#cause I think I’ve drawn them once this year lmao

[habken]

i absolutely adore your style, so anytime you doodle dabi or hawks i eat it up so hard bc they're my favorites LMAO

:) !! Thank you hehe

[wisp-exe]

another essay from my class lmao

I spent two whole days questioning what I should write about.  None of the journals we did stick out to me enough to write a whole story based on it.  I couldn’t just make things up seeing as it’s supposed to be an essay that says something about me.  I finally decided to write about a story I’ve written almost every year.  

I was five years old.  My family was visiting my uncle’s house for the weekend because my brother's and youngest cousin’s birthdays are only a few days apart.  My uncle’s family lived in an apartment above an office at the time.  There were toys all over the floors, and most surfaces were covered in miscellaneous things.  I was hanging out with one of the kids around my age when we decided to go to the bedroom she shared with her two older sisters and twin brother.  

The room was just as messy as the rest of the house, with toys thrown about, and clothes in every corner.  There were two bunk beds, they made the shape of an “L” in the corner of the room, with a small space between them.  There wasn’t room for any other furniture, so the kids kept their clothes in bags, but there was a fan on the ceiling.  I think they were only okay with all being in one tiny space because they spent most days with their mom, who was divorced from my uncle.  

My cousin tried insisting we played atop one of the beds, but I refused at first.

“Roman please!” She begged, the end of the last word drawn out.

“No! What if one of us falls?” I replied.

She gave in eventually, and we played with barbies on the floor.  We might have been playing house with them, or maybe a fantasy story.  I don’t remember anymore because of other events that happened that day overshadowing it, and the loss of memories that come with time.  

Inevitably my cousin quickly bored of this game.  She started to get upset, and eventually quit.  She forced me to put the barbies away, because if she didn’t want to play then I wouldn’t be able to play either.  I contemplated leaving the room and doing something else, but she convinced me to stay.

She once again asked if we could play on the bunk beds, and I agreed.

I had no clue what she wanted us to do on them, but up we went.  Once we both were on the bunk beds she told me the game she wanted to play.

“We should jump across the beds!” She spoke, with that childlike excitement you expect from a kid our age.

I looked towards the floor below me, before replying in a frightful voice, “What if we get hurt?”

“We won’t, I promise!”  

I suppose you can guess the outcome of the story at this point.  Really, I should have told her I didn’t want to do this, but what five-year-old is that smart?

She had us take turns jumping from bed to bed.  For a while everything was fine.  The room began to heat up quickly. Honestly, it was probably because we were two out-of-shape kids moving so much.  Perhaps the adrenaline also had something to do with it.  Whatever the cause was, my cousin decided the room was too hot.  She leaned over the edge of the bunk bed and pulled the string that would start the fan.

I’ve always been a very anxious person.  Even as a kid, I would shy away from anything remotely dangerous.  I think the fact I was with my cousin reassured me that I would be fine, and so we continued to jump back and forth. Over and over.

My cousin had me jump to the bunk bed that the ceiling fan was closest to.  I was at eye level with the blades of the fan, because of how low the ceiling was.  She asked me to turn off the fan for her.

I would have to lean over the edge of the bed to reach the string, as I was a much smaller kid than she was.  I did it anyways, of course, I didn’t want her to think I was scared.  I began to reach for the string, my hand fully outstretched.  I finally grabbed it and was about to turn the fan off, when I looked down.  My heart began to race.  I was leaning halfway off the bed, meaning I could fall at any moment if I weren’t careful.  I struggled to get a breath in, and the panic set in.  I hurriedly began to throw myself back to stop myself from falling.  

As I sat up, I failed to notice how close I was to the fan above me.  Suddenly my vision turned white.  The world seemed to freeze for the brief moment it took for me to hear a scream.  I don’t know if I was the one screaming, or my cousin, perhaps it was both of us.  My vision returned, and as it did my world exploded in pain.  I was definitely beginning to cry now if I hadn’t been already.  My limbs felt frozen, so all I could do was sit there on that bunk bed, the world around me felt as if it had slowed.  At this point, I had no clue what my cousin was doing, but presumably, she was just staring in shock.  There was blood pouring from my forehead, the sticky substance staining my clothes, and the bedsheets.  I couldn’t think about anything other than the pain.  

I heard more then saw my father come running into the room.  He began to panic when he saw me.

“Oh my god Roman!” He yelled in a panicked voice.

My mom heard his yell, and came running, “What happened?!”

I barely remember what happened between then and getting to the ER.  I have faint memories of my mother holding me, with a towel covered in blood being held to my head.  My uncle was driving us.

The doctor got my head to stop bleeding, then he laughed, “Well would you look at that, it’s just a tiny cut.  Looks like you won't be needing stitches today, kid.”

My parents sighed in relief. 

“Thank god for that,” My mom replied.

[katstarry]

head over heels

eddie munson x reader

masterlist ☆

summary: eddie is instantly drawn to you when you come to pick up the kids from one of their hellfire meetings.

this man has taken over my thoughts fr, if something happens to him in vol 2…

also, since i’m now in summer break hopefully i start to write more than like once every few months! i’m so sorry about that lmao!!!

not my gif!

inspired by head over heels by tears for fears :)

you’ve been friends with lucas, dustin, mike, and max ever since everything with the demogorgons went down.

you didn’t even mean to get involved in the first place.

being friends with robin, you came by one day to say hello. only to be pulled into the back room of scoops ahoy to help translate a mysterious tape recording.

and since then, everything changed.

and now here you were a year later, pulling up to hawkins high to pick up a group of children from their D&D club meeting.

it seemed too crazy, it was your final year in high school. you never saw yourself befriending the freshmen and even steve harrington.

as you parked your car you see them all walk out, looking cheerful and excited from the game they had just played, bringing a pleased smile to your face, seeing them happy is all that mattered to you ever since what happened.

seeing them look around the parking lot for you, you rolled down the window of your car.

“hey guys! i’m over here!” you outstretched your hand out the window waving them over.

watching them say their goodbyes, you don’t notice how eddie looks at you.

he’s immediately entranced.

he recognizes you now. you both shared a few classes and has seen you in the cafeteria, you always said hello to mike and dustin on your way to your table with your friends.

he never thought much about it.

his small moment was interrupted by dustin.

“eddie! hellooo? earth to eddie!” dustin dramatically waves his hands infront of him, blocking his view from you.

“yeah, yeah what is it henderson?” eddie puts his hands on his waist.

“oh just y’know me and mike are about to leave, oh and you were just there staring like a creep.”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about. now, move along! don’t keep a lady waiting, henderson!”he shoo’s away dustin and mike as he glances back at you, only to find you already looking at their interaction, actually smiling.

and eddie thinks he might just faint from seeing you smile at him. you wave at him shyly as he returns it.

eddie doesn’t understand why such a small interaction caused his thoughts to be all about you.

he started to notice you a lot since then. in your shared classes, in the hallways, at lunch, and every time you come to pick up the kids from meetings.

and now it was lunch time.

as he sat himself down at his usual table, the rest of his friends were already in conversation.

he saw you were on you were about to pass by their table, waving to mike and dustin.

what he didn’t expect was for you to wave at him as well this time, with yet another one of your smiles.

he was so caught off guard, but he waved back anyways.

none of the other guys seemed to care or notice about it, but in the inside he felt on fire.

what the hell is going on with him!

on the other hand, as you sat with your own friends at your table, you felt so embarrassed.

you did it totally without thinking. you’ve never even talked to him!

robin, who was beside you, nudged you with her elbow.

of course she noticed.

“okay, what was that?” she turned to you with a grin of her own.

“i have no idea! i don’t know, i just did it without thinking. but.. i mean it’s no big deal right? i’ve seen him plenty of times.” you shrug as you start eating your lunch food.

“are you kidding? he’s totally into you y/n.” narrowing her eyes at you.

“robin! i literally just waved?” you laughed.

“oh please! he literally looks at you all the time! please tell me you’ve at least noticed that before.”

you turned to look at her, furrowing your eyebrows. has he been?

you watch as she dramatically groans and rubs her hands on her face.

“maybe if he’s so interested, as you say, he would’ve definitely talked to me by now. he’s eddie munson. he’s always so.. y’know.. him.”

“what does that even mean.” she’s now resting her head on one of her hands that’s leaning on the lunch table.

“he’s outspoken? i don’t know. i just feel like he would’ve said something by now.” as you finish your food you push the tray slightly away and turn to face your friend now, who’s face now wears another smile.

“maybe, you make him nervous.”

you playfully scoff. “oh please, i don’t think something like that would make him nervous.”

she shrugs, still smiling.

“i think, that you should turn around right now. he’s looking at you, again.”

she nods her head slightly as she notices your hesitation.

you sigh, slowly turning your head, only to find that she was right.

though he immediately turns his gaze away and back into the very animated conversation with his friends. you turn back around to robin, as she gives you a satisfied smile.

okay.. yeah. so maybe robin could be right.

as the school day ended, everyone went out the building to get home.

you were walking out the doors as you saw eddie standing outside talking with the hellfire group.

you were contemplating on walking up to say hi.

realizing that you were just awkwardly standing and looking, you decide to walk up to them.

what the hell are you doing.

you could just walk by and say hi as you usually do, but you realize you just want an excuse to talk to eddie.

that’s why you were nervous.

taking a small deep breath, as you reach nearer, most of the people he was talking to began to leave, saying their goodbyes. even dustin and mike were leaving.

oh no.

you could just turn the other way, easily.

you decide not to. it won’t be awkward right? what’s the worst that could happen.

he was about to walk away when you finally reached him.

“hey eddie!” you hoped that you didn’t sound so awkward.

he turned around at the sound of your voice. slight surprise in his face, he was biting his bottom lip and his eyebrows were slightly raised.

“oh y/n, hey!” his usual demeanor was back. his arms went up and a bright smile on his face.

god he felt as though he was on fire as you walked up to him.

his heart rate sped up, you were actually talking to him.

your face flushed as you came to a stop in front of him. suddenly realizing how tall he actually was.

“what’s up?” oh god. what’s up? seriously? that’s all you could come up with?

“oh y’know i was just about to go home. and you? what’re you up to y/l/n?” he crossed his arms over his chest.

now you felt as though you were going to faint. he kept staring at you, waiting for your response as you both walked to the parking lot.

“yeah, yeah! me too.” you cleared your throat as you suddenly had an idea. “you know, we should hang out sometime.”

wow, where did that confidence come from?

“really? i mean, yeah! we totally should! what did you have in mind?”

oh, you haven’t thought about that.

as you thought of an answer you placed your hands into the pockets of your sweater. “uh.. i mean we could just..”

he seemed to notice your struggle and smiled, “we could just watch a movie? or something.”

you smiled back up at him. “yeah! i’d really like that.”

“at my place? if that’s alright with you.”

you didn’t even notice that you’ve both stopped at your car now.

“yeah, that’s cool with me.”

he nodded his head with a smile still on him, his long hair swaying with the action.

you opened the door to your car and grabbed a random piece of paper and a pen.

he watched as you scribbled something down. a curious look on his face.

you outstretched your hand with the paper to him.

it was your phone number.

he hoped you didn’t see the blush that spread across his face right now.

“call me, yeah?”

“oh i will, sweetheart.”

you laughed as you got into your car and he walked away to his own.

he felt so giddy and hopeful, looking forward to the rest of the day to see you once again. maybe this could be a beginning to something wonderful.

a/n: feedback is appreciated! :) this is kinda short and i just wanted to put something out there lol!!

[emerald-chaos]

Coney Island

Hi friends! I appreciate all the love and response I’ve gotten for my writing over the past week or so. You guys sure know how to make a gal feel loved! This is another little idea that came one night when I was screaming to a good friend of mine (which is how a lot of my ideas come to me lmao) about how pre-serum 1940s Steve deserves the best. It’s not necessarily my best work, but Steve Rogers deserves some love too. I hope you guys enjoy! Also please feel free to let me know what you guys would like to see me write next :) Enjoy! xo

Pairing: Pre-Serum!Steve x Reader

Word count: 1895

Warnings: swearing and bad attempts at being funny lol

a/n: this was uploaded on mobile because I’m at work tonight so if it looks funky I apologize! I’ll try to fix it after I finish my 3 night stint lol.

As the sun began to set and the hot July air began to cool, Steve couldn’t believe the situation he’d found himself in yet again.

“Come on, pal,” Bucky chuckled as he pat his friend roughly on the shoulder, “I’ve never met someone who was this upset to meet up with a couple of beautiful ladies.”

“What? And somehow be the third wheel on a double date again?” Steve quipped back at his long time friend.

Bucky replied with a roll of his eyes and waved off his friend, turning his body toward the Coney Island parking lot to see if he could find the girls they were supposed to be meeting.

Steve regretted that he sounded so bitter, but these “double dates” that Bucky dragged him on were somewhat of a joke. It was always the same song and dance. The girl who Bucky was attempting to court would bring a friend, either for moral support or to try and set her up, and that friend would always be wholly disappointed when she saw that Steve was who she was stuck with. Steve knew that not every girl had to like him, of course, but occasionally it would be nice to be as sought after or wanted as Bucky was - or at least to not be looked through by every girl he met.

“There they are,” Bucky grinned, raising his arms above his head to signal the two, “over here!”

Steve took a deep breath and prepared himself for the inevitable look of disappointment that he had become so accustomed to. Instead, as he turned he was met with a stunning pair of eyes and a soft smile splayed across the most incredible pair of lips he’d ever laid his eyes on. Seeing you made him feel like all the air had been forced out of his lungs and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t catch his breath. The only other time he remembered experiencing the sensation was after a particularly bad time that he had gotten the living hell beat out of him in the alleyway - except this time, it was a good feeling.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve.” You said, your voice soft and warm - like honey.

There’s no way that could be a blush on your cheeks, right?

“Well, we already got our tickets,” Bucky’s voice brought Steve back to the present, “so what do you say we head in?”

---------

For the first time in, well, forever, Steve actually found himself enjoying the evening. The small talk didn’t feel stiff or forced, you never recoiled at any of the accidental touches throughout the night, and you actually looked him in the eyes when you were having a conversation. If you were disappointed in being stuck with Steve, you hid it pretty well.

The unrelenting sun had finally set and the colorful lights of various rides and booths reflected off of the water. You had been on a couple rides, enjoyed some hot dogs and funnel cakes, and now the group of you had been sucked into one of those carnival game booths. Bucky was attempting, as usual, to show off for your friend by trying to win her a stuffed animal.

“Would you like to take a walk or something?” Your voice captured Steve’s attention as he turned to look at you. You grinned a little before adding, “It’s kind of sickening to stand here and watch them act like this.”

Steve was caught off guard, both at the jab directed to your friends and the fact that you would even consider being alone with him.

“I, uh, yeah, sure, we could do that,” he nodded quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You smiled and started down the boardwalk.

This is too good to be true, right? He thought to himself. She’s obviously just trying to be nice.

“Steve?” your voice cut through his doubts. He hadn’t even realized that you made it several feet away from him and he was still planted in the same spot.

“Oh! Yeah, coming! Sorry!” Steve blushed as he hurried to catch up with you.

The two of you walked side by side for a few minutes, an oddly comfortable silence lingering between you.

“How are-”

“Have you-”

Steve’s eyes met yours as you both began to speak simultaneously and you shared a laugh together. Steve could feel the warmth rising in his face and he hoped to God that he wasn’t blushing like an idiot.

“You first,” he smiled softly.

“I was just going to ask how long you and James have known each other?” you asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

And there it was.

To anyone else the question would seem innocent, but Steve knew better. You had only drawn Steve away so you could question him about his friend - the same way every other person before you had done. There was a heat building inside Steve’s stomach. How could he be so stupid? How could he actually believe that someone like you could be interested in someone like him?

“T-the only reason I ask is,” you blurted, sounding...nervous? “well, because the two of you are so different. I mean, not in a bad way! Just like, James is so...cocky and loud and you’re...well you’re not.”

Steve stopped walking and looked at you. His thoughts were racing through his brain like a freight train. What exactly were you trying to say?

“God I'm so bad with words,” you laughed, shaking your head, “just forget I said anything at all.”

“You don’t have to feel bad for me, you know. If that’s what this is.” Steve couldn’t hold back the words, and they sounded much colder than he meant them to. He was just so tired of living in his friend’s shadow. The only time girls were ever nice to him was because they wanted to impress Bucky. He was sure that’s what you were doing too.

Once he noticed your brows furrow and a look of sadness overcome your face, he wanted nothing more than to rewind time and take his words back.

“Is that the type of person you think I am, Steve?” Your voice came out a little shaky, but Steve could still hear the hurt he had caused.

Steve sighed and rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he started as his hands fell from his face and he met your gaze again, “I’m just...I’m not used to this.”

“And what exactly is this?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Someone on these double dats being interested in me.”

He could tell that his words caught you off guard. You were quiet and your arms slowly fell to your side. Steve was having trouble reading your expression, but it looked somewhere between someone who saw a puppy left on the side of the road and someone who was trying to understand a foreign language.

“Just...Just forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” Steve waved his hand, as if he was trying to dismiss the conversation.

What he didn’t expect was for your hand to intertwine with his.

Steve’s gaze lingered on your connected hands for a minute before traveling to meet your eyes.

“You’re not very good at this, Rogers.” You said with a small laugh, “Here I was, thinking I was being too obvious.”

“I-I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Steve slowly responded.

You laughed again, the sound slowly becoming one of his favorites. Before he knew what was going on, you were pressed flush against him and capturing his lips with yours.

This would make the third time Steve had felt the wind be knocked from his lungs.

The kiss was slow, soft, and unlike any other he had ever experienced. It reminded him of the time his dad told him how he knew his mom was the one.

Well, when we kissed it felt like the rest of the world melted away. At that moment in time, it was just her and I.

A shiver ran down his spine as the warmth of your lips left his. As though he was drunk or coming out of a haze, it took him a moment to open his eyes and focus his vision back on you. There was a cute pinkness to your cheeks and you had a doe-eyed expression. It took a moment for the heartbeat in his ears to fade away - the joyful screams of park patrons and whirring of machinery returning.

“I like you, Steve,” You told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “In fact, I've liked you for a while.”

You watched as Steve’s adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped.

“You,” Steve cleared his throat as the word came out as a squeak, “you do?”

That smile he adored returned to your lips as you nodded, “I do.”

Before he had an opportunity to respond, you were speaking again.

“I see you at school, you know, around town too. I’ve always noticed how kind you are to everyone. The way you hold the door open for the old ladies at Church. That one time you gave Johnny your lunch because his parents forgot to pack him one?” the smile on your face growing bigger as you recounted the times in which you fell for Steve Rogers, “I mean, what’s not to like.”

Steve felt an asthma attack coming on.

“James is nice and all,” you leaned in then, as if you were telling a secret, “but he’s also kind of a bastard.”

Steve couldn’t hold back the laugh that tumbled from his lips and you quickly joined him. This felt like some sort of twisted dream to him - you standing here, confessing your feelings to him. Never in a million years did he think someone as beautiful as you would even talk to him, let alone have feelings for him.

“Obviously I’m kidding, but in all honesty... you are one of the best men I’ve ever met, Steve. I’m sorry that any one has ever made you feel less than.” You squeezed his hand again.

This time it was Steve who initiated the kiss, holding your face between his hands as he moved his lips against yours. Your hands found a place on his waist and your bodies slotted against one another - like they were two puzzle pieces made to fit into one another. You tasted sweet, like funnel cake, and your lips were soft against his slightly chapped ones. Steve hadn’t kissed very many people in his lifetime, but if this were the last kiss he got to have - he could die a happy man.

“Ahem,”

The two of you separated to see your friend, holding a huge stuffed bear, and Bucky standing before you, grinning like fools.

“Are we interrupting something?” Bucky mocked the two of you, sending a wink to Steve.

“Shut it, Buck.” Steve warned, although he couldn’t help but grin back at his friend.

“Come on, lovebirds” Bucky teased, “my girl here wants to ride the ferris wheel again.”

You smoothed out your dress and smiled at Steve, lacing your fingers once again with his as the two of you followed your friends toward the ferris wheel.

For once, Steve was going to have to thank Bucky tomorrow.

[sdv-player-9]

Sebastian

I was going to make a post about how sad it was that everyone wants to leave Pelican Town in Stardew Valley, but then I got caught up in reading Sebastian’s dialogue on his wiki page and I just-

You know what makes me really sad? Even more than everyone wanting to leave? Sebastian.

- “If I just disappeared would it really matter?”

- “What’s the point of going outside? I’ve already seen it all.”

- “Why does everyone like Maru so much? Sure, she's smart and friendly, but don't they realize it's all just an attention-grabbing scam? Sorry...”

- “I was this close to moping in bed the entire day. Kinda wish I had, now.”

- “Hey... It's hard to think of new things to talk about, sometimes. Even after you know someone. ...Sorry.”

I think he’s depressed. Like, how do you say those quotes and mean them and not have something hurting you inside?

Also these:

- “I was thinking... people are like skipping stones. Eventually we’re going to sink.”

- “I usually stay inside, but I do go to the beach now and then. Pretty much only when it's raining, though. For some reason, staring off into the bleak horizon makes me feel... I dunno. Like it's worthwhile to keep pushing on, I guess.”

- “Nothing surprises me anymore... nothing makes me laugh. Yeah, I know... I'm being a little dramatic.”

I’m starting a petition to add a new character who’s a therapist and has a room either in the clinic or in a new building. We could do with one of those.

But then I read further into the dialogue, because it’s mentioned quite a lot that Sebastian wants to move to a big city and work there and I was wondering if that was ever addressed, or if he just kind of lives with this guilt inside him that he hasn’t done what he wanted to with his life. And I found this (dialogue is from when he and player are married):

- “The older I get, the less I'm drawn to the city. It had a certain mystique to it, once. But it turns out that was just a romantic fantasy. The city's so busy, so full of people... I don't belong there. I'm a loner.”

And it makes me kinda sad that he does abandon his dream, but then (dialogue is from when he and player are married):

- “I did some work on the laptop today. I was actually brainstorming some ideas for a game I want to make. With your farming income, I can afford to do what I want with my life. It's pretty amazing. Thank you.”

And if you read his dialogue from after the player marries him (if you do) it’s just- it’s so sweet??? And he seems so happy??? And it just???

- “Living here with you is teaching me to come out of my shell a little bit. I think it's good for me.”

- “I couldn't sleep last night so I went for a night ride on the motorcycle. I need to stay independent, even though we're married. That's just how I am. I still love you, though.

- “Hey...want some coffee? I needed some...woke up early from a nightmare and I just couldn't fall back asleep.”

- “I'll just watch you from here. I enjoy watching you.”

- “This is so different from my old life, but I'm really starting to like it. I feel like I really belong here.”

- “I often felt unappreciated at home...but here I feel like I really belong. Thanks for making me feel welcome, [Player].”

- “Hey. I just hung out around the house, today. Nothing interesting... The view from our house is perfect. You can see the sun setting over Pelican Town from the front porch.”

- “I may be a reclusive guy, but I'm always happy when you're around.”

- “Hi, [Player]. Good to see you. It's comforting when you're around.”

- “Hey. I couldn't sleep last night so I took a walk to the caves. I found this ...want it? I just have trouble sleeping sometimes, it has nothing to do with you. I love you.”

And there are just so many more and it’s beautiful. He’s my favourite character. Go read all of his dialogue, even if you aren’t gonna marry him in the game.

I don’t know where I was going with this. Sebastian makes me sad.

-10 minute timeskip-

I went to try and find an image with one of his quotes to put at the end of this post and instead came across a bunch of Reddit posts about how awful he is and honestly they have a fair point ngl

- When married to the player, he keeps his frogs inside the house even if the player asks him not to

- Doesn’t consider Abigail one of his friends, because he has a crush on her

- Literally makes an effort not to get along with Demetrius and Maru, even though he’s had at least 10 and possibly 20 years to come to terms with this

- Apparently when you’re married he also just kinda vanishes on a Friday and also complains about mess a lot

However I then read a ton more people with good fair points that go against this so

- Keeps his frogs in his office. That’s fair enough. He can have his own stuff in his office

- Doesn’t consider Abigail a friend cause he isn’t sure if she’s into him, and it’s also okay to grow away from people you once wanted to be close to

- Demetrius does blatantly prefer Maru and rarely mentions Sebastian. It’s not Sebastians job only to fix his relationship with Demetrius. Demetrius could’ve done something, and so could Robin and Maru

They didn’t say anything about the final point but that’s cause it was from a different post

I also learned that everybody loves Elliot and there’s an even split between the people who like Shane and the people who don’t

In conclusion, I have no conclusion. All of the characters are flawed, which is good, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be problematic because some of them are.

Might switch who I’m trying to marry tho lmao

I did find this funny though:

[liberolove]

Yearning

pairing: gojou satoru x reader

genre: angst, slight fluff

warnings: hopelessness + implied suicide, depression

wc: 1.27k

a/n: just a thought that came to me yesterday night and i actually finished it instead of leaving it in my drafts lmao. feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated (:

Do you still think of me? Do you even remember me anymore? These thoughts plagued your mind every night for the past 8 years. The last time you ever saw him was your second year of high school.

You'd grown up together, experiencing the highs and lows of your young lives. You thought you'd have the rest of your lives to continue growing and thriving, but he had to leave.

Without even a simple goodbye, he left. He left you alone. What hurts the most isn't how he left so suddenly, but how he left without being able to confess how you felt.

With time, you believed that the feelings would fade away. You hoped and prayed they would go away, yet they never did.

Eight years later, you still think of him- his carefree attitude, his childish wonder, and most of all, his protectiveness. Despite you two always being reckless, he'd never forget to take care of you. You were his number one priority.

He would brush off his actions as "just being a good friend." You didn't believe that lie, not for a second. There was no way someone could be so kind, compassionate, and gentle with just a friend.

You wondered if he still looked the same... if he still listened to the playlists you had made him... Again, these thoughts were present, never fading- just like your love for him.

Even after all this time, you remained hopeful that one day you'd reunite with the one that got away. It pained you to realize that your life would be empty without him, but you still smiled at the thought of him.

Though your time with him was short, it would never go underappreciated.

Sometimes you were inconsolable. You felt as though there was no possible way you could ever recover from the heartbreak.

You had your own personal rain cloud, following you, day in and day out. It affected those around you, causing them to keep their distance. This only furthered your loneliness.

Your appearance grew weary and wretched. You hoped for the blissful kiss of death to arrive any day now. Life wasn't worth living; nothing could bring you out of your worsening depression.

Empty, you walked down the street to what used to be your favorite coffee shop. Now, it possessed no meaning, no feelings, no sentiment.

You ordered and sat down, waiting for your coffee. You scrolled through your music library until landing on his favorite song from back then.

Your number was called, and you walked out of the shop. When you walked out, you pivoted towards home, but for a fraction of a second, you could've sworn you saw his silver hair turn around the corner. There was no way. No way he could be back.

You quickly slapped yourself out of it. It was nonsense, just your mind playing tricks on you. However, if it had been him, and you chose to ignore the signs, you would never forgive yourself. So, you jogged down to the corner and looked around the area.

Sure enough, a tall blindfolded man with silver hair was walking down the sidewalk. The blindfold was odd, but then again, the whole world is.

As if he read your mind, he turned around, and it felt like something had clicked in the universe. He lifted his blindfold, and you were greeted by the most radiant blue eyes.

You'd seen those eyes before. Their hypnotic gaze devoured everything around them, including yourself.

Your hand met your mouth as you gasped. The realization of who was standing in front of you brought you down to your debilitated knees.

The towering man ran up to you and helped bring you back on your feet. "Are you alright?" His hands moved from the small of your back to your waist as he waited for your response. "Satoru?"

"Y/n. Holy sh-" You cut him off with your embrace. All those years of waiting and regretting never speaking up poured into the intimate caress.

Overwhelmed, tears started to well up in your eyes. You couldn't hold it in any longer, and gasping sobs escaped your lips. He brought you in as close as he could, and his physique trembled in your arms.

Was he upset too? Strangers stared as you two stayed in the middle of the sidewalk, unmoving. They didn't matter. Only he and you existed at this moment. 

You draped your arms around his neck, though he was almost twice your size. His eyes bore holes in your entire being, full of longing and distress. You brought a hand up to cup his cheek, with your thumb softly moving up and down.

He held your hand in his as he leaned his face into your palm. "I'm so sorry, y/n... I- I tried to contact you, but I co- couldn't.. "

"Shhh... You're here. That's all that matters.."

He pulled you in again and gently placed a kiss on your temple. "I've missed you tremendously... I thought I wasn't going to make it... You don't know how hard it's been, y/n.."

"I do, actually... You're all I've thought about for these past few years."

"Fuck, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.." He dove onto his knees and looked up at you over him, and he gripped your shins as if he was holding onto his last breaths. His decrepit state paralyzed you. Here he was, after years of absence, begging you for forgiveness.

You kneeled down to meet him, "I should be the one apologizing. I should've kept looking. I shouldn't have given up on you. I'm sorry.."

He put his blindfold back on, trying to hide his teary eyes. In a few swift moves, he lifted you up and carried you in his arms. Without another word, he took you, bridal style, to his apartment.

You didn't even protest, too stunned from the euphoria of being in his presence once again.

When you arrived, he sat you down on his couch, and he placed his head on your thighs, just like when you were young. Breaking the silence, he admitted, "I've been waiting for this day to come. I almost lost all hope." 

You gazed at his fair complexion and noticed how his eyes twinkled back at you, like stars. You couldn't help it as tears started to stream down your cheeks, all over again. Seeing your abrupt change, he sat up and pressed his forehead against your own to soothe your aching heart. 

Although you were in the middle of another breakdown, he couldn't help himself and impulsively greeted your lips with a stolen kiss. It was long and drawn out, full of years of hunger and eagerness. You'd visualized this for most of your life, but actually living it was completely distinct. 

His lips were delicate with a likeness to clouds on a spring morning. His touch lingered on your forearm, and he eventually tucked you back into the safety of his embrace, deepening his kiss. 

Unable to go on without breathing, you broke the kiss and admired him through half-lidded eyes. His heart rejoiced in the look of adoration you were giving him, further encouraging his feelings for you. 

Without a second thought, he blurted out, "Y/n. I love you so much."

Taken aback, you hesitate for a second, making him uneasy with your lack of response. You compose yourself and lean into him, whispering, "I love you, too, Satoru. Thank you for coming back."

You two reveled in the delirium of the hasty confessions, eager to enjoy each other's company now that you had found one another. 

[angstyaches]

For that ask game: ice cream, thermometer, greasy spoon, and hiccups for Shayne, Charlie, and Blake (I love Blake btw. Can't wait to see more of him)

Thank you!! And I'm so excited to hear that you like Blake so far. I've got lots of angsty plans for him.

Note: I have done this game before and it's possible I've answered some of these for Shayne and Charlie already, so if anybody finds doubles and they don't correspond, feel free to send me a link and tell me to fix it lmao)

Ask Game

Shayne:

ice cream: are there any foods your character cant eat?

In the earlier parts of the story, it's thought that Shayne might be lactose intolerant, so he generally avoids dairy, but it's not catastrophic if he doesn't; he just has a generically weak stomach that isn't particularly sensitive to one thing more than another.

thermometer: how do fevers effect your character’s stomach?

Fevers will generally give him a dull, sluggish kind of ache in his stomach, keeping him just nauseous enough that he can't relax without causing him to vomit.

greasy spoon: how does your character’s stomach react to junk food?

He generally starts to feel full pretty quickly once he starts eating, but this happens even faster when he's eating heavy or greasy food. His stomach also gets a little noisier than usual while trying to digest it. He won't be able to tell if he's hungry again, or just nauseous, for... quite a while.

hiccups: does your character get burpy/gassy/hiccupy when they eat too much?

One of the benefits of how slowly he eats is that he avoids getting too gassy from eating. However, he has a lot less control when it comes to fizzy drinks/sodas, and more often than not ends up with a case of deep, hollow burps, or a very rumbly stomach ache.

Charlie:

ice cream: are there any foods your character cant eat?

I’ve been thinking, and I actually don’t believe there are! The only reasons Charlie might avoid certain food would be because he doesn’t like the taste, or because it takes too long to prepare (especially during his college years, he starts to see cooking as a waste of time).

thermometer: how do fevers effect your character’s stomach?

Charlie's head and his stomach are very much in sync with one another, so as soon as a fever starts to make him dizzy or light-headed, you can be sure that he's busy locating the nearest bathroom or bucket.

greasy spoon: how does your character’s stomach react to junk food?

His stomach would react absolutely fine to it, no problem... if Charlie had any ounce of self-control when it comes to junk food. Charlie is an emotional eater, so if he's even a little bit stressed and there are snacks available, it's basically guaranteed that he's going to keep picking at them until it's too late. This can end in two different ways - a long-drawn-out belly ache that feels like a ton of cement in his gut, or some very sudden and urgent nausea.

hiccups: does your character get burpy/gassy/hiccupy when they eat too much?

Sometimes! But as I so love to point out (because I think it’s so adorable), he gets gassy and hiccupy when he’s hungry. Food is usually what calms it down, and doesn’t really cause him to get burpy again unless he eats incredibly fast.

Blake:

ice cream: are there any foods your character cant eat?

He doesn’t like to admit it to anyone, but his stomach is quite delicate to anything overly rich or spicy. Not to the point where it’ll make him sick, but leave him with a pretty distracting stomach ache.

thermometer: how do fevers effect your character’s stomach?

It doesn’t take much for Blake’s body to turn on him, so the first stirrings of a fever would already be throwing his digestion into chaos. He’d have no appetite, and anything already in his stomach would have a hard time staying down.

greasy spoon: how does your character’s stomach react to junk food?

He’s not very used to eating junk food; he grew up eating relatively healthy, fresh meals prepared by his stepmother, and his father was strict about them not ordering takeaways or eating at fast food places, so junk food doesn’t tend to sit with him very well nowadays. However, he loves the taste of it, plus the feeling of defiance it gives him, so the potential pain and nausea don’t tend to stop him from indulging in it when he can.

hiccups: does your character get burpy/gassy/hiccupy when they eat too much?

Yes, and he is fairly, um, forthcoming with his burps, priding himself on not really giving a shit if (almost) anybody thinks that he’s disgusting or annoying (he’s fairly sure most people wouldn’t like him anyway, even if he was polite). The hiccups, on the other hand, he’ll do his best to suppress, as he feels they’re a bit more childish and embarrassing.

[kindahoping4forever]

When The Sun Came Up, You Were Looking At Me (Prologue) // Ashton Irwin

It really cannot be overstated how excited @cal-puddies​ and I are for you all to finally start reading this fic!! I searched our chat and we actually came up with the skeleton idea for this sequel only TWO DAYS after Remember When We Couldn’t Take The Heat was posted LAST APRIL and we started seriously writing in SEPTEMBER. This is a long time coming. We hope you love it as much as we do and thank you again for encouraging us to continue this story!

Don’t forget we’re alternating chapters so the story continues tomorrow over on Cass’s blog. And of course, you can find links to everything as it’s posted in the masterlist linked below! 

Warnings: Tension, both dramatic and sexual. Mild angst. Meddling but well-meaning friends. The first smut-free work Cass and I have ever written together (don’t worry, we more than make up for it the rest of the series lmao)

Word Count: 3455

Cass & Crystal’s Masterlist  // Series Masterlist

Let  us  know  what  you  think!

The traffic light changes to green and you turn down Luke and Sierra’s street. You roll your eyes at the quickening of your pulse as you think about the party tonight; you’d give anything to skip it but you know Michael and Crystal really want you there and you can’t not show up for them. 

You feel your nerves settle a bit as you step out of the car and see Sierra waiting at the door for you, happy to have you over to get ready together. She grins wide and pulls you into a warm hug, Luke quickly coming over to engulf you as well. Their excited greetings overlap as they literally smother you with affection and you can’t help but laugh at the fuss they’re making.

“You always disappear for too long,” he murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head. 

“Just needed some space,” you say with a shrug. 

“You broke up with Ash, not us,” Sierra reminds you, squeezing your arm. 

“I know, I know,” you nod with a weak smile. 

Luke grabs the bag with your dress in it and takes it to their room while you and Sierra get a drink. “Thank god you’re letting me pre-game,” you joke. 

“How are you feeling about everything?” She asks as you head back with her. 

“Just doin’ my best to be OK,” you admit, without even thinking about Luke overhearing. “It was like… close to an entire year of my life you know? I know it doesn’t seem like much... I just wasn’t ready, you know? And I’m definitely not ready for tonight.” 

Sierra sits on the bed, listening as you sit at her vanity, absentmindedly looking over the beauty products on it.  “It was such an intense relationship, it makes sense you’re not over it yet, babe,” she points out gently.

“I should be over it, though, it was ridiculous. Our whole relationship was based on a foundation of fighting until we fucked to forget why we fought… it didn’t work, we never really communicated about anything.” 

“Well. You already know I’m not a fan of how the breakup went down,” she shakes her head, plugging in the curling iron you’ve been gesturing wildly with. “It’s been a couple months now, you guys still haven’t even texted?”

You scoff, taking a sip of your drink. “Please, we are the king and queen of Stubborn Town, I haven’t seen or heard from that man since I got the last of my stuff from his place,” you shrug. “I guess it still just feels… unfinished. I hate that.”

“I mean, it feels unfinished because you guys left it that way,” she says matter of factly. “You both decided you were done and then just… were? When you love someone, walking away like that doesn’t work.”

“I never said I loved him,” you glare at her through the mirror.

She settles behind you and starts sectioning off your hair. “Never said you didn’t either,” she teases.

Before you know it, 45 minutes have passed and Luke is at the door warning that he’s about to call the Uber; you’re deep into your girl talk catch-up and the knock on the door causes you both to burst into shrieks and giggles, scurrying around the room to finish getting ready.

Miraculously, you get yourselves together in time and as you stand in front of the house waiting for the car to arrive, Luke nudges you gently. “Ash is coming from a meeting on the other side of town, so you’ve got time to relax, he won’t be there for a while,” he reassures you. “And if you feel like you need to leave, let us know and we’ll come up with a reason to swoop you outta there.”

You put your arms around him and squeeze. “I’ve missed you too,” you say with a smile.

Luke tells you and Sierra how nice you both look as he ushers you inside the party. They both watch you scan the room, relaxing once you see Ashton hasn't arrived and then you all break off, making the rounds. 

You greet a few people but end up hanging off to the side, keeping an eye on the door, nervously half-paying attention to anyone who happens to approach you. 

You immediately tense when he enters. Luke moves to welcome him while Sierra comes to you, trying to be a silent support; her babysitting goes from feeling comforting to coddling very quickly and you urge her to go back to mingling. 

You try not to stare but you can’t help it, you haven’t seen him in so long. Even before you were together, when you hated him, it was hard not to be drawn to him. He just has that kind of presence. 

Luke hasn’t left his side since he walked in, chatting away, but you don’t think anything of it. That is, until everyone seems to be finding their place at the various tables and you’re still awkwardly standing to the side. You would typically sit with Luke and Sierra but they’ve made themselves cozy at a table with Ashton and Calum. 

You head for the bar and before you can order, someone comes up beside you. You ignore them until you hear the soft “Hey” fall from his lips, in that lush, slightly accented voice you missed more than you’d care to admit. 

You turn, fully taking him in for the first time tonight; his hair is different than the last time you saw him and he really seems to be feeling himself in his black pants and the lace button-up you used to make fun of. “Hi,” you respond, so quiet that Ash has to lean in to be sure he heard you. 

“Grab your drink and come sit with us,” he says, waving encouragingly. 

“Uh… that’s OK. I might leave,” you shrug. 

He snorts, rolling his eyes at your ridiculous suggestion. “No you won’t. First of all, I know you came with Luke and Sierra and they’re not leaving. Second of all, you’d never let Crystal and Mike down like that. Just come sit,” he insists, gently tugging on the hem of your dress. 

You melt a little inside. This was one of the reasons you liked him so much, he was always so confident that he knew you so well. But it’s also one of the reasons why you fought and he drove you crazy. 

“Fine,” you sigh with a slight smile. He waits for you to order your drink, also making you crazy, like he can’t trust you’ll do as you say.

“There you are!” Sierra smiles as you take the seat across the table from her and Luke. Sitting between Calum and Ashton is a spot you were very familiar being in; they’d constantly lean over you to share a joke and then one of them would fill you in afterwards if you were lucky. Your heart breaks a little when you realize that's not likely to happen now. 

You make small talk with Cal for a bit; you’ve missed his pinchable cheeks and his sweet laugh. You’d spent plenty of time with him when you were with Ashton but hadn’t really kept in touch since the split. He asks you about work and both he and Ash pay close attention as you chat about your job.

Sierra keeps a close eye on the two of you and notices how quickly you get reacquainted. The way Ash naturally rests his arm on the back of your chair. How when he started getting animated with a story, you knowingly shifted all the drinks over until he was finished. How he won’t let himself laugh at his own joke until he checks to make sure you’re laughing first. The hair toss you subconsciously give whenever he does make you laugh.

Later on, she catches him at the refreshment table serving your favorite dessert onto his plate even though it’s something he notoriously doesn’t like. She walks alongside him as he heads back. “You hate that,” she smirks, pointing at the offending dish.

“Oh. Right,” he says, realizing the old habit he just indulged. “She’ll eat it,” he shrugs, quickening his step to avoid any follow-up questions. 

Crystal makes the rounds to thank everyone for coming and stops Sierra with a hug; they chat for a minute but Crystal notices she seems distracted and eventually follows her gaze over to your table. Cal’s deeply invested on his phone, leaving you and Ash chatting by yourselves.

Crystal lightly snorts and leans in to her friend. “What’s old is new again, I guess,” she cups her manicured hand over her mouth to disguise her words. “You think they’ll leave together? I was shocked when she told me they haven’t hooked up even once since they split.”

Sierra shakes her head firmly. “They’re both too stubborn to admit they want even that from each other,” she rolls her eyes. “You should’ve seen how nervous she was to come here tonight.”

“Oh, Ash too,” Crystal whispers. “Ever since we planned this, Michael must’ve gotten at least 5 texts from him casually trying to find out if she was coming.”

Sierra sips her drink, never taking her eyes off your table. “It ended so badly, I can’t get over how comfortable they are with each other… there’s still just so much love there.”

Crystal shrugs. “Well god bless them but think of how long it took them to actually get together,” she points out. “I wouldn’t hold my breath for them to figure out that they called it off too soon.” 

You make light conversation with Ashton, trying to ignore the girls’ gabfest you see out of the corner of your eye; they were both supportive but clearly distraught when you told them about the breakup so you know they’ve got to be eating this up. 

Calum announces he’s stepping away for a cigarette and you and Ash pick at your plates in silence for a few minutes, suddenly feeling the weight of having to interact without a buffer. Finally, he offers up a quiet, “You’ve been good?”

You answer perhaps a little too quickly, nod perhaps a little too vigorously, eager to mask any implication of hurt feelings. “Yep. Busy. But good.”

He fiddles with the tablecloth. “You know... I meant to call sometime but it never felt right and then things got crazy with the band…”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I didn’t check in either. Didn’t think you’d answer,” you laugh weakly.

He smiles and you hate how warm you feel at the sight. “Why did I always assume you were a ‘fuck that guy, delete his number as soon as you’re out the door’ kind of ex?”

Your heart sinks and you’re not sure why; it takes you a moment to realize it’s because this is the first time you’ve actually thought of yourself as “his ex.” You steady yourself. “Usually am. Decided to be mature on this one. You’re still at the top of my contacts. Listed under ‘Asshole,’ obviously,” you giggle.

“Ah, my favorite of your pet names,” he laughs along with you.

You talk for a few more minutes until Crystal makes her way over; Ash slips away while the two of you catch up and shortly after, you get a text from Luke asking if you’re ready to go. Your eyes scan the room though you aren’t sure what exactly you’re searching for, because you’re totally fine leaving without saying goodbye to Ashton. 

You're quiet on the ride back to Sierra and Luke’s and while you collect your things from their bedroom, she gently checks in.

“See, tonight wasn’t so bad,” she muses. 

“No, it was OK. Good to see everyone,” you shrug. “...Ash looks healthy.” 

“He looks good,” Sierra says pointedly. You say nothing. 

“You sure you’re good to drive?” Luke asks, coming into the room and sitting next to his girlfriend on the bed. “You know you’re always welcome to stay here.” 

“I’m fine, Luke,” you chuckle. You turn and hug them both. “I love you both, I’ll text when I’m home.” They respond by kissing the top of your head and you chuckle fondly as you leave. 

“They seemed OK tonight,” Luke mentions while they get ready for bed.

“They were more than OK, those stubborn kids couldn’t have been more into each other,” Sierra rants. “I think they really miss it, they just won’t admit it.”

“Oh, Ash definitely misses her. I swear, he talked about her less when they were together,” he jokes. Sierra raises an eyebrow, which Luke takes as encouragement to continue rambling about everything Ash had told him. “He knows they fought a lot but he even misses that... he’s been saying he’s glad he never told her he loved her, though. Things would’ve been a lot harder. Messier. I dunno, he’s always asking about her.”

You get home and drop your bag right inside the door with a huge, exhausted sigh and pull out your phone to text Luke and Sierra before heading to your room. You throw open the closet and it only takes you a couple seconds to spot what you’re looking for: that hoodie that Ash left behind and you never bothered to return. 

You stare at it for a beat and then leave to wash your face and brush your teeth; you already know what you’re about to do but you still try to talk yourself out of it. Back in the bedroom, you reluctantly grab the hoodie off of its hanger, change into it and climb into bed. You hold the sleeves to your face and breathe Ashton in; long, deep breaths, letting his smell fill your nostrils. You’ve done this more times than you’d care to admit these past few months; you miss him here, in your space. You curl in a ball and drift off, taking comfort in his scent surrounding you. 

You’re woken up early by your phone buzzing on the nightstand. You see it’s Sierra and pick it up, groaning, making sure she can hear it. “S?”

“Hey babe… can we lunch?” She bubbles. 

“You couldn’t have texted?”

“Sorry, Sunshine, just wanted to hear your lovely voice… and get a definite answer out of you. 1 o’clock, don’t be late!” She sing-songs, hanging up. 

You check your notifications and your heart sinks, not seeing anything from Ashton. You weren’t sure why you thought you would. You curl up and go back to sleep for a while. 

Sierra knows you well enough to guess you fell back asleep without setting an alarm and she starts blowing you up around noon. You text that you’ll see her soon and you start getting ready. You use the most fragrant soap you can find for your shower, ensuring the smell of Ashton's cologne doesn't linger on your skin.

You walk into your usual lunch place and easily spot Sierra on the patio. "Drinks are on their way," she shares as you take your seat.

You chat breezily about the party: how good the food was, how Michael's DJ setup was so much more elaborate than at the last party you attended, how much you loved what Crystal had worn. You wonder out loud if Cal had gone home with the girl he'd been making eyes at all night and Sierra seizes the opportunity to steer the conversation to her topic of choice.

"Speaking of making eyes," she takes a prolonged sip from her glass. "Things seemed a little intense with Ash last night."

You give her a tight-lipped smile, determined not to give her anything she can blow out of proportion. "I told you it was fine. Easier than I expected in a lot of ways, harder in others."

She places her hand on your arm from across the table. "I looked over a few times and saw him with his arm over your chair, you watching him talk… it was like we were back at that resort again," she says wistfully.

You evaluate her face for a moment. Since she's one of your best friends, you're used to being lovingly annoyed with her meddling in your life but sometimes you forget that it comes from a place of genuine love and concern for you. "Regardless of how things turned out, I'll always be grateful you forced me to stay on that trip," you smile. "That was some once in a lifetime kind of shit."

"From what I heard down the hall, sure sounded like it," she teases, grinning as you playfully shoo her hand off your arm. "That anniversary's coming up quick, isn't it?"

"Next week," you blurt, wincing at how quickly you answer.

"We'll have to think of something fun to do together," she declares carefully. "Not that you need it, but just in case you don't want to be alone."

This time you reach over and squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry I haven't been around like I used to, S. I just… needed time," you admit. "It's still hard. Most of the time, actually. But being around you and Lu again feels good. I think I need the support more than I realized."

"Babe," she pouts. "We were there for you before Ash, during Ash and we want to be there for you post-Ash. We love you."

You feel better than you thought you would as you head back to your car. Being honest with Sierra - and yourself - was easier than you expected. You briefly think about texting Ash - nothing major, something chill like "fun catching up last night" - but think better of it.

Sierra gets to her car and immediately texts Crystal, who requested an update when she heard you were getting lunch. She suggests asking Cal’s perspective to get the full picture of where Ash is at, so Sierra calls him on the drive home. 

“Hey Sweet Boy!” She greets him. 

“Sierra!” She can hear the grin on his face at the nickname. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Well, I wanted to ask you how Ash is. I mean, I know what Luke tells me but I feel like he gives you more,” she explains. 

“How do you mean? You saw him last night?” 

“How has he been since the breakup?” She emphasizes. 

“Oh… OH!! Oh! What are you planning? Please tell me you’re doing something, he’s making me crazy. I don’t know what came over him last night,” Cal babbles. 

“I think Luke had a hand in that,” Sierra admits with a sigh. “She came over to get ready with me and I think he probably shared some things he shouldn’t have. You know how he is.”

“What’s in that beautiful brain of yours?” Cal murmurs, letting out an excited little laugh. Out of everyone, he tends to enjoy Sierra’s plans like this the most, especially when they aren’t directed toward him. 

“I don’t know yet… I feel like we just need to get them talking alone again like they were last night, remind them what was there...” she muses. She talks through a few ideas with Calum and he’s on board for any of them.

By the time she gets home, Sierra is raring to go; she practically runs up the stairs to ask Luke for his help.

“Hey hun!” He greets her with a smile when she raps on the door to his studio. He moves the guitar off his lap, silently inviting her to come lay on the couch while they talk. “How was lunch, how’s our girl?”

She fills him in on everything: your mood, your conversation and the consulting she’s been doing among the friend group. Luke seems interested but about halfway through becomes engrossed in his phone and Sierra sits up, irritated. “Babe, you asked, are you even listening?”

He briefly looks concerned and then grins. “Sorry, just distracted by Ash blowing up the group chat, asking if anyone wants to go away next week so he doesn’t have to deal with their anniversary,” he proudly holds up his phone.

Her jaw drops at the opportunity that’s fallen at their feet. “What if…” She starts furiously typing into her phone. “Yes… that house you guys stayed at when you were planning the last album is free.”

“Palm Springs? OK, so…” Luke trails off, trying to follow her logic.

“Band retreat for the boys. Self-care trip for the girls,” she answers, shooting off texts to Crystal, Mike and Cal. 

“That house really isn’t big enough for all of us,” he comments, still lost.

She finally looks up at him, smiling widely. “It’s a good thing they’ll be the only ones going, then.”

————-

Taglist is breaking the links in the post and I currently do not have the brainpower to figure out the problem lol. We’ll try again tomorrow but in the meantime, if you aren’t notified, you can always check the masterlist which will be updated everyday!

@mymindwide​​ @suchalonelysunflower​​​ @pxrxmoore​​ @loveroflrh​​ @ghostofmashton​​ @sexgodashton​​ @feliznavidaddycal​​  

@castaway-cashton​​ @ashtonlftv​​ @cashtonasfuck​​ @megz1985​​  @angelicfluffs​​ @findingliam-o​​ @youngbloodchild​​  @irwinsbetch​​ @everyscarisahealingplace​​

@wiildflower-xxx @metalandboybands  @realisticnotes  @makeamovehemmings @golden166​ @burstintocolor

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[aotimagines]

Can you also do a scenario for Levi with Hanahaki disease?

I haven’t written a scenario for Levi since 2018 and this is what I come back with. Um...I’m so sorry. Angst is my forte and it’s easy for me to write, so...yikes. I also listened to drivers’ license on repeat to set the ambiance for this piece and now I’m sad, lol. Sorry! Maybe I’ll write something happier for Levi to make up for this one, lmao. Enjoy! 

It was happening again.

The tightness in your chest constricted your lungs like a snake had coiled around the base of your throat and squeezed, cutting off the air to your lungs. Your head spun, black dotting across your vision, and the uncontrollable urge to cough itched in the back of your throat. You had to hold it down. ‘Please, not here,’ you mentally begged to any entity listening above the skyline to not expose your dirtiest, darkest secret to your colleagues. Your nails dug into the wooden table, leaving behind crescent-shaped marks in the cherry-colored lacquer and the color drained from your cheeks.

No one would notice your struggle if you kept it together, you reasoned. Hange was going over something about Marley and you had, admittedly, tuned out about thirty minutes ago. Whatever it was had to be important because they had everyone’s attention, to your knowledge. Out of the corner of your eye, you were vaguely aware of Levi’s sharp, piercing gaze lingering on your face, but you squeezed your eyes shut and internally begged him to just look away.

Inside of your chest, the flower that bloomed burned like a kindling ember, the stems brushing against your lungs and taking up space you needed to breathe. Experiencing this was painful, but it was nothing like the white-hot agony you felt whenever you realized that the person you loved would never return your feelings.

You had tried to let go—had tried to release your feelings and live with your fragmented heart—but nothing had worked. How could it when the person whose affections you desperately wanted worked alongside you every day, helping and caring about you in his own awkward, weird way? It wasn’t fucking fair that you had to live like this.

Except you didn’t. You knew about the removal process and, as a soldier, you knew that it was what you needed to do for yourself, for the future and for humanity. Every time you thought about getting the surgery performed, the aching of your fragile heart—the singular bloom of hope still lingering in the pit of your stomach—protested against the idea. You had never felt this way for anyone before in your life; how could you just ignore that and have the flower removed? How could you forget about happiness that the feelings gave you, or how it felt to just be by his side in silence of the night?

Living with this flower growing inside of you was painful, but the thought of having to give up Levi Ackerman was excruciating.

“That’s all I wanted to talk about today! If everyone could follow me, I want to discuss some improvements to the thunder spears I’ve been working on…” Hange’s voice flooded through your reverie, snapping you back to reality. Your knuckles were stark-white from the tight grip you had about the wooden table, your fingers easing from the leg once the feeling of having to cough seemingly passed.

As the group shuffled out of the room, there was one person who waited—one person whose unreadable facial expression made you tense up where you sat. “Four-eyes was that boring?” his flat voice drawled and, even without looking up, you knew his slate-colored irises were glued to where you sat. It had you anxious, the sensation of having to cough flaring up in the back of your throat once more. Instead of answering verbally, you shook your head and prayed that Levi would take the hint that you wanted to be alone. The sound of his shoes reverberating off the flooring allowed the tension you had been holding between your shoulders to dissipate, a wave of relief washing across your body. You were finally alone to cough in peace.

The instant you opened your lips to try and draw in a shaky breath, it began. A powerful cough strangled your breathing, the sensation of something lodged deep inside the back of your throat causing your body to lurch forward. Tears pricked your eyes as your coughing turned into violent dry heaving, the wheeze from your lungs desperately trying to push out the planet inside of your body echoing throughout the room. Hange and rest of the Survey Corps’ higher ups were probably in the weapons room by now, leaving you alone to your own suffering. Your fingertips dug into the stone flooring, your sputtering finally expelling the first fist-full of bright-blue, blood-slicked flowers from deep within your chest. Once it began, it didn’t stop. Over and over again, you threw up the bright flowers, their beauty tainted with the crimson blood dribbling from each and every petal.

At some point, you became aware of a hand resting against your back, dread serving as an anchor tethering you to where you knelt on the floor. When your gagging calmed down, you sharply sucked air in through your teeth, desperate to catch your breath and stop the feeling of your head swimming. You knew you were covered in spit, blood, and forget-me-not petals, but you didn’t care about your physical appearance. The person at your side didn’t have to speak—you already knew who was at your side.

“Please,” you croaked, voice husky and hoarse from having just coughed up over a dozen flowers in one go, “don’t say anything. Please, Levi.”

“You want me to sit back and watch you kill yourself?” came his blunt remark, much to your dismay. He wasn’t going to let it go; of course he wasn’t. The two of you had been together for a decade at this point and the worry that he felt for you buzzed through the air like electricity.

Your wild eyes met his taciturn expression, tears streaking down your face. “I don’t want to talk about this. Why did you even come back in here?”

“If you were hiding this, you did a shit job. You acted weird throughout the meeting. How long?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Levi clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Is that something you could be saying?” He was quiet, gaze flickering to the pool of flowers on the ground before tentatively bringing up in a quiet tone that was almost uncharacteristic of him, “You’re dying, and you didn’t say anything. Were you just going to lie down and not fight this?”

A laugh bubbled from the back of your throat, disbelief written across your face. Pushing off the floor, you sat back on your knees. “I don’t want to have the surgery.”

“…That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Levi brought himself to his feet, hands brushing off the imaginary dust that clung to his clothing. Without much warning, his hand hooked around your arm and hoisted you up, his strength guiding you towards the door. “You want to die? Then do it under someone else’s watch.”

“Let go,” you demanded, yanking your arm away from his grip. Frustration simmered inside of your veins, your hurt and anguish for this man finally spilling out in one fell swoop. Hot, fresh tears gushed from your eyes, yet you made no move to conceal them. Your heart was, for the first time in over ten years, on display for Levi to see and the fear of his rejection wasn’t enough for you to keep your silence any longer. “You don’t get to dictate what I can and can’t do! So what if I don’t want the surgery? So what if I’m being stupid? Even though I’m like this, I can’t let go! So, what am I supposed to do, Levi?”

The raven-haired male was silent for a moment, drinking in your broken features with a glint of concern etched into his body language. It was faint and difficult to see, but you knew him like the back of your hand; it was easy to tell and see what he was thinking, at this point. His lack of response prompted you to shake your head, your voice small and as fragile as splintered glass as you asked, “Is there really no way you’d love me back? Am I putting myself through hell for nothing?”

Levi was tight-lipped, body tense and unmoving as he continued to study you. Desperate, you latched onto the sleeves of his jacket, voice thick with tears. “I fucking love you, Levi. If there’s even a chance for you to feel the same, please tell me.”

A long, drawn out pause filled the air until Levi’s fingertips—calloused from years of training and fighting—uncurled your hands from his frame, features pressed into the same, apathetic expression you were so used to him wearing. “Get the surgery,” he said firmly, his singular sentence tearing you asunder from the inside out. Your face crumpled, the flower inside of your chest throbbing painfully at the notion that he would never love you back.

No matter how much you wanted him, Levi Ackerman wasn’t in love with you.

“I’m telling Hange when I walk out this door. Once it’s over, things can…go back to the way they were.” Helplessly, you watched Levi exit the room, missing the way his features twisted in misery as he listened to you collapse into yourself, your sobbing playing again and again inside of his head.

How could he promise you something when everyone he ever loved withered and died underneath his touch? You were too precious to lose, even if it killed him in the end.

Inside of his chest, a familiar burn pulsated, the urge to cough becoming more and more difficult to ignore even as his legs carried him down the hall.

[flymyhp]

Birds to Spell books Pairing: George Weasley x Hufflepuff!reader Summary: George spends all his time showing his affection in the wrong way, only to ask her to the Yule Ball 6 years later Words: 2,163 Warnings: Mostly angst, fluff at the end tho ;) and the timeline is a little bit wonky at some parts A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing pretty much anything. Give me feedback! Much love, stay safe x Sixth year was exceptionally ordinary for y/n. Nearing the end of November, the Hufflepuff was sat near the fire in the Gryffindor common room with her younger sister, Hermione and the youngest of the trio, Harry. The topic of discussion among everyone at Hogwarts had been the Triwizard tournament, along with the Yule Ball. Although, the trio had seemed to push the ball completely out of their minds, only focusing on Harry’s name being drawn from the goblet of fire. Panic had struck her underclassmen friends due to these events, while recently y/n had been struck with panic for a different reason. “Pipe down, Lee.” Y/n knew the voice coming from behind her, but she didn’t take notice of it until she felt a pair of eyes boring into the back of her head. Her eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to focus on the conversation carrying on between her own group. Nobody seemed to notice the discomfort on her face, being too enveloped with their own issues. This didn’t bother her, the only thing that did was the voice she couldn’t take her attention from. “You haven’t researched the dragons at all, have you, Harry?” Hermione lectured Harry. There was an all too familiar tone in her voice. One that y/n shared with her, and one that she flinched at. “You have no idea how dangerous this is, do you?” “I’m sure he’s figured that bit out himself,” She jumped at the voice, and turned around, only opening her eyes once she was fully facing its owner. “haven’t you, Harry?” George Weasley. Kneeling behind the couch, right next to y/n, grinning. George Weasley. The boy who’d once transfigured her spell books into birds during their third year. The boy who, on multiple occasions over the course of 6 years, used the amplifying charm to make her robes shout during exams. And last week, the boy who’d asked her to the Yule Ball. She was completely sure it was a joke. What she wasn’t sure of was what made him target her the most out of everybody he and his twin played pranks on. It seemed to usually be gullible, younger kids who they went for. Y/n was an exception for six years, especially with George. It also had seemed like a harmless joke that everyone could laugh at. The joke felt nonexistent when it was her turn, as she was the only one not laughing. “I’m only joking, of course, Harry. There’s nothing to fret about.” George let his teasing die down a bit as she decided to zone back in. Just then, y/n felt a tap on her shoulder. Her face turned to meet George’s own. “Mind steppin’ out for a bit?” Y/n’s face went red. She’d hoped her sister didn’t hear him, or she’d be getting a lecture as well. Although she doubted she would, considering Harry’s was likely to continue until he stepped into the arena with a dragon. She reluctantly stood to her feet, her legs shaking slightly as she did so. “Why not? It’s nearing twelve, I’d better head out, anyways. G’night, Mione.” Y/n excused herself. Hermione stopped talking long enough to tell her goodnight and to be careful heading back to the basement with a kind smile which y/n gladly returned. Y/n followed George out of the common room and into the halls. The moon shone bright through the windows and she shivered in the cold of the fall night. “Am I correct in assuming you’re walking me to bed?” She asked, teeth chattering. He chuckled. “Of course I am,” Then he sighed, insinuating that wasn’t all he was here for. “Bird,” George started. The nickname made y/n want to hide in her hoodie the rest of the way back, and possibly the rest of term. “You never gave me an answer about the Yule ball.” He wasn’t asking anything, just stating the fact that weighed on y/n’s shoulders since the minute the question left his mouth a week prior. The question she didn’t exactly have an answer to. This wasn’t a cliché, y/n didn’t like George. She didn’t like the embarrassment he’d put her through for six years. She didn’t want to say yes. She didn’t want to say yes out of fear that it would all be a joke when it came down to the dance. She didn’t want to get her hopes up. On the other hand, she didn’t want to say no and end up going alone, or not at all. “I don’t have one.” This simple sentence left George kicking his feet a little as he walked. He lowered his head, and lifted it up again, his hair flicking out of his eyes as if he’d lost all confidence and then gained it back again. “Not even no?” He was looking at her now. She kept her head straight. “I could take rejection without an explanation, but can you tell me why you just don’t have an answer? Just curious is all.” Y/n swallowed. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to explain it to him. Was she being ridiculous? Overdramatic? Overthinking? She didn’t know what to think anymore. They’d already gotten to the entrance to her common room before she could think of what to say to him, so she just let everything out at once. “I can’t give you an answer. My heart sank when you asked me because I know it’s just a big joke. You’ve embarrassed me enough the past 6 years.” She began. She couldn’t control what she was saying, she just spoke. “Y/n,” He started, but was immediately interrupted as she couldn’t stop speaking. “But I can’t say no either, because if I don’t show up, or if I show up alone what am I to say? It’ll be equally embarrassing. I can’t win with you around, George.” When she finished she was out of breath. What she said didn’t hit her until she saw the look on his face. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.” George looked absolutely crushed. She didn’t know until then that he was being completely serious when he’d asked her to go to the Yule Ball with him. She’d ran from him and ignored him for a week, just to break his heart the moment he questioned her again. But how was she to know he genuinely wanted to go with her? She opened her mouth to speak, and George was going to let her but she closed her mouth as soon as he looked up at her. His eyes were watery, and she didn’t know what to do to fix it. Her silence gave George his answer, it was a big no. The twenty-fourth of November was the next chance she saw to speak to George, the first task of the tournament. He hadn’t been as bubbly as he usually is since the night before when she poured her heart out to him. She couldn’t stand to look at him and see hurt in his eyes. All she could think to do was find him in the crowd and force herself to fix things, even if it meant she had to look at his face and see the pain she caused. She walked to the arena with Hermione and Ron. Ron still wasn’t happy about the situation with Harry. He’d caused a few scenes in the common room and the courtyard. Both Hermione and y/n had tried to convince him that Harry hadn’t put his name in, but he couldn’t be convinced. Ron was easy to find his brothers, they had been having students place bets on who they believed would win the task and were walking through the pathway to the arena counting their profit. “Ron, would you mind bringing Fred along with you to find us seats? I have to fix something.” Y/n knew Ron wouldn’t mind, even in his sour mood. “As long as you manage to stop them taking the piss out of me, no problem.” He had a foul look on his face as he glanced at his brothers. She knew that his brothers had been giving him a hard time about Harry, but her first priority was to fix what she messed up. Ron, Hermione and Fred started off toward the arena. George didn’t look at y/n as he began to follow them, so she grabbed the sleeve of his jumper gently telling him to wait. He turned with his head down, he didn’t want to look at her. He was afraid if he did he would cry. “I’m not very good at this, obviously. But I need you to hear me out.” She began. He finally looked at her. She took a breath and started again. “You’ve never shown any sort of fondness towards me, no kindness, no apologies, for six years I’ve been the brunt of all of your jokes. You never gave me any explanation for that. How can you go from tormenting me for years to asking me to the first dance Hogwarts has had since we’ve been here? I couldn’t be a last option, there’s tons of girls who’d gladly go with you if you asked. Why me?” He stared at her for a moment, his eyes searched hers for some type of strength to get him to respond, and he found it. “As I said the other night in the basement, I didn’t realize you’d felt the way you did until you told me. I’ve been beating myself up since you told me how you felt. I’m not upset with you, I’m upset with myself.” This time, y/n began to tear up. “Freddie knows I’ve liked you for ages and he tells me to go for it, but I never could. I singled you out because I thought by doing something funny I could see you smile in the process instead of having to outright tell you how I felt about you. Then we came back to school to find out that they’re holding a dance, and I knew that was my opportunity. That’s why I asked you to the Yule Ball, I went for it as Freddie always told me to. He’s a lot better at going for it than I am, obviously, as he asked Angela the first day.” George finished with a chuckle, his eyes still sad. She blinked, her mouth opened and closed, and opened again. She was speechless. It was hard for her to admit to herself now that even though she didn’t have any romantic feelings for him, it would be easy for them to develop. “I can’t say I feel the same about you, considering I’ve spent my entire time at Hogwarts either crying or avoiding you. My friends are my little sisters’ friends because I’m laughed at due to your pranks.” She told him the truth. Even Ron, their little brother, was nicer to her than he had been. “I understand the way you’ve treated me, and I forgive you even if you aren’t willing to apologize because of what I said the other night.” He gave her a small smile. “Bird, of course I’m apologizing. I never meant to make you cry, or avoid your own classmates, or me. All I’m hoping for now is that I get a proper answer now that we understand each other.” “I have an answer for you. But it’s not exactly a proper one.” He looked at her with curiosity. “I’ll go to the ball with you, even though for now I don’t have any sort of feelings for you.” His head fell slightly at her statement and nodded, still not fully content with her answer. “Don’t look so down, George. If you’re lucky, you can change that. I did say I didn’t have feelings for you for now, didn’t I?” It was her turn to give him a grin. This time, he smiled. The first genuine smile he’d ever gave her. It wasn’t caused by his pranks, it was hopeful and warm. “I do have a tendency to be quite lucky.” The smile still bright on his face, he took one of her hands in his. “I’m sorry, genuinely. I’m sorry for your robes, I’m sorry for transfiguring your spell books into birds in third year, and I’m sorry for making you believe I wasn’t serious with my asking you to the ball. By Christmas, the ball, you’ll be happy to be attending with me. No one will laugh at you anymore, and you won’t have to only have my git brother for a friend. I promise.” She laughed, the first time he’d ever heard her laugh, and it was him who caused it. “Once again, I forgive you.” She took his other hand in hers and looked from their hands to his eyes. “Besides, I prefer birds to spell books anyways.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 282: Aizawa Defeeted

Previously on BnHA: Oh my god do we even care about that at this point. Tomura made a speech; Gran Torino died; Deku lost his shit and tried to strangle Tomura to death with his bare hands; Ryuukyuu came back from Wherever She Was and tried to grab Tomura but he punched a hole through her giant hand; and now he’s grabbing his Quirk-Be-Gone bullets and is ready to cause some mayhem okay?? That about sum it up?? Is anyone even reading this?? CAN WE JUST GET ON WITH IT I’VE WAITED AN ENTIRE WEEK.

Today on BnHA: Well I guess let’s start with what doesn’t happen: Bakugou doesn’t lose his quirk. HE LUCKED OUT!!... for now, anyways. Because, thanks to a near-impossible-to-predict series of events (seriously, raise your hands if you had “Aizawa gets shot but goes full World War Z on his own ass” on your bingo card), Tomura has seemingly regained his regeneration powers, which means that his other quirks are probably back online as well! So we’ll see how that all goes. Anyway so in the meantime Shouto’s back, looking very mad that everyone temporarily forgot he was a main character. And Gigantomachia is back as well! Or almost, anyway. Also, you’ll never guess who broke another one of his arms! Go on, guess. But at least he still has the arm, though, which is more than we can say for certain other people’s limbs. Poor Aizawa is literally on his last leg. He and Tomura really got off on the wrong foot. He chopped his leg off, is what I’m saying. It’s that kind of chapter folks.

you guys I’m losing my whole fucking mind. I straight up deleted the tumblr app off my phone for 24 hours so that I wouldn’t be tempted to log in and risk potentially being spoiled. and I’m happy to say that it worked! so here we are now, completely spoiler free, and let me just say that if Horikoshi decides to cut back to Gunga Mountain now, I will either cry for hours or abandon the series forever and go do something more productive with the rest of my quarantine like learning how to play sad songs on the guitar

all right. here goes

so we’re opening with Deku, who is currently comprised of 100% rage and 0% mercy, and is doing that thing where only the whites of his eyes are visible. and basically he’s just thinking “I’VE REALLY GOT TO HOLD ON TO THIS GUY AND MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING ELSE HOMICIDAL.” which is a solid game plan, but perhaps not so easily accomplished

-- oh my god this poor kid is still in denial, I can’t. why are you doing this

is there even still a Gran Torino to tend to at this point? after Tomura bulldozed a hole through his torso, and you went and finished the job with your own fucking attack? sob

but I guess the law of Tragic Shounen Mentor Deaths mandates that Gran’s should be at least as drawn-out as Nighteye’s was, though. so he’s probably only Mostly Dead, which is still Slightly Alive if I remember my Princess Bride correctly, and I think I do

so now the rest of these stooges are finally catching up with us here

yes, my friends. a bullet. WELCOME TO MY LIFE FOR THE PAST FUCKING WEEK. anyways I have a LOT of pent-up energy here just fyi. there may be a lot of unnecessary screaming in this recap

FUCKING WYOMING SMASH Y’ALLSSSS

I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT JUST HAPPENED SOB. DID HE JUST HAMMER FIST TOMURA’S HEAD INTO THE GROUND. DID HE SNAP HIS FUCKING NECK AT 100%. IN AN IDEAL WORLD HE WOULD HAVE JUST CHOPPED TOMURA’S ARMS OFF WHILE SOMEHOW MANAGING TO AVOID BREAKING ANY OF HIS OWN BONES IN THE PROCESS, BUT I HAVE A FEELING THIS SITUATION WILL NOT BE RESOLVED IN ANY KIND OF MANNER ONE WOULD CONSIDER “IDEAL”

(ETA: fun fact: this attack did absolutely nothing except make things approximately 100x worse. but you tried Deku. you tried.)

THE FUCK KIND OF PORTENTOUS BULLSHITTING TITLE IS THIS. OH MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT EMOTION I’M HAVING RIGHT NOW, IT’S JUST A LOT OF LOUD THOUGHTS

anyway so if you’re just joining us, Tomura just pulled two bullets out of his pocket, the good guys finally noticed, and then Deku did a smash and everything exploded. the radius of this attack actually looks wide enough to have potentially involved Aizawa, who probably does NOT want to get any debris in his eyes right now, and also Gran, who probably doesn’t particularly want to be hit by another deadly attack for the third time in the past ninety seconds. anyway so I guess what I’m trying to say here is WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT YOU LITTLE GREEN LUNATIC

AHHHHHH

he got the one!! the one that was in Tomura’s right hand!! but what about the one in his left ahhhhhhh

(ETA: lmao at Kacchan being the one to blow up the same bullet I was so sure he was going to be shot with. saw the writing on the wall, huh kid? what do we say to the god of foreshadowing?? ‘NOT TODAY.’ ...except that we’re still not actually out of the woods yet so you still better watch yourself lol.)

...

based on the font here, these are Tomura’s thoughts. which he is thinking immediately after getting the lower half of his jaw very painfully cronched by the VERY homicidal sixteen-year-old still clinging to him. anyway so Tomura’s thought processes are as inscrutable to me as ever lulz

and Deku’s arm looks broken again, yaaaaay. but at least it’s his left arm and not his right! so that’s nice. now they can match

[SHRIEKS]

HE YEETED IT. IT HAS BEEN YEETEDED. HE DID A YEET. [sobbing] he DiD a YeEt oH my GOD

DID IT HIT SOMETHING!?!?!?

my reading process here is as follows: 1) scroll down exactly one panel. 2) scream even though absolutely nothing has happened yet. 3) WRITE THAT DOWN 4) REPEAT

DKSFJLKHSDLGKHLI

DID IT HIT HIM!?!? DID IT GET HIM IN THE LEG SOB ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. JUST LIKE THAT?? BOOM GUN BULLET LEG!!?

YOU GUYS IT REALLY HIT AIZAWA AND NO ONE DID A GODDAMN THING?? it wasn’t even drawn out or anything??? it just HAPPENED, within like four pages??? NO SLOW MO?? NOT EVEN A REACTION PANEL WHAT THE FUCK

son of a bitch I would so dearly like to grab Manual and RockLockRock’s heads right now and just conk them together real hard. YOU STUPID FUCKS sob YOU HAD ONE JOB!!! IT REALLY WAS JUST ONE!! AND YOU WERE SHARING IT!! SO IT’S MORE LIKE HALF A JOB!! AND YOU STILL COCKED IT UP IN ABSOLUTELY NO TIME AT ALL OH MY GOD

(ETA: they should blow this panel up and make it into a t-shirt and make Manual and RLR wear the shirts every day for the rest of their lives. half a job, you guys. please go away I cannot even look at you right now.)

FUCK MY EVERYTHING

(ETA: I still can’t figure out if this horrific angle is due to the earlier damage from the Noumu, or if Tomura really just flung the bullet THAT hard. honestly I’m surprised it didn’t just slice right through him with that kind of velocity. “no thanks because then I wouldn’t get to write a scene where he chops his own leg off” oh okay well when you put it that way, Horikoshi.)

if I recall correctly this is the leg that he said was “twisted”, no? yeesh. might just want to chop it off real quick, then. s’not like it’s doing you any more good. does anyone know if zombie rules apply or not with this sort of thing?? shit

?!?!

“THANKS”?? okay what. did it hit him or not??

-- oh my god WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT

I WAS -- I WAS JOKING I -- FFFFFFFFKJK

jesus fucking christ. when I said “might just want to chop it off real quick” literally FOUR PARAGRAPHS AGO, I can tell you that the one thing I did NOT expect was for Aizawa to be all, “you know what, that’s a good idea”, and then YOINK OUT HIS TRUSTY HERO SHANK AND GO FULL 127 HOURS ON THIS BITCH. "LALALA WE’RE GONNA DO IT RATIONALLY TEEHEE” like excuse me, the fuck

anyways. I don’t even know what to say. thank you Aizawa’s leg for your sacrifice, and for always supporting him. literally. oh my god I came here ready for my son to enter a new phase of character development, and for the manga as a whole to enter a new phase of glorious, glorious angst. no one told me I’d be sitting here making puns instead. what a fine, confusing day

anyway though let’s just fucking hope it worked. and side note, if Aizawa Shouta really did chop off his own fucking leg just now and somehow STILL managed not to fucking blink, I think we might as well just go ahead and hand him the Biggest Badass In The Series award right now because no one is ever going to top that. nope. not happening

it is truly a testament to Shigaraki Tomura’s unfathomably mysterious sexy villain energy that he still somehow manages to look hot with only half a face

also no one in this manga actually feels pain, do they. not Deku, not Aizawa, not Tomura, no one. no wonder none of them have any self-preservation instincts to speak of

um

did someone just randomly explode just now. at this point it might as well happen, right

oh it’s the shockwave from Deku’s Wyoming attack, apparently. how nice of it to have a delayed reaction for absolutely no reason

anyway so Deku’s being flung back, but he’s grabbing onto Tomura again with Blackwhip. but oh shit you guys, if Tomura escapes Deku and Ryuukyuu’s clutches and still has any bullets left in his pocket, we may still be able to salvage this Bakugou quirk situation after all. would be nice to be able to actually do something with all of these “happy quirk losing day” balloons that I ordered

(ETA: actually, believe it or not I honestly like this better. Tomura using AFO was always the more dramatic option anyway. and now that we’ve done the bullet thing everyone has presumably let their guard down again, which, good.)

I love how Tomura apparently hasn’t noticed that Aizawa’s just amputated his own leg? to be fair he’s probably distracted by all the explosions and such

also gotta love how Deku’s arm-breaking attack seemingly just made everything worse for no reason. and also how Manual and RockLockRock are once again just standing there doing absolutely nothing

SO NOW GUESS WHAT’S HAPPENING

I MEAN IT! GUESS. BECAUSE YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE LOL

OH WELL OKAY THEN

just like we all saw coming!! ...

so is this Endeavor’s attack?? Bakugou’s?? either way, hot damn. fortunately for Tomura he is apparently operating under the same guidelines as the U.S. Federal Reserve, in which mutilated bills may still be exchanged at face value if more than 50% of a note identifiable as United States currency is present. basically as long as roughly half of him is still vaguely Tomura-shaped I assume he’ll be fine

(ETA: in hindsight I should have immediately been able to identify this as a Shouto attack based solely on how murdery it was lol.)

OH MY GODDDD

KRANCH?!?

OH MY GOD LOL WHAT. LOL. REMEMBER EVERYONE’S THEORIES FROM LIKE TWENTY YEARS AGO LOL. SHOUTO WHAT THE FUCK. DID YOU STOP FOR DRIVE THRU

AND MEANWHILE DEKU’S BACK ON THE SCENE GIVING ARGUABLY EVEN LESS FUCKS THAN BEFORE, IF SUCH A THING IS EVEN POSSIBLE. SO FAR THIS CHAPTER HAS PRECISELY ZERO THINGS THAT I ACTUALLY EXPECTED IN IT, WHICH IS VERY IMPRESSIVE

IT ALSO HAS A LOT OF SMASHING

a LOT. of smashing, guys. feels like... 60% smashing, 20% severed legs, 20% Kranch

-- oh no oh SHIT oh shit oh shit

(ETA: um so I really can’t tell how far that wound extends and whether or not Aizawa still has his right eye, shit.)

first of all how did Deku get here next to Aizawa when he was just over there with Tomura, what. and second, I think Aizawa just blinked, oh shit. probably on the verge of passing out after CHOPPING HIS OWN LEG OFF which STILL hasn’t been acknowledged yet?? did I just completely misinterpret all of that back there or what

(ETA: there was seriously so little attention called to this that I scrolled back up to confirm it probably like half a dozen times. apparently Horikoshi thinks that THE MOST BADASS THING TO EVER HAPPEN IN THE MANGA should be completely downplayed. whereas if it were me, there’d be an entire two page spread of JUST THE LEG. WITH MUSIC PLAYING. EVEN THOUGH IT’S A MANGA.)

YEPPPPPPP. fuck

look at him though. he’s so happy. