, unable to process this. you're joking right? you're joking, you're joking, you're joking, you're joking...

he gulps, unable to breathe as he can only whisper out a quiet no.., his voice barely audible. your words sting and suffocate him. he wants to say something. he'll do anything to fix your relationship. just tell him, and he'll grovel at your feet on his knees if it means you'll stay.

rin is sitting casually on the couch. he hasn't said anything, but his eyes meet isagi's gaze. isagi clenches his fists when he makes eye contact with rin. his piercing gaze seems to be mocking isagi, almost as if rin is saying i win.

isagi gasps for air, heart pounding as he sits up in his bed. it took him a moment to realize it was just a nightmare, but his hands are trembling and he can't really shake off the image of you smiling and kissing rin. seriously, out of everything he can dream about, he has to dream about you and rin? why can't he dream about scoring ten goals in soccer?

isagi looks down at the bed to the space next to him. you're still sleeping soundly and he sighs in relief that he didn't wake you up. a small frown grows on his face. he's aware that it's just a stupid dream since you're obviously still with him, sleeping next to him. there's a bit of hair covering your face, and isagi reaches his hand out to brush it away. it's dark, but the light from the digital clock makes your face a bit visible. he stares at you, admiring your sleeping face. you're so pretty, he thinks.

he sighs, before finally laying back down on the bed next to you. he pulls you in close to his chest as he presses a kiss on your forehead.

you grumble and shift a little in his hold, before finally settling down and whispering out a tiny "I love you, yoichi.."

yeah, you only love him. and he only loves you. even if the world ends, you will always be the only one for isagi, and he hopes that you feel the same. that you'll love him always, and that you will always be by his side.

he doesn't want to think about losing you.

nagi

nagi was at first dreaming about playing video games, but he's losing in all of them. and then the dream shifts to him being outside of his classroom

he's confused. the last thing he wants is to be at school right now. but then he hears voices and talking from the other side of the door.

"he's so weird, you know? a total loser." he hears someone say.

he hears anyone person agree with the previous statement, stating their own personal opinion of "he doesn't even try. I mean come on, y/n, you can do so much better than a slouch. better than that sloppy looking guy. come on, someone like nagi is never going to change."

oh, so they're talking about him. and you're there.. talking about him as well?

the dream shifts again and he's across from you sitting at a table. there's a heavy silence, and finally, as if you'd been searching for the right words, you say "I don't think this is working out. I.. I don't think we're right for each other. it's not personal, but I just.. don't want to be with you anymore."

someone like nagi is never going to change, the words echoed in his mind.

his heart is sinking, and he reaches his hand out to you, desperate to make you believe that he can change. he'll try, he really will. he wants to speak, but nothing comes out.

your eyes are cold, nothing like the ones that used to look at him full of love and adoration, as if nagi was the one who hung the stars in the sky.

just like that, nagi is jolted awake. he's breathing heavily, staring the ceiling.

he sits up, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the nightmare. but it clings to him, like a whisper in the back of his mind. someone like nagi is never going to change.

oh, you're not in bed with him. no wonder it feels so cold. for a split second, he thinks the dream was real. that maybe you really did leave him. but from his room, he can see a small light coming from outside.

surprisingly, he gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. there, he sees you, in your nightgown standing at the counter. you don't seem to realize he's behind you, so he sneaks up and hugs you from behind.

"ah!" you let out a small squeak, surprised that nagi was awake at this hour.

"sei, why are you awake?" ironic that you're asking that question, since you're also awake...

"mm.." he grumbles, "can't sleep."

there's a silence. neither of you say anything else.

"s' cold without you.." he mumbles out, rubbing his cheek against yours.

"alright, alright, let's go back to bed." you say. nagi doesn't protest and instead drags you back to the bedroom where he lightly tackles you onto the bed and buries his head in your chest. you run your fingers through his hair and he lets out a sigh of contentment.

"am i unattractive?" he suddenly asks, making you halt your movement of playing with his hair. his face is squished into your chest so the words did come out a little mumbled, but you're genuinely confused. nagi wasn't one to care about appearances and he never asked you questions about how he looked.

"seishiro, why are you asking that?"

"am I?" he seems a bit pressed for your answer.

maybe he dreamt about his appearance? either way, you decide that you won't ask about it right now, since you doubt he'll tell you, claiming it to be too much of a hassle.

"well, sei, I think you're very handsome," you coo at him, as if he's a baby. "and you're cute. you look handsome when you're playing soccer, and even when you're gaming, or even when you've just woken up and your hair's a mess."

nagi just lets out a hum, mumbling a quiet "kay, angel.."

sae

sae drifted into a deep, restless sleep.

he dreams about you. the both of you are at the beach and the sun is setting, which casts a golden glow on your face. you're beautiful, he thinks. your hair is swaying gently due to the wind. he feels content here, being with you. the both of you are walking along the shore and there's a comfortable silence between you two.

but you look distant. and sad. sae doesn't ask about it at first and he attempts to brush it off. but you stop walking and look up at him with eyes that hold a million emotions that he can't comprehend nor understand.

"is something wrong?" he asks with concern.

you don't respond right away, and he's growing worried. but when you finally speak, it's not the answer he's expecting nor wanted.

"I don't think I can do this anymore, sae," you reply, voice quiet and timid.

he freezes and his chest tightens. "what do you mean?" he asks, his voice almost cracking.

you don't look at him.

staring down at the ground, you let out a shaky breath and admit the truth.

"I can't be with you. not anymore."

sae wakes up, heart pounding. the room is dark and he reaches towards the other side of the bed to grab you close and hold you. only.. you're not there.

oh, that's right. that wasn't a dream. you really did leave him a couple months ago. the bed feels large and empty without you. it feels cold. he vaguely remembers your words, something about how he doesn't prioritize you and that you can't be with him, not when you feel like you're not important to him.

sae recalls something you asked him a month prior to your breakup.

"saeeee.. if I ever die, or something happened to me, would you ever be with someone else?

back then, he had scoffed at your ridiculous question. but now, the answer is clear to him.

no, he doesn't think he will ever be with someone that isn't you.

reo

reo is a lot of things. he's attractive, kind, smart, and loaded with money. girls come up to him but he knows that they're really after his money. they don't care about him.

but you're different. you loved reo and you didn't care about how much money he had. thus, he fell for you hard. he loved you ten times more than you loved him, and he wasn't afraid of showing it. and he believes that you love him more than anything as well. that he's your one true love.

so why.. does you hear you talking with your friends about how you're only with him for his wealth?

he hears you, in your room, talking to your friend about something. he's come over to surprise you, so you have no idea he's about ten inches away from your door. but when reo hears you talking on the phone, he leans his ear closer to the door, only to feel his heart get crushed once you hears you talking about him.

"yeah, yeah.. sure." you admit, rather casually, on the phone. "sure he's nice and all, but his money is way nicer. mm, actually I might break up with him soon. he's kind of getting boring."

reo doesn't know what to do. he's unable to move and his feels like he's about to cry. after all this time, you really were only with him for his money. what about the times you kissed him, cheered for him at his soccer games, and came over to his house to spend time with him? what about all those times you sat in the bathtub with him, when you let him sleep on your lap like he was a kitten, or when you giggled putting pink clips in his hair? what about... what about.... what about... what about...

the nightmare fractures, like a mirror.

he lets out a yell, breathing heavily as he wakes up. his loud scream unfortunately woke you up from your slumber too, and you turn around to face him.

"reo...what happened..." you mutter, voice groggy with sleep.

reo feels bad that he woke you up, but the dream felt too real. did you really love him? he knows he shouldn't doubt you, but..

"do you love me?" he blurts out.

"...huh?"

he stutters, embarrassed that he suddenly asked that outloud.

reo doesn't have the chance to explain himself before you say, "of course I love you reo. that's why I'm with you. are you okay?"

"uh..yeah I'm fine." he replies.

you scooch in closer to him and rest your head on his chest.

"do you want a new bag?" he suddenly asks.

"reo," you grumble, sighing at his antics. "I told you I don't need you to buy things for me. seriously, save your money."

yeah, whatever that dream was, he thinks to himself. it's just a dream, it's not real.

kaiser

kaiser did not have a loving childhood. from his mother who abandoned him to his abusive father, he grew up with a life full of hardship and troubles.

but despite everything, he found solace in you, his childhood friend who he was now dating. you provided him with the sense of comfort, you made his life happier, and he doesn't really want to imagine where he would be without you. he thinks you're gorgeous and absolutely breathtaking. you kiss away his troubles and he wants you only to himself. he's not the best at this relationship thing, but you're patient with him.

his dream starts during a soccer match. the crowd is roaring with excitement as usual, but something is off. he's standing on the field, looking for you, the one who's always by his side and cheering him on. but no matter how hard he looked around, you weren't there.

he feels the panic rising in his chest, but he won't show it. kaiser doesn't lose. he's a winner. the best. and he always will be.

that's when he sees it.

you, standing there, with isagi. you're laughing and your eyes are full of joy, but it's not because of him. why the hell were you even with isagi????

you meet his gaze, but your eyes are cold and emotionless. there's nothing there for him. the love you once had for him is gone.

he swallows. fine. he doesn't need you. he's the best after all.

but he wants to smash his hand against the wall and scream why?

as soon as the whistle blows, signaling the start of the match, everything goes dark.

kaiser wakes up with a start, gasping for air and his chest is heaving. there's sweat clinging to his chest and the uncomfortably, heavy weight of the dream. it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, irritating him.

but then he feels it. the familiar warmth next to him. you were there, besides him. his eyes snap towards you. he suddenly feels foolish. the dream wasn't real. of course, he hadn't actually lost you.

you were awake, your hand gently reaching out to him in an attempt to calm him.

"micha, are you okay?"

he shifts away slightly, brushing a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I'm fine." he scoffs.

"you're not fine," you speak gently. "you had a bad dream huh? you can talk to me. I'll always be here for you. you'll never lose me, ever."

kaiser's jaw tightens for a moment before finally letting out a shaky breath and relaxing. he's afraid of losing you, of how vulnerable he is around you, how you make him feel so many emotions he's not sure he wants.

but he smirks.

"course.." kaiser starts, "i don't lose, schatz."

[tiramissyoucake]

Escape attempt gone wrong (not clickbait)(my husband gets pissed?!?!)

Viltrumite Mark x fem reader, forced marriage, the whole shabang, I know nothing about Viltrum♡ word vomitted, lame fade to black scene because idk how to end this

You see a few ships zip by your windows on some days, you know they don't need ships, so a lot of them were dormant in landing zones.

"What're you thinking about?" Your husband's hands snaked onto your shoulders as his voice reached your ear, a small smile on his face.

"... nothing, I'm just wondering why you have ships since Viltrumites can fly." You noted, Mark hummed. "... honestly? I can't tell you either, maybe it's for longer journeys or cargo." He kissed your cheek gently. "Why? Planning to take one on a joy ride?"

The idea was tempting. "Don't be ridiculous," you scoffed. "I can't fly those."

Later that night, a formal meeting between a few powerful Viltrumites you didn't care about busied Mark and a majority of your guards have turned in for the night, you were left to your own devices in a big bedroom stockpiled with gifts from every corner of the galaxy.

You tossed and turned, sleeping early didn't help. You were restless, you've been restless since you've been demanded to remain in one building and one building only. It infuriated you, your supposed husband most likely saw you as a reward for decimating a planet and not a living being with autonomy.

You sat up, glancing aside to the empty space next to you. He had some nerve, locking you up then leaving to play emperor like this, anywhere else in the galaxy would be better now.

... 'anywhere else' wasn't impossible.

. . .

"You need to mind your manners," Nolan scolded as Mark left the room the 'conference' was held in. "I know you're doing a good job in power, but that doesn't mean you can disrespect your seniors."

"I don't respect those who don't respect me." Mark spoke, his tone grated through gritted teeth. "All I want to do is get this stupid cape off me and see my wife."

Nolan restrained an eye roll, the human pet. "You're too attached to that human, what do you see in her anyway?"

"Everything. She's kind, interesting, she sees me beyond my strength, it's like..." he let out a sigh, holding back a shiver from showing, the sigh almost sounded lovesick. "It's like she sees right through me to my core, sees me for who I am, not what I am."

Gag. His father ignored the romance ramble. "You'll learn to see her as a tool for the good of the empire."

Mark rolled his eyes, parting ways at a hallway. "I'm going to bed, I neglected her enough." He didn't wait for a 'goodnight' or any last comments from his father as he left.

The grand doors to the bedroom creaked open, nothing changed. Your body under the sheets, gifts untouched and floors clean, he let out a sigh of relief as he threw aside the cape, loosening the collar of his clothes. "Are you awake?" His voice was soft compared to the usual commanding tone. "I missed you, dear.."

He came to his side of the bed. "I've been waiting to—"

Pillows. Not your peaceful sleeping figure. A stack of pillows. Confusion flooded his head as he got up.

"... oh, oh! Haha! very funny, love." He looked around. "You can come out now!" He waited for a beat, eyes glancing around for any movement.

None, nothing, not even a shuffle. Panic tingled at his fingertips, as he tugged the sheets off the bed, rapidly looking under the bed his eyes darted around the room. His heart raced, looking in any and every compartment that you could possibly squeeze into.

The room grew into a mess but he couldn't care less, sweat coated his forehead from the frenzy of pure panic. "You're not here." He finally admitted to himself, his heart pounding.

Silently cursing the meeting in his head, he sped off to collect whoever he can from guards or staff to form a search party, you couldn't have gone far. Humans were weak, vulnerable, he'll find you. He'll find you. He'll find you.

. . .

You held the cloak you found in the back of the closet close to your chest, you didn't know if Viltrumites recognised you but you wouldn't risk it, but your feet hurt as you ran through the unfamiliar structures.

The hallways were empty, the doors were loose. It was a miracle. You got a chance to leave this nightmare of a marriage, you had no clear idea on where you'd be headed, but you heard stories of galaxy nomads and travellers making ends meet and surviving! You're a smart person, you've got common sense. How hard could it be..?

The landing zone. You just needed to get to the landing zone.

A gasp escaped you, you heard a few barks of commands. "Spread out! She couldn't have gone far!"

You needed to get to that landing zone.

Keep low, keep hidden. You repeated that in your head as you ran, you thought you'd never get there or that you may have gotten lost, then the landing zone came into view, you saw a few ships and suddenly, hope seemed within your reach.

The search party seemed too focused on the buildings and structures, you thanked whatever architect decided to put that place outside of populated areas, the shouting dwindled, turning more distant as you got closer.

You tossed the hood off seeing a few Viltrumites guarding a gate, spotting you as you closed in, they grew confused. "Your imperial majesty? What happ—"

"Open the gates!!" For the first time, you commanded them. "Open them, now!!"

They had no choice but to listen, the gates opened and your heart almost pounded out of your chest. The ships lined up and their states were clear, maintenence, maintenence, offline, maintenence, offline, reserved, offline, reserved.

Finally, 'Ready'.

You could hear the shouting return, but you didn't care, the ship took you in so easily and you could see a new life for yourself outside of this miserable planet, now you just need to learn how to get the controls to listen to you.

It was quiet inside the ship, save for the rapid button clicking and switch flicking from you, everything was coming to life in the ship's mechanics, you held onto the yoke of the ship as you saw the landscape shift, it would levitate off the ground soon.

. . .

He saw it in the distance, hovering high over the empire he saw a ship start to levitate, he knew about every ship, item and living being that entered and left Viltrum.

"No. No. Nononono." His body moved, launching him to the landing zone area with his fists clenched ready to tear through metal.

Mark mumbled to himself as he closed the distance quickly, angered at your audacity to try to escape him.

. . .

Freedom was on the horizon, you were out of here, out of this nightmare. Your hands readjusted repeatedly on the yolk as the ship moved.

A booming sound caused you to whip your head to the back of the ship, your heart dropped seeing an indent in the metal.

"I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" You never heard Mark's voice reach that level of volume, the pounding continued. "COME OUT!"

You stood your ground, even as the fear of what he might do if he gets you caused your hands to tremble and your heart to race quickly, you repeatedly tapped a few buttons, didn't this stupid ship have thrusters or whatever?!

An alarm blared, one meant to let a pilot know the ship wouldn't listen, you had a feeling it had to do with more rumbling from below, curse his monstrous strength, you heard a piercing noise, followed by a grating, screeching noise. He was peeling the metal with his bare hands.

"You'd rather DIE in the cold of the galaxy? You despise me to THAT extent?!" He screeched at the top of his lungs, the ship sparking after he destroyed its engine from the outside and it's structure being torn apart.

Your hands rapidly tried to find any button that could reverse or override the damage. "Please," you mumbled as if the ship could hear you. "Please work, please! I can't stay here..!"

"(NAME)!! TURN THIS SHIP OFF!! NOW!!"

His yelling scared you, you gripped a lever and before you knew it, a flury of sparks flew from the control panel, so powerful it almost knocked you out, but the ship being pummeled back to the ground beat the sparks to it, the tilt of the ship causing you to fall out the pilot's chair and hit your head on the way down to the ship's floor.

Your head hurts, your heart hurts, are you going to die on this ship? You didn't want to succumb to the pounding in your head, you were scared you'd wake up chained or worse. A burning sensation collected at the point of impact on your head.

The ship was useless now, Mark made sure of it, the engine being destroyed in an instant, tugging the metal back until there was enough of an opening for him to slip through, he bent his head down to enter the ship. its lights flickering off, he looked up with a piercing glare, a scowl on his lips and eyebrows furrowed, his knuckles were reddened from the sheer force of his strikes against the metal.

It was quiet for a moment as he watched the consciousness slip away from you, his footsteps that approached you quiet compared to the powerful banging of his fists from seconds ago.

"You've got some nerve." He started, a look of anger, sadness, frustration and heartbreak in his eyes. "You think it's that easy, don't you?"

Black spots formed in your vision, your expression was one he couldn't dissect, it pissed him off more, and he knew he'd still take care of that bump on your head after bringing you back home.

It doesn't matter, he'd indulge in his win for now and seethe about the insolence after. And right when he thought you were becoming more obedient too.

"I'm not letting you go." Mark stated to make the situation clear to your fuzzy state of mind, "Not now. Not ever. I'll make sure of it."

[shotmrmiller]

Simon doesn't care how he comes. He doesn't care if it's your smaller hand wrapped around his fattened cock, tugging it with a gentle twist, smearing the bead of arousal that's welled up from his slit with your thumb. Doesn't care that he usually fucks his fist roughly after a hard day's work with blood still crusted on his fingernails, hard enough to ache. The way you sit beside him, the soft swell of your breasts pressed against the corded muscle of his arm, murmuring words of praise that have his cheeks alight with a rosy glow—

He doesn't care if you use your mouth (you asked, ofc) your mouth is warm around him, the gummy inside of your cheeks slippery— the constricting back of your throat even more so. He sits still, like a good boy, not bucking his hips up, not pushing your head down to take as much of him as you can.

Doesn't care if you make him fuck your thighs— intercrural, you'd called it. How could he when your soft thighs are so smooth and pliable, enveloping his leaky cock with their warmth? Certainly doesn't mind when he glides his head along your slick folds, occasionally catching your swollen clit, hearing your little sharp intakes of breath.

Simon doesn't care where he comes, either. If it's a hand job, he spurts hot, viscous pleasure onto his pudgy stomach, coating the dark trail of hair below his navel and making a mess of your hand. (If you lick his come off your fingers, he's asking you to grow old with him asap)

If it's a blow job, he'll give you a heads-up with a rumbled, "'m, close, so close—" and that's your cue to either pull away, let him paint your cheeks with his spend, or swallow every single drop. (Or let it drip onto his jeans, none of it matters just don't stop)

He'll slicken your inner thighs with his sticky cum, scoop up some of it with his callused fingers, and slather it over your puffy pussy, using it as lube to rub you to completion.

So, when you casually ask him how he feels about a breeding kink as if you were commenting on the weather, his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. Are you asking him for a kid?

But you don't notice how his pupils dilate a fraction or how the skin around his eyes tightens, the corners forming small creases as you continue. "Because I'd been thinking," a small pause, "to spice things up a little—" before he even gets a word in, you raise your hands up in a calming gesture. "Not like there's anything wrong with what we're doing now."

There's a subtle shake to your hands and the grooves of your palms catch the light. Sweaty. You're nervous. This isn't just about him filling you with his cum. He's already done that before— pressed his tip right into your swollen entrance mere moments before finishing. he lets you gather your thoughts, unsnag the words caught in your throat.

And when you finally steel your nerves and say what you want to say (garble, more like) the shrill ringing in his ears is deafening. "You wan' me to wear a rubber 'nd let you take it off." Had he misheard?

The way your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, gaze lowered to the ground, your fingers twisting and turning, uncertain. So he hadn't. Well. How could he say no? Granted, he doesn't understand it, but for his girl? Anything.

He comes to understand it the very first time it happens.

Rolling on the rubber hadn't been different. nor the way he gently stretched you with one finger, two. The spit he'd used as lube to cause you as little discomfort as possible mingling with your own slick, dripping down his rugged knuckles. He takes his time as always, slipping between your spread thighs, watching your face twist, kiss-swollen lips part as he sinks into your heat. He goes slow, hearing you hiss between your teeth, your blunt nails sinking into his chest. He'll have red, angry welts later alongside his dog tags. Claimed by both duty and his little love. "Marked like property," he'd joked once.

You hadn't found it so funny. (Johnny got it though.)

Even with the very small difference in sensation, you're still the best thing he's ever felt. You take him like you're meant for him and maybe you are, but he smothers that train of thought quickly with a heavy hand lest he finish when the fun's just begun.

He feels you shift, even with his body weight that presses down on you with the gravity of a boulder, and he sinks to the root— like a pebble falling into still waters. Your nails tear skin, draw blood. The biting sting of it sends a shiver that sweeps over his goosepimpled skin, arousal tangling in his spine. He bucks his hips in reflex, hard enough to jolt you upward. The discomfort on your face quickly melts away, the sweetened burn of his thick cock prying your tender walls apart finally bleeding into white-hot pleasure.

Simon thrusts again, this time deliberately. Again. And again. He keeps them shallow, dragging the ribbed edges of the condom along your sensitive nerves, gently trying to coax a lazy orgasm out of you— the ones that always leave you syrupy and warm.

He focuses on you. Swirls your peaked nipples with his thumb, nestles his face in the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning over your heated skin. Simon licks a hot stripe over your fluttering pulse, presses a chaste kiss on it, nips your sensitive skin with a little too much pressure when you squeeze down around him—

Cheeky minx.

He snaps his hips, hard enough to rattle your spine, hard enough to hear the way the oxygen is ripped from your lungs. Simon keeps at it, resolute in getting you to the edge, dragging you with him, taking you over.

And then he hears you slur out a couple of words through your gasps. "C'ndom," you mewl, "the condom, off."

Right. He peels himself off of you. He'd almost forgotten —

You're impatient, pushing him away with your bare feet on his chest until he pulls out with a pop, trembling fingers reaching his twitching cock. The rubber comes off after a moment and while he's distracted by the creamy slick coating it, you're already putting him back in you, and your cunt feels sublime.

Divinity. He feels intoxicated.

The pleasure he felt before feels muted now, in comparison. Dull, almost. You feel hot, almost burning— swallowing him up, wet, so wet. The way your walls flutter around him jumbles his thoughts, tangles his tongue. He grinds down onto you with grit teeth, nostrils flared as he tries to keep the searing coil in his gut from unspooling, but he fears it's a losing battle. Beads of sweat roll down the side of his face as he fucks into your tight cunt with a hunger that borders on desperation.

He can see, and hear, that it's different for you too. Your keens and mewls are loud, nails scoring trails of red down his back. Simon leans back a bit, enough to let you watch his cock split you open, strings of sticky arousal connecting between you two. When he changes angle, aiming for your (and his) favorite spot with precision, the squeal you let out stiffens his spine.

Simon needs to hear it again. He grabs you by the cheeks, forcing you to look at him with those pretty, glassy eyes that glimmer with tears. Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought of tasting salt. "Like tha'?" The delicate strands of your eyelashes are clumped together with overwhelming sensation.

When you don't answer, he gives your hood a gentle tap, striking right above your clit. "I asked you a question." He grunts when your pussy almost strangles his cock at his gravelly tone. Simon will remember that for later.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, god, just like that." As a reward, he uses his thumb to draw tight little circles over your pearl, fucking you with his full weight behind every thrust. The blissful expression on your features, spit glistening in the corner of your lips, your hand flat, fingers spread wide over your lower belly as if to feel him from the outside— it's enough to almost toss him over that crumbling edge.

But he takes more. Selfish, greedy. Takes what's his with fervor; wholly, unapologetically. "This," he pushes until he can go no more, his tip meeting a firm resistance, "is better than everythin' I've ever had." Maybe it's a stupid thing to say, right here when he's rearranging your guts around to make room for his fat cock, but he's drunk off of you.

There's no thinking clearly with the slick noises echoing in the stuffy room. There's no seeing clearly when his world has narrowed to a single point of contact.

You're squeezing around him like a vise, tight enough that his nerve endings prick with pain. But he keeps going. He takes, he gives, he yearns to watch you unfurl at the edges forever, on his fingertips, on his tongue, his cock but you—

You are both his ecstasy and ruin. He can see it in the way the corners of your pretty mouth curl upward, teasing, eyes glinting with mischief, with the same kind of trouble that ensnared him into your orbit that one lousy night.

"Come in me."

Bloody fucking trouble.

(He wants all of it. The you who'll complain about the hard surface of the kitchen table he'll bend you over. The purple marks he'll pepper on your neck, your collarbone. The you that fights tooth and nail over him eating beans on toast.)

He watches you with half-lidded eyes as his fingers and his cock toss you overboard into the tumultuous sea of euphoria and then— when you're a drooling, limp mess— only then, does he finally surrender, balls drawn up painfully tight,

and fills you to the brim, until there's no more room left in your swollen, greedy pussy. Until it spills from your hole in thick rivulets, until there's no more of him left to give.

(He doesn't do rings. It'll get the both of you killed should he ever get caught. Maybe a tattoo for him and a band for you? Gotta text Price in the morning.) <- oh what barebacking does to a simple man such as he.

this was supposed to have been a 600 word drabble hello. he's clingy and squishy and so sickeningly in his emotions.

[peachesofteal]

you bake when you’re upset or stressed - ghoap/f!reader

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the quiver in your voice doesn't do much to dispel Simon's suspicion, and you toss the bowl full of brownie batter onto the counter. "I'm fine."

"You're baking at three in the morning, sweetheart. Did something happen?"

"I had a bad day, is all. It's nothing." The lie hisses through your teeth, jaw set tight as an attempt to keep everything bottled up where it belongs.

"What's going on?" Johnny's leaning against the counter in plaid pajama pants, gold ring on the chain around his neck glinting in the dimmed light of the kitchen. They both wear them, the rings, the ones complementing yours, a delicate twist of three threads, woven together to make one tight knit strand, looped together in a knot at the top of your finger where a diamond would normally go.

"Baked goods in the middle of the night." Simon sticks his finger in the batter, and gives you a knowing look. "You know I'll keep you here until you let it out." You shake your head.

"Let's go back tae bed then." Johnny's trying to coax you, gently, as always. It's his way. Soft, slow, sweet. Even keeled and sensitive.

Still, you won't budge.

It's not them. It's something else, something unsettled in your stomach you can't explain. It's you. Always you. Distraught. Disorganized. Disappointing.

"I need to finish these." Simon's focus is one of a predator's, and you're always prey. Analyzing, anticipating, nose to the ground on a scent. He’s already got you pegged, turned inside out. He knows.

When Johnny carefully wraps his fingers around your wrist and Simon hops onto the counter with his knees spread wide, you know you're done for.

You let them arrange you. Let Johnny push you between Si's thighs and cup your face, stroke your cheek. You go willingly, lacking a fight that was so prevalent only an hour before.

It takes two minutes of physical touch before you're crumbling.

"I had a terrible day," you sob, "I got a parking ticket and spilled my tea and missed an important email and then I bailed out of my work out halfway because I was miserable and then I didn't do anything at home, I wasn't productive, I didn't get any of the laundry done like I wanted and I left so many dirty dishes in the sink last night, I-"

"Okay, hey." Johnny rubs your arm, "hey, ye're alright dove. Ye're okay." He knocks his forehead against yours. "Jus' breathe f'me. Just breathe." You suck a long gasp in through your lungs, Simon tightening his hold enough to ground you.

"Who cares about the laundry? It's not even your week, and the dishes are our fault. You worked all day, we laid around. Should have done them."

"I know!" You cry, "I mean... you should have. But I left them and I feel like I'm always so disorganized, I'm always making a fucking mess."

"I'd clean up your mess everyday. I love you, your dishes and whatever else… none of it matters." Simon kisses your temple, "we both would. And there's nothing wrong with calling it during a workout if you're not feeling well. That's the right thing to do." You nod miserably, lingering in their hold, their arms, your heart rate slowly sinking back into a normal rhythm, your air coming easily.

"Now, do ye really want these brownies? Or do ye want to put the batter in the fridge?"

"Batter in the fridge." You press your face into Simon's shoulder, blocking out the light. You're suddenly so tired, energy drained from the emotional purge, and Johnny rubs your back.

"I'll put it away, ye two go get in bed. Put on a movie, an' I'll be in."

The bed is the coziest place in the house. The safest. The warmest. It's so easy to succumb to sleep and sweet dreams here, so it's no wonder by the time Johnny makes it back, you're barely awake. He tugs you away from Simon's snores and into his arms. "Ah love ye, dove. Messes an' all." You smile.

"I love you too."

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"

[sincerelybubbles]

ok shy bau reader and the team finally managed to get her to come a rossi dinner party so she can meet the rest of the team families that she hasn’t met yet, maybe after her first date with hitch and the team realized quickly she softened very fast with the kids and jack and her just seemed to click really fast and jack had her talking more than any of the team has so far… hotch is star eyes

hotch x shy!bau!reader \\ Dinner and Delights

Warnings: brief mention/allusions to Christianity. Otherwise, fluff! More insight into what Aaron is thinking :) I got very carried away, I hope you enjoy <3

"Woah hot stuff, where are you going so fast?" Morgan intercepts you with an arm around your shoulder as you attempt to slip out of the BAU unnoticed. "Hopefully to get ready for our big dinner plans?"

It's not that you don't want to go to one of Rossi's famous dinner parties, you're just afraid that your sub-par social skills would be noticeable by tenfold in a more casual environment.

At work, you can hide your quietness by talking about the psychology of the unsub, your specialty as a licensed psychologist. You can pretend you're not hiding in your shell when the team is all laughing and talking about personal lives by quietly listening while pretending to read your maps and journals. You can observe them and spend time with them, because you do truly love them all at this point, without feeling bad that you prefer to listen over talk.

And that's really it - you prefer to listen to them. You would say you've all but warmed up to all of them. You like Morgan's teasing, Emily's stories, Reid's rambling, Rossi's sarcasm, and Hotch's...

Everything, but the thought snaps you back to the present before you can dwell on memories of a sweet date in a dark restaurant.

"Of course," you succeed, nodding and sending him a tight-lipped smile.

"Hey," he slows you down and stops in the hallway, turning you to face him gently before lifting his hands in a placating gesture as if you were an animal he expects to run. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with but I promise none of us are trying to lead our little lamb to slaughter. We know you're quiet," the admission embarrasses you and makes you feel guilty pleasant that he sounds so gentle about it, "and nobody minds, I think it's cute and I think the rest are just happy our other genius isn't as vocal as Reid."

Your nose scrunches at the small dig and you open your mouth to protest at putting Reid down to lift you up.

"And look at that! Another thing we all love - you're quiet but won't let anyone say anything about the other behind their back. You're a good person, we all just want to spend some less-intense time with you. So, go home and doll yourself up, and get ready to see Hotch wine tipsy. We all know that's your main motivator." Morgan winks at you and moves quickly down the hall and away from you, laughing, before you can protest.

He's not wrong, though, and you shake your head as you move toward the elevator.

You end up on Rossi's doorstep, choking the neck of a bottle of expensive wine between two sweaty palms. Your heart is in your throat, nerves humming in anticipation.

Your team cares about you. Nobody expects you to be anything you're not. Gentle affirmations meant to soothe over your skin in gently lapping waves erupt into steam; like water hitting lava rock. You're too tense, too worried about not saying enough or too much; saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing only once and never living up to the expectation of repeated occurrences.

"Hey," Emily says from behind you. You turn to see her jogging up to stand beside you, brushing off her pants and adjusting her jacket. "You brought wine!" She cheers happily, reaching past you to turn the nob and open the door.

She gestures you inside, making no comment about your obvious hesitance. With her by your side, your nerves are calmed. Aside from Aaron, she's the easiest for you to be around. You don't feel any expectations with Emily. She doesn't talk too much or too little, doesn't push, doesn't ever send a pitying look when you opt out of activities outside of work.

"Château Lafite," you say to her, lifting the wine and shaking it gently in the air as you walk inside.

"Oh! Fancy wine."

"Wine?" Rossi asks, rounding a corner. He's dressed slightly more casually in a soft sweater and jeans, drying his hands off with a pristine dish towel. "The more the merrier, bring it in here."

You follow his gesture back into the kitchen, leaving Emily to go to what you presume is the living or dining area.

"Where did you find this?" Rossi asks, taking the wine from you to examine it and letting out a low whistle as he appreciates it.

"Just my local winery," you say, neglecting to admit that you go there often enough that the owner leaves the nicer stuff behind the counter for you.

Lonely nights crave wine, twisting them into lovely things you can appreciate. You enjoy your own company after years of quietly observing others. You've learned how to observe yourself, too, after all of these years.

And, even though you don't quite realize it, the self-awareness carries like confidence. That's what Aaron sees in you: observant eyes darting across a room and noticing everything, understanding flickering before anyone else catches a cue, deft movements across the paper while taking notes, and swift motions always with a purpose.

It's what he sees now, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans while he leans in the doorway of Rossi's kitchen, watching you. How could he not? You're a lovely creature, always begging for his eyes to settle on you for another second, and then another.

He knows the moment you realize he's in the room, minutes before Rossi. You stand straighter, tilt your chin lower, and are aware far before you tilt your head to the side to send him a soft smile. He returns it before Rossi can catch him. It's a warmth he wants to reserve for you.

"Dave," he interrupts the other man's monologuing about the wine he's sure you already know all about, "Jack would like to know if he and Spencer can use your chess set when he gets here?"

"Of course, I'll get it from my study." Rossi leaves, passing you the wine and gesturing to the opener.

Aaron steps in before you can start the process of opening the wine. He doesn't quite know why, but he wants to do it for you. He finds himself wanting that more and more recently: to do simple tasks for the sole purpose of you not having to do them. Opening doors and pulling out chairs are simple gestures that he did with Hayley, but he wants to do sillier, smaller, things, too. Straighten the pens on your desk back into their cup, reorganize the files on your desktop, untangle the wires of the headphones he really should reprimand you for using at your desk, open a damn bottle of wine he can't pronounce the name of but that he heard you say so gently to Emily as you walked in.

"Jack's here?" You ask, handing him the wine and crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter to watch him work.

He relishes how your eyes focus on his arms, pupils dilating, as his muscles work under his thin henley.

"Yes, I have him this weekend and he likes to spend time with Reid and Garcia."

He has to step closer to reach above you to get the wine glasses. He could ask you to step aside, tuck his hand against your waist to move you himself, or simply walk into the next room to grab the glasses sitting on the table. But, instead, he tucks one foot in between yours, puts one hand on the back of your head to guard it from the cabinet, and opens it to find the nicer crystal there.

Your breath hitches across his neck and he remembers the chaste kisses he's given you before. Nothing serious, nothing has been yet because he's waiting for you to lead him into that, but tantalizing nonetheless. He steps back to pour the wine, standing closer to you than he started.

A little for you, passed gently, and then a little for him. Dave could pour his own glass.

You take the wine and sip it slowly, tongue darting out to taste before you sip. He's reminded of communion as a child. The blood of christ, sacred, something to be tasted but not meant to satiate. Reverence in a sip, devotion in a small act.

He wants to give you the same thing. The desire hits him in the sternum, suddenly, leaving him winded as he watches you lower the glass. Your eyes are locked on his, you haven't seemed as hesitant about holding his gaze recently - something that makes him melt - and he wonders if you can feel how he wants to take care of you. How he wants to show you the same force that water uses to carve canyons. Persistence and pressure, time and care. He's willing to take his time, he's filled with the same patience as everything all together in nature. He's a rabbit perched on its hind legs, sniffing the wind for safety before darting forward; the bird hung in flight between beats of wings, the whisper of wind carrying small seeds miles away to wait and watch the growth. Wait, wait, wait, however long it takes, he's there. For you.

It's a strong feeling to fully realize in David Rossi's kitchen, but he's grateful for it, anyway.

"It's good," you comment softly, eyes smiling.

"Is it?" He asks, setting his glass down and retaking his spot nearer to you. He misses your warmth. "Can I?" He asks, brushing his fingers across your jugular before cupping your cheek.

"Taste the wine?" You tease, eyes flickering to his glass. The gentle jest pulls a chuckle from his chest. Another thing you've become more comfortable doing around him. His blood and bones sing at how familiar you can be with him.

"Yes," he says in a breath, dipping his head down to brush his lips against yours.

And you're reciprocating - you've always reciprocated, enthusiastically, just never in the pressing way you are now. You set down your own glass to hold his arms in both of your hands. Fingers dig into his arm as you sigh and open your mouth, new lands to explore, tilting your head back to grant him full access.

"Daddy?" Jack asks and Aaron pulls away, a man parched and staring at an oasis in the middle of a desert, before Jack can round the corner. He doesn't go far, though, hand traveling down to the small of your back as he turns.

"Jack?" Aaron replies, waiting for him to come around the corner.

"Hello," Jack says, stopping in the doorway and looking up at you with wide eyes.

You've met him a few times before, always in passing, but you still smile warmly and wave at him.

"Hi, Jack."

"Do you know how to play chess?" Jacks asks. Aaron smiles at the eagerness on his son's face.

"Yes, I do. Would you like to play?"

"Yes please!" Jack jumps forward to grab your hand, pulling you into the living room before you can react.

You go easily, though, following him with a gentle laugh that warms the coldest parts of him. Pieces of him he doesn't think have seen the light in years brighten at the sound. He's heard you laugh before but something about the sight of you laughing because of Jack illuminates needs that he didn't even know he had. Needs you're meeting before he can feel the yawning desire of them.

He follows, unable to resist the desire to see you two interact over and over again. You're setting up the board, listening to Jack chatter on, nodding intently.

[rafescherie]

Please write something where rafe catches reader going thru his phone or the other way around!!!

✮⋆˙ curiosity gets the best of you, and you snoop through his phone.

warnings — none, really! contains nudges towards cheating briefly.

cherie's note — thank u for the request! hope this was along the lines of what you had in mind cutie. ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

you don't mean to do it.

you know better. this isn't something you should be doing, not here, not now. not when things were going so good between you and rafe, the first time in weeks things were finally settling for the both of you.

you tell yourself you don't, at least, not really. it's not premeditated. you don't go looking for trouble. but when his phone buzzes next to you, lighting up the sheets with that cool blue glow, somethings coils tight deep within your chest.

your fingers burn. your hands itch, daring you to just turn the screen over, face the screen your way, so you can get a little peek at the notification. but it's gone before you know it, the screen timing out, and you mentally curse yourself out for not taking the opportunity when it had arised. he couldn't get upset with you for simply looking at his lock screen, right? everyone was guilty of that.

rafe's in the kitchen, downstairs, long enough to grab something — but not long enough for you to justify what you were about to do.

your hand moves before your brain can catch up, convincing yourself 'no, this is a bad idea' and to just brush the urge off. just a glance, you tell yourself, there was nothing wrong with that. it's probably nothing. maybe it was kelce. maybe it was topper sending some stupid meme again. you've seen it happen a hundred times.

but this time, it's not kelce. and it's not topper, either.

it's a name you don't recognize.

thalia : you coming tonight?

your blood runs cold, breath catching in your throat as you reread the message, clinging to the hope that maybe — maybe — your mind is just playing tricks on you. surely, if you were insecure enough to go through his phone, you were capable of imagining something too. faking a message twisting words, seeing what you feared instead of what was real. but the screen doesn't change. the message doesn't fade. it's still there — clear, deliberate, burned into the glass — and suddenly, there's no denying it: it's real.

it's not overly flirty. it's not some half-naked selfie. but it's late. it's direct. it's personal. and it's from someone you had never heard rafe mention before.

your fingers are already swiping before you can stop. the guilt hits immediately — like you've just knocked something delicate, expensive, off a high shelf, and now you're waiting to hear the crash.

more messages. quick, casual. nothing obviously romantic, but familiar. too familiar. you read them twice, your breath shallow.

and that's when you hear the creak of the stairs.

you look up — slow, and there he is. rafe. framed in the doorway, still chewing something. the half-finished water bottle in his hand crumples just slightly.

his eyes land on the phone. on you.

he stops mid-step. your stomach twists.

"are you serious right now?"

time slows. it's almost like the world zeroes in on him — on this moment. everything in you locks up — like your heart, your stomach, you voice have all turned to concrete.

"rafe—"

he doesn't raise his voice. he doesn't need to.

and maybe, that was the scariest part.

there's something cold in his tone, something worse than anger. disbelief.

"i just saw the notification," you say quickly, voice too high, too shaky. "i didn't know who it was—"

"so you went through my phone?" his mouth curves, but there's no humor in it. "just like that?"

you try to explain, but it all sounds pathetic even as it leaves your mouth, stuttering over your own words, "i thought maybe—"

"you thought, what?" his tone cuts through yours like a blade. "you know what i hate more than being accused of something i didn't do? being doubted by someone who's supposed to trust me."

the tears that well in your eyes sting, bottom lip quivering at his tone. "i do trust you! but i got curious, and it got the best of me—"

he laughs, cold. he's already walking toward you, running a hand through his hair like he can't believe what he's seeing. his fingers grab his phone, snatching the device out from your grasp, eyes darting over the screen.

"she's some girl topper's been talking to," he turns the screen toward you, thumb flying over the messages. and there it is. some dumb selfie, totally innocent. topper in the background, eyes forced shut as he sleeps. a caption: sleepy head fell asleep, time to party plan.

sitting up from your position laying on your stomach, the guilt swarming now, burning hotter than embarrassment, "i'm sorry."

"yeah," he replies, short and cold. he shoves the phone into the pocket of his khakis, throwing the water bottle in his hands onto the blankets of his bed. "she needed help planning topper's surprise party, that's it."

you nod, but it's slow, unsure. the guilt sits heavy in your chest, pressing into your ribs like it wants to stay — bury itself inside of you. "i just... i didn't know," you murmur.

"no, you didn't," rafe says, his tone flat. he doesn't look at you — just runs a hand through his hair, jaw tense, pacing once like he can't decide whether to stay or walk out the door, alone. "but instead of asking, you assumed the worst. again."

you flinch, "i said i'm sorry."

"i heard you." he turns to you now, eyes sharp and unreadable. "doesn't mean it fixes anything."

you don't say anything. not because nothing swirls in your brain — too much does — but because you can't. your throat feels dry, tears threatening at your eyes. what could you say that wouldn't make it worse?

what a stupid fucking choice. you should have ignored the notification, the minute it had popped up on the screen.

"come on," he gestures, grabbing his keys off of the dresser, "should head over there, told them we'd be there by now."

reluctantly, he sticks his hand out for you to take, a sign of truce. your smaller hand wraps in his, mouth practically glued shut as he dragged you out to his truck. your actions weren't going to be so easily forgotten.

this was going to be a long night.

[orimuraa]

── ⋆⋅ ❀ Give me your heart and I'll give you mine - OT7 𝜗𝜚 do you think you could love me - yung kai

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆enhypen falling in love with a fan ⨾

۶ৎ idol!enhypen x fem engene!reader┆fluff┆delulu is the solulu, kissing, petnames, secret relationships┆wc 757

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: SIGHHH when will nishimura riki notice me T^T

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

"hee..we shouldn't be doing this..i can get you in so much trouble if we're caught," you mumble hesitantly, pulling back slightly from heeseung's embrace. "angel, you're worth ruining my career for. i would go to the moon and back just to show you i'm with you till the end," heeseung sighs against your lips. "let them find out about us. let them say their words. none of that can tear me away from you. nothing." he says, sealing his words with a kiss to your lips and at that moment you think, maybe it'll be okay.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종성

you weren't exactly sure what it was that drew park jongseong to you. maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled when you talked to him, not even the slightest bit nervous to be meeting your ultimate bias. or maybe, it was the way just didn't throw yourself immediately at him and instead, you asked how he was and what he had been up to lately. either way, it was enough to influence the scene that was unfolding now. he was placing delicate kisses onto your lips, celebrating your 1 year anniversary and that's the way things were, no room for complaints.

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

sim jaeyun had a problem. and that problem, was you. you were just too goddamn pretty and something so alluring about you drew him in further. he was so sure of getting in trouble with his management but if it meant that he could have you in his arms, it would be worth it all. you were just an engene, one of millions, yet he just couldn't take his eyes off of you. he knew right away that he needed to get to you somehow and if that meant putting his career in danger, he would do it just so he could maybe meet the love of his life.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

"hoon, are you sure that this is a good idea? if word gets out that you're seeing me, an ordinary engene, your whole life as an idol is practically thrown out the window," you sigh, shifting to look at sunghoon. you were both lying down and he had his arms around you protectively. "darling, i don't care what they have to say about me. the only thing that matters to me is that i can come home to you and lay in your arms, just like this." sunghoon answers. and it's the truth. sunghoon would go as far as ruining his dream career just to be able to have you by his side, because at the end of the day, you're the thing he loves most.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

sunoo always thought his job as an idol would restrict his ability to find the love of his life. but clearly, that was wrong, and you were proof. sunoo saw you in the crowd of people in front of the stage and you looked so bright and happy. the warm smile you had on your face as you stared at him made his heart flutter in the slightest bit, making sunoo believe, once again, in love at first sight. the moment your eyes locked with his, you could tell that there was something more than just eye contact. there was something more...something exciting and new...and maybe something sunoo was willing to risk it all for.

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

"won, what if i get you in trouble? you're the leader and it gives you more pressure to abide to the rules! i don't want you to put your career at risk just for me," you say, your lips turning into a small frown just thinking about all the hate that jungwon would receive if your relationship was ever exposed. "let them do what they can, because in the end, they can't ever take me away from you. you're my muse, my motivation, my happiness and if they take that away? that's just their loss." he replies, kissing you on the cheek. "don't stress about it, we have nothing to worry about."

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

you were just an engene. a typical engene with much admiration for the seven members of enhypen. but you were also an engene that snuck her way into the very own heart of enhypen's maknae. ni-ki cherished you and from the way he held you, deep down, he was scared to lose you. you were his motivation and the sole reason he kept pushing himself. he cherish the late nights he would come home and be able to kiss you and cuddle you. and there was no way he could live without you. you were his everything.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication

[writteninkat]

HEADCANON: MHA MEN SPOILING YOU

w/ Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki, Hawks, Endeavor

warnings: none just mha men being rich<3

navigation

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

"Hey, where are you?" You hear you husband's rough voice spill through the speakers of your phone, your eyelids shaking at the eyelash extensions being pressed down and glued on your water line.

"Getting my lashes done."

"Anything else planned?" He asks, making you purse your lips in thought.

"My whole day's packed, actually. I already went to my facial appointment. I'm getting my nails and hair done after this. Maybe a little shopping if I have the energy. Oh! I'll probably get a massage too!" You rant, smiling as you imagine the perfect selfcare day.

"Alright. You think you'll have enough energy for dinner after all that?" You giggle and hum, "Uhuh! I always have energy for you baby."

"That's good to hear. Have fun today baby, I love you."

"I love you more."

You hear three beeps and you hear your lashtech giggle.

"Hero Dynamight is portrayed as this scary, rough guy in the media, but he's actually very sweet." She swoons, making your chest swell with pride.

"He is, actually. One time-"

You're cut off by your phone buzzing, followed by your lashtech gasping. Unable to open your eyes, you stretch your arms out. "What? What happened?!"

"Hero Dynamight he..." She gasps.

"He what?!" You yell, your chest caving in as every horrible thought crosses your mind.

Did he get injured during a fight?

How badly is he injured?

Is he...?

"Dammit, Ari! Tell me what's happening!" You demand, about to sit up from the bed.

"He just sent you two million yen..." She breathes out, making you release a sigh.

"Fucking Christ. I thought something happened." You whisper, relaxing back onto the bed. "Did he say why?"

"'Refunding you for you facial appointment. The rest are for your other plans. Call if you need more. I love you baby.'" She read aloud, causing a smile to stretch across your face.

"He's the sweetest." You swoon.

EIJIROU KIRISHIMA

You look around the villa, eyes sparkling and head over the moon at how beautiful it is. The Spanish colonial architecture is beautiful, the ceilings high, the wood floors shiny and waxed, and the arched windows big enough for you to show a tree from the tops of its leaves down to its roots burrowed down the soil.

"It's so pretty, baby!" You giggle, twirling around the foyer of the villa you'll be spending your two weeks in.

Finally, Eijirou was able to grab a two-week break from hero work. The two of you have been busting your asses off, protecting cities and taking down villains.

This time, you made sure your schedules synced when it came to time to making time for each other.

"You like it?" He asks, hugging you from behind.

You turn your head to the side, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I love it, baby. This'll be the best vacation ever. Just the two of us. Happy and in love." You smile, giggling at his cheeks slowly turning into a crimson colour.

And just as you said, your two-week vacation was a bliss. The both of you drank and ate, made love, swam in the private pool, in the private beach, cuddled during movies, played video games, board games, explored the small town near the villa- everything was perfect.

As you sit on your spot in the hero's private plane, a white folder on the table catches your eye. With curiousity tickling your fingers, you open it, your gaze immediately falling to your husband's familiar signature. Your brows knit as you bring your eyes back up to the top of the document, reading it.

This letter of Intention to Offer is made and effectively by...

Property Address...

Purchaser Address...

Purchaser Contact...

Dear Mr. Kirishima Eijirou...

Please accept this bid purchase to...

For the amount of...

"Eight million euros?!" You scream, clutching on the document.

Eijirou rushes out of the private bedroom inside the jet, his eyes wide with worry as he inspects you. "What's wrong?!" He worries.

"Why the hell did you buy the villa?!" You scream, now your eyes are wide with worry.

"You said you loved it." He shrugs.

Your head pulses with the need to close your eyes. You can feel your blood pressure rising at this stupid, idiotic, irresponsible...sweet, lovely, man.

"Where the hell are you getting eight million euros?" You sigh, finally looking up at the man who foolishly spoils you rotten.

"The same place I was getting eighty million yen for the yacht you wanted..." He looks at you like you're stupid.

"Why the hell did you buy a yacht on top of a villa, Eijirou?"

"You said you wanted the boat!" He exclaims, forcing you to rack your brain for the memory of when you said that.

"I said it was pretty! Not that I wanted it!" You exclaim, your face scrunching up in stress. "Where on earth are you getting your money!"

The red head simply smiles, engulfing you with his strong arms in a warm, tight embrace. "I'm one of the top heros in the world, baby. And I've been in this game for decades now. It's safe to say I've got more money than we both can possibly need." He reasons, his lips pressing against the top of your head.

"Plus, property investments are good!" You roll your eyes at the stupidly sweet man you call your husband, your heart searing as your gaze catches onto another document with the words 'Land Ownership' and your name printed not far from it.

SHOTO TODOROKI

An evil grin stretches across your face as you point at every pretty thing your eyes fall on. You don't break your stride as you enter and exit shops in under a minute.

"That." You point at an adorable bag inside a shelf. "That, too." You point at the one beside it.

"These shoes in my size. These too. Ooo! And these as well." You hand the shoes over to your assistant, letting her pass them over to the store clerk.

You exit the shop, leaving one body guard behind as you enter the store beside it. This one's a gadget store.

"You think it's time to upgrade my devices?" You ask, playing with the showcased device on the table. You turn to your side, eyeing your husband's assistant, seeing tears comically strem down his cheeks.

"Please, madam! You've spent so much already!" He cries, "What on earth did Mr. Todoroki's money ever do to you?"

"It's not his money, it's him in general. He hasn't been spending time with me as of late. I'm getting bored." You pout, nodding at a store clerk before point at different gadgets, one of each kind.

"All those, if you have them in pink, but if not, I'll get them in black. The biggest memory you have, please. Along with accesories. Pink." You order before leaving the store once more, entering another booth selling watches in insane prices.

"Madam, Mr. Todoroki is a pro hero-"

"And I'm not?" You glare at the employee. "I work as much hours as he does. I'm just as demanded, I'm just as busy, and I'm just as tired as he is. And yet, I can always make time for him back at home."

You know you're being a bit too unreasonable. But you've grown bored and lonely. And you'd rather die than take another lover. So Shoto's bank account it is.

"He'd have a heart attack if he saw all the withdrawals." The assistant worries as you ponder over two watches displayed in front of you.

"If my husband suffers from cardiac problems due to my spending, then he shouldn't have taken being a pro hero as a job." You point at the silver and blue Patek Philippe. "This one please." You tell the sales woman who smiles at you as she nods softly.

You check your own watch to see you've been at it for hours now. Almost time for dinner.

Maybe I should pay my busy husband a visit.

You roll your eyes.

You stretch your arms up above you, letting out a yawn as your muscles finally relax.

Your last stop is a five star restaurant right beside the mall.

Shoto scribbles on a few papers, hating how he's been leaving his wife alone for multiple nights. Knowing her, she'll have his ass if this goes on for too long.

He sighs, stretching his up above him, feeling his back crack. His head pulses and the need to see his wife waves over him in strong currents.

Right as he's about to resume his paper work, his phone buzzes in a call, his financial advisor's name flashing the screen.

Shoto answers the call with one hand, the other elegantly scribbling on the paper. "What is it?"

"Sir, I think your card's been stolen. There have been numerous deductions, all huge amounts." Shoto furrows his brows, taking his wallet out from his pocket. Sure enough, his black Master is missing.

A tickling feeling grows in his gut. "From which shops?"

He hears a few clicks from the other line, "These are all luxury brands. Miu Miu? Coach? LV, Prada, Bottega Veneta, Chanel, Dior, Philippe Patek- The thief may be a woman, sir."

"You're right. A woman. My woman." Shoto sighs, chuckling softly. "How much did my wife spend?"

"A little over two hundred million yen." Shoto can hear the wince in his advisor's tone, making him grin.

Sure, his wife's a kickass pro hero, and she makes just as much money as he does. But nothing compares to her spending ability with the cute little side talent of not touching her own bank account.

Just as he's about to give out an order, said wife enters his office without knocking, a familiar paper bag in her hands.

"Brought you dinner from that favorite restaurant of yours." She lifts the bag, striding over to him.

"She seems to have been having a little tantrum because I haven't been giving her the attention she deserves." He smirks at her, "Run it through."

"You talk shit about me to your employees?" The love of his life pouts as he chuckles deeply, standing from his seat. He places his hands on his wife's hips, softly pulling her towards him, giving her lips a gentle peck.

"Never. I was just explaining to them why I lost millions of yen in a day." His joke earns him a playful glare from his wife.

KEIGO TAKAMI

You complained to Keigo once. Once. That you were tired.

It was six am that morning when you woke up like you hadn't slept at all. You didn't have muscle sores or a headache nor were you sick. You were simply tired.

By nine am, the pro hero had written you a sick leave, carried you onto his private jet, and the both of you were now flying over beautiful blue waters.

"Keigo-" He cuts you off by shushing you, lifting a finger up in the air. He pulls you towards the private room located at the back of the jet where a massage table has been set up, along with ambient spa music and a masseus in the corner with her hands clasped together and her head bowed down. The room smelled of peppermint and lavender.

"We'll land in twelve hours. You can request anything else after the massage." You don't get a chance to respond because he leaves the room, closing the door gently.

You and the masseus look at each other before she lets out an amused chuckle. "He seems to spoil you so."

You sigh, "He overdoes it, but I know he means well."

Eleven hours later, you've gotten a mani pedi, a simple and refreshing facial, your muscles are relaxed, you've eaten two square meals, and had the longest nap of your life.

Now you're seated in front of your husband, sipping your champagne in your soft, fluffy robe as he reads his magazine.

"Keigo, will you finally tell me where you're taking me?" You sigh, watching him look at you through his golden eye lashes. He smirks, setting his magazine down as he pulls the window cover up.

You squint at the sudden brightness but your eyes quickly adjust. You blink a few times, moving towards the window, taking a peek.

"You took me to Greece?!" You exclaim, seeing the familiar white walls and blue roofs.

"My baby said she was tired." He mused, "And we can't have that."

You open your mouth in protest, but a sound cuts before you. "Mr. and Mrs. Takami, we'll be landing shortly. Please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts, thank you."

You glare at your husband one last time before buckling up, letting out an annoyed huff as you keep your eyes on the window.

"Jesus..." You breath out, craning your head up to look at the domed ceiling. Your gaze drags down, moving from side to side as you inspect the large arched windows and marbled floors.

Keigo weaps his arms from behind you, breathing in your scent. "You know you didn't have to fly me anywhere. That spa day was exactly what I needed. I could've gotten it back in Japan."

"Yeah," Keigo squints, softly pushing you towards the glass double doors leading to the balcony. "But you wouldn't have been able to enjoy this view afterwards."

The scene of the vast blue ocean with the sun slowly dipping down is breath taking. Accompanied by the soft glow of yellowish lights, the chirping of a few birds here and there, and the smell of the ocean has you claiming this place to be paradise.

"I love it..." I mumbled, captivated by the beauty of the sunset.

"More than me?"

You turn your head to the side, pressing your lips softly on your husband's cheek. "No, never more than you, my love."

Keigo smiles, pressing a soft peck on your lips before slowly letting his arms fall, his hand delicately holding your hand.

"Come with me." He tugs you back inside, leading you up the grand marble staircase and inside what looks like the master bedroom.

"Close your eyes." He whispers in your ear and you immediately follow his order. Slowly leading you somewhere, you hear a soft click of a door. "Open."

You blink once, twice, before your jaw drops to the floor. You're right outside a huge walk in closet, and inside is one of the biggest boquet of elden roses formed into a heart. Surrounding it are paper bags with different kinds of designer brands printed on them. Behind the boquet is a round marble table with different boxes of leather, some kept closed and some open, revealing shiny watches and jewelry, ranging from silver, gold, and white gold.

"Keigo..." You breathe out, taking a careful step inside before turning around to face your husband. Your eyes feel like they're about to bulge out of their sockets and your haw about to fall off.

"Not now." You shakes his head, quickly stopping you as if he knows what you're about to do. "Pick an outfit and we'll leave in an hour." He presses a light kiss on your forehead before leaving you alone with your gifts.

Feeling as though you've been spoiled rotten, you take your time going through your numerous gifts, deciding to wear every dress you come across, but quickly change your mind when you find another one.

Your husband may be a pro hero, but his true talent is picking out beautiful dresses for you.

You decide on a wine red silk dress, revealing your back, pairing it with strappy silver heels, a diamond encrusted choker, and diamond earings that hang right below your chin. You make up is a simple smokey eye with a bold dark red lip. Your hair curled and pinned up into a bun, the front swept to the side.

You step out of the room and onto the top of the staircase, looking down to see Keigo already in a suit and waiting. He looks up, eyes sparkling when they settle on you. Your heart bursts of affection- he always does this. Whether you dress to the highs or like a beggar, he looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on.

Feeling your cheeks flush, you slowly climb down the steps, your husband meeting you at the bottom. He drinks you up slowly, his chest rising before shakily lowering back.

"Beautiful..." He whispers, soft fingers caressing your cheek.

"Thank you." You kiss his open palm, leaving a lipstick stain. "What are we having for dinner?"

Keigo's eyes are stuck on you lipstick stain and you watch his throat swallow. "May I have you instead?" He asks, his eyes filled with heat, making you chuckle.

"No, you may not, because I'm hungry for some real food." You cup his cheek for a moment before stepping to the side, making your way to the waiting car in the driveway.

He takes you to a restaurant that serves an array of european dishes. Not long after, you have a food baby and are tipsy on what you claim to be the best wine you've ever drank.

By the time you finish, you decide to take a little walk around the small town. His suit jacket hangs on your shoulders with your clasped together.

You try to hold it in, but the searing pain from your feet makes you hiss and wobble. Keigo immediately catches you, "What's wrong?"

You sigh, looking up at him with a pout. "My feet hurt. Heels are too high."

Keigo smirks before getting down on one knee.

"We're already married." Your reminder earns you a hearty laugh from him.

"I'm trying to undo your shoes, dummy."

"Oh."

He swiftly undoes the clasps of your heels, taking the pair. Before you take another step forward, he scoops you in his arms, your immediately wrapping themselves around his neck.

"Keigo?"

"Hold on tight, love." He whispers.

You get a second to process what he means by that before his wings stretch out, pushing the both of you off the ground.

"Keigo!" You scream, tightly clutching onto him as he laughs loudly.

"Shouldn't you be used to this by now?" He yells through the air.

"I'm full and I'm drunk! You're gonna make me throw up!" You yell.

He simply laughs, his arms holding you possessively onto his chest. "Not yet, my love."

You look up at him questioningly before finding the courage to look down, enraptured by the beauty of the city below you. Before you know it, you catch a glimpse of the shoreline before dark blue waters meet your gaze.

"If you drown me, you'll be the worst husband ever." You frown, receiving a snicker from Keigo.

"Don't worry, love. We're almost there." At his words, you look infront of you, noting how the angry waters eventually grow calm until finally, they're as still as mirrors. Scratch that, they're exactly like mirrors.

The stars twinkle and shine brightly above you, as well as below you. It's as if you're in outer space. The sight around you is exquisit, bewitching, alluring, captivating—it's divine. You see millions upon million of stars all around you. Tears fill the corners of your eyes at the tantalizing scene.

Keigo looks at you and you feel him slowly lower you, right above the water. "Lower your feet for me." His request has you immediately dropping your feet.

He hovers the both of you just above the water, only your tippy toes grazes the top of the water, creating a circular ripple effect, making the stars in its reflection dance.

"Beautiful..." You gasp, charmed by the sight.

"Not as much as you." Keigo mutters, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"Love?" You call out.

He hums in response, the silence relaxing.

"How much did you spend just today?"

You feel your husband freeze at your question. It's incredible how Keigo's spending problem only occurs when you're involved.

"You want me to sugarcoat it or-"

"Give it to me straight."

"A little over a hundred yen..."

You look up at him, unamused. "Keep lying."

"A hundred... Thousand?" He offers, averting his gaze.

"You take me for an idiot?"

Keigo sighs, burying his nose on the top of your head. "Million."

You huff out an irritated breath before melting back onto your husband. He's lavish when it comes to you, but it's one of the few ways he likes to show you off.

ENJI TODOROKI

Your heart pitter-patters on your chest as you squeeze your gold clutch tightly. You're nervous- and it's justifiable. You've had the fattest crush on your boss ever since you were hired as his secretary, and when he was invited to an auction with the choice to invite a plus one, he chose you. Warranted, you are his secretary, so he may need some assistance.

Stop being delusional. This is your job. Be professional.

But your flaming cheeks aren't listening to your brain. Your dress feels too tight, and your skin feels like it's been lit on fire but the cold breeze of the night cools it down.

I'm gonna end up sick.

Just as you're calming yourself down, you see a black sedan stop right in front of your lawn. You quickly make your way towards the car, opening the door only to be greeted by a strong scent of expensive perfume with a hint of musk. Your eyes immediately fall onto the one man you can't have.

He's tapping away at his phone and you can't stop the wave of disappointment engulfing you. You wanted to see his reaction to the dress you picked out.

Stop it, he has a family for Christ's sake!

You silently hop on. As soon as you close your door, the car speeds off.

"This auction is also a masquerade." He mentions, pushing a black eye mask towards you. Despite being black, it sparkles under low light.

Black glitters.

Did he find out the kind of dress you were gonna wear? The masks suits it perfectly.

As you inspect the mask, you steal a glance at him to see he's still on his phone. Rejection clenches at the stupid muscle in your chest, but you try your hardest to ignore it. You put on your mask, softly tying the black ribbon at the back of your head to keep it on.

A few minutes of silent torture passes by until bright lights finally engulf the car. "We're here, sir." The driver announces.

Endeavor taps away at his phone for a few more moments before pocketing it, letting out a tired sigh. Both passenger doors are opened and a young man in a simple black and white suit offers you his hand. As soon as you're about to take it, a bigger, much rougher hand pushes it away.

"I'll help my date down myself. Thanks." Endeavor's voice is rough and deep, but that isn't what makes you gawk at him.

"Date?" You repeat his word, making him look at you. The blue eyes under his red mask brighten when his gaze finally drops on you.

He looks at you from your mask down to your toes, and back up. He does so slowly, that even after you've placed your hand on his, he doesn't budge. Doesn't make a peep. The only thing moving is his eyes drinking you in slowly. And the movement of his throat as he swallows.

Welcome to another episode of: I'm not delusional! I swear my boss thinks I'm hot aswell!

Finally, Endeavor clears his throat. He steps to the side, allowing you to hop off the car. The cameras' flashes increase when the paparazzi notice that Pro Hero Endeavor has brought a date.

"Endeavor! Who's your date??"

"Is she someone special?"

"Is your date being paid?"

The both of you walk through the red carpet as questions are being yelled at.

"Your family back home will see you've brought a date! How do you think they'll feel?"

Your head snaps at the direction of the voice, your eyes scanning the crowd for a moment before they finally settle on a bald guy. You slip your hand from Endeavor's, striding towards the nosy fuck before quickly grabbing the lense of his camera. Your crush it in one easy squeeze, silence falling among everybody else.

"You're here to take pictures. You already know you aren't getting answers from us, so why set yourselves up for failure?" You glare across the crowd of people, making sure your words aren't directed towards baldy alone. "Snap your pictures, send them to your employers, and shut the fuck up."

Your eyes return to baldy once more, noting the sheer sweat forming all over his head. "Send the bill over to Endeavor's secretary, she'll take care of it." You tell him before flicking the bits of camera you have on your hand.

Returning to Endeavor, you hook your arm on his, and continue walking, waving and smiling for the cameras as if you aren't anxious about what you just did.

Did I do good?

Is he upset I did that?

He hasn't said anything.

Fuck, I won't have a job tomorrow. Great job, self! You've just lost an incredibly high-paying job that allows you to be close with the love of your life.

The big double doors open, revealing a dimly lit opera house. A lot of people are already inside, all of them in full glamour.

"You didn't have to do that." Endeavor finally speaks up, making you swallow nervously.

"Yeah well, I didn't like how he asked that question. As if you're doing something wrong..." Your voice is soft and unsure as you keep your gaze on the carpeted floor. You've settled on allowing your boss to lead you towards your seats.

"Don't you think what I'm doing is wrong?"

His wuestion has you snapping your neck at him, your eyes wide with worry. Does he think that?

"You're divorced, aren't you? And- and they don't know who I am. I don't think this is bad publicity at all." You defend, watching as he side eyes you.

"Anything with me is bad publicity." He mumbles, warm irritation bubbling in your chest as you clench your fist closed.

"Stop that." You demand, finally arriving at your seats.

"Stop what?" His questions goes unanswered for a few moments as you take in the private booth at the top floor. It's only the two of you here, with a button in the middle. Probably for when the client wants to bid.

"Stop putting yourself down. Yes, you've made mistakes. Big ones. Huge ones. But it isn't late for you to change and make up for it all." You look up at him with wide, genuine eyes. "You already admitted your mistakes. All that's left now is to try your damnest to make up for it, to make it up to all the people you've wronged. But you gotta do it with a genuine heart and pure intentions."

Endeavor looks at you with wide eyes, his blue orbs like the color of the sea during the peak of summer. You hold his gaze for a second,

two seconds

three-

The lights dim, grabbing you attention to the stage below.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."

The first few items were boring, so you don't blame Endeavor for not making a bid. A few paintings and tables presented here and there, maybe a couple properties. You feel your eyelids growing heavy until a necklace is presented under the spotlight.

The blue saphire stones completely surround the neckline, and a big red ruby stands out dead center. It looks heavy and too extravagant to wear anywhere you'd go. But it reminds you of your big, quiet boss.

"It's beautiful." You gasp, unable to look away from the piece.

"Up next, we have an exquisite piece that will undoubtedly ignite a bidding war: a mesmerizing blue sapphire rose, intricately crafted with petals that glisten like the ocean depths. At the heart of this stunning bloom rests a fiery red ruby pendant, its vibrant hue creating a captivating contrast. This one-of-a-kind piece combines the tranquility of sapphire with the passionate allure of ruby, set in the finest platinum. A true masterpiece of luxury and elegance, perfect for any discerning collector." The host's voice echoes throught the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, who will start the bidding for this unparalleled gem at eight million yen?" Immediately, you hear buttons being pressed, with the host yelling out numerous numbers.

"Eight million yen to bidder number twenty-seven!"

"Ten million yen to bidder number forty!"

"Eleven million yen to bidder number thirty-five!"

The price goes higher and higher, making you dizzy. You snap out of your lightheaded state when you see your boss press his button.

"Fifty million yen." He mutters to the microphone, making your heart drop.

Who's he giving that to?

Is there a woman in his life I don't know about?

Maybe it's an apology gift to his wife.

No, he wouldn't be that cheap about it.

"Fifty million yen to bidder number fourteen! Does anybody wish to go higher?" The room is dead silent. "Fifty million going once," Still, nobody makes a peep. "Fifty million going twice." Nada. "Sold! To bidder number fourteen at fifty million yen!"

"I can't believe you just did that." You breathe out, in the brink of a panic at the thought of losing fifty mil in a night.

Endeavor keeps his eyes up front, making you mirror his actions. You feel squirmish in your seat.

The next few items are as boring as the first ones, until your eyes catch a red fur coat on a mannequin. It's as red as Endeavor's hair, and it looks softer than the softest fur in the world.

"Prepare yourselves, esteemed bidders, for a truly unparalleled offering: a one-of-a-kind crimson fur coat. This extraordinary garment exudes opulence and sophistication, crafted from the finest fur of the Crimson Frost Lynx, a legendary creature said to roam the forests of the North." Your brows furrow at the statement.

Aren't those Lynxes extinct?

"Its rich, deep crimson hue is unlike anything you’ve seen, making a bold and timeless statement. Lined with luxurious silk, this coat is not just a piece of clothing but a work of art. Perfect for the most discerning fashion aficionado, it promises to turn heads and capture hearts. Let's open the bidding for this exclusive masterpiece at twelve million yen. Who will claim this ultimate symbol of luxury?" As the announcer ends, only a few buttons are pressed this time.

"Twelve million yen to bidder number thirty-eight! Does anybody wish to go higher?"

"Fifteen million yen to bidder number twenty!"

Once again, Endeavor presses his button, mumbling "Twenty million."

"Twenty million yen to bidder number fourteen!" As the house quiets, the announcer scans the crowd. "Twenty million yen going once' Twenty million yen going twice!"

A soft buzz sounds, your head snapping to its direction. It came from the booth right beside you.

"Twenty five million yen to bidder number fifteen!"

Endeavor presses his button once more, mumbling a headache-inducing "Thirty million."

"Thirty million yen to bidder number fourteen! Thirty million going once! Thirty million going twice! Sold! To bidder number fourteen!" The confusion is written across your face as you turn to your boss.

"A necklace, and now a furcoat? Sir if you wanna crossdress-"

He holds a finger up, effectively silencing you. You bite on your lower lip, huffing when you hear a knock to your right. The both of you turn to the sound.

"Who are those gifts for, Endeavor? Got a new lady friend?"

Hawks.

"Mind your own business." Endeavor grits out before returning his gaze to the stage.

You can't help but feel anxious about the other Hero's question.

Who are the gifts for?

Whenever her eyes twinkle, I can't help but press the button. It's like a magnet and my finger's made of metal. My eyes have been shifting to her everytime a new item is shown, and everytime I get a reaction of awe, my button is immediately pressed.

My secretary should be off-limits. If I were to ever make a move on her, it'd be as obvious as the sun and the backlash would be unforgiving. But my want for her seems to outweigh reason.

Fuck tha backlash. This woman is meant for me.

I can see it in the way she sees me.

When the auction ends, I offer my hand to her once again and we make our way to different offices meant for different bidders. Privacy is their utmost importance here, so I don't have to worry about other people looking at my woman.

"Good evening, Mr. Todoroki. This is your billing for tonight." The man hands a sheet of paper to Endeavor and you take a peek at it.

Two necklaces, a bracelet, a ring, a set of earrings, two more fur coats, a vase, and three porcelein statues of cats.

"Five-" Your eyes nearly bulge out of your sockets. "Five hundred million yen?! Sir, please excuse me, but you do not shit out money." You chastise, your brows knitting in worry.

"Stop yelling, I'm right beside you." Your boss huffs, pulling out a check. He scribbles the amount on it before his signature, sliding it towards the man behind the counter.

"Let's go, I'm tired." Endeavor turns around, walking towards the door. You run after him, struggling in your heels but eventually reach him.

"Oh! Mr. Todoroki! Shall we deliver the goods to your office or your home?" The man calls out.

Your boss stops in his tracks, craning his head to you.

"My assistant will write down her address for you. Deliver it there."

Your jaw falls, it's like your brain has disconnected from your body. "What? No! Just get it delivered to whoever you were gifting them to!"

Endeavor raises a brow, tilting his head to the side. "That's exactly what I'm doing." He says it as if you were an idiot.

"You- I'm sorry?"

"Apology accepted. Make sure you wear that necklace tomorrow night." He pushes the door open, walking down the marbled floors of the foyer.

"What's happening tomorrow night?" You ask, out of breath as you continue to struggle in your heels.

"We're going on a date."

And your heart does a backflip, lifting a middle finger up to the world. Fuck you all! I told you I wasn't delusional!

[click here to read endeavor having his way with you in the private booth]

[luvdwkki]

Lino - Forgiven

Leeknow x Gn!reader

Word count: 4,212

Synopsis: After a fight that left the air between you thick with silence, Minho returns, not with answers, but with open hands and a heart still learning how to stay. 

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, except for the sharp clatter of silverware being shoved into drawers with a little too much force. The clink of metal against metal echoed like tension manifesting physically. Your back was to the kitchen entryway, shoulders rigid as you jammed a spoon into the wrong slot, then yanked it out to fix it with a huff. 

Minho strolled in, leaning against the kitchen countertop with the same grin he always wore like armour. “You know, for someone so particular about where the forks go, you're being awfully violent with them.” 

You didn’t respond. 

Minho tilted his head, still grinning. “Everything okay? Or did the forks insult your family?” 

You closed the drawer a little too hard, turned, and gave him a look. “Do you ever stop joking?” 

He blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh… usually when things stop being absurd. So, never?”

You crossed your arms. “Right. Of course. Because that’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Just crack a joke, dodge the real stuff.”

Minho straightened slightly. “Whoa, what is this?”

“It’s me being tired, Minho,” you snapped. “Tired of talking to someone who clearly doesn’t give a damn unless it’s entertaining.”

His grin dropped. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is being in a relationship with someone who acts like none of it matters. Like I don’t matter.”

Minho stepped forward, jaw tensing. “Okay, that’s not what I’m doing-”

“But it is! You laugh when I’m upset. You make light of everything. And when I try to bring up something serious, you change the subject or make a joke so I end up feeling like an idiot for even trying.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel like an idiot!” he barked. “God, y/n, maybe I’m just trying not to make everything a damn crisis.”

“And maybe you’d rather hide behind jokes than actually admit you feel anything!” you shouted, eyes blazing. “Because that would mean you’d have to actually show up and be vulnerable for once in your life!”

His mouth opened, then snapped shut, and for a second, you thought he might back down. But instead, he scoffed, shaking his head like he was disgusted.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said bitterly. “I didn’t realize this relationship was some kind of emotional interrogation. You don’t like how I talk? Fine. Maybe I don’t like how you turn everything into a goddamn meltdown the second it’s not going your way!”

“You are so full of it!” you shouted. “You twist everything around so I look like the bad guy, like I’m too sensitive or too serious-”

“Because you are!” he yelled, stepping in close. “You act like everything I do is some personal attack when all I’m trying to do is keep us from going completely off the rails!”

You two were inches apart now, shouting over each other, breath sharp and furious, hands clenched at your sides. The apartment felt too small, the air too thick, the distance between you both nonexistent and yet impossibly vast.

“God, Minho, you don’t even see me—”

“And you don’t hear me! All you ever do is come for me!”

You stood there, chest to chest, the heat between you boiling hot and freezing cold all at once.

“I come at you like that because you never fight for me!” You shouted, voice shaking. “You just make jokes until I’m too tired to care anymore!”

Minho stared at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with frustration. “Maybe I don’t fight because I’m tired of being treated like I’m never fucking enough.”

You froze. “What?”

He stepped forward, voice rising. “Yeah, Y/n! I'm tired of being the punching bag every time you decide I’m not fucking good enough! Tired of pretending I don’t see that look on your face when I don’t say the perfect thing. You want me raw? Fine! Sometimes I wish you'd just shut the hell up and stop trying to fix me like I’m some broken fucking project you picked up to feel good about yourself!”

Your breath hitched, face crumpling, but Minho kept going. “Sometimes it feels like loving you is just waiting to get punished for it! You act like you’re some goddamn saint for sticking around, but all you do is hover and judge and fucking nag until I can't even hear myself think. You don’t want to understand me. You just want to fix me so you don’t have to deal with your own pathetic shit!” 

The slap cracked through the room like lightning.

Minho’s head whipped to the side, the sting instant and unmistakable. He froze, stunned, one hand slowly lifting to his cheek. You were already backing away, shaking, tears running freely, your voice gutted and trembling. “Go to hell, Minho.”

You then turned and bolted down the hallway, each step louder than the last, before the bedroom door shook its frame. Minho stood there, motionless, jaw tight, the echo of your hand still ringing in the air.

You had slammed the bedroom door, but it didn’t make you feel better. Nothing did. Not the sound, not the distance, not the silence that swallowed everything after. Your hands were shaking. You stared at them like they didn’t belong to you, like maybe they belonged to someone stronger. The tears wouldn’t stop. They spilled hot and fast as you slid down the door, chest heaving like you couldn’t breathe right.

“Pathetic?” you whispered, voice hoarse. “Fucking pathetic?” You had given him everything. You tried. Every day, you tried. You listened, you waited, you stayed even when he pushed, even when he shut down. You stayed through the silence, through the sarcasm, through the ache of being with someone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let you in.

And still… still it wasn’t enough.

You buried your face in your hands and sobbed harder.

Minho hadn’t moved. The sting on his cheek barely registered anymore. The room was dead quiet, but his head was loud, words crashing around like debris. That look on your face. The sound of the slap. Your voice when you said it “Go to hell.”

He swallowed hard, throat dry. “Fuck…”

He hadn’t meant it. Or maybe he had. That was the worst part, he wasn’t sure. He’d been angry, cornered, and every word that flew out of his mouth was meant to wound. And god, had he succeeded.

His hands were still clenched at his sides, white-knuckled. He stared at the floor like it might give him answers, like it might undo what just happened if he stood still long enough.

You had never hit him before. You weren't like that. And he’d never pushed you that far. Until now.

Minho let out a breath, low and shaky, and leaned back against the counter like his knees might give out. You don’t come back from that kind of look, he thought. Not easily. Not without bleeding for it. 

It had been hours. The kind of hours that dragged. No TV. No phone. Just the faint tick of the wall clock and the ache behind your dry eyes from crying too long.

The blanket had slipped down your shoulder, but you didn’t move. Your body felt heavy, like it had absorbed every word, every second of that fight and didn’t know how to carry any more.

Outside the window, the streetlights buzzed, casting pale shadows on the wall. It must’ve been close to 3 a.m. You hadn’t heard him. No footsteps, not a knock, not even the distant creak of floorboards. Maybe he’d gone to sleep. Maybe he’d left. Maybe he didn’t care.

Your heart burned again. You hated that you were still listening for him.

Minho sat in the hallway, the light from his phone long gone, screen black in his hand. He didn’t know what time it was anymore. His back ached from the floor. His legs had gone numb. But he hadn’t moved, not since he’d sat down outside your door an hour ago.

He thought you might come out. Maybe yell again. Maybe just glare at him like you wanted to set him on fire. He deserved that. But you hadn’t made a sound. No crying. No pacing. No nothing. That scared him more than anything.

He rested his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, just for a second.

And whispered into the dark, barely audible even to himself, “Fuck… what did I do?”

The morning light came in soft and grey, filtered through thin curtains and heavy clouds. It crept down the hallway, brushing against the hardwood like it didn’t want to wake the house. Minho woke to the soft morning light and the dull ache in his spine from sleeping against a wall. His mouth was dry. His legs stiff. But he didn’t move.

The door beside him was still shut. He looked at it as if he was waiting for it to breathe. He didn’t knock. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, head leaned gently to the side, listening for any sound from the other side.

Nothing.

The minutes crawled by. Then the hours. The world outside had started moving. Cars in the street, a dog barking down the road, someone slamming a dumpster lid, but here, everything stayed still. Closed.

Minho rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. His stomach growled. His brain throbbed under the weight of everything he’d said the night before. 

“Sometimes it feels like loving you is just waiting to get punished for it.” He winced at the memory. He could still feel the sting of your palm on his face, the sharpness of your gasp when it landed. He’d deserved that. More, probably. But he didn’t leave. Even when his legs went numb again. Even when his throat begged for water and his body told him to get up, to shower, to move on.

He waited.

Because somewhere on the other side of that door, You were still there. And he didn’t want to miss the moment you weren't angry anymore, just hurt. The moment you might be willing to hear him, even if it wasn’t with words.

Minho sat there for what felt like forever. When he finally heard you stir, a faint rustle of sheets, the soft creak of floorboards, his breath caught.

You were awake.

So he waited… And waited… And waited…

Nothing.

The lock didn’t turn. The door didn’t move. You knew he was out here. And you were choosing to keep him out. Minho's stomach twisted. He stood slowly, limbs aching from staying curled up so long. His body felt like it belonged to someone else. Tight, wrong, heavy. He hovered for a second longer by the door, listening… hoping. Still nothing. So he turned away.

In the bathroom, the mirror was brutal. He looked like hell. Red-rimmed eyes. A fading handprint on his cheek. His shirt fully wrinkled from sleeping in it. He turned the shower on way too hot and stepped in before it could cool down, hoping the scald might burn the tension out of his shoulders. It didn’t. 

He tried brushing his teeth. Couldn’t focus.

Tried making coffee. Left it untouched on the counter.

Tried scrolling his phone. Couldn’t even unlock it.

Every sound from down the hall made his head snap up. Every creak of the floor, every breeze against the door, Minho imagined it was you. Coming out. Saying something. Nothing. Until…

Click.

The unmistakable sound of the bedroom door unlocking. It was soft. Hesitant. But it rang through the apartment like a fire alarm. He froze. Then bolted. His feet hit the floor fast, slipping as he rounded the corner. The door was slightly ajar now. He didn’t even hesitate. He ran to it like you might change your mind and close it again. 

When he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate this time. His hand hovered for only a second before he pushed it open. The room was dim. Curtains still drawn. The air heavy, thick with last night’s ghosts. A sheet draped over the lamp cast everything in a soft, amber hush, like the whole space was holding its breath.

And there you were. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Wrapped in the same blanket, legs folded under you, hands clutching the fabric like an anchor. Your face was blank. Too blank. Like the tears had already run their course, and now you were just... waiting. Not for him. Not exactly. Just for what he would do next.

Minho froze in the doorway, one hand still clutching the knob like it might hold him up. His throat tightened painfully, working around something sharp. “Hey.”

You didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. 

He stepped inside like the ground might shatter under his feet. The door clicked shut behind him, soft but final. Still, silence. It stretched between you like a wire, pulled taut, humming with everything he hadn’t said.

He raked a trembling hand through his hair. “I didn’t sleep.” You said nothing.

“I sat outside your door all night.” He swallowed. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. I just… I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want to go anywhere else.”

Still no reaction. Your eyes on him, unreadable. He exhaled, shaky, words spilling from somewhere raw. “I said things I didn’t mean. And some of it- okay, yeah -some of it came from a place I don’t understand yet. I panicked. I got scared. But that doesn’t excuse any of it. Not with you...” He paused, breath catching.

“I was cruel. I twisted things. I made you feel small, and I hate that. I hate that I did that to you.”

You still didn’t speak. But something in your stare tightened, just slightly.

Minho’s voice cracked at the edges. “That’s not who I am. At least… I don’t want it to be. Especially not with you.”

Nothing. No words. No movement. Nothing from you. He stood there, hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself with them.

“You didn’t deserve any of it,” he whispered. “You never do.” He took a hesitant step forward. Like the space between you was holy ground he didn’t have the right to walk on.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not even hoping for it. I just… I needed you to hear me. Even if you never say anything back.” The silence roared in his ears. Deafening.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” he added quietly. “If that’s what you need… I’ll leave.”

Still nothing. He nodded slowly, eyes burning. Already starting to turn.

Then you blinked. Once. And your voice, soft, broken, a thread unraveling, sliced through the quiet: “Why do you always do that?”

He stopped cold. Confusion flickering through the pain on his face. You stared at him, still blank, still wrapped in your silence, but your voice sharpened, a blade in the dark.

“Act like it’s your job to leave. Like you’re halfway out the door the second it gets hard.”

He looked at you like you’d just reached in and found the one part of him he couldn’t hide.

And you let the words hang there, daring him to deny it, daring him to prove them wrong.

Minho didn’t answer right away. The question settled over him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

“Why do you always do that?”

He stood frozen in the middle of the room, your words echoing louder than anything he’d said.

“Like it’s your job to leave.”“Like you’re halfway out the door the second it gets hard.”

He looked down, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling too fast. Because you were right. And there was no excuse he could give that wouldn’t sound like another exit strategy. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a breath. “Because it’s easier than being told to.”

Silence again. Not cruel,  just... there. Solid. Unforgiving.

“I don’t know how to stay when I feel like I’ve already messed it up,” he said, softer now. “So I assume I’m not wanted. I tell myself it’s better if I leave before you ask me to.” He stepped closer. One foot, then the other, like the space between you was a chasm he was finally willing to cross. “But I want to stay. God y/n, I want to stay.”

Still, you didn’t move. You didn’t open up. You let him come closer, but not in. Not yet. He knelt in front of you, hands trembling slightly where they hovered near your knees but didn’t touch. His eyes searched your face, raw, pleading, full of unshed apologies. “I don’t want to be that person anymore. The one who runs. Who lashes out. Who breaks things and then calls it inevitable.”

You blinked again, but your expression still didn't soften.

“I know I don’t get to ask you for anything,” he whispered. “But I just… I’m here. I’m still here.”

Your hands clenched tighter around the blanket. You didn’t pull away. But you didn’t reach for him either. So he stayed there, kneeling next to you, his voice nearly gone.

“I’m sorry.”

The silence pressed in again, heavier now. Like a wall he couldn’t climb. Minho stayed there on his knees, eyes locked on yours, waiting for something, anything, and getting nothing. And that was what finally broke him.

His face crumpled. Not dramatic, not loud, just sudden and quiet and helpless. Like something inside him had finally snapped under the weight of everything he hadn’t said soon enough. His shoulders shook as the first sob slipped out, rough and involuntary. He dragged a hand across his face like he could hide it, like he could hold himself together for a little longer, but he couldn’t.

​​“I know,” he choked. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I know that.” More tears followed, harder now. His voice cracked under the pressure of it all. “You don’t have to say anything. I hurt you. I get it. I don’t get to ask you for comfort just because I’m falling apart now.”

He laughed, not because it was funny, but because it hurt too much not to. “I mean, look at me. Crying like this. Like I’m the one who needs saving.” 

And for the first time, your expression shifted, just slightly.

Your eyes widened.

Your face softened.

You’d never seen him like this. Not Minho. Not the boy who always had something to say, always held his ground, always knew when to leave before the storm hit.

But now he was in the middle of it.

And he wasn’t running. 

He ran both hands down his face, like he could scrub the guilt off his skin. His breath hitched. “I just, I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know how to fix this. I’d do anything. But maybe there’s nothing left to do. Maybe I ruined it. Maybe I ruined you.” His words tumbled out, messy and fast, cracked wide open.

He could barely get the words out through his sobs. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been better. I wanted to be better. But I keep screwing it up, and you keep sitting there like I don’t even deserve your anger anymore, like you’re just… done. And I don’t blame you.”

He leaned forward a little, head bowed, forehead nearly brushing your knee. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely a thread:

“I’m sorry.”

Minho stayed there, trembling, his breath stuttering against the weight of everything he couldn’t take back. He didn’t look up. More like he couldn’t look up. He just kept crying, not loud, not pleading, just breaking in real time. A quiet, exhausted kind of grief that had no drama left in it. Only truth.

You watched him.

And something in you pulled tight. Not in anger this time. Not even fear.

Just… ache.

Because you’d never seen him like this.Not exposed like this. Not small. He’d always been sharp edges and quick exits, not this quiet wreck of a person, folded in on himself like he was afraid he’d disappear.

You didn’t move at first. Didn’t trust the part of you that wanted to, but your hand, without permission, twitched slightly, still tangled in the blanket.  And then, slowly… carefully… it lifted. You didn’t say a word.  Didn’t reach to pull him up.  Didn’t forgive him. But you let your fingers settle gently into his hair. Barely there. Just enough for him to feel it. A touch. A tether. A whisper of something that hadn’t completely died.

Minho froze.

Then crumpled harder, shoulders shaking as he pressed his forehead to your knee like he couldn’t bear it, like that one, small mercy hurt more than anything else. Because it meant you hadn’t turned away. Not fully. Not yet. And that alone was enough to make him fall apart all over again. 

You didn’t mean to speak. You hadn’t planned on it. But the words slipped out anyway, quiet and sharp, rough at the edges. “...What are you gonna do if I say I don’t know how to let you back in?”

Minho stilled.

Slowly, he lifted his head, tear-streaked and red-eyed, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. But he had. Your hand dropped from his hair before he could lean into it, like you were punishing yourself for the comfort you’d given him. Like you couldn’t trust what your body wanted anymore.

You stared at him, your voice trembling, but steady enough to hurt. “Because I don’t. I don’t know how.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but you kept going, not loud, not cold, just… aching.

“I want to. Minho, I want to so bad I feel sick. But I’m scared. I’m angry. At you, at myself. For still caring. For hoping. For letting you sit out there all night like that instead of making you leave.” You swallowed hard, breath shaky.

“I hate that it still matters. That you still matter. After everything you said.”

Minho didn’t interrupt. He didn’t dare. You looked down at your hands, fists twisting in the blanket again like they needed something to hold or destroy.

“I didn’t sleep either,” you said, quieter now. “I just kept thinking about whether you'd actually come in. And what I’d do if you did.”

A pause.

Then, softer still, “I don’t know if I can trust you not to run again. And I don’t know if I can take being wrong about you twice.”

Minho looked up at you like you’d just cracked open the center of the earth. And he didn’t move. Didn’t rush to close the gap. Didn’t beg. He just sat there. His breath still uneven from crying, but he listened. Like maybe this time, he’d finally learned how. Then, finally, quietly, he spoke. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

His voice cracked around the words, like even saying them cost him something. “I don’t have some perfect answer. I don’t know what to say that’ll make you trust me again. I don’t even know if you should.” He looked up at you, and for once, there was no defense in his eyes. No mask. Just Minho, raw and wrecked and trying.

“But if there’s a way to fix it… I’ll find it. I’ll try. Every day. Even if you never look at me the same. Even if all I can do is sit outside your door again.” He reached out, slowly, and opened his hand between you. Not grabbing. Not demanding. Just offering.

You stared at it for a second. Then slipped your fingers into his. You felt his breath hitch, although just barely. When he leaned in, it wasn’t confident. It wasn’t smooth. It was careful. Soft. 

He gave you all the room to turn away, but you didn’t. How could you? How could you when he looked at you like you were the last thing in the world that still made sense? Like he didn’t deserve to be this close, but couldn’t stay away any longer. How could you when some desperate, stubborn part of you still wanted to believe him, even now, even after everything? How could you when every centimetre of space between you was already breaking your heart? How could you when he touched you like a question he didn’t expect to be answered? How could you when you still remembered what it felt like to be safe in his arms?

He kissed you like he didn’t know if he had the right, like the moment might shatter if he breathed too loud. It was slow, trembling, nothing like before but somehow deeper, and when your lips met his, it wasn’t forgiveness, wasn’t certainty. It was need. Quiet and aching and real.

When you pulled back, your fingers were still tangled in his. Your voice barely made it out. “That doesn’t make this okay.”

Minho nodded. “I know.”

You sat there like that, forehead to forehead, the worst still between you, but not untouched. Not unspoken, and for now, that was enough.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t healing.

But it was a beginning. And that had to count for something.

Howdy everyone! Im back after like 6 months lol. Sorry for disappearing like that 😀 life just got busy and stuff. BUT im back and ive been writing 😏 Hopefully ill post more than just 3 fics before dipping again but who knows LMAO. ANYWAYS i hope you guys enjoy this and if there are any mistakes please let me know! (i somewhat proofread this at 2am soooooo)