#but… yeah I ‘might’ find one in his room

[wcnderlnds]

opposites attract | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: he's chaotic and loud, you're shy and introverted but he can't help but be intrigued by you ・❥・word count: 1.3k ・❥・warnings: mentions of death bc squid game, nam-gyu is mean to reader (im sry), female reader. ・❥・ authors note: i love writing this chaotic man <3

Of course the second game just had to be one where you had to interact with people and find a team. Talking to people, approaching them – it was your worst nightmare. As you stood there in the sea of people all talking and teaming up, you timidly stayed in place, your hands pulled into the sleeves of your jacket giving yourself sweater paws. Since the first game, you had kept to yourself. You had even voted to leave. Why would anyone want to stay in a place like this where people were getting killed for losing children’s games? Unfortunately, the majority had decided to stay even after a heavily heated debate where player 456 had declared he’d been here before. While it was all kicking off, you had hid behind the crowd. Conflict was something you avoided. People were usually something you avoided but when a salesman came up to you with promises of money, how could you say no?

So, as you stood there, too shy to approach, you accepted the fact that you were probably going to die. There was no way you had enough courage in you to find a team. Even if you did, who was there to ask? The only person you might consider approachable was player 456 but he already had a team. There was no point going over there, asking and risking embarrassment as they turned you down. Aimlessly you wandered around the room, fingers toying with the ends of your sleeve – a nervous habit that you’d had since you were a child.

Guess you’d just have to accept your fate. You were either going to get killed because you couldn’t find a team or end up in a team who didn’t want you. Just as you were about to sit down and give up entirely, someone cleared their throat behind you. Spinning around, you came face to face with the infamous player 230. His purple hair was unmistakable, you’d seen him when he’d been fighting some other boy yesterday.

“Senorita, excuse me,” he said, his hands clenching his jacket to his chest. Your eyes landed on his multi-colored nails first before daring to glance up to look at him. Eyes met his dark ones for only a second before looking back down at the ground. He noticed instantly, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you. “Team with us.”

“R-really?” You dared to glance back up. He seemed serious but the look his friend was giving was anything but friendly. It looked like he’d rather team with anyone but you.

“Yeah, really? She’s kind of weird,” Nam-gyu looked you up and down, pulling a face then turning back to Thanos. “We can find someo-”

“Shutup,” he held his hand up in front of his friend’s face, his eyes solely focused on you. “Team with us. I’ll keep you safe.”

It wasn’t like you had any other options so you nodded. Thanos seemed thrilled, throwing his arm around your shoulders in a side hug. Your instinct was telling you not to trust him but at the same time there was something slightly comforting about him. After all, he had ignored his friend to solely talk to you. Why on Earth he was so adamant to have you on his team baffled you but it saved you from getting eliminated… if you made it through the game anyway. 

Turns out it was five mini games in one. As the rest of your team argued about who would do what, Thanos’ eyes were fixated on you who was looking at the ground. There was something about you that intrigued him. The difference in your personalities was more than noticeable. He was loud, crazy and obnoxious while you, on the other hand, seemed shy, insecure and quiet. Maybe it was true. Maybe opposites really did attract because for some reason, he wanted to get to know you more. He actually wanted to know you. That rarely happened with him. Usually he was the type of guy to get a crush, fuck and then move on to the next one. It was rare for ‘Mr One Night Stand’ to really want to get to know someone. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling. The pounding in his chest as he tried to examine you with his eyes. It was impossible to really get a good read on you.

“And, the loser over there can do Gonggi,” Nam-gyu’s voice echoed through your ears. Panic struck, you leaned forward, speaking before you even thought about it.

“I-I don’t know how to play Gonggi,” you mumbled.

“Better learn quickly then, huh?” Nam-gyu smiled fake-sweetly at you.

“Hey, stop it,” Thanos stopped his silent beat boxing to chime in, leaning forward to glare at his friend. “Leave her alone… What are you good at?”

“I can do spinning top. I played it a lot with my friends…” you tried to speak with a bit more confidence, a pink hue tinting your cheeks. Thanos noticed, grinning at you.

“Spinning top for you then. You’re cute, by the way,” he winked, causing your cheeks to only redden more.

Somehow, someway, the team had managed to survive. A lot of teams seemed to struggle with Spinning Top but you had got it the first try – Thanos almost blowing out your eardrums with the loud cheer of celebration when you did. Now, back in the main room, you were sat with the team. If it was up to you, you would have gone to sit by yourself but Thanos had insisted you sit with them. It seemed like he wanted to keep you around. It wouldn’t be too bad to have some friends, right? You sat beside Thanos, a space between you. While he was in a world of his own, DJing some invisible show in his head by the looks of his hand motions, the rest of the team were arguing. Your knees were pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them.

Watching everyone talk with each other so easily – even if it was arguing – made you feel slightly jealous that you couldn’t. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to because you did but the mere thought of striking up a conversation with anyone brought you too much anxiety. It was just better to keep to yourself. If you had to be the weird, quiet girl then so be it.

“They’re idiots,” the deep voice beside you said. Turning to look, you’d noticed Thanos had closed the distance between you both, his shoulder touching yours now. “You good?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” you smiled, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. “Thanks for letting me team with you.”

“No problem, Senorita. Told you I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?” His toothy grin made your heart skip a beat. Oh boy. That was the last thing you needed.

“Y-yeah,” you laughed, tearing your eyes away from him yet again.

This time, his finger gently reached out, tilting your chin to look at him. His eyes pierced yours, a look of intrigue on his face. “You have pretty eyes. It’s a shame you think the floor deserves to see them more than me.” He leaned in a little closer, his hot breath fanning against your face. Being close to someone wasn’t new for you. It was something that didn’t happen often but you’d had your fair share of encounters with people. “Meant it when I said you were cute, babygirl. Stick with me through these games and when we survive, let me take you out for a drink. Maybe I can get more than a few words at a time out of you.”

Once again, he winked at you, removing his finger from your chin and turning his attention to the argument going on in front of him. Meanwhile you were in a daze, your heart beating against your chest so much you were sure it was about to beat out of your ribcage. Yeah, this man was definitely going to be trouble.

taglist: @angelofbooksworld @ldydeath @taivantaylor @sherlocke3d @djarindroid @justsisse @sassyyoyo @lillyysgirlblog @mysatnin @basquiat-top @urmomsg1rlfreind

[terrestrialnoob]

Danny was far to used to needles to flinch when Mr. Alfred stuck him. His stupid DNA wouldn’t stay in tact long enough for them to verify his story, so he suspected either this would knock him out and he will be taken back out to where they’d gotten him or they’re being nice and putting him out of his misery quickly. If it’s the former, then he’ll have to find another way to survive- or a nice place to die. He didn’t get a lot of time to wander around Gotham before going to the GCPD, but dying in his… original’s city would at least be thematically valid. That’s what Mr. Lancer said about Danny’s analysis of Hamlet, that his “unique interpretation was thematically valid”, meaning Danny was wrong but did the work and would get a passing grade for turning it in. At least keeping it together long enough to continue existing would be the last thing he failed to do and his teachers wouldn’t have to worry about grading his thrown-together-at-the-last-minute bullshit.

“So, basically, since the only way to get a good sample of your DNA is to stop it from degrading, this is going to be a kind of two in one solution.” The man – teen? Red Robin didn’t seem that much older than Danny but it felt wrong not to think of him as an adult or at least older. He was obviously more experienced, smarter than Danny, and had been chosen as one of Batman’s sidekicks. “If you’re B’s clone, this modified, uh, kinda virus type thing will infect your entire body and basically, like, re-instruct your DNA on what shape it’s supposed to be. You know, Batman shaped. If you’re not B’s clone, then it will... do nothing and we’ll have to come up with something else.”

Danny stared at him, then at the band-aid now on his arm where he’d just been injected. “What?”

“Yeah, it’ll probably take a few days to actually be sure it’s working and we might have to re-administer it depending on your immune system’s reaction. But, if you’re telling the truth, then we did it!” Red Robin gave a little celebratory jazz hands.

Danny stared at Red Robin, then at the band-aid again. Something dripped into his arm and Danny was suddenly aware that he was crying. He hurried to wipe his eyes with his hand, “I – sorry, I wasn’t – I wasn’t expecting…”

“It’s alright. This has been stressful for you.” Danny heard Batman say and someone managed to put a tissue in his hand to clean up his face.

“I’m not going to die.” Danny didn’t even realize he was talking.

It wasn’t loud and it wasn’t clear through his shaking breath, but Batman responded anyway. “You’re not going to die.”

Danny just kind of, curled up in himself, his face completely hidden behind his legs and arms, where the heroes of Gotham couldn’t see to hopefully save at least a little of his dignity. He wasn’t going to die, he was going to keep living. He didn’t know what to do now, but he was alive! He thought he could feel it already, that the aches and pains that had been slowly growing more intense over the past few months – his entire life – were fading. He could go back home to his friends at least, tell them the truth about why he’d left, let them know he wasn’t going to be more dead than he already was, give Jazz a hug and let her know her little brother wasn’t going anywhere. The Fentons – he could talk to them when he was ready.

It took him a few minutes to get back in control of himself, but once he was able to breath without shaking he looked up again. Red Robin and the guy who’d been with regular Robin where gone. Robin was still there, staring at him from across the room, and Batman was a few feet away, working on something else.

“Master Bruce,” Mr. Alfred said, but Danny was the only one who looked at him. “I’ve prepared a guest room.” The older man then turned to look at Danny. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Um, no?” Danny’s voice was hoarse from crying so much it made his face blush.

“I thought as such. If you’ll follow me, I’ve already prepared a small meal for you...” Mr. Alfred said with a small bow and then turned to almost fully face the back of Batman and spared a glance at Robin. “...all three of you, since the two of you left to meet with Commissioner Gordon before dinner was properly served.”

Danny cringed at having made them leave before they’d been able to eat dinner. He watched as Batman seemed to ignore Mr. Alfred, but Robin looked like he at least heard what was said.

“We’re going to-” Mr. Alfred cleared his throat making Batman stop and sigh, then he stood up from his amazing computer that Danny low key wanted to play with.

He slid the mask off his face. “We’ll be up, give us a minute to change.”

Danny tried not to stare at Batman’s bare face. He didn’t expect to see it, though he guessed he can understand why. It’d be Danny’s face eventually, but it still felt wrong. Danny was already being given so much trust; they’d brought him into their lair, weren’t being careful with names anymore, and now showing Danny this, letting him know Batman’s true identity, it was too much. But maybe- maybe Batman didn’t think the virus thing was going to work and Danny wasn’t going to live long enough to share it. Red Robin had said something like that. That they really weren’t sure their injection would work at all or that it might only work a little bit or maybe it reset the degeneration or something like that. That really made more sense than Batman trusting Danny this much. Still...

Danny followed Mr. Alfred to a small elevator that could hold two people comfortably, or four people uncomfortably. And Danny turned around to see Robin still directly glaring at him as the doors shut. There weren’t any buttons in the elevator, but it moved very fast and they were at the top in seconds. It opened to what looked to be an office with a big desk with a computer and bookshelves, but there were also two couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle – so it was like an office slash meeting room.

Mr. Alfred stepped out in front of Danny and motioned for him to follow. “This way to the dining room, I’ll be sure to give you the full tour once everyone has had dinner.”

“You really don’t have to. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” Danny said, following behind him and trying not to get distracted by where they were. It was a big house, much bigger than his home – than the house he grew up in. And the further they got, the more it looked like it might be somewhere close to what Vlad’s house was. Maybe not the Cheese Castle, but the “little” mansion he’d gotten in Amity Park.

“It’s not a waste of time.” Mr. Alfred said and they started down a big staircase. “I think it will be important for you to become familiar the manor and grounds. It’s quite easy for people to get lost here.”

Danny wanted to say it wouldn’t really matter, that he was only staying long enough to satisfy their observation of him- make sure their efforts didn't go to waste. But, the tour would mean that Danny would know where he was and wasn’t allowed to go and he’d be able to stay out of the way easier while he was there.

They soon entered a large room with a giant table in it. There were several plates set and several dishes. “I assumed you have the same allergies as Master Bruce, but are there any extra dietary needs you require? Master Damian is a vegetarian so there are already options for it.”

“Oh, no, I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

Mr. Alfred nodded and pulled out a chair for Danny. “There is roast chicken and baked marinated tofu, rosemary potatoes, steamed broccoli, and a wild rice salad with tomatoes, red onion, red bell pepper, pine nuts, and a honey-lemon dressing.”

“Thanks. This all looks great!”

“It does.” Batman said as he entered the room. He was wearing normal clothes now, just a black sweater and gray pants. Robin came in behind him, he was wearing a dark green long sleeve shirt and normal looking jeans.

Danny suddenly realized he was in the seat next to the head of the table and that was obviously where Batman sat down. Robin sat across from him, still glaring, but Danny was starting to think the other kid might just have resting bitch face and Danny would either just get used to it or see Robin so little it wouldn’t matter.

Danny must have sat frozen for a little too long there, because Mr. Alfred leaned over the table. “Here, I’ll get you started, but usually this is a serve yourself household so that everyone gets what they want and as much as they want without shame or embarrassment.”

Danny just nodded and let the man do as he pleased. It felt kind of weird, sitting at a table and eating with his… He wouldn’t have said family, but that is technically what they were, right? Danny literally had Batman’s DNA in him, and Robin had called the man Father with a capital F, so that kind of made them brothers? Cousins? Uncle and nephew? Or father and- Danny cut that line of thought and grabbed the nearest eating utensil to focus on eating instead.

“Holy shit, this is good.” Danny said before he realized he’d said it. He looked at Batman. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to swear.”

Batman shrugged it off with a smile, “It is good food. I often forget how spoiled I am with good food.”

Mr. Alfred hummed at that and, Danny felt more than saw, an exchange of looks between the two older men. Mr. Alfred probably deserved more appreciation for cooking like this and Batman didn’t think he needed to vocalize the appreciation, that it was simply understood he loved Mr. Alfred and all the work he did.

“So, you eat meat?” Robin asked. He seemed a little off-put by Danny taking some of the chicken after getting some of the tofu.

Danny shrugged. “I mean, I’ll eat anything that doesn’t attack me.”

Robin narrowed his eyes. “So should I attack you so you don’t eat me?”

“What? I’m not cannibal? What?” Danny said and looked between the other people in the room. Batman looked exasperated and Mr. Alfred looked half amused at Robin and half offended on Danny’s behalf.

“Then why do you need to specify that you prefer your food doesn’t attack you?”

“Because I... don’t most people prefer food that you don’t have to kill first?”

Robin gave him a sardonic look. “You have to kill all meat before you eat it.”

Danny shook his head, “No, I mean like – when you eat it. Like, you sit down to eat and then the hot dogs grow mouths and teeth and attack you so you have to kill it before you eat it.”

Robin’s glare turned into a shocked stare, and Batman and Mr. Alfred joined in staring at him. “What?”

“What do you mean “what?”?” Robin was annoyed at him. “Hot dogs do not come to life and attack people.”

Oh fuck. He’s ruined it. He doesn’t know what he’s ruined, but he’s too weird for The Batman. Danny started shoveling food into his mouth so he’d stop talking and freaking out Batman.

“How does that happen?” Batman asked and there goes Danny’s hope of being less weird.

Danny swallowed and waved his free hand around a little bit. “I – it’s just that my- the people I lived with before weren’t very good at keeping their specimens quarantined, and they also liked to experiment with food. So, just, sometimes the hot dogs or a turkey or other foods would just, come to life and we’d have to kill them.”

There was a beat of silence before Mr. Alfred asked, “And did you eat this experimental food?”

Danny half shrugged, “There wasn’t really anything else to eat, so yeah.”

Mr. Alfred hummed and it sounded like he might be worried. “I can assure you that nothing like that has ever happened here.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool.” Danny said and, again, tried to eat his way out of the conversation. But it was too awkward. “But, Mr. Alfred, your food is way better than any of that stuff.”

“I would hope so.” Mr. Alfred said. “And feel free to take as much as you want, we have plenty.”

Danny hadn’t even noticed he’d cleaned his plate already. He was about to refuse, but the look on Mr. Alfred’s face made it feel like it would insult the man if Danny didn’t get seconds. So he did.

“What are their names?” Batman suddenly asked.

Danny glanced at him. “Who’s names?”

“You’re… creators.”

The one question Danny hated above all others; ever since he was a little kid who realized that his parents were the town weirdos and that their status as the town weirdos had spread to Danny before he even knew how to walk. He felt the unfortunately familiar mix of the heat from embarrassment and cold from the rejection experience made him know was coming. He wanted to look anywhere but at someone. “Why do you want to know?”

“They made a clone of Father.” Robin said with disdain, and yeah, Danny should have known that. He knows how much it hurts to be cloned. “What if they try again?”

Danny tried to sound as matter of fact as possible. “The Fentons, Jack and Maddie. They’re married to each other. And yeah, they do want to try again, but they used up all their Batman DNA making me.”

“They want to make another one?” Robin was somehow even more annoyed.

“Well, I mean, their first one was such a failure…” Danny half mumbled then sighed and added. "It’s why they want to autopsy me. So they don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

Danny spared a glance. Now Batman was glaring and Danny couldn’t blame him. He doesn’t know how widespread the Fenton name is, but if anyone knows them, it’s not because of how caring, thoughtful, or altruistic they are. And here Danny was, his very existence a violation so deep he wouldn’t blame Batman if he kicked Danny out right that second.

So Danny decided to give the man the opportunity to do that. “How long is the observation?”

Batman’s face quickly changed from angry to confused, so Danny reiterated. “You know, for the kinda virus thing? How long do do you want me here under observation?”

Batman still looked a little confused but went along with the change in topic. “It should take somewhere between two days and two weeks to be certain of it’s effects.”

Danny nodded. “That’s the range they estimated it would have taken for me to completely destabilize, so I can go back once it’s confirmed.”

“Go back?” Batman seemed more confused.

And that made Danny confused. “It’s not like I can stay here forever.”

Batman frowned at that, but Robin spoke first. “You want to go back to the people who want to autopsy you?”

“It’s either them or that guy I told you about earlier.” Danny said and indicated to Batman cause he thinks Robin might have been too far away to hear that part in the cave. "And it's not like they actively try to kill me - I mean, well, usually anyway. It's more of a -if I just so happen to die- type thing."

“Why not stay here?” Batman asked.

Danny couldn’t help the look on his face. Stay here? With Batman? The man he’s been secretly measured against his whole life? The person he’s failed to be time and time again? Danny’s not sure he could take that. “No, you don’t want me here.”

“Should you let us decide that?” Batman gave Danny a pointed look.

Danny shouldn’t answer that. He knows they wont want him. No one wants him. Even Vlad; he doesn’t really want Danny, he wants Maddie’s Son, he wants to steal Jack’s Son, he wants The Other Halfa. Danny knows that he’s just going to burden Batman and his family and the other vigilantes. But he’s not going to say that. He knows better than to argue about where he belongs.

What are you? A ghost trying to fit in with humans or some creepy little boy with creepy little powers?

So Danny folded immediately. “Sorry, you’re right. You get to decide who does and doesn’t get to stay in your house.”

Danny was looking at his mostly empty plate and didn’t see that statement earn him a frown from everyone else in the room.

Danny sighed and glanced over to Mr. Alfred. “I know you said you wanted to show me around, but I’m really tired. Can I just go to bed?”

“Of course.” Mr. Alfred said and motioned for Danny to follow him.

Danny didn’t talk, though Mr. Alfred gave him general direction on how to get from the dining room to the bedrooms, pointed out whose rooms were whose, let Danny know he had an en suite and a dresser full of clothes the other boys didn’t wear anymore. Danny hadn’t realized that Batman had such a big family and he wondered how they would feel after learning that Danny existed. He doubted any of them would accept him. He could hope one of them might want to be his friend, but he knows who he is, what he is. He wont hold any of their feelings against them.

Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

--

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

[nanamincreampie]

Omgomgomg hiiiii 🥹🥹🥹🩷🩷🌷🌷🌷🌷 can I request an instance where Sukuna’s pregnant wife visits him at his job and he’s the CEO.

Context:

So like no one in the office knows what his wife looks like. He’s insanely private about his life. (Also cause he’s involved in shady stuff and doesn’t want anyone to know the identity of his wife. He meets with a lot of crooked business men on and off the clock.)

But yea the office only know he’s married because of the ring he wears.

So when his gorgeous, thick and very pregnant wife goes to the reception saying “Hi, is Ryomen busy? I’m his wife. I brought muffins for everyone I ate a couple I hope that’s okay.” in the sweetest voice with the biggest smile, the entire floor is in shock. (They know she’s not lying because of the ginormous light pink rock of a wedding ring that’s on her finger. It’s identical to his hair obvi hehe)

But like yeah! She comes to the office for the first time and all the workers just fall in love with how sweet she is. So they scramble to help her and hold her bag and offer her food from the break room and tell her how pretty she is and maybe Sukuna’s personal assistant even gets pulled away and that’s when he notices that everybody’s nearly gone and he finally finds her surrounded by everyone in the break room and maybe he takes her to his office and his mind is reeling thinking something’s wrong with the baby but it just ended up her being like “I’m sorry I know I could have called but look! The baby’s kicking!” And he falls in love with her all over again.

I think it’d be so cute 😭🩷 he seems like the type of hubby to call his wife “flower” or “petal”. Smut is totally up to you I won’t be opposed to it. But eeee!!! I thought it’d be a cute fluffy little fic

One Sukuna fic with a side of Sunshine and a Pregnant Wife coming right up!!! <3

Sukuna x Black pregnant reader

The bustling office of Sukuna Enterprises was alive with its usual energy phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and hushed conversations about deadlines. Ryomen Sukuna, the enigmatic and ruthlessly efficient CEO, was in the middle of one of his intense back-to-back meetings. His presence cast a long shadow over the entire floor. Everyone knew to tread carefully; Sukuna tolerated no mistakes.

The only personal detail anyone knew about him was that he was married, courtesy of the massive, rose-pink diamond ring he wore on his left hand. But beyond that? Nothing. Sukuna was intensely private, and no one had dared to ask for more. Speculation abounded, but without any concrete details, his wife remained a mystery.

Until today.

The receptionist was the first to spot her: a stunning woman in a flowing maternity dress that hugged her very pregnant belly. Her curls framed her glowing face, and she carried a basket of muffins in one hand and a slightly overstuffed purse in the other.

“Hi there!” she greeted with a bright smile, her voice warm and melodic. “Is Mr. Sukuna in? I’d like to see him, please.”

The receptionist blinked, momentarily thrown off by the casual tone. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her professional instincts kicking in.

“Oh, no, no appointment,” the woman replied with a light laugh. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The receptionist hesitated. No one—no one—saw Sukuna without an appointment. “And you are?”

“Oh, just a friend,” the woman said coyly, her warm smile never faltering. “I brought muffins for everyone, too! I… might have eaten a couple on the way. They smelled so good.”

Her charm was effortless, but the receptionist wasn’t entirely convinced. As she considered what to do, a curious junior associate walked past and froze at the sight of the woman. His gaze flicked between her and the receptionist.

“Who’s she?” he whispered, not quite quietly enough.

“I don’t know,” the receptionist whispered back.

Within minutes, whispers began to spread. A stunning, heavily pregnant woman had walked into Sukuna Enterprises asking for their untouchable boss. No one knew who she was, but the expensive jewelry on her hand, especially the light pink diamond, caught more than a few eyes. The resemblance to Sukuna’s wedding ring sparked theories.

Could it be… her?

The whispers grew louder as more employees found excuses to pass by the reception area, stealing glances at the mysterious woman.

Despite the growing attention, she remained perfectly at ease. When someone offered to carry her purse, she laughed softly and accepted, the basket of muffins still in her other hand.

“Oh, thank you so much! It’s a bit heavier than I thought,” she said, her tone dripping with gratitude.

Soon, the break room became her destination. Chairs were pulled out for her, snacks and drinks were offered, and she was surrounded by employees eager to accommodate her. Her gentle laughter filled the space as she chatted with everyone, thanking them for their kindness and answering their curious but polite questions in a way that revealed little.

Meanwhile, in his corner office, Sukuna noticed something strange. The usual buzz of activity on the floor had dwindled to near silence. His crimson eyes narrowed. Something was off.

Stepping out of his office, Sukuna’s gaze swept over the nearly deserted floor. His jaw tightened. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered under his breath, following the faint sound of laughter.

When he reached the break room, the scene before him made his steps falter.

Her.

His wife.

The woman no one in his office had ever seen, the woman he kept carefully hidden from the chaos of his professional life, sat there, glowing with happiness, her round belly resting comfortably as she laughed with his staff.

“What is going on here?” Sukuna’s deep, commanding voice sliced through the air.

The room went silent instantly. Employees scrambled to make space for him, their faces pale as they realized they’d been caught slacking.

Her head turned, and her smile brightened at the sight of him.

“Ryo!” she said warmly, completely unfazed by his intimidating presence. She gestured for him to come closer. “Come here!”

He crossed the room in two long strides, his crimson eyes scanning her from head to toe. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice quieter but edged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Her expression softened as she reached for his hand and placed it on her belly. “Nope! I just missed you. And look the baby’s kicking!”

For a moment, Sukuna’s icy demeanor cracked. His sharp features softened as he felt the gentle thump beneath his palm.

“You could’ve called, Petal,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something uncharacteristically tender.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but then his sharp gaze flicked to the stunned employees still lingering near the door. “Get back to work. Now.”

They scattered like leaves in the wind, murmuring apologies as they fled the room.

Turning back to his wife, Sukuna wrapped a protective arm around her and guided her toward his office. Once inside, he helped her settle onto the plush couch, his eyes never leaving her.

“You’re going to cause chaos every time you visit, Flower,” he said, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “But I brought muffins to make up for it.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he sat beside her. Despite the whirlwind she’d caused, Sukuna found himself staring at her, utterly captivated. She always had a way of turning his world upside down in the best possible way.

And the chaos? Oh, it didn’t end there.

For the rest of the week, the entire office buzzed with stories about her surprise visit. Who could’ve imagined that the stoic, intimidating Ryomen Sukuna was married to such a sweet, cheerful woman? The way she smiled, the way she treated everyone with kindness, the way she looked the staff couldn’t stop talking about her.

Rumors swirled, theories were formed, and every detail was analyzed. But one thing was certain: Mrs. Sukuna had left an impression that no one would forget anytime soon.

Divider by : @bernardsbendystraws

[tootiecakes234]

Busy

NSFW(MDNI) ; Character Aged Up

Kinda fluffy, kinda smutty...

It was Saturday afternoon and you were on the couch all comfy. You had cleaned and cooked dinner. Now you were impatiently waiting for your boyfriend to get home.

The two of you have been dating for 2 and a half years now and living together for 6 months. You decided to take that step because you wanted more time together. Between your job and Katsuki's as a pro hero, you guys were always trying to find time for each other. Moving in had made this a lot better, but this past month has really been hell.

Kat left for a week on a mission out of the country, and a day after after he got back, you had to leave for a business trip for a few days. As soon as you thought the worst was over, there was attack after attack from the League of Villains. He was getting called in to work even on his days off.

The time apart was driving the both of you a little crazy. Your mood has been down and you haven't wanted to do much besides stay at home and sulk. You knew Katsuki was getting to a breaking point because you were hearing more complaints about him than usual.

He'd never admit it, but you are a big factor in him keeping his attitude in check. You had a very calming affect on him, so when he goes too long without real time with you, he reverts back to his asshole tendencies.

You are completely caught up in your show, when you hear the front door slam shut.

“Katsuki, why are slamming the door?” All you hear is him in the walkway tugging off his boots and grumbling to himself.

You get up and walk over to where is and all the frustration on his face starts to melt as soon as his eyes land on you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask as you walk over to him and slide your hands into his sweaty hair. “You stink ‘suki”

“Wow thanks. I just worked an 8 hour shift kicking ass all day” he rolls his eyes, “sorry hard work doesn’t smell good.

Even though you complain you don’t move away from him. You feel like you haven’t seen him more than an hour at a time recently.

“You should shower and then come out and eat. I made your favorite for dinner.”

“Yeah, I smelled it outside the door and my mouth was watering. I didn’t have time to eat lunch today.” He says a little hesitantly because you’ve chewed him out more than once over skipping meals when he puts his body through so much.

And you probably would have again, if you didn’t see the exhaustion in his face.

“Then do you wanna eat first, then shower. I don’t want you to pass out in there.”

“If you shower with me you can keep watch. Make sure I make it out alive.” He says as sweetly as he can muster right now.

And you do shower with him. You end up washing his hair for him and giving his shoulders a little massage that almost puts him to sleep standing up.

After that you get dressed and go dinner plated for the both of you. While you’re in the kitchen Katsuki hangs off of you like a backpack everywhere you go refusing to let you go.

You have 0 complaints to offer because you’re both touch starved by this point.

You end up eating thigh to thigh in the living room on the floor with some trashy show on. Katsuki inhaling his food in 3 bites and then nodding off while you attempt to finish yours as fast as you can before you completely lose him.

You get up and take the plates to the kitchen and Katsuki is standing at the bedroom door waiting on you.

“Baby, I’m not really sleepy yet. If you want to lay down, I’ll come in a little later.”

“We’re not going to sleep yet. I haven’t held you,awake anyways, or been inside you in almost 2 weeks.” He comes over and starts pulling into the bedroom. “I have a plan. First, I’m gonna make you cum… on my mouth. Then I’m gonna make both of us cum with me inside you.” By this point, you can already feel the wetness starting to pool inside your undies.

“And then, depending on how much energy I have left, I might repeat steps number one and two” this makes you giggle a little and his eyes are twinkling and mischievous. More bright and alive than you’ve seen them since he got home.

“By then, I promise, you’ll be so exhausted all you’ll wanna do is cuddle with me until we pass out.”

“You’re really cocky for someone that was just falling asleep. You probably won’t even have enough energy to complete step one”

By then he has you right on the edge of the bed. He pushes you so you fall back against the mattress with light “uumph”

You look up at him standing there all shirtless and sweatpants hanging low, and the hard outline in those sweatpants.

You think to yourself He might not have to touch to complete step one.

“Y/N the world would have to fuckin spontaneously combust to make me deviate from this plan.” He says as he crawls over you on the bed. “Now, you can either slide these fucking shorts off or I can tear them off you. Your choice.

*little did you know that Katsuki turned off both of your phones while you were in the kitchen and his work phone. He was being literal when he said nothing was getting in the way of this… not tonight. You he would MAKE time for.

Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist

*ummmm this was long but I’m trying to find my groove so…. Thanks for baring with me🤭

[bigfan-fanfic]

Descript of coming into your and his bedroom to get ready for bed to find Bucky on the bed, shirtless, hair down and in his boxers reading please?❤️ cosy vibes. Need cheering up.

Bucky's reading The Silmarillion, hair down, freshly washed and only just looking dry, soft and you can practically smell the gently-scented shampoo he uses. He's in a pair of red plaid-patterned boxers, shirtless, his dog tags and the mate to a set of rings he won for you at a fair he was able to steel himself enough to go to despite the crowds threaded onto a thin chain round his neck. He glances up.

"Hey, sweetheart. You finished up out there?"

You nod. "Yeah. Felt like it was time for bed."

His eyes track you across the room as you head to the bathroom. "I'm glad. It's getting late. Thought I might have to come get you."

"Says the man who rarely sleeps." You tease.

"Maybe I don't sleep, but I'm always happy to be your teddy bear."

"My Bucky Bear, you mean?" you dip into the bathroom as his eyes drift to the housewarming gift Steve had gotten you both when you moved in. A genuine piece of old merchandise - a Bucky Bear, based off of the Howling Commando James Barnes. One of the arms was damaged, replaced with a white one instead. It now sits on your nightstand, there to stand in for its namesake on the rare occasion Bucky isn't in bed at the same time you are.

When you emerge from the bathroom, Bucky's changed the lights to night mode, soft and warm, as if the room were lit by candles, albeit candles that illuminate the floor very well.

He handles the book with one hand now, with practiced ease. It's the one concession he made to his own preferences - while a tablet or book reader would be quieter, he loves a physical book and will turn the pages as quietly as possible.

He's warm and present, able to set his arm around you as you curl into his side. He has a knack for cuddling you to sleep and then easily sliding away when you shift without waking you up.

"Good night, sweetheart. Sweet dreams."

"Will you be in them?" you ask softly.

He grins. "Soon as you close your eyes. I'll meet you there, sweetness."

Protective, soft, present. As you drift off to sleep, Bucky is there. Taking care of you.

And the last thing you hear before sleep takes you in the soft bed- "I love you."

[yourlittlegoblin]

{The Gift He Couldn't Ignore} Scaramouche x Reader

The way I giggled like a little shit at 4am when writing this is insane,,, anyways I hope you enjoy :) Fem!Reader but everyone is welcomed to read my posts!

Scaramouche is as sharp as the edge of a blade, his presence cutting through any room like a storm ready to strike. His words are quick and biting, his temper just as volatile. Many in his command know better than to cross him; even the boldest of the Fatui tread carefully around his wrath. A glare from him is enough to freeze the air, and his scorn lingers like a burn.

But you? You're the quiet ray of sunshine that somehow warms even his cold, stormy edges. You’re introverted and soft-spoken, but you have a calm presence that balances out his temper. There’s something about the way you carry yourself — unassuming, yet unwavering in your quiet kindness — that even Scaramouche can't deny.

It doesn’t take long for some of his subordinates to figure it out. When the air grows thick with tension, and Scaramouche's patience wears thin, they make a quick escape — to you. One by one, they appear at your door, frantic and desperate for refuge.

"Please," one of them says, out of breath and clutching their clipboard like it might shield them, "just let me stand here for a bit. He won’t yell at me if I’m with you."

You blink at them, slightly bewildered but not entirely surprised. “He won’t yell at you if you just get your work done.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” another mutters, shifting uncomfortably, “but he’ll find something to yell about anyway! We’re safer here.”

You sigh, but you let them linger, even offering them a cup of tea while you finish up your paperwork.

Eventually, Scaramouche storms in, his piercing gaze scanning the room. The Fatui scattered around you straighten like statues, their fear palpable. But when his eyes land on you, the fire dims, and something softer flickers to life.

You glance up from your papers, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

His sharp tone falters, softening into something that’s almost — almost — sheepish. “No,” he mutters, crossing his arms. He doesn’t acknowledge the others, though his gaze flicks toward them briefly.

The room is still for a beat. Then, with a low grumble, he turns on his heel and leaves. The tension dissolves instantly, and the subordinates slump in relief.

“You see?” one of them whispers, awe in their voice. “He can’t yell at us when you’re here. You’re our only hope.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” another chimes in, “but it works.”

They’re not wrong. Scaramouche may be a force of nature, but around you, his storm quiets — and that’s something they’re willing to bet their lives on.

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

Soon after, you find yourself standing outside Scaramouche’s office, gently knocking on the door. His sharp voice calls out, “Enter.”

Pushing the door open, you step inside, offering him a small smile as his gaze lifts from the paperwork scattered across his desk. “Good evening,” you say softly.

He arches an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “What brings you here at this hour? Surely, you don’t intend to lecture me about yelling at my subordinates again.”

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. “Not this time.” Walking closer, you reach into your pocket and pull out a small, delicate trinket — a little bird carved from polished wood, its wings spread mid-flight.

“What’s that?” Scaramouche asks, his tone skeptical but laced with curiosity.

“I was wandering through the market earlier,” you begin, holding out the trinket, “and I saw this at one of the stalls. It made me think of you.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing slightly, though you notice the faintest hint of color brushing his cheeks. “A bird?”

You nod, your voice soft as you explain. “It reminded me of… soaring high. Of reaching for your goals, your ambitions. I thought it might be a nice way to convey my wishes for your endeavors to end in success.”

For a moment, Scaramouche says nothing, his eyes flickering between you and the trinket in your hand. Then, slowly, he reaches out and takes it, his fingers brushing against yours. He examines the bird closely, running his thumb over its smooth surface.

“It’s… fine craftsmanship,” he mutters, though his voice has lost some of its usual sharpness.

You smile, rubbing your eyes as a small yawn escapes you. “I’m glad you like it.”

At the sound of your yawn, Scaramouche’s gaze snaps to you, his expression shifting. The faint shadows under your eyes and the way your posture droops don’t escape his notice.

“You’re tired,” he states, his tone firm but quieter than usual.

“I’m fine,” you say with a slight wave of your hand, though your body betrays you with another yawn.

“Don’t give me that,” he snaps, though there’s no real bite in his words. He sets the trinket carefully on his desk before standing and stepping around to your side. “Wandering the markets, running errands, and now coming to see me? Do you even know when to stop?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the glare he gives you silences whatever excuse you were about to give.

“Go to bed,” he orders, crossing his arms as he towers slightly over you. “Now.”

“Scaramouche, I’m fine—”

“Do I need to carry you there myself?” he interrupts, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

Scaramouche’s sharp eyes follow your every move as you rub your eyes and yawn once again, prompting an exasperated sigh from him. "You're hopeless," he mutters, setting the bird trinket carefully on the corner of his desk.

Before you can protest, he waves a hand dismissively. "The subordinate quarters are too far, and knowing you, you'll find an excuse not to rest anyway. Sleep here, on the couch."

You blink at him in surprise, glancing over at the modestly cushioned sofa tucked against the wall of his office. "Here? Are you serious?"

He gives you a look, one eyebrow arched in that signature Scaramouche way that screams do not argue with me. "Yes, here. Or do you want me to watch you stumble through the halls half-asleep only to collapse somewhere?"

You hesitate, fidgeting slightly. "I don't want to intrude..."

"You're not. Sit down before I make you." His voice is firm, but there's no harshness in it, only a strange undercurrent of care he’s trying desperately to hide.

With a small sigh, you relent, removing your coat and draping it over your shoulders like a makeshift blanket. The couch is surprisingly comfortable, and as you settle in, you hear him grumble, “I doubt you’ll actually sleep.”

“Watch me,” you murmur softly, already feeling the warmth of the room seep into you. The day’s exhaustion catches up all at once, and before you know it, your eyes grow heavy and drift shut.

Scaramouche leans against his desk, arms crossed, watching as your breathing evens out. “Idiot,” he mutters under his breath, though his gaze softens ever so slightly. He picks up the bird trinket once more, his thumb brushing over its polished wings as he glances between it and your peaceful, sleeping form.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, his office feels a little less cold.

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

When you wake up, a comforting warmth envelopes you, much cozier than your thin coat could ever provide. You blink groggily and glance down to see Scaramouche's thick fur coat draped over you, its plush fabric soft against your skin. It carries his unmistakable scent—subtle hints of sharp spice and something faintly sweet, undeniably him.

For a moment, you’re caught between surprise and a quiet flutter in your chest. Carefully sitting up, you adjust the coat, its weight still lingering over your shoulders like a protective embrace.

Your gaze shifts toward Scaramouche, seated at his desk. His usual frown is gone, replaced by a calm, almost contemplative expression. He holds something small in his hands—a few of the trinkets you’ve given him over time. A bead here, a charm there, and even a tiny polished stone you had insisted would bring him good luck during one of his more ambitious missions.

He turns them over one by one, his gloved fingers tracing each object with uncharacteristic gentleness. It’s a rare sight, one that tugs at your heartstrings in a way you can’t quite describe.

You watch in silence, your heart growing warmer with every moment. Despite his sharp words and cold demeanor, this little glimpse of him—his quiet appreciation for the small things you’ve shared—makes all his rough edges seem a little softer.

You pull the coat tighter around yourself, smiling faintly as you silently decide to treasure this fleeting, tender moment for as long as you can.

Then Scaramouche looks up, startled to find your eyes on him. His surprise is brief, but it’s enough to break the tranquil moment. “How long have you been awake?” he asks sharply, though his tone carries a hint of embarrassment.

“I just woke up,” you murmur, still wrapped in his fur coat. Your gaze drifts back to the trinkets scattered on his desk, and without thinking, you say softly, “You kept them.”

He scoffs, turning his head slightly as if to hide the faintest flush creeping up his neck. “Of course, I kept them. What do you take me for? I’m not someone so lowly as to toss away gifts given with sincere thoughts behind them.”

Despite his words, there’s a subtle defensiveness in his tone, almost as if the notion of doing otherwise would be an unthinkable affront. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a huff, and adds, “Honestly, you’re such a fool sometimes, thinking I wouldn’t.”

You can’t help but smile at his reaction, though the warmth in your chest only grows. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Don’t get used to it, idiot,” he mutters, looking away but making no move to reclaim his coat from your shoulders.

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Carmy stood in the dimly lit laundry room, hands on his hips as he glared at the washing machine like it had personally wronged him. The display panel flashed erratically, like it was trying to send an SOS in Morse code, while a faint but concerning smell of burning plastic wafted through the air.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. All he wanted was to wash his clothes—just one normal task in a sea of chaos. Apparently, even that was asking too much.

With a frustrated sigh, he muttered curses under his breath and gave the machine a half-hearted nudge with his foot, as if that might magically revive it. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The machine remained defiantly lifeless.

“Wow. Bold strategy. Were you planning to wrestle it next?”

The voice startled him. He turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, holding a laundry basket overflowing with brightly colored clothes. You were dressed in the epitome of Saturday comfort: an oversized t-shirt with a graphic that read 'Physics: It’s Not Rocket Science... Oh, Wait, Yes It Is,' paired with baggy sweatpants and ridiculously fluffy, colorful monster feet slippers. Your hair was slightly messy like you’d just rolled out of bed—or perhaps fought the laundry demons he was now dealing with.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know machines responded to passive-aggressive foot taps.”

Carmy let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t have a better idea.”

“Well,” you said, stepping into the room and setting your basket down on the counter, “I hate to break it to you, but this thing looks like it’s plotting your demise. What’s the issue? Won’t open?”

“It stopped mid-cycle,” he explained, gesturing toward the uncooperative machine. “Clothes are stuck. It’s probably fried.”

“Oof. Smells like defeat and polyester.” You crouched down to inspect the machine, tilting your head like a mechanic sizing up a stubborn engine. “Looks like it’s giving you the silent treatment. Did you try apologizing? Promising to separate your whites and darks next time?”

“Funny,” Carmy deadpanned, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

You straightened up, planting your hands on your hips in a stance that could only be described as authoritative. “Well, lucky for you, Carmy-next-door, I happen to be an expert in broken things.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah? How’s that?”

You let out a playful scoff, crouching in front of the washing machine as if it were a patient in need of your expertise. “When you work in a place that runs on shoestring budgets and prayers, you pick up a thing or two about fixing stuff. I’ve practically got a minor in MacGyver-ing. It’s part of my many talents.”

He smirked, watching as you pressed a few buttons and tapped the side of the machine like you were coaxing it back to life. “Sounds like a tough gig.”

“Oh, it’s a blast,” you replied sarcastically with a grin, peering at the machine’s latch. “But the real fun is my lovely fourth graders and their… slippery fingers. Nothing keeps you on your toes like finding out your class stapler’s been dismantled to ‘see how it works.’”

“And you adore them,” Carmy guessed, his voice soft but sure.

“Ugh, to a fault,” you admitted, sitting back on your heels to glance at him. “They’re chaos in human form, but they’re my chaos. Like when Marcus decided to see if he could use glitter glue as a bookmark. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t. And then there was Kayla’s science project that involved exactly zero science but a lot of snacks. Kids are wild, but they’re kind of the best.”

Carmy chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

You huff a laugh nodding. “But they make all the broken stuff worth it... also, they’ve prepared me for moments like this. Fixing things? I’m a pro. Diffusing meltdowns? Also a pro. Dodging paper balls? Let’s just say my reflexes are unmatched.”

He chuckled quietly, his blue eyes softening as he observed your easy confidence. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh, hardly,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

He watched as you tinkered with the inner workings of the washer, the way your monster-footed slippers stuck out behind you, and the light in your eyes as you spoke about your students. There was something captivating about the way you moved—confident but never overbearing, your words spilling out in an endless stream of humor and warmth. For someone who probably dealt with endless chaos in your day-to-day life, you had an energy about you—warmth—messy and vibrant—that felt oddly grounding in his otherwise muted world.

Finally, with a triumphant click, the washer’s door popped open. A puff of warm, damp air escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of detergent. You rocked back on your heels, grinning up at him as if you’d just disarmed a bomb.

“And there you have it!” you declared standing up, sweeping your arm dramatically toward the liberated laundry like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “Your clothes are finally free, Chef Carmy. Laundry liberation, courtesy of yours truly. I accept gratitude in the form of snacks, coffee, or eternal admiration—your choice. But please, no autographs. I have to stay humble.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” Carmy said, huffing a quiet laugh as he shook his head, stepping forward to start transferring the damp clothes into another machine. His tone softened slightly as he added, “But thanks, really. I owe you one.”

You waved a hand dismissively, already moving to the next machine with your own basket in tow.

“Don’t worry about it, Carmy…” you said, your tone casual, though the smirk playing on your lips suggested otherwise. “But, if you do feel like you want to repay me, feel free to bring me more of those leftovers—like the ones you brought when I first moved in.”

He paused, eyebrows raising slightly as he met your gaze. “That’s what you want? Leftovers?”

“Not just any leftovers,” you clarified, turning back to load more clothes. “The fancy ones. Braised short ribs, perfectly roasted vegetables... whatever culinary magic you’re whipping up in that kitchen of yours. Don’t think I forgot.”

Carmy paused mid-transfer, glancing at you with a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “You liked those, huh?”

“Liked?” you scoffed, tossing a pair of socks into the machine. “I was ready to write you a thank-you sonnet. That braised short rib? Poetry in food form. You’ve ruined me for takeout forever.”

He chuckled softly, shutting the door to his machine. “It was just a test recipe.”

“Well, then I’d be happy to test more of your recipes,” you said with a wink, starting your own machine and leaning back against it. “Strictly as a favor, of course. I’m nothing if not generous.”

“Generous,” he repeated, shaking his head with a smirk as he pressed the start button on his machine. He glanced at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“See?” you teased, flashing him a grin. “You’re already getting the hang of this whole neighborly exchange thing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my expectations high.”

Carmy shook his head, letting out another quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you quipped, settling yourself into the nearby chair and grabbing a book from the empty laundry basket at your feet. You opened it casually, like you weren’t fully aware of the fact that his attention was still on you. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Chef Carmy. I’ve got standards now.”

Carmy smirked faintly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, watching as you flipped through the book, completely at ease. The light in the room, though dim and slightly yellowed, softened your features, making you look... warm. Pretty, even. The oversized t-shirt, the messy hair, and those ridiculous monster slippers didn’t detract from it—in fact, they only made you more endearing. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Instead, he tucked the thought neatly into the back of his mind, letting it sit there quietly.

The faint hum of the working washing machine filled the space, stretching the silence between you into something that felt oddly comfortable. He wasn’t used to that—not in conversations, not in moments like these. Usually, silence felt heavy, awkward, something to be broken. But this? This felt... different.

Still, the need to say something eventually won out, despite his lack of finesse with small talk. Clearing his throat softly, Carmy shifted his weight and finally asked, “So... uh, how are you liking it here?”

You glanced up from your book, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “In the building? Or in the laundry room?”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “The biulding, I guess."

“Oh, it’s not bad,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “The walls are a little thin—I may or may not know the entire plot of the soap opera your upstairs neighbor is binging—but they are decent. A little quiet, though, except for one guy who keeps kicking appliances. Total menace.”

“Sounds rough,” Carmy deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away.

“It is,” you said with mock solemnity before your smile softened. “But honestly? I like it. It’s... cozy, you know? Feels like a place where things can settle down.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor. “That’s good.”

“It’s growing on me,” you admitted, closing the book and resting it on your lap. “I mean, it’s not every day you move into a building and immediately make friends with someone who’s probably going to be on the cover of Some Fancy Chef Magazine someday.”

“Friends?” he said, arching a brow.

“Yeah, friends,” you replied with a teasing grin. “Or at least laundry room acquaintances.”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “Friend's better.”

"Good," You smiled, shifting slightly in your chair. “So, Carmy-next-door, aside from working and battling possessed washing machines, what do you do for fun?”

“For fun?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as though you’d just asked him to name every spice in his kitchen alphabetically. “Uh... I don’t know. Not sure I’ve got much time for that.”

“Not buying it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Everyone’s got something. Come on, spill. What’s your guilty pleasure? Do you secretly knit in your downtime? Binge-watch trashy reality TV? Start a garden but refuse to tell anyone because it ruins your ‘serious chef’ vibe? And if you are, I know someone who could be your new best friend.”

He let out another quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of those, but now I’m thinking I should start knitting just to throw people off.”

“Do it,” you said, pointing at him. “Then you can make me a scarf. But seriously, what’s your thing? There’s gotta be something.”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “I guess... sometimes I’ll just walk around the city. Clears my head, you know?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “That’s a solid choice. City walks are like people-watching with a side of fresh air. What’s your favorite spot?”

“There's this park near the river. Quiet, not too crowded. Good place to think." Carmy tells her.

"Sounds nice," you replied, smiling. "I might have to check it out sometime."

"You should," Carmy said, his expression softening. He clears his throat, "I-uh, I used to draw, though. Sketch stuff when I had the time.”

“Used to?” you asked, leaning forward a bit, intrigued. “You mean you don’t anymore? Or are you just too modest to admit you’ve got sketchbooks hidden under your bed?”

His smirk faltered into something a little more genuine, a touch of shyness creeping into his expression. “I still do. Sometimes. When things aren’t too crazy.”

“Now that’s interesting,” you said, sitting back with a thoughtful smile. “What kind of stuff do you draw? People? Landscapes? Elaborate food masterpieces?”

“A little of everything,” he said with a small shrug. “But mostly recipes, or at least how I want them to look."

“Like a visual diary,” you said, nodding. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Yeah, well...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing big.”

“Carmy,” you said, tilting your head at him. “You just admitted to having an actual hobby, and I’m here for it. Don’t downplay it.”

He huffed, shaking his head flushing ever so slightly. “Alright. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Me?” you repeated, your eyes lighting up as you sat back in the chair, clutching your book like a prop in a comedy routine. “Well, let’s see. I’m a professional daydreamer, certified in overthinking, and an expert-level snack enthusiast. It’s an impressive resume, I know.”

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“Oh, it is,” you said with a mock-serious nod. “But if we’re being serious... I like to read, obviously.” You held up the book for emphasis. “And I’m a sucker for a good movie. Big screen, small screen, doesn’t matter. I also like to go out with friends— go to clubs, a karaoke bar, grab dinner, play board games, complain about life. You know, the usual.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “Any favorites? Books or movies?”

“Hmm,” you mused, tapping your chin. “For books, I like a little bit of everything—mysteries, fantasy, even the occasional cheesy romance. Keeps life interesting. And movies... I’m a sucker for feel-good comedies. But every now and then, I’ll binge something dark and broody just to balance it out.”

Carmy nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Feel-good comedies? Got any recommendations?”

“Oh, I’ve got tons,” you said, your eyes gleaming. “But only if you’re ready for some real classics. Think Clueless, The Princess Bride, or When Harry Met Sally. If you’ve never seen those, we might have to reassess this friendship.”

“Clueless,” he repeated, remembering the movie because of Natalie who forced him and Mikey to watch it, one eyebrow-raising. “That the one with ‘As if’?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “See? You’re already on the right track.”

He smirked, shaking his head again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“What about you? Do you watch movies, or is that too much fun for someone as serious as Chef Carmy?”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I watch stuff sometimes. Nothing specific. Just... whatever’s on.”

“Lame answer,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. “We’ll work on that. I’ll make you a list. Everyone needs go-to favorite movies.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said, his smirk softening.

“Good,” you replied with a playful nod, leaning back in your chair. “And since you’re such a layer enigma, like an onion, I’m guessing you don’t do the whole ‘night out with friends’ thing often?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “Doesn’t happen much.”

“You should,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your tone teasing but warm. “You might surprise yourself. One minute you’re awkwardly standing in a corner, and the next, you’re reenacting a dance scene from Dirty Dancing with a stranger. That’s how the best stories happen.”

Carmy shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Not sure that’s my thing.”

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be Dirty Dancing,” you said with a shrug. “But everyone deserves a good night out now and then. Even mysterious chef-next-door types.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But no promises.”

“Hey, no pressure,” you replied, looking over at him with a soft smile. “I’m just saying, Chef Carmy, you can’t live in your kitchen forever. Sometimes you’ve gotta step out and find your own rom-com moment.”

Carmy stared at you for a moment, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head, as though amused by something he couldn’t quite put into words, but the warmth in his expression lingered.

The hum of the machines filled the room, a soft backdrop to your easy conversation. What started as playful banter drifted into more thoughtful exchanges—small glimpses into each other’s lives, quirks, and histories.

Minutes melted into what felt like seconds, neither of you noticing the time slipping away. For once, it wasn’t about schedules, responsibilities, or the ever-present noise of the outside world. Just two neighbors sharing stories in the glow of the laundry room’s dim light.

A/N: So, thank you so much for all the support. It really keeps me going. I'm thinking of making like a small series of this, like a few interactions before they started dating- maybe some jealousy along the way lol- the first date- maybe the future but idk.

Also, just in case I do, please tell me if you would like to be tagged.

@themorriganisamonster

[magical-reid]

Tying Hearts Into Knots

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x Nurse!Reader

Word Count: 700

Prompt: 29: "“I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want,”

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the confident and charming sergeant, is thrown off balance by the cool and composed nurse tending to him, making him stumble over his words in a way no one has ever seen. As their unlikely friendship grows, the tough soldier finds himself nervous and flustered around her, while she begins to see a side of him that’s more than just swagger and charm.

The low hum of the hospital ward was punctuated by the occasional scrape of a chair leg or the soft murmur of a nurse giving instructions. You were busy checking bandages when you first noticed him—Bucky Barnes, the charming sergeant everyone seemed to swoon over. He had a grin that could disarm even the most stoic of nurses and an air of confidence that could walk right into any room and make it his.

Except, apparently, when it came to you.

You’d caught him staring once or twice, his expression a strange mix of curiosity and… was that nervousness? Hard to tell with a man like Bucky, who usually exuded confidence like it was as easy as breathing. But right now, he sat stiffly at the edge of the cot, his usual smirk absent. His hands fidgeted in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you greeted, pulling his chart off the clipboard. You didn’t look at him right away, too preoccupied with reading the notes. But when you glanced up, his blue eyes were already on you, wide like he’d just been caught red-handed.

“Uh, hey.” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can call me Bucky.”

You smirked at that, writing something down on his chart. “I’ll stick with Sergeant Barnes for now. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he mumbled. Then, after a beat: “Thanks to you.”

That was new. The great Bucky Barnes, nervous and stumbling over his words? You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if he was pulling your leg. But the way his knee started bouncing, you decided he was serious.

“Well,” you said, moving to check his bandaged arm, “you’ve got a long road ahead, but it’s nothing you can’t handle, right?” You gave him a pointed look, one you often used on stubborn patients.

“Right,” he said, his voice a little too high.

You chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. It was a hot day, and the humidity in the ward wasn’t helping. Your hair kept falling loose from its pins, and you huffed in frustration as you tucked it back again.

Bucky shifted on the cot. “I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want,” he blurted.

You froze, mid-motion, staring at him. His face went red as a beet.

“I—uh—used to do it for my sister,” he stammered, his words tripping over each other. “It’s—it’s not weird or anything, I just—” He cut himself off, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor.

You bit back a smile, deciding to take pity on him. “You braid hair, Sergeant Barnes?”

His laugh was awkward, his eyes darting around like he was searching for an escape. “Yeah, uh, like I said… for my sister. But I’m sure I could, y’know, do a good job if you needed help or something.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “I might take you up on that.”

Bucky looked like he wasn’t sure if you were joking or not, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “O-okay.”

Leaning closer, you dropped your voice. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you nervous, Sergeant.”

“I’m not nervous,” he said too quickly, his shoulders straightening.

“Really? Your face is redder than Private O’Malley’s sunburn,” you teased.

He opened his mouth, then shut it, and you couldn’t hold back your laughter. For a man who could charm his way out of anything, he was absolutely flustered.

“I’ll tell you what,” you said, your voice softening. “If I ever need a hairdresser, you’ll be the first person I call.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a smile, some of his usual swagger creeping back in. “Careful, doll. I might hold you to that.”

You shook your head, stepping back. “Rest up, Sergeant.”

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, and when you glanced back, sure enough, there he was—grinning like an idiot.

You couldn’t help but grin back.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Okay imagine Scott’s first time spending new years with someone apart from himself, you invited him over to your house and everyone’s celebrating and when the clock strikes 12, you quickly kiss him (your first kiss) as soon as he turns to wish you a happy new year and you giggle when you pull and see this pretty boy all flustered and red. Safe to say he hasn’t stopped holding your hand since that kiss.

Also happy new year bunnyyyy, hope you have the best ‘25 ever pooks! Love ya!💗

- 🌺

Author's note: dear beautiful nonnie, as always, you're slaying with requests - never disappointing me :) thank you so much for wishes, I hope you'll have the nicest, the sweetest year ever‼️ love you too, 🌺 Nonnie

SCOTT BARRINGER wasn’t really one for big parties. He usually preferred to spend New Year's in his own quiet way, alone in his room. But tonight was an exception. You had invited him and somehow he just couldn't say no, not to you. So now he was here, at your house, surrounded by your friends - mostly. And somehow, it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as he thought it would.

Even though he wasn’t used to being part of a crowd like this, he found himself drawn to you. There was something easy about being around you. You made it feel like he belonged.

The countdown finaystarted, the whole room joining in unison. “Ten… nine… eight…”

The countdown continued that he tried to distract himself with, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of your eyes on him. “Three… two… one…”

He moved his gaze around the room before turning it on you, catching your eye. You were smiling, your cheeks flushed with excitement, or something he wasn't quite able to name. He quickly turned his gaze away, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets

When you pulled away, you burst into giggles (out of nervousness since Scott was kind of unpredictable) and Scott, on the other hand, was frozen for a second, face going bright red. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d never been the type to get flustered, but now? He was a mess. He stood there, blinking at you, trying to find proper words that would really describe his feelings.

Before he could even think about what he was doing, you were suddenly there, your lips pressing to his. It was soft, quick--nothing too crazy--yet still, it sent a jolt of electricity through him.

A kiss.

On New Year’s.

With you.

“You--” he started, but his voice caught in his throat. He cleared it. “That was--um--wow.”

You laughed again, squeezing his hand. “Yeah?”

He nodded, still a little stunned. “Yeah, that was... definitely not what I expected for New Year’s.”

You grinned “I thought you might just say that.”

Scott looked then down at your hand, then back up at you, like he was trying to figure out how to act properly so there wouldn't be much awkwardness, just that little softness between you. Slowly, his fingers curled around yours, pulling your hand into his.

And he didn’t let go. Not once.

“Guess I’m not spending New Year’s alone this year"

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca

[peachhcs]

the new guy | the wonder years

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will finds out about samy's new boyfriend kevin after thinking there might be a chance for them after they kissing at her senior year kickoff party

wc: 1.7k

cooked this up because 1. i love wonder years and 2. i don’t think i’ve ever written everyone meeting kevin for the first time (i’m also running out of pics so im resorting to gifs lol)

au masterlist

it was a typical friday night for the boys. they raced home after their game to change and make it to samy's first soccer game of the season that started promptly at 7. their goal this season was to make to every single one of her games that didn't coincide with their own games. ryan's mom's suv was definitely going to be put to good use.

the seven of them piled in and were on the road by 6:15 which was record time for them considering their game just finished at 5:30. will was feeling a bit giddy tonight. he had a great game with two goals and an assist and now he was about to see samy for the first time since last weekend. he was still thinking about that drunken kiss they shared.

he knew they were just playing with one another like back in april during that seven minutes in heaven, but will couldn't help thinking that maybe it meant something more this time. it'd been on his mind since last weekend when it happened and the boy started wondering what exactly the relationship he had with the girl was. they were friends, yeah, but..could there be a possibility for something more?

will's never really thought of her that way. maybe that one time when they were twelve, but that didn't count because they were twelve. all he knew was that she'd been on his mind a lot more recently and he started wondering what it meant or if it was even normal to be thinking of his best friend that much? surely it was because he thought of all the guys in the car with him a fair amount. either way, will was excited to see her.

they pulled into the already full lot exactly fifteen minutes before kick off. gabe was texting marcie and riley asking where they were sitting as they walked towards the bleachers. they spotted the two girls in the student section and quickly joined them.

"i'm surprised you guys made it in time," marcie teased and made room for the seven of them.

"you should've seen will barking us around. he was not playing around," ryan teases the blonde who flushed. he scanned the field for samy.

she was by the bench talking with some of the girls. her captain band was wrapped proudly around the top of her shin before her socks started. will knew how hard samy worked for that honor this season and he was proud of her for finally being able to show it off and lead the girls to another successful season in her last year.

"this should be an easy sweep. central michigan has always had a shitty defense," marcie mumbled as the boys' gazes swept over to the other team warming up.

will's gaze followed the other students in the stands. he recognized some of them from the parties samy dragged him to. being in the student section really made the boys feel like they were in high school which was another reason why they wanted to go to the games because they got to experience high school traditions the dev program didn't give them.

samy finally waved up at the stands to the boys who eagerly waved back at her. will smiled widely when he caught her gaze. he watched her gaze fall to the other side to wave at her parents and then the next person she waved at caught him off guard.

it was a guy with brunette hair about three rows down from them. he was taller and stood with some friends that looked to be on the boy's soccer team. samy was smiling widely at him and will's stomach twisted seeing her wave at him.

but he tried to not think about it too much. maybe he was just  a friend? yeah, a friend. she could have friends. will was thinking about this too much.

the game was a clean sweep like marcie said. samy's team scored three goals, one of them being from samy and she assisted the other two. the students cheered for them as they ran up to the bleachers to give out high-fives before running back to the benches. the students began filing out of the bleachers to meet the players in the parking lot after their post game debrief.

the boys talked with marcie and riley waiting for samy to come out. her parents joined them a second later where ellen and jim happily greeted them and thanked them for coming. will was too immersed in his conversation with drew and aram that he didn't see samy come out and turn her attention to the boy she waved to before the game started.

she greeted him with a warm hug and blushed when he gave her flowers. will didn't see them coming until gabe nudged his shoulder and marcie ran to hug her best friend.

"you played so well!" the girl exclaimed making samy flush.

"thanks for coming guys. i didn't actually think you'd make it on time," the soccer player said the the boys.

"thank will. he got us moving," ryan clapped his friend's shoulder. the blonde smiled softly at her. she returned it before directing her gaze back to the boy will saw earlier.

he quickly noticed the flowers in her hand and the shy expressions on both of their faces. that twist in will's stomach quickly returned as he put the pieces together.

"there's someone i want you guys to meet. this is kevin," samy introduced him and he shyly waved at everyone.

for a second, everyone looked at will while the blonde had a blank expression on his face. the excitement he had earlier started fading as he realized what this meant.

"nice to meet you. we're samy's hockey friends," ryan finally said and held his hand out. he was always the one to break the ice first. kevin shook his hand.

"good to meet you guys. samy talks highly of all of you," kevin chuckled.

will struggled to meet samy's gaze that he knew was on him because she was searching for his approval. he didn't really know what to think.

it was dumb to think that maybe he had a chance with her. samy was right. those two kisses were just for fun because they were drunk half the time anyway. it didn't mean anything and will shouldn't have thought it did. he swallowed and sucked up his pride.

"didn't know samy had a new fling," drew chirped up with a small, teasing smirk.

"we've been talking for a few weeks," the girl giggled and then will's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. a few weeks? she's been talking to this guy a few weeks and they still made out in her friend's bathroom last weekend. were they even official then?

"we've been keeping it on the down low until making it official a few days ago," kevin slung his arm around her shoulders.

will found gabe's gaze beside him. the dark-haired boy spoke with his eyes like he knew exactly what will was thinking. gabe didn't really know about the drunk make-outs will and samy have done, but he could probably take a guess. it was fairly obvious whenever the two came back out of the bathroom. all gabe did was place a hand on his friend's shoulder and offered a tight-lipped smile to the new guy in front of them.

"well, it's nice to meet you, kevin. hopefully we'll see you around more," gabe said.

"we're gonna head out, but thanks a lot for coming guys. i always like seeing you guys up there," samy grinned and walked back through the parking lot with kevin.

ellen and jim wished the others goodbye and safe travels back to plymouth. the boys glanced between one another.

"sorry i didn't mention anything. samy wanted to like..surprise you guys," marcie said and looked at will. everyone seemed to be looking at will.

"it's fine. he seems cool," the blonde finally said.

"i know you guys are..and we tease you guys about.."

"no, we're just friends, you know that. all of that doesn't mean anything to us," will cut marcie off, managing his best smile. the others exchanged quick glances before deciding to let it go for now. they said goodbye to marcie and riley before climbing back into ryan's suv to head back.

the car ride was a bit silent. will stared out the window suddenly rethinking everything. he should've known him and samy's relationship would just be a friendship and nothing more than that. it was stupid of him to even think otherwise. they hardly even talked too. usually, samy would be all over him after the game and wanted to talk until they had to leave.

she just left without even saying a word to him really. that did kind of hurt.

ryan dropped everyone back off at their houses. the two boys walked back into the house in silence. ryan didn't want to prod, but he's also never seen will so quiet before.

"look, i know it's not my business, but are you good?" the brunette raised his eyebrow when they were away from the prying ears of their moms.

"i'm fine, why?" will didn't meet his gaze.

"you're just weirdly quiet," ryan mumbled.

"i'm fine. it's nothing," the blonde shrugged and as much as ryan hated prying, he kept talking.

"look, i know the teasing we make at you is all in good fun about samy, but..i didn't know she was talking to someone. i'm sorry."

"why are you sorry? it's not like we were like together or liked each other," will said quickly and ryan gave him a look that both of them knew the blonde was not telling the full truth or at least that ryan saw right through him.

"right, yeah," the brunette mumbled. they left the conversation at that because ryan wasn't gonna poke anymore. will was left to think about ryan's words and what exactly they meant to him because surely, he didn't actually like samy like that.

right?

[itacats]

In His Steady Hands

FT: Soap x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of chronic illness, muscle spasms, mild self-doubt, and anxiety. Some depictions of noisy environments (arcades and shooting ranges).

SUM: Navigating through the thrill of an arcade night and a tense shooting range visit, you find yourself caught between your desire to push boundaries and the challenges posed by your body. Soap’s relentless charm and lightheartedness ease your tension, but his sharp perception threatens to unravel the mask you’ve carefully constructed.

A/N: Arcade games and shooting ranges with Soap? Sign me up! 🎯💥 Writing this had me imagining his Scottish humor cutting through every tense moment—truly a blessing! Let me know if y’all can hear his laugh too. 😊

Side note: inspired by when I found out I had dystonia when I was on my high school varsity marksmanship team-boy do I miss it😅

In His Steady Hands Mastlist

Part 2: Shaky Foundations & Hurdles

Your group of friends had been talking about an arcade night for weeks, but when the plan finally came together, you found yourself hesitating. The idea of being in such a lively, chaotic environment with your friends—and Soap—both excited and unnerved you. What if your body decided to betray you at the worst possible moment?

Still, you pushed through the hesitation. You didn’t want to be the person who always said no, the one who distanced themselves from others for fear of the unknown. Soap’s enthusiasm when he texted the group chat to confirm the plan was contagious, and a small part of you was looking forward to seeing him again.

The moment you stepped into the arcade, the energy hit you like a wave. Neon lights danced along the walls, and the cacophony of sounds—coins clinking, games beeping, people laughing—created a dizzying backdrop. You spotted Soap almost immediately, surrounded by your friends as he gestured animatedly towards the games littered around the room.

“There you are!” he called out when he saw you, his voice cutting through the noise. “C’mon, you’re not getting out of this.”

Soap was already in the thick of things, bouncing from game to game with childlike enthusiasm. His energy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile as he dragged you and the others toward a row of racing simulators.

“Alright, who’s ready to lose spectacularly?” he teased, shooting a cocky grin in your direction as he slid into the seat of the nearest machine.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning confidence. “Big words for someone who might not even finish the race.”

The group burst into playful jeers, and you slid into the seat next to him, gripping the steering wheel. The screen lit up, the countdown ticking down with a deafening rhythm. Three, two, one—GO!

The game roared to life, and you leaned into the controls, adrenaline surging as you swerved through the digital course. For a moment, you forgot about the noise, the people, the tension coiled inside you. It was just you and the game.

But then it happened.

A sudden spasm shot through your arm, jerking the wheel violently to the side. Your car veered off the track, smashing into a barrier. Heat flushed your face as you fought to steady your grip, but the damage was done. The others were already laughing at the ridiculousness of the crash as your stomach twisted with silent embarrassment.

“You alright there, champ?” Soap’s teasing voice cut through the noise, his tone light but his gaze sharp.

You forced a smile, releasing the wheel and flexing your fingers as if to shake off the moment. “Yeah, just tired. Long day.”

“Fatigue’ll get you every time,” he replied easily, leaning back in his seat as his avatar sped across the finish line in first place. The others groaned, accusing him of cheating, but Soap only laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? Raw talent.”

Despite the uproar around him, Soap’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. You avoided his gaze, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you stood to join the group.

“Alright, what’s next?” someone shouted, and the group began to disperse toward the other games.

Soap caught up to you as you meandered toward a skee-ball machine, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You sure you’re alright?”

You nodded quickly, plastering on a casual smile. “Of course. Just out of practice, I guess.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for cracks in the façade. But instead of pressing further, he broke into a wide grin. “Fair enough. But if you want to redeem yourself, I’m always up for a rematch. Winner buys the next round of drinks.”

You chuckled softly, relief blooming in your chest as he steered the conversation away. “You’re on, MacTavish.”

True to form, Soap launched into one of his grand, exaggerated stories as the two of you joined the others. He recounted a tale of a disastrous attempt at drunken karaoke during a squad celebration, complete with an off-key rendition of a Queen song and a broken microphone. The group erupted in laughter, and the tension that had settled over you moments before began to ease.

Soap’s laughter boomed above the others, and you couldn’t help but glance at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. He’d noticed your stumble—of course he had—but instead of making it a point of concern, he’d diffused it with effortless charm, redirecting the focus away from you.

As the night wore on, you found yourself relaxing more, caught up in the laughter and Soap’s easy humor. But in the back of your mind, the memory of the spasm lingered, a reminder of the delicate balance you walked.

For now, though, you let yourself enjoy the moment. After all, shaky foundations could still hold up under the right support.

In the following weeks, another invitation arrived in Soap’s usual no-nonsense fashion—a simple text that read: "Shooting range tomorrow? You coming?" A grinning emoji with sunglasses followed the message, but it did little to ease the tension that coiled within you.

Your first instinct was to decline. Stress had a way of igniting the worst of your symptoms, and the shooting range was a stress-filled scenario waiting to happen–the loud sounds, the jolts of a freshly fired gun lingering in your arms, the metallic tang in the air that tried to overwhelm your nose. But as you reread the message, imagining Soap’s easy grin and his unrelenting enthusiasm, you hesitated. Turning him down felt like letting him down, and something in you refused to do that.

The next day, you stood outside the range, your palms clammy despite the brisk air. Soap was already waiting for you, leaning casually against the entrance. His face lit up when he spotted you, and any lingering thoughts of backing out vanished.

“About time,” he teased, his Scottish lilt warm and playful. “Thought you were gonna bail on me.”

You forced a laugh, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Inside, the sharp smell of gunpowder mingled with the low hum of conversation and the muffled pops of firing. The range was busier than you’d expected, adding another layer to the knot in your stomach. Soap guided you to a station, his confidence contagious as he set up the equipment and walked you through the basics.

“Easy enough,” he said, sliding a pair of protective headphones over your ears. “Just keep your stance steady and breathe.”

Keep steady and breathe. Easier said than done.

The first few shots weren’t bad—your aim wasn’t perfect, but Soap’s steady encouragement kept your nerves at bay. His voice, muffled slightly by the headphones, carried a balance of humor and instruction that eased some of your tension.

But as the session wore on, the stress began to mount. The weight of the gun, the crack of each shot, the subtle vibration that coursed through your arms—it all started to take its toll. Your muscles tightened, a warning sign you knew all too well.

You tried to shake it off, adjusting your grip and forcing a smile when Soap glanced your way. “Not bad, huh?” you managed, your voice tight.

“Not bad at all,” he replied, flashing a thumbs-up. But his sharp gaze lingered on you a moment too long, as if sensing something was off.

When a spasm hit, it was impossible to hide. Your fingers twitched in an unruly manner, causing the gun to jerk slightly in your hands. You quickly set it down, hoping Soap hadn’t noticed. A stray bullet with this many people around was asking for trouble… if not more.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with an undertone of concern.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, just…my grip slipped.”

Soap didn’t push, but you could feel his eyes on you as you stepped back from the station, pretending to examine the target. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken questions and the weight of your own self-consciousness.

When he finally spoke, it wasn’t to probe or pry. Instead, he gestured toward the target with a lopsided grin. “Not bad for a first-timer. With a bit more practice, you might even beat me.”

His lightheartedness caught you off guard, easing some of the tension that had built in your chest. You offered a small smile in return, grateful that he hadn’t pushed for answers you weren’t ready to give.

But as the session wrapped up and you walked back to your car, the moment lingered in your mind. You weren’t sure whether to be thankful for Soap’s restraint or ashamed that he’d seen even a glimpse of your struggle.

For now, you decided, it was easier to bury those feelings and focus on the fact that Soap still looked at you the same way he had before—like nothing had changed—probably.

Want to see what's up next? Click here!

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 9; "Never seen that color blue."

“No, yeah, of course! Noo…no! Thank you! I seriously appreciate all of your help and understanding during this! I hope you have a wonderful day! Yeah, aw, thanks! You, too! Yeah- okay- bye!”

My faux smile dropped as soon as my hand did, phone falling to a silenced settle on my left thigh. I breathed a shallow breath of somehow anxious relief, so ironic that it made me want to scream.

Max reached across the bed and rubbed my knee comfortingly, “You okay?”

I wanted to snort, yell, kick my feet, and laugh hysterically. Throw a temper tantrum, wish on a star, kiss a fucking frog. Fall on my knees, beg the skies. Change fate's cruel course of time.

But my expression was blank as I shrugged, “What can ya do?”

The corner of his lips lifted into the saddest smile. His thumb brushed my skin, “It’s gonna be alright. Once you settle back in, things will start to feel normal. You can start…moving on. And, hey, I’m visiting in just a month. You have that to look forward to. School starting, your new role at the clinic. So many good things, Daz.”

He was right- I had so much to be excited about. I really should’ve felt excited, grateful. A better woman would have. A better woman would have seen the blessings all around her and felt so full of life and love. God, she would’ve respected herself enough to not be in this situation in the first place.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel resentful, knowing that I would trade all of it for-

for him.

For Oliver.

I would give up everything for just another moment, hanging onto his lips like a vine. Just a second of growth, even if being ripped away meant digging up the roots and my leaves dying.

I just gave Max that fake smile, knowing full well he was aware that it meant nothing. “You’re right. It’ll be good for me to be home.”

He squeezed my knee before removing his hand. “You wanna finish packing? Or maybe take a break? Get some food?”

I glanced around at the mess of clothes across Sam and I’s hotel room. My bags lay open, a few piles of my stuff already stuffed inside. But there was more than half to be done. So much to be done before I went…before I went home tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Less than 12 hours from now. I’d be heading back to reality. Closing the doors on Europe, on everything and everybody I’d be leaving here.

There was just one week left on the European leg of the two. Tomorrow morning, everyone will be leaving for Germany. I’d go to the airport with them, like normal, but depart at a separate gate, at the same exact time. Those who needed to know, well, I was going to tell them. And those who needed to know the reason why would, too. Sam was going to think I was going home because of an offer for a higher position from the clinic I worked at. But this was only partially true. Training for that wouldn’t even start for another 3 weeks. School wasn’t for a month.

I was leaving for me- for clarity, fresh air. Oliver was right- London was foggy, full of pollution and shitty, selfish men.

I needed to get away, out. Back to routine and home. Back to what I knew- what wouldn’t hurt me.

I looked back to Max, “I'm gonna finish packing. Get it over with. Before Sam gets back. I think it might hurt his feelings to walk in and see this…mess.”

Mess might have held a double meaning. I had looked better, for sure. Max understood, I think, for he knocked his shoulder against mine, then stood from the bed. “We got it, Daz.”

I stood up quickly, knowing the only way to get started was to just start. Stand. Move. (I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.)

It took us another hour or so to finish stuffing my belongings into their bags. I had bought maybe one too many souvenirs, so we struggled to find a place for everything. When we were done, I slew myself across the end of the bed, breathing heavily, sweating a little bit.

Max groaned from the floor, “Why do you own so many things?!”

“Dude, I don’t even know. It’s gonna take me 12 years to unpack!”

He chortled, half-heartedly, patting his stomach as an afterthought. “I am soooo hungry. What do you wanna eat?”

I sat up as he did so, shrugging a bit, “You pick. I don’t have the energy for all that.”

“I’m good with the hotel restaurant if you are.”

“Fuck it.”

So, we sludged our way downstairs. I hadn’t been leaving my room much, worried you-know-who would cross my path and shake things up again. Though, I doubted he was looking for me. He hadn’t so much as texted me since last week. Oliver was probably sulking, convincing himself that he was the victim in this whole thing. The thought made my blood rush a little bit. I clenched my fist as the elevator doors closed, trying to focus on breathing and not screaming.

The past three had been probably one of the worst of my life. I was so…so sad. So angry. Confused. Nothing made sense, yet all of my fears had come true. It was like I knew all the answers, but my bones felt so put off by how they manifested themselves. Like, what do you mean the cold, dark, distant boy turned out to be a cheating, manipulative liar? Right on the money.

My rational mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that it still felt so…disappointing? Wrong? Fucked the fucking fuck up.

The doors slid open. I followed, quietly, behind Max as we headed for the inlet to the left of the front counter. This was a usual part of my new found routine, grabbing food with Max. Albeit, sneakily, with numerous texts between the two of us (me, badgering him) ensuring nobody else (Oliver) was down here. In avoiding him, I had been avoiding everybody else, too.

I could already see their knowing looks. Sam could read me like a book. Ronnie was way psychic and usually felt the vibe of a situation long before it occurred. Adam, obviously, already was aware. And I'm sure he would have relayed the information to Cyrus.

I was exuding this aura of heartbroken, school-girl-fantasy-crushed, sad-puppy shit. I felt tired, and I’m sure my eyes looked it, too. Any passerby probably could have read my emotions pretty well. No matter, I’d be out of here soon. Back home. I could heal, rest, relax, find somebody else to fuck and get the fuck over this dumb ass white boy.

My dumb ass white boy. I’d tried not to think about him, so deeply sunk into this angry feeling that I couldn’t even fathom the idea of missing what had hurt me. Alas, every once and a while (between every other curse I thought of) something would flash through my mind. A distant memory, an image of his deep-ocean blue eyes shining with flames from the rooftop firepit, triggered by a breath, a catch of the wind, a sink in my heart. I’d feel a little moth flicker in my chest. An air bubble, taut in my stomach, would have me hiccuping from gushing tears in an instant.

I think it was the deep blue suede of the hotel bar’s stools that did it this time. I brushed a hand, slowly, watching the color shift from the movement of the fabric. The lighter color reminded me of a time he felt the way I did right now. Sadness. Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to him, maybe his depravity was not comforted by me. But that moment, when I held him, when he nuzzled his head into my neck and began crying-

“Wanna drink?” Max rested a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention back from where I was trudging through fleeting, erasing moments.

I ceased my body from flinching, willed away the wetness in my eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get a drink.”

Which was a mistake.

One drink turned to appetizers turned to three drinks turned to main courses, 5 drinks, 2 shots, and dessert. Before I knew it, Max and I were cackling over some typo on some Twitter post. I gripped his shirt sleeve and hoped I wouldn’t slide off the bar stool. For the first time in a week, I wasn’t concerning myself with the logistics of sticking around in this public area as long as we had been. I wasn’t even thinking of Oliver. In fact, Max and I were discussing some of our favorite shitposts about American politics. My mind was far away from dumb Brits and idiotic Europeans.

Of course, the world had a very funny way of spitting in my face.

Adam, Cyrus, and- low and behold- Oliver came strolling into the bar right when Max and I finished ordering another drink. I felt a little sick, watching as they neared us. Oliver wasn’t paying attention. He never did. His head, sunken into his hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. He moved like the Grim Reaper. I wondered if he had come to take my soul away.

Adam and Cyrus seemed…on edge. They noticed Max and I only after they’d made it halfway across the room. Adam hesitated on his next step, catching my eye, worriedly glancing between me and Oliver.

Max was aware, at this point. He cut himself off mid sentence, swiping a hand across his lips. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “Daisy…let’s go.”

His fingers brushed through mine in a desperate grasp to pull me along with him, towards the door. I was drunk. I was not thinking. I was hysterical, sad, heartbroken, angry. I tugged my hand away, instead flipping into the air to wave and cheerfully catch the group’s full attention.

“Cy! Adam!” I couldn’t quite catch his name on my tongue. I thought I might puke. “Hey, girl!”

Oliver looked up at the sound of voice. He stopped, but three feet from our little round table. The light, dim from the overhead lamps and LED strips behind the counter, caught the round pupils in his eyes. I watched as he blinked once, twice. Blue.

“Oliver!” There it was.

He met my eye. The corners of his lids wilted, like the petals of a flower, aged, saddened. Drops of rain dropping them in weight. Max looked between the two of us. Cyrus busied himself with buying a drink. Adam slouched in the awkward, pregnant air. Oliver ignored me, moved around our group to sit as far away as possible.

I clenched my jaw. Rage. Utter, pure anger. How dare he deny me even now? The fact that he had not come to my door in the past few days, on his knees, begging for my forgiveness- I was seething. And, now, he goes back to his old tricks. Pretending like I don’t exist.

I turned to Max, who was bracing for impact. His hands were wary, held up near me as if to catch my fall. I shrugged, smiled cheekily, wrinkled my nose. I bumped Adam’s shoulder with mine and declared, “Shots on me?”

He continued his smug slump in the bar stool for the next hour. Adam, Cyrus, Max, and I hung like the old pals we were, cracking jokes, swapping stories like we were surrounding a campfire. I glanced at Oliver every once in a while, hoping to accidentally make eye contact like we used to. He stared down at his phone or his glass. I was surprised the device worked considering he’d fucking forgotten my contact existed or something.

Ugh.

What a fucking ass hole.

Adam asked me a question, pulling my attention back in. “Are you excited for Germany?”

Oh. I’d almost forgotten all about this little plot. I knew that if I spoke loud enough, Oliver would hear. He’d react. I could almost hear it, the little hitch in his breath. The tickle in his throat. The flit of his tongue across his lips, the patter of his holey heart.

I felt my own chest jitter with the excitement, the want of a reaction I needed from him. The shock. The idea that I would be an ocean away from him. No longer at an arm’s length.

I turned towards Adam and rested my chin on my fist. I frowned, almost playfully, “Ugh, I hate having to tell you guys like this!”

Cyrus slowly lowered his glass from his lips, having been mid-drink, “What’s up?”

“I’m going home,” my brows furrowed in a naive look. Adam and Cyrus’ chins dropped a sliver. I pouted my lip, “Stop! I know! I’m so sad!”

I wanted to wait until the conversation was over to look down the bar, to see if even a fragment of what I was saying had affected him. But, I didn’t need to wait. Oliver had flinched. He literally flinched.

“Yeah, me, too,” Adam touched my hand. “Why so soon? I thought you were staying through August?”

“I was planning on it, but…they offered me a better position at the clinic I work at. I have to get home to start training,” I continued, a satisfied smirk teasing my mouth.

Cyrus lifted his glass, “Well, there’s nothing to be sad about, then! To your new job.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” the smirk slipped into a genuine smile. I really would miss these guys, but my drunken, stupid mind wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted more from Oliver. I wanted a white flag or a look or a…fuck, I wanted him.

I pushed, “I’ll really miss you guys. Max, with your corny-ass pick-up lines, Adam’s mom vibes, Cy’s ability to knock back more drinks than fucking- I don’t know, Spider-man, and not get drunk? Shit’s insane.”

I drank in the laughter for a moment, eyes lingering down the bar to Oliver. Then, I added a name to my list and narrowed my gaze, “Oliver,” he wouldn’t look. “With your need to ignore me in every room we’re in. I’ll really miss your cold fucking shoulder.”

Any laughter that may have hung onto our past moment faded. I heard Max take a sharp breath in through his teeth. Adam pressed his lips together. Cyrus looked over his shoulder at their friend. I didn’t know if he really knew, but he had to understand just a little bit. The vibes were always there. We thought we were sneaky, but we were so sickly up each other’s asses. We’d even run into Cyrus and Adam in the hallway that one time. I guess we were all really good at being hopefully fucking stupid and blind.

I leaned on my palm and stared that man down. I watched as he kept his chin, pointed ahead, like he was playing brave in the situation. His Adam's apple bobbed. Oliver clutched his glass, swung it back, slugged the liquid down. Slammed it back on the counter. Then, he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a wad of bills onto the bar. He adjusted his hoodie and left.

I was dizzy. I stuttered back a step. Max touched my wrist, murmuring something or the other about heading back upstairs. Telling me I was too drunk.

I felt slow, felt dizzy, felt scared, felt angry, felt sad. I felt so sad. I felt so angry and so sad and…

And, my eyebrows furrowed in anger, the shock erasing itself from my frame. I took a deep, drunken breath and followed his trail. Fast. Legs pumping, arms swinging at my sides.

He was at the elevator, looking down at his shoes. I couldn’t get his name out. I think if I did the tears were going to fall out, The sobs were going to ricochet through my whole body and knock me over and kill me and I’d die and I’d never get to see that dumb asses blue eyes any more. Ever again. I wanted to see his blue eyes again. I wanted him to look at me and see me for what he sees me as. I wanted him to touch my hip and wring my neck and tell me I was the only one he wanted. I’d take it. One more time, then he could go back to her. I just wanted a goodbye.

He was stepping into the elevator. The doors were closing. I jammed a hand between and he flinched, again.

I stepped in just as the doors began to shut again. His eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He was frozen. Frowning. He looked…sad.

I almost reached a hand out, almost caressed his cheek and pulled him into me. But, I didn’t. Instead, I said (yelled?), “What the fuck is your problem?”

He stammered, “Wha-what?”

I struggled to repeat myself. I needed to cry. It was going to open. But, for another moment, the anger took over, “You fucking heard me. What is your problem, Oliver? What the fuck did I do to deserve this kind of shit? I don’t wanna hear more sad excuses about your fucking mental health and your-your fucking anxiety. God, I- I fucking…I don’t even k- you fucking ignored me back there! I looked right at you and I said your name and I smiled at you and…I’ve been so nice to you. I’ve been nice to you all summer and you treat me like a piece of fucking shit. God, I’ve…I’ve told you so much. I told you about my mom and…and you laid there and you told me all this bullshit about how much you liked me! And then you…youre a fucking-”

I cut myself off, out of breath. I was sweating a little bit. I think I had spit a few times. And I paced the elevator so much that I was flush against the wall. I leaned my shoulders back against the cool metal, wringing my hands, tugging at my hair.

He didn’t say anything. I breathed, hard, I thought, long. I kept thinking, and I kept getting angrier. I turned back to him, rearing up again. I had more to say, I just, I just needed to get some more concise- more thoughtful thoughts, right, exactly. Yes. I can…

“And who the fuck is F-”

“Daisy.”

There it was, my name. It was my name, soft and angelic, and holy. And a moment on his lips that he carved out of time and held a space for, for me to hear.

I stopped. I felt nothing for a moment. I looked at him and he was already waiting to see my eyes. My bottom lip wobbled.

“You’re obviously upset. And, drunk. Why don’t we talk about this in the morning? We can both get some rest.” He was always so good at two very distinct things: pushing stuff (people) aside and speaking to me in a way that felt like a cloud was wrapping itself around me. Like the cloud wanted me to lay in its arm and would coo me to sleep. Like I was safe and loved and-

Loved.

He made me feel loved.

I straightened up a bit at the thought. I pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Who the fuck is Fiona? What the fuck was that all about? Oliver, I’m not going to stand here and beg for you to love me. Or beg for you to come back to me. I just want a goddamn apology. For wasting my time, for playing with my fucking heart. For stringing me along. You knew-”

The tears came. Perfect timing. “You fucking know that I love you. You have known for a very long time. And you are an idiotic fool if you still don’t believe it. But I am not going to play this game with you. I told you that already and now I seriously mean it. I broke my back this summer to make sure that I was who you wanted me to be. So I was cool and chill and could take as much space as you wanted me to. I went with everything you asked of me, I was there when you needed a warm body. I comforted you and…and tried to fucking fix you like I knew you wanted me to. But, I am done. I am done with this. I am done-”

My voice cracked. I swiped an angry, shaking hand across my face. Vision blurred. “I am done with you. This is ridiculous. I don’t know if you meant to, but you have manipulated this situation so that you have been the one benefiting. I’m tired of letting you think you’re some broken, sad puppy dog on the side of the road that needs to be taken care of. Grow the fuck up. And, now I find out that there’s some other woman? That I- I’m the other woman, maybe? That you’re cheating on her with me? That I’m your fucking slut? Side hoe?”

I had paced again, this time, towards him. He was taller than me, but my anger was making me taller. He was almost…cowering. I pointed my finger again, nearly chest to chest with him.

“Fuck you, Oliver. Fuck you and fuck London and fuck your stupid fucking music.”

The doors opened, on our floor. I walked out, but turned to face him before he was really gone from me. I wanted to see his eyes one last time.

He was crying. I popped an arm into the door again, buying myself more time to kick him while he was down. I thought this would bring me closure. I thought I’d feel better if he knew, truly knew, the entirety. Every thought. Every hurt I felt.

“You asked me at the beginning of the summer what I was searching for. I thought that it was you. And I thought that I had found you.”

I shook my head sadly. The doorbell on the elevator rang. I stepped back, “I was right. There is no deeper meaning. Goodbye, Oliver.”

I stood there for a second, as though I could still see his blue eyes, boring through the metal doors.

Then, I sludged my way to my hotel room. I opened the door, shoulders slumped, body aching. I knew my makeup was smeared all over my face. My hair was wrecked. I couldn’t stop sniffling or whimpering. I walked into the room.

Sam sat up in his bed. Ronnie was beside him. I barely made it two more steps before Sam caught me in his arms.

–

The sky was gray. The weather in Europe usually was, especially up here on this side of the continent. I wasn’t surprised when, on our drive to the airport, it started spitting rain. I shivered underneath the cover of my hoodie, yet walked slowly through the entrance.

I remember when I had first dropped down in London, wide-eyed, hopeful. I think it had been raining then, too. But, I hadn’t cared. Come to think of it, it was raining pretty much everyday we had been in London.

Oliver was right about a couple things.

Back then, just three months ago, I hadn’t cared about the sun’s shadow curving from behind the clouds, nor did I mind that it was usually quite chilly outside. Now, I felt anger, annoyance at the weather, at the people, at the world.

At him. The stupid weight of my suitcase. The drag in my step. The wetness of my clothes and the chill of the wind.

I felt older, in the worst way. I was a different age, considering my birthday had passed while I’d been here. But, I felt old in a way that was draining. I felt like I had wasted so much time, energy, and all I had left were weary bones and sadness. Just how much I had left, I didn’t know. But I did know that as soon as I got back home, I would be rotting in my bed for a day or two.

Sam, Max, and Ronnie came to the airport early with me. My flight time had been pulled forward by an hour, so I needed to get here sooner than I thought. I wasn’t complaining, though. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of the hotel. Out of here. Out of London.

I hurried the process of packing my last few things. Stuffed my breakfast down my throat. Impatiently waited in the taxi, knee bouncing, as Sam and Max loaded the trunk with all of our things. Ronnie slid in beside me and became the first reason that I cried that day.

She reared a look over her shoulder, out the back window, to check on Max and Sam. Then, with an awkward sigh, she turned her knees towards me, “Peaches?”

I glanced up from my lap and the bounce of my knee slowed, “Yeah?”

Upon noticing the somber gaze in her eyes, my brows furrowed. “What’s up?” I added, fully presenting her my full attention.

Ronnie rubbed her nose in a seemingly nervous manner, “I just wanted to say…um, ew. Sorry.”

I softly giggled at her disgust with whatever sentence she was trying to form. “What is it?”

She finally met my eye in a fervently forward manner, “I usually have fun on tour. But this summer was…it was extra special. Getting to know you has been…so cool. I don’t know. I just…I love you, Daisy. You’ve become like a sister to me.”

I couldn’t help but feel the tears well up in my eyes. “Oh, Ronnie,” I sniffled, hugging her around the shoulders.

She pulled me close to her and I swear I heard her sniffle a bit, too. “I’m sorry for not noticing what was happening. I should’ve been there for you more. I got caught up in my own-”

“Don’t even apologize,” I reared back with my reply, “No. It’s nobody’s fault. I’m not even blaming myself for what happened. It was a stupid, weird situation. It was my responsibility to come to you if I needed help. I just needed…I just need to go home now.”

Ronnie smiled a sad, peaceful smile. “I hope I get to see you again soon. I don’t know what I will do without your bright light.”

“Oh, you will. You guys will be in the US soon. Sam said he was gonna drop by. I am positive you’ll be there, too,” I dropped a sly wink.

Ronnie watched my face for a moment, “I mean, of course you know now. But…” she narrowed her eyes, grinning in shocked realisation, “Fucker. You knew the whole time?!”

“Of course I knew the whole time. Sam is-” I snorted, “Sam is not hiding his lovesick, puppy-dog eyes.”

Ronnie’s gaze widened slightly, “I-”

The doors of the taxi popped open as the boys joined us, Max in the back on my other side, Sam in the front. He saw our laughing, secretive expressions in the rearview mirror and turned back. “What are you two doing?”

I brushed my hands across my cheeks to clear whatever tears might’ve been rolling still, then shook my head. “Nothing, Sam-Ham.”

He turned his eyes to Ronnie and tilted his chin forward. She shrugged, a smug smile contorting her once saddened face. Ronnie dropped a wink, “Nothing at all.”

The second person to make me cry was Max. Out of everyone, he was probably my best friend at this point. We had spent so much time together, out drinking, dancing, holed up in my hotel room with trays of room service, movies on the tv. He had been there through one of the most terrifying, exhilarating, strange summers of my life. We were bonded forever, now. I could feel it.

He was helping me check in while Sam and Ronnie headed to drop off our baggage. They were all just planning on hanging for the extra hour until it was time to check in for their flight. I was grateful they all wanted to sacrifice the time for me. To them, though, I knew it was second nature.

Some people made it easy, loving me.

I shook away the thoughts because the attendant was handing me my ticket. She reiterated boarding time, twenty minutes from now, and wished me a safe flight. “Thank you,” I nodded before turning back to Max.

The tall blonde was watching me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears from just the way that his shoulders shrugged forward. It made my heart swell, knowing how much of an impact I had had on them.

He tried to straighten up as I looked him in the eye. Then, he opened his mouth to say something. I threw myself into his arms before he could. Hugging me tight, Max brushed a hand down the back of my head.

“Oh, sweet, lovely angel. I am going to miss you so.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else to start crying into his chest. Max felt the rock of my shoulders and sniffled into my hairline. “Don’t start, love. I won’t be able to stop, myself,” he chuckled shortly.

We stood like that for a few minutes, maybe more, before I stepped back. I rubbed my eyes on the inside of my sweatshirt, knowing my face was flushed and probably swelling. Max touched his fingers to my wrists and gently brushed aside my hands. He took in my visage, so delicately, and sighed. “Can I just say…”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed through a sob. More tears fell.

Max rubbed my shoulders, “No, no, no, love. It’s okay. No more tears, okay? We’ll be okay. Just…I just want- I need to tell you how important you are. I know you’re going to go home and things are going to start to settle and you’re going to start to think so many things about yourself. You are so easy to love, Daisy. It is like breathing to me, to Ronnie, to Sam, Sasha. It is breathing. And you are worthy of it, too. That’s all. I just…I just needed to tell you, okay?”

I didn’t say anything else. I just whimpered and pulled him in closer to me.

Sam was the worst.

Since the evening before, when I had broken down in his arms and told him, through my blubbering, a short synopsis of what had happened, we hadn’t spoken much. I didn’t know if it was simply because we didn't have enough time. But, I was feeling worse because of it.

I needed my big brother more than anybody else. Sam knew me better than anybody else, even if we hadn’t been around each other as often as we used to. He still understood me. We shared the same blood, for God’s sake.

Yet, as we sat there, in the waiting area of my plane’s gate, he didn’t even look at me. He stared down at the floor, hands folded in his lap. He sat across from Ronnie, Max, and I, making it known that he wanted nothing to do with the conversation. When he first sat there, the aisle a wide gap between us, I furrowed my brows. But, then, Ronnie and Max striked up some topic that I invested myself and my attention into.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal until they called for me. I stood up, faster than I should’ve, to be honest, and began to gather my things. Phone, bag, jacket, passport. I ran the list over in my head, three times over.

All the while, Sam slowly stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and watched his feet as he scuffed his sneakers across the carpeted floor.

I passed my eyes over him for a moment, holding my breath. Surely, my brother would have something to say to me.

He didn’t make a move.

I began walking the short distance to my gate. Before I moved to get in line, though, I turned back to my friends. Max jumped for a hug first, barely allowing me enough time to fully settle back on my heels. I dug my feet into the ground to gain traction as his ginormous body came toppling into my arms. Ronnie joined in the hug yet struggled to toss her arms over Max’s tall frame. He adjusted as we all shared a laugh and tucked her in beside me.

He called over his shoulder, voice muffled, “Get in here, Sam-Ham!”

I heard my brother elicit a laugh. It felt refreshing to hear. Then, I felt the hug grow tighter as he joined in on Max’s other side. We didn’t stay like that for long. It was stuffy and I wasn’t getting much air.

So, I tapped Max’s back and said, “Alright. Let me go.”

I gave individual hugs to everybody, voicing my own grateful, somewhat short, goodbyes.

Then, I turned to my brother. He evaded my eye contact for a moment or two. Then he pulled me in. Tight.

Out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if he ruined your summer.”

Tensing up from the words, the mention of him, I slowly pulled back from Sam’s embrace. He held onto my back, sort of cradling me. The guilt lying in his eyes was far worse than anything I’d ever seen flash across his face. My own gaze softened from the taut expression it had anxiously contorted to.

“What?” I breathily inquired, unsure if I had heard him correctly, saddened that he was obviously carrying so much hurt from my stupid mistakes. “Why? Sam, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, Daz, I just…” Sam’s arms fell from around me. I missed the warmth as soon as the chill of the vast room settled in around my sweatshirt. He ran a veiny hand across his forehead, “I'm supposed to be there for you. Protect you. And I already suck at the first part.”

“Sam,” I grasped his wrist, slipping his fingers between my hands. “It’s not your fault. It’s…honestly, if my summer was ruined, it was because of my own shitty decisions. Besides, you don’t suck at being there for me. I can’t believe you would even think that!”

I clasped his hand tight between mine, brows furrowed. To hear him blame himself, to hear him look this way…This whole summer, I had spent my time obsessing over somebody who didn’t even want me. I should have paid more attention to my brother, who was part of the reason I was here in the first place.

The farther I got from the start of this journey, literally and figuratively, the blurrier my original dreams became. There was no meaning to find here- only what was already there.

The thought made me lick my lips in nervous realisation.

Sam let out a frustrated, breathy chortle. “Don’t give me so much credit. I’ve been…gone. Running away from home. For so long. Worried about getting out of that apartment and town and away from…from anything that could remind me of her. Remind me of mom. I left you behind in the process.”

The wetness in my eyes began to pour over. “Oh, Sam,” my lips trembled out as I dove back into his arms. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as though an airplane would dive down and pull him away. I needed this. This kind of hug. This moment.

Clarity was nearer than ever before.

“Listen,” I pulled back, “I need you to understand, okay? My summer was not ruined. It wasn’t. This entire experience has been the most amazing, wonderful, awesome, cool time. I got to spend so much time getting to see you, getting to see your world. And, don’t ever blame yourself for getting away. You had to. I see it now- You had to come be a part of this wonderful band, go with them on all of their amazing tours. I see it on your face, Sam. This is what you’re supposed to do, okay? My mistakes are my own. Not yours.”

“I just…” Sam stared at the floor for a moment, tongue quick to go and defend his original claim But he paused and let the information process. “I…I just wish I could punch him in the face or something. What a douche. Dragging you into his mess. I should’ve known, too. The way he treated you- it was so obvious. For that, I am sorry, Daisy. I should’ve said something. Honestly,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I should beat his ass.”

Max and Ronnie, who had been trying to make it appear as though they were not eavesdropping, laughed at the last line. I opened up Sam and I’s moment by taking a step back. I gave them space to join us here. Ronnie clasped Sam’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder, “As funny as that would be, he is still your boss. And your bandmate,” she nodded to Max.

The tall blond rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep it civil.”

It was my turn to scold. I punched Max in the shoulder to gain his eye contact, “Don’t try. Just do it. He’s not a bad person. He just…sucks. A little bit.”

Talking about him, living in the truth of the situation, confronting all the dark realizations- it was a heavy weight to bear. I felt my shoulder slinking forward, as though I were Atlas with the dark, cloudy sky above me. Though I didn’t want to be rid of these three, I needed to be gone already. I needed to go before it all came crashing down again. I didn’t want anybody else to see me cry again. It was…embarrassing, to say the least.

So, I allowed one last hug from each of them and then turned towards my gate. I boarded the plane, mindlessly, going through all of the motions. Like I was used to leaving, like I was good at it. Like I was strong. But, I felt weak. I felt heavy and sad and angry and…

The city was gray. I remember it being sunny, summer-weather, though there had been a chill in the air. He always said it was. Maybe it always had been and I was…crazy. Wide-eyed. Desperate or naive or whatever.

But it was clear as day now, how dreary it looked from this airplane window. The wind whipped at the airline workers, shuffling luggage to their places, green vests billowing up. My breath fogged at the window which narrowed my pointed gaze. It seemed the plane was being pumped full of heat. I hadn’t realized it was that cold outside.

I guess fall was coming.

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your reminder to place your devices on airplane mode. We are approaching take-off,” a thick, European accent declared over the PA system.

I wrestled to retrieve my phone from my bookbag, which was squished in between my feet. When I was able to lift it towards me, the screen lit up. There was a buzz from the device that vibrated my hand then the appearance of a text message.

Oliver: Daisy, I need to tell you…

The message cut itself off, only the sneakpeek visible due to the system settings I had on my device.

It was ominous, though, like it had chosen to cut itself off there.

The tail end of that message could be- anything.

Daisy, I need to tell you…you’re a dumb bitch?

…I fucking hate you.

I love you?

Please, stay?

I don’t think I wanted to know.

My thumb hesitated over the screen, barely gracing it’s smooth glass. If I tapped on the message, if I saw what he said…would it change things?

Would it make me hate him even more?

Would it make me want to stay?

I didn’t want anything else to make my decisions anymore. I wanted to make my own choices, based on my own actions, thoughts. I was tired of living up to everybody’s image of me. If that was all I learned this summer, to be true to what I wanted, to be true to myself…then maybe this summer wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe there had been something to find- maybe that something was me.

The shaking in my hands must’ve made the screen react to a ghost of my fingerprint. The option to scan my face ID came as soon as a flight attendant passed by my section, a bright smile on their face.

“Hi, friend! Did you put your device on airplane mode?” They asked with a slight gesture towards my phone.

I glanced back at the screen as she pointed. The message was open. That’s where it had ended, what Oliver had sent to me. “I need to tell you something.” But, he was still typing, still coming up with words to say.

My hands moved quickly, sliding down the menu and thumbing the airplane option. If he were still typing, I couldn’t see it anymore.

And any messages he may try to send would go green, undelivered, lost.

Forgotten, in the skies, somewhere between London and Germany, during the beginning of a cold, cold autumn.

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

Hello everyone!! This is the first lesson of the long awaited unofficial season 4 of Obey me Nightbringer written by yours truly <3

I will post lessons every 10 days.

I hope you enjoy it (it came out a little long but I hope it's not a problem)

Please make sure this finds other obey me lovers and people who don't want the series to end.

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

@arie2faced wanted to be tagged so there you go!

Lesson 61: “Echoes of Change”

Preparations for the Grand Gala

The story begins with you and the brothers preparing for a grand event in the Devildom—the Infernal Gala, a highly anticipated celebration hosted by Diavolo to showcase unity and strength among the three realms. The brothers are busy with their individual tasks, and you help them throughout the day, making sure none of them are slacking off and checking the quality of their work.

Morning with Mammon

You find Mammon frantically trying to pick an outfit in his room, clothes scattered everywhere. He groans as he holds up a jacket, glaring at it like it personally offended him.

Mammon: “This stupid thing doesn’t fit right! What if I don’t look good enough? Diavolo’ll never let me hear the end of it!”

You: “You’re overthinking it, Mammon. You look great in anything.”

You pick up a sleek black jacket with gold trim from the pile and hold it up to him.

You: “Here, try this one. It suits you.”

Mammon grumbles but puts it on. When he turns to the mirror, his expression softens.

Mammon: “Huh. Guess it ain’t too bad… But y’know, it’s only ‘cause you picked it. You’ve got good taste.”

He pauses, scratching the back of his neck as he glances at you.

Mammon: “I dunno what I’d do without ya. Don’t tell the others, but… you’re my good luck charm, so stick close, alright?”

Afternoon with Leviathan

Levi is in his room, staring nervously at a stack of invitation cards. You peek in and see him pacing.

You: “Levi, what’s wrong?”

Leviathan: “It’s the Gala! There’s gonna be so many people there. What if I mess up? What if someone tries to talk to me and I freeze up?!”

You gently take his hands, grounding him.

You: “You’ll do great, Levi. And I’ll be there if you need me. We’re a team, remember?”

Levi calms down a little, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

Leviathan: “Y-Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, with you around, I don’t have to worry as much. You’re like my Player Two in this crazy multiplayer game called life.”

He hesitates, then smiles shyly.

Leviathan: “Thanks. I mean it. You’re, like… my favorite rare find.”

Library with Satan

Satan is in the library, scanning a shelf filled with ancient tomes. He looks up when you enter, a small smile playing on his lips.

Satan: “Perfect timing. I was looking for this.”

He hands you a book bound in emerald green, the title in golden script: "The Legends of the Infernal Gala."

Satan: “I thought you might like to know more about the Gala’s history. It’s fascinating, really—did you know it started as a peace treaty celebration?”

You sit together, flipping through the pages. At one point, your fingers brush, and Satan pauses.

Satan: “You always surprise me. You’re curious, thoughtful, and unafraid to stand by us—even when things get complicated.”

He leans closer, his voice softer.

Satan: “I hope you know how much that means to me."

Dressing Room with Asmodeus

Asmo is in his room, surrounded by a dizzying array of outfits. He twirls in front of the mirror, striking a pose.

Asmodeus: “Tell me, which one screams ‘absolutely irresistible’? This one, or…”

He switches to another outfit, beaming at you.

You: “They’re both amazing, Asmo. You always look stunning.”

Asmodeus: (grinning) “Oh, you always know just what to say. But you know what? I think I’ll wear something that complements you. After all, we’ll be the center of attention together.”

He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Asmodeus: “You have this way of making me feel… special. Like I don’t need to try so hard, because I’m enough just as I am. Thank you for that."

Kitchen with Beelzebub

Beel is in the kitchen, preparing snacks for the event. You help him arrange platters of food, the smell of freshly baked bread filling the air.

Beelzebub: “Thanks for helping. I usually just eat everything, but it feels nice to make something for others.”

As you finish, Beel offers you a piece of chocolate from the tray, his expression soft.

Beelzebub: “You’re always looking out for us. It makes me want to do the same for you.”

He smiles, his usual straightforward honesty shining through.

Beelzebub: “You’re like family to me… but also more than that. I’m glad you’re here.”

Attic with Belphegor

Belphie is lying on a pile of blankets in the attic, staring at the ceiling. You join him, and he shifts to make room.

Belphegor: “The Gala’s gonna be exhausting. Too many people, too much noise. But at least you’ll be there.”

He closes his eyes, his voice soft.

Belphegor: “You’re the only one who makes all this bearable, you know. Stay with me a while. Just you and me, away from everything else.”

You rest beside him, and for a moment, the world feels quiet.

Study with Lucifer

Lucifer is in his study, reviewing event schedules and security measures. He looks up as you enter, his expression softening.

Lucifer: “Ah, I was just going over the final details. It’s a relief to see you—you have a calming effect, even on someone like me.”

You share a quiet moment, the crackling of the fireplace filling the silence. Lucifer pours you a glass of Demonus, his movements elegant.

Lucifer: “The Infernal Gala represents unity, strength, and peace. But for me… it’s also a reminder of how far we’ve come.”

He gazes at you, his eyes filled with warmth.

Lucifer: “You’ve been a part of that journey. More than you realize.”

The calm shatteres

The next morning, you are in the gardens of the House of Lamentation, enjoying a rare moment of peace. The sky is a deep, rich purple, with faint stars twinkling above. Beelzebub joins you, carrying a tray of snacks.

Beelzebub: “You’ve been quiet today. Something on your mind?”

You: (smiling softly) “Not really. Just thinking about how calm everything feels right now. It’s… nice.”

Beelzebub: (sitting beside you) “Yeah. Feels like it’s been a while since things were this peaceful. Lucifer hasn’t yelled at anyone today, and Mammon hasn’t set anything on fire… yet.”

You both share a laugh, but before the moment can last, a faint tremor shakes the ground. Beel jumps to his feet.

Beelzebub: “What was that?”

A ripple of energy passes through the garden, and several flowers wilt instantly. The air feels charged, heavy. You feel a faint pulse from your pact mark, though you don’t fully understand it yet.

You and Beel rush inside the House of Lamentation, where chaos has already begun. Furniture is floating, magical items are malfunctioning, and the brothers are in disarray.

Mammon: (running around) “Somebody fix this! My wallet turned into a bat and flew off! That’s my life savings in there!”

Leviathan: (clutching his D.D.D.) “Do you know how many hours of gameplay I just lost?! This is worse than the Great Reset of Akuzon Prime!”

Lucifer: (trying to remain composed) “Everyone, calm down. Panicking will accomplish nothing.”

Belphegor: (yawning) “Wake me when this is over. Or don’t. I’m fine either way.”

You notice your pact mark faintly glowing whenever the chaos intensifies. Asmodeus steps in, looking alarmed.

Asmodeus: “Is it just me, or does the energy in the house feel… weird? It’s like something’s out of sync.”

Before anyone can respond, the chandelier shatters with a loud crash. Lucifer’s patience snaps.

Lucifer: “Enough! Everyone, to the Demon Lord’s Castle—now. Diavolo needs to hear about this immediately.”

Emergency Meeting with Diavolo

The group arrives at the Demon Lord’s Castle. Diavolo greets you all with a worried expression, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a more serious air. Barbatos stands quietly by his side, his gaze sharp and observant.

Diavolo: “Ah, you’ve arrived. I trust you’ve noticed the disturbances, then?”

Lucifer: “Noticed is an understatement. The House of Lamentation is in complete disarray. What’s causing this?”

Diavolo’s expression tightens, and he motions for you all to take a seat.

Diavolo: “It’s more than just your house, Lucifer. The magical ley lines that run through the Devildom are experiencing unusual fluctuations. Spells are failing, spells are overloading… and the environment itself is becoming unstable.”

Diavolo remains silent for a short while before speaking again.

Diavolo: "Remember when a few months ago the Devildom moon begun moving closer to us? And how MC stopped it with the help of (name of the brother you chose in lesson 60)? I think it might be somehow related to all this.

Barbatos: (nodding gravely) “We’ve been monitoring the situation for the past few weeks, but the source remains elusive. The ley lines should remain stable, but we are seeing powerful surges in energy that we cannot explain.”

Simeon: (calmly interjecting) “It’s a troubling situation, indeed. I’ve been sensing something off as well, but I can’t make sense of it.”

Solomon: (looking up from his scrolls) “The balance between the realms is delicate. It’s entirely possible this disturbance has something to do with the convergence of magical energies—perhaps even beyond our realm’s control.”

Luke: (clutching his little angel staff nervously) “So... we’re all in danger?”

Mephistopheles: (snickering from the corner) “Well, that depends on what you call ‘danger.’ There’s always a way to spin these things to our favor, you know.”

Raphael: (stoically) “We need to investigate this matter thoroughly. If there’s a threat, we’ll need to handle it swiftly, for the sake of everyone’s safety.”

Thirteen: (suddenly appearing with a slight chuckle) “It’s always so serious when you guys talk like this. How about we enjoy the chaos a little bit?”

The group’s attention is drawn back to Diavolo, who remains focused despite the tension.

Diavolo: “We’ve heard your concerns. But I must ask, how does this all relate to the Infernal Gala? If these disturbances continue, it could be catastrophic.”

Lucifer: “The Gala is already under heavy scrutiny. If the realm’s stability is at risk, Diavolo, this could be a catastrophic blow to the reputation of the Devildom.”

Asmodeus: “Oh, I can’t imagine the disaster. The Gala’s atmosphere would be ruined if the magical energies continue to fluctuate like this. People will notice, and chaos would break out if they suspect anything is wrong.”

Beelzebub: (his voice low and serious) “If things continue like this, there’s a real danger of even the food and drinks being affected. Imagine the mess if everything starts malfunctioning at the event.”

Lucifer: “Exactly. And with all the high-profile guests we’re expecting… We must act swiftly.”

Diavolo stands up, his usual warmth replaced by a rare intensity.

Diavolo: “For now, I ask all of you to stay vigilant. If you notice anything unusual—anything at all—report it immediately. The Gala must go off without a hitch, for the sake of maintaining peace and stability. But we must also prepare for the possibility that something more sinister is at play.”

Barbatos: (calmly) “We will continue investigating, but please, if you feel anything strange—if there’s any oddity you experience—don’t hesitate to tell us. The more information we have, the better.”

Lucifer: (looking directly at you) “You, especially. I’m sure you’ve felt it, too. These disturbances seem… connected to you.”

The room falls silent again as all eyes shift toward you. You feel a weight settling on your shoulders, the pressure building.

Diavolo: (smiling reassuringly) “You’ve done well so far. But now, we must prepare for whatever comes next. The Gala is crucial, but our first priority must be understanding the root cause of these events. If there’s a connection between you and this instability… we’ll need to address it quickly.”

As you nod in response, a sense of foreboding fills the air. The once-bustling preparations for the Gala seem like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the uncertainty surrounding the disruptions.

A talk with Solomon

After the emergency meeting, you wander through the halls of the House of Lamentation, the weight of the situation pressing on you. The magical disturbances, the instability in the Devildom... you feel like you're on the edge of something bigger, but you can't quite grasp it.

A soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

Solomon: "You're still awake, huh? I figured you might be here."

You turn and see Solomon leaning against the doorframe, his usual playful expression replaced by one of concern. He steps into the hallway, his gaze never leaving you.

You: “I don’t understand any of this… It feels like everything’s connected, but I don’t know how or why.”

Solomon walks up to you, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He looks at you with a knowing look, as though he’s been waiting for this conversation.

Solomon: “I can see why you’re confused. The fluctuations... the disruptions in the ley lines, they’re not random. They’re a result of your presence here.”

You: (frowning) “My presence?”

Solomon: (nodding) “It’s complicated. There’s something about your connection to the brothers, your dual pacts, that’s causing the instability. It’s as if the power between you and them is... too much for the realms to handle.”

You feel a jolt of realization. The dual pacts. You hadn’t thought about the significance of them, but it makes sense now. Solomon's words seem to echo in your mind, each one a small revelation.

You: “So... you think the dual pacts are the reason this is happening?”

Solomon hesitates for a moment, then nods, his eyes serious.

Solomon: “I’m beginning to suspect that’s the case. The way your power interacts with theirs... it’s creating more energy than the ley lines can accommodate. It’s like a pressure building up, and when too much energy is focused in one place, the balance of the realms starts to break down.”

You swallow, trying to process it all. Your mind races through everything you’ve experienced—the strange pull of the pact mark, the disruptions, the growing tension. It all leads back to the pacts.

You: “But why now? Why is this only happening now?”

Solomon: (with a sigh) “It didn't start now. Actually it's been going on for a while now. Remember how the moon was getting progressively closer and closer a few months ago? I suspect that's also due to your magic. But for all I know the dual pacts were never meant to be this powerful. They’re an anomaly.”

You: “So, everything that’s happening... it’s my fault?”

Solomon: (softly) “Not your fault. But your presence, your bond with the brothers—it’s a key factor. I should’ve been more cautious. I knew the pacts were risky, but I didn’t expect something like this would happen.”

You feel your heart race as you try to understand the magnitude of what Solomon is telling you. The chaos, the disruptions... you feel like you’re at the center of it all, and it’s terrifying.

You: “How do we fix this?”

Solomon takes a step closer, his gaze softening. His hand gently rests on your shoulder, and you feel a comforting warmth from his touch.

Solomon: “We’ll figure it out. Together. The brothers... they’re linked to this too, and we’ll need their help. But we can’t do it alone. The dual pacts are too unpredictable.”

For a moment, you both stand in silence, the weight of his words settling in. The chaos, the stakes... it feels like everything is changing too fast. Yet, with Solomon’s presence, there’s a sense of calm. You find comfort in his understanding.

You: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Solomon smiles, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart flutter, though he doesn't say anything for a moment. He simply pulls you into a gentle embrace, holding you close, offering a silent promise.

Solomon: “You’ll never have to find out.”

You lean into his chest, the tension in your body slowly melting away. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, and for the briefest moment, the world outside feels a little more bearable.

Solomon: “We’ll fix this. We’ll make sure the Gala goes off without a hitch, and we’ll find the cause of all this. But until then... just know that I’m here.”

You look up at him, your voice quiet but firm.

You: “Thank you, Solomon. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like I’m... not alone in this anymore.”

Solomon’s smile deepens, and he leans in, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead.

Solomon: “You’re never alone, MC. Not with me by your side.”

The Pact’s Secret Emerges

Later that evening, while the brothers are asleep, you are drawn to the library by an inexplicable force. You find an old book glowing faintly on the shelf and open it. The pages are filled with ancient symbols you can’t understand. Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupts you.

Barbatos: (appearing silently behind you) “Curious, isn’t it? That book is one of the oldest records in the castle. It documents the nature of pacts and their potential… consequences.”

You jump in surprise, quickly closing the book.

You: “Barbatos! You scared me. I didn’t mean to—”

Barbatos: (smiling slightly) “You needn’t apologize. It’s no coincidence that you were drawn to this book.”

Barbatos steps closer, his gaze calm but piercing.

Barbatos: “Tell me, since your return from the past, have you noticed anything… unusual? A change in your magic, perhaps? Or a resonance with the brothers’ powers?”

You stiffen.

You: “What do you mean by ‘return from the past’? How do you know about that?”

Barbatos: (tilting his head slightly) “I am the steward of time. There are few events that escape my notice.”

Your eyes widen. You clutch the book tightly, unsure of how to respond.

You: “I… I haven’t told anyone except Solomon. How much do you know?”

Barbatos: “Enough to understand that your journey was no mere coincidence. It was necessary, though its ripple effects are only now beginning to manifest.”

You: “Ripple effects…? Are you saying all of this—the disturbances in the Devildom—are my fault?”

Barbatos: (softly) “Fault is a strong word. Responsibility, perhaps. But do not misunderstand—your presence here is essential. You hold the key to stabilizing the realm.”

Barbatos’ gaze sharpens as he steps closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper.

Barbatos: “However, I must warn you: secrets have a way of surfacing when the time is right. The truth will not remain hidden forever—not from the brothers, nor from yourself.”

He gestures toward the glowing book.

Barbatos: “Keep this between us for now. But be vigilant. The bonds you share with the brothers are deeper and more intricate than even you realize.”

After the encounter, Barbatos is in his room, standing over a magical map of the Devildom. Glowing lines represent the ley lines, which are flickering and unstable. He traces his fingers over the map, frowning as he notices a disturbing pattern.

Barbatos: (to himself) “The fluctuations are growing stronger, converging toward a single point. If this trajectory continues…”

He pauses, his expression darkening.

Barbatos: “…even the combined power of the brothers may not be enough to stop what’s coming.”

The map reveals the convergence point glowing ominously—a location deep within the Devildom that remains unidentified.

[detta-pica]

Suguru sits still and kind of tense for a moment, then slumps sideways against the back of the sofa, sighing. “How did you even make it here, if you can’t see?” It’s a good question. Satoru has surprised himself with his ability to traverse the streets of Tokyo at night. The disgustingly sentimental part of him that he generally tries not to listen to these days insists that he’ll always find his way to Suguru, no matter what. More realistically, he knows the city well, has (had?) excellent spatial awareness and memory, and so he didn’t really need his eyes for navigation. “I followed my nose,” he says nonsensically, sniffing loudly for good measure. It’s not fully a lie. Once he got close to Suguru’s building, he found that he could, in fact, detect the faint, unmistakable scent of Suguru’s cursed energy. It’s so unique, the way it smells, the way it looks, swirling near Suguru’s stomach, smoky, malicious, like Suguru has to be careful to keep it contained. It’s always been like this. It makes Satoru feel safe. As if he’s read Satoru’s thoughts, Suguru changes his demeanor. It’s subtle, especially when all Satoru can see is his cursed energy, but the atmosphere, the vibe, definitely shifts. Satoru has a sixth--uh, seventh sense for that sort of thing. “Don’t you think coming to me was maybe not the smartest move?” Suguru asks softly. And, sure, there is a small possibility that Suguru might use this as an opportunity to take over jujutsu society or something. But if that’s the case, Satoru would rather know right away, and also, Suguru might as well end him, then, because he doesn’t want to live in a world in which--yeah. It’s all the same, in that way. “It was you or becoming a hunter-gatherer halfway up some mountain,” Satoru says honestly. “Or a remote island, maybe, but an island I could swim to probably doesn’t count as remote, does it?” “I’m gonna make you eat so many vegetables,” Suguru threatens. “And you’d better not grumble, because I will strangle you if you make the girls think peas are gross or something.” Satoru finishes his tea quickly, waves his mug at Suguru until he takes it, then wilts, all the tension leaving his body until he’s mostly horizontal, head propped up awkwardly by the arm of the sofa. He gets to stay. He’s not gonna die, and maybe the entire jujutsu society won’t be thrown into chaos. “Hey, no. You can noodle out in bed.” Satoru blinks behind the sleep mask. “Your bed?” “I don’t have room for an extra futon, so yes. Trust me, this sofa is not big enough.” That sounds like a only one bed situation, and Satoru is so down.

Another excerpt from Pathways for WIP Wednesday. This fic is so weirdly difficult to write. First it was research forcing me to slow down, and now it's the (very) dubious morality that's making me reconsider some things. I am making progress, though.

[heartsriki]

K-DRAMA CLICHES ⌇ 드라마

pairing ᝰ jake x fem!reader — featuring.. hanni | word count: 2800+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ college au, kissing, extremely corny, reader likes dramas, jealousy, tiny bit of angst.

synopsis — after a bet you and jake made on drama night, you come to the realization of how you truly feel about jake and how jake feels about you.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊This is the corniest thing you'll read ever but ykw ima post it even though I hate it...

The night was cool and cozy as you snuggled under your blanket on the couch. It was Sunday, which meant only one thing—drama night. Ever since you started the tradition, Jake would come over after classes to watch K-dramas with you. He wasn’t exactly a fan of them, but he didn’t care. Seeing you happy made it all worth it for him.

“Another romance?” Jake asked, his laugh soft but teasing.

You side-eyed him, refusing to be swayed, and clicked on the show with the remote. “Everyone says this one’s good, so we’re watching it. Plus, it has my favorite actor. I can’t believe I haven’t seen it yet!” you said excitedly, grabbing your pillow and favorite snack.

Jake just shook his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips, before settling next to you on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. As the opening credits began to roll, he glanced at you. You were already so engrossed, your eyes sparkling with anticipation. Jake loved that about you—how much you immersed yourself in the things you enjoyed. Honestly, he could sit like this forever.

Honestly, Jake tried to focus on the screen, but it was almost impossible with you sitting so close to him. Every so often, you’d lean in to whisper something, your breath brushing against his ear, and he’d shiver despite himself. How were you so oblivious? You’d always been like this—teasing, leaning into his space—ever since you were kids. Back then, it didn’t bother him. But now? Now it was torture.

Jake glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. You were completely immersed in the show, not even noticing the effect you had on him. Typical. You had no idea what you were doing to him, and that was the problem. Oblivious as ever.

The room was soon filled with your laughter and Jake’s playful commentary as the two of you watched the show. That was, until that scene—a spicy kiss that made Jake freeze. His wide eyes stayed glued to the screen, while you sat completely unfazed, casually munching on your snack. He looked at your glowing eyes then back down to your lips and kept doing that on repeat till he snapped himself out of it. How could you not react to this? Did you not even think of him as a man? He gulped, the lump in his throat betraying his nerves, which caused him to cough lightly. That caught your attention.

You turned, your brow raised. “Too spicy for you, Jake Sim?”

Jake scoffed, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, right,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “I don’t even get why you find him attractive. Anyone can do that.”

You smirked, your teasing nature in full force. “Mmm, I see. Someone’s jealous that he can pull all the ladies and you can’t.”

Jake’s jaw dropped as he grabbed the remote in mock indignation. “You think I can’t pull? Oh, I can pull. Trust.”

“Okay,” you said, tilting your head challengingly, “then do it.”

“What?”

“Pull a girl using K-drama cliches by the end of the week,” you said with a smirk, “and I’ll buy you lunch for a week, and if you lose vice versa.”

Jake narrowed his eyes but didn’t back down. “Make it a month, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You hesitated for a second, questioning if you might regret this, but ultimately shrugged. “Fine.”

Jake was screwed. Pull a girl? He couldn’t even manage a conversation with one without tripping over himself, let alone pulling one with K-drama-level charm. And it was already Tuesday—time was running out, and he hadn’t even chosen a target yet. He should’ve known better than to agree to this stupid bet.

He was sitting in the library, attempting to focus on his notes, when you crept up behind him and scared him. Jake yelped, earning a few annoyed glances from nearby students.

“Y/n, that isn’t funny…” he muttered, clutching his chest like you’d just shaved years off his life.

You laughed, clearly unbothered. “My bad. I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” you teased, pulling out a chair and crossing one leg over the other as you casually scanned his notes. “So… how’s it coming along?”

Jake blinked up at you. “How’s what?”

“Jake.”

He groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “Ugh, can’t we just forget about it? Seriously, this whole thing is dumb.”

“Sure,” you said nonchalantly.

He sat up straight, staring at you in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging. “But man, I could really go for some ramen right now—”

“Alright, alright, stop it!” Jake groaned, dramatically wriggling in his chair like a kid throwing a tantrum.

Later that day, Jake finally spotted his target. And honestly, she was perfect. Hanni—pretty, popular, and friendly. She’d even shown interest in him before, so what could possibly go wrong?

You, of course, were never far behind. You smacked the back of his bookbag as you caught up to him, startling him yet again. “Did you find your target?” you asked casually, following his line of sight. Then you saw her. “Oh—”

Jake turned to you, narrowing his eyes. “Oh?”

“Oh, as in, ‘Oh, good luck!’ Haha,” you said, brushing it off with a weak laugh and playfully hitting his shoulder.

But in truth, you didn’t like her. And you weren’t sure why. Ever since her crush on Jake became public knowledge across campus, something about her rubbed you the wrong way. She just made you… uneasy. Whatever that meant.

Jake was nervous as he made his way toward Hanni, clutching his notebook as if it could somehow shield him from embarrassment. You watched from the same spot he left you, pretending to read but not processing any of the words. Your eyes kept drifting to Jake.

It was rare to see him this determined, and you couldn’t help but feel… weird about it. When he finally reached Hanni, she looked up from her book and smiled. You felt a pang in your chest, though you quickly pushed it down.

Jake scratched the back of his neck, his usual nervous habit. “Hey, Hanni,” he said, his voice a little softer than usual.

“Jake!” she said brightly, closing her book. “What’s up?”

You watched as he stumbled through his words, clearly flustered. He made some lame joke about their shared class, and Hanni laughed—like, really laughed. You couldn’t hear what they were saying after that, but you could see Hanni tuck her hair behind her ear, leaning in just slightly.

Your jaw tightened as you forced your eyes back to your book. Why do I care? You thought. This is literally what he’s supposed to be doing. I told him to do this. But no amount of logic could silence the strange twist in your stomach.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake laugh at something Hanni said, his usual goofy grin lighting up his face. She reached out and playfully hit his arm, and he didn’t pull away.

You clenched your fist against the pages of your book, trying to keep your expression neutral. It wasn’t like you had any right to feel this way. You weren’t his girlfriend, or even close to being more than just his best friend.

So you didn’t do anything. You sat there under the tree, acting like you didn’t notice the way Jake leaned a little closer to Hanni like you didn’t feel the pang in your chest every time she made him smile.

Eventually, Jake walked back to you, his face lit up with a mixture of pride and nerves. “Guess who has a study date?” he said, plopping down beside you.

You forced a smile, closing your book. “Wow, look at you, Mr. K-drama lead,” you teased, your voice light and casual despite the knot in your stomach. “Guess you’re going for that free ramen.”

“Hey, I told you I could pull,” Jake said, bumping your shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice the way your laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes.

The days leading up to Friday had been nothing short of torture. Jake was executing his part of the bet too well, and it was driving you insane. Love letters at Hanni’s dorm, her favorite snacks neatly placed on her desk, giving her his umbrella on a rainy day—he had perfected the role of the K-drama boyfriend. But why did it bother you so much? Was it the money you’d be losing in this bet… or was it something else entirely?

By the time Friday rolled around, you were desperate for some peace. Drama night with Jake was supposed to be your sanctuary, just the two of you like always. But as you anxiously watched the clock, waiting for him to show, a pit began to form in your stomach. Jake was never this late. After an hour of waiting, you finally gave up and started the show without him. He could catch up later.

The movie was almost over, and Jake still hadn’t shown up. You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. What’s his deal? That’s when your phone pinged with a notification. Your heart sank as you saw his name. He had just posted a photo.

You opened it, and there it was—a picture of Jake and Hanni studying together, looking cozy. She was smiling brightly, and Jake looked… happy. You scoffed, tossing your phone aside. “Whatever,” you muttered under your breath, but the tightness in your chest said otherwise.

Hugging your pillow closer, you tried to focus on the show playing in front of you. But your mind kept wandering, Jake and Hanni invading your thoughts. Deep down, you weren’t stupid—you knew what this feeling was. Jake wasn’t just your friend, and maybe he never had been.

Your mind drifted back to when you and Jake were younger. Two older boys had been teasing you for watching “chick flicks,” making you cry. Jake had stepped in, rolling up his sleeves and attempting to fight them off—though he ended up dragging you away before things escalated.

“They’re such assholes,” he had grumbled, checking you over to make sure you were okay.

“Jake! Don’t say that!” you had scolded, sniffling but still appalled.

“They deserve it. If it makes you feel any better, I like those movies. I don’t think they’re weird,” he had said, his voice softening.

Your tears had dried instantly, replaced by a wide grin as you grabbed his hands. “Really?! You do?!”

A faint blush had crept onto his cheeks, and he looked away. He didn’t actually like them, but he would never tell you that.

The memory made you laugh, but it only made the present sting more. Without realizing it, tears began to spill from your eyes, and soon you were crying into your pillow, confusion and hurt swirling in your chest.

You didn’t even hear the jingle of the doorknob as Jake walked in. He paused when he saw your slouched figure, quickly setting his bag down. “Hey, Y/n, I’m so sorry. I forgot it was drama night, and I got caught up—wait. Y/n?”

His voice softened when he noticed the way your shoulders shook, your quiet sobs filling the room. He rushed to your side, kneeling in front of you. “Y/n, what’s wrong? Look at me,” he said gently, tilting your chin up. His heart clenched at the sight of your tear-streaked face, your puffy eyes filled with sadness.

You tried to pull away, wiping at your cheeks. “How’s your little girlfriend?” you mumbled bitterly.

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend?” Jake asked, confused.

“Hanni,” you snapped, your voice breaking. “The love of your life. The one you’ve been all over this week. The girl you ditched me for today.”

Jake winced, guilt flashing across his face. “Y/n, she’s not my—”

“And I just feel so stupid for feeling this way!” you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I’m supposed to be happy for you, but all I feel is… resentful.”

Jake stared at you, his brows furrowed. “Y/n, what are you saying?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I just wish I never made that stupid bet—”

You were cut off by the sudden press of Jake’s lips against yours. His hands cupped your face, pulling you close, and for a moment, the world around you disappeared. His lips moved against yours, soft yet urgent, as if he’d been holding back for years. You froze, but only for a second, before melting into the kiss, your hands gripping his shirt to steady yourself.

Jake pulled you even closer, his touch warm and grounding as the kiss deepened. His lips were slightly chapped, but they felt perfect against yours. The air around you buzzed with something electric and raw, a feeling neither of you could put into words.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Jake’s lips were swollen, his hair a little messy, and you were sure you looked just as wrecked.

“Well then…” you exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yup,” Jake replied with a laugh, his eyes sparkling.

“That was—so you and Hanni aren’t a thing?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

Jake chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Of course not. It was all a plan. I was just trying to make you jealous, but… I guess it backfired a little.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “You—absolute jerk!” you yelled, grabbing your pillow and smacking him with it.

“Hey! Wait! It was your idea, remember?” Jake said, holding his hands up in defense.

“What?” you demanded, pausing mid-swing.

“You told me to pull a girl using a K-drama cliché. And, well… I think I just did.”

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

It all started on Tuesday a little bit after he asked Hanni out. Jake had been sitting in the library, staring blankly at his notebook, completely at a loss. The bet with you sounded simple enough in theory, but the thought of flirting with someone—anyone—that wasn’t you made his stomach churn. That’s when Hanni walked by, giving him a cheerful wave.

A lightbulb went off in Jake’s head. He waved her over, and she tilted her head curiously before walking over to his table.

“Hey, Jake! What’s up?” she asked, setting her books down.

“Hanni,” Jake said in a rush, his voice low, “I need your help. Like… seriously need your help.”

Hanni raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “What kind of help? Are you in trouble or something?”

“Not exactly.” Jake ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Okay, so… Y’Know how I kinda like asked you out and stuff… well, Y/n and I made this stupid bet that I could pull a girl using K-drama clichés, and now I’m completely screwed because…” He hesitated, looking down at the table. “Because the only person I actually care about is Y/n.”

Hanni blinked, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “Ah. I figured you didn’t actually ask me out, but I see where this is going. You want to make Y/n jealous like the dramas, don’t you?”

Jake nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. I mean, I hate playing games like this, but I don’t know how else to get her to realize that I…” He trailed off, his ears turning red.

“That you’re in love with her?” Hanni finished, crossing her arms.

“Okay, wow. No need to just throw it out there like that,” Jake mumbled, his cheeks burning.

Hanni laughed. “Relax, Jake. It’s kind of obvious. So, what’s the plan?”

Jake perked up, relief flooding him. “Wait, you’ll help me?”

“Of course! This sounds fun,” she said with a grin. “Plus, I like Y/n. She’s cool. But don’t screw this up, okay?”

“Never,” Jake said firmly. “I just… need her to see me differently, you know?”

And so by Friday, Hanni could tell Jake was growing antsy. “Relax,” she said when he brought her a coffee as thanks for her help. “I saw Y/n watching us earlier. She looked very bothered.”

“You think so?” Jake asked nervously.

Hanni smirked. “Jake, I’m a girl. Trust me. She’s jealous. Now, go make your move before she starts overthinking everything.”

Jake hesitated. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Hanni rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove. “Jake, please. The girl practically lights up every time you walk into the room. Just be honest with her, okay?”

Jake smiled at her, gratitude evident in his expression. “Thanks, Hanni. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving him off.

And with that, Jake bolted out of the library, his heart pounding as he made his way to your place. It wasn’t until he saw you crying on the couch that he realized just how deeply he had gotten under your skin—and how much he needed to make things right.

In the end, Hanni was right. Honesty was all it took. And as he kissed you for the first time that night, he made a mental note to treat Hanni to a lifetime supply of snacks for helping him finally win the heart of the only girl he’d ever really wanted.

[moobloom-mention]

A Word.

Summary: MK expected a lot of things when Peng showed up an inch away from death on Monkey King's doorstep. An attack from whatever hurt the eagle. Arguments from the group about what to do.

What he didn't expect was for Macaque to be so aggressive about leaving Peng to fend for himself. There's history here. History MK is determined to discover.

Content Warning(s): N/A

Word Count: 1224

An old inspo fic I did a while ago for @starrclown under a different pen-name. I really liked this one so I decided to properly give it a home here.

“Wukong. A word.” 

It’s the only warning either of them receives before Monkey King disappears beneath a portal, his mentor’s soured expression quickly swallowed by the harsh lash of shadows. Macaque sinks alongside him, and MK barely manages to catch his final glance toward Peng’s prone form on the couch. 

A confirmation they won’t wake while they’re gone, MK decides, lips twitching into a frown. 

Just when he thinks those two will finally have the time to reconcile the Universe throws yet another hurdle to deal with. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Pigsy’s voice chimes in, calloused hands pressed into a first-aid kit. They rescind only to hand a roll of gauze over to Sandy. “Let them fight it out. Maybe it’ll save us from whatever disagreement they'll find tomorrow.” 

“Be realistic,” Mei laughs from one of Monkey King’s armchairs. With a click her phone shuts off. “Arguing is, like, their thing.” 

“Yeah,” MK echoes. “It is, isn’t it?” 

“Mhm! But I think Piggy just wants Macaque to say what we’re all thinking.” 

MK tries not to let himself deflate at that. He knows, agrees with it to an extent. 

Yet, “And that is...?” 

Like a blade Mei, Pigsy and- from the kitchen -Tang’s words slice through what little had been left of his hope. “They can’t stay.” 

A harsh thud sounds from the hallway and MK almost thinks it a blessing from the Heavens themselves. At least, he does until he notices the heavy layer of tension that floods the room. Peng might still be passed out on the couch but that didn’t mean everyone’s nerves had calmed much. 

With a clap MK forces the room’s attention back onto himself. 

“I’ll go check it out,” he declares, easy. They’d have at least a few hours before Peng woke up, maybe more if the bird’s fever stuck around. “Probably just a little monkey that knocked something over.” 

The crowd only nods and with that MK whisks himself into the hallway. 

He tries not to linger too long on the photos that line the walls, distant taunts of memories of kinder times. 

Monkey King’s first visit to Pigsy’s shop. 

Mei’s first tour of Flower Fruit Mountain. 

MK’s first win against Monkey King. 

Another thud sounds, this time with its own hum of displeased chatter. 

MK sighs. Just as he thought. 

The dull rumble of Monkey King’s voice intermingles with Macaque’s higher-pitched tone, their bitter symphony an unintelligible echo through the bedroom door. He should’ve known the two wouldn’t have strayed far; Macaque had seemed far too panicked to facilitate that. 

Despite his presence the barking continues, bits of the conversation filtering through the closed door. 

“And if...you...” 

He takes a step forward. 

“...look, just...” 

Another. 

“...the others don’t...!” 

MK finally presses his ear against the cold wood. 

“I know, I know,” Monkey King’s voice registers, tight with something MK can’t quite place. It's...unnerving. Monkey King had always been the easier of the two monkeys to read. 

“You don’t,” Macaque snaps, accusatory in nature. Nothing new, MK notes. Arguing was practically as easy as breathing to the shadow monkey. “You don’t know because if you did, Peng wouldn’t still be here!” 

“Fine, fine! Maybe I don’t. But this is a chance- a-an opportunity!” 

“For what, some cheap nostalgia trip?” 

Distantly MK notes just how hysterical Macaque sounds, his voice high in pitch. It’s a far cry from composure, carved with jagged edges that scream there’s something more. Something he’s missing. 

He presses his ear further into the door. 

“You're taking this too easy, Wukong! There could be actual consequences to this.” 

“Like there were when you came crawling back?” 

Oh, rough blow. At least, judging by Macaque’s irritated snarl it is. 

“You didn’t-!” 

The next words seem far more exhausted than angry. 

“Y’know what, you’re deflecting,” Macaque finally hisses. MK can already imagine the wrinkled fabric as the two immortals poke and prod at one another in unbridled fury. “Something is after Peng. Whether provoked or not, it could very well come back to finish the job.” 

“To Flower Fruit Mountain? Pfft, don't make me laugh.” 

“The island’s seals are getting old,” Macaque counters, and it sounds almost a tick away from a threat. “Who knows what new magic could slip past them.” 

“I’ll handle it,” Wukong insists tightly. “Peng can recover while I fortify the seals.” 

“So, what? You’re gonna drag a half-dead eagle through the island for the next month while you brush up on charms?  Gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s the good old days?” 

“Macaque.” 

“No, no,” the shadow crows. Goads, daring for a bigger fight. “Enlighten me, Great Sage. Do you really think that inviting enemies back into your life time and time again is going to fix something? Because it seems like everyone’s finally gotten their break from fighting ‘big bads’ and you just offered shelter to another one.” 

Much to MK’s own surprise, Monkey King doesn’t offer a rebuttal. 

“We’ve only had closer and closer calls,” Macaque huffs. Then softer, hopeful, “It’d be better just to turn them in to the Celestial Realm and-” 

A beam of light shines from beneath the door before the vibrant thud of the staff filters through his ears. 

The room quiets almost instantly, and MK has to strain to make sure he doesn’t miss the hum of Macaque’s portal. He wouldn’t blame the shadow monkey if he does take his leave; Macaque didn’t have a reason to stay and- judging by what he'd heard from Tang –Macaque wasn’t really ever on good terms with Peng.  

Finally, “We can’t keep them here.” 

A gentle sigh. 

“It’s not forever,” Wukong says. His voice rings hoarse, like he can’t believe the statement either. “’S just until they’re...” 

“Back to normal?” 

Bitterness. 

“Able to fly again.” 

Exasperation. 

“It’s an artifact fix,” Monkey King tries. “You’re good at those anyway.” 

“Oh great,” Macaque cheers, voice draped with sarcasm. “You want me to help too.” 

“It’d get them to leave faster.” 

... 

There’s a sudden chuckle, warm and bright like the sun. “I got you with that one, didn’t I?” 

“Just shut up. We should get back before Peng wakes up and breaks something.” 

MK straightens just as footsteps sound within the room, one pair light and the other heavy. For once he can’t tell which is which. 

“Hey,” Wukong murmurs and the footsteps stop. “I know that my judgement calls aren’t...” 

“Sound? Sane?” 

“Was gonna say ‘the best’,” Monkey King huffs. “But I’m serious. I need you to back me up on this, even if it’s just to say, ‘I told you so’ at the end of it.” 

There’s a light clink of a claw against the doorknob just as Macaque’s voice becomes louder, clearer. 

“Mm, maybe I will stick around for that ‘told you so’. But if something goes wrong, so help me Wukong-” 

“We’ll all be there to fix it,” MK interrupts, arms crossed. He thinks he sees the smallest flash of surprise from Macaque before it’s replaced with familiar tired eyes. “We’re all a part of this, not just Monkey King.” 

“You’re getting bold, kiddo.” 

Even beneath the tells of stress and anger, MK knows thinly veiled approval when he sees it. Or maybe that’s just his own exhaustion talking. 

“Yeah, he gets it from me,” Monkey King grins. “This is a big ask, you sure you’re up for this, bud?” 

“Always.”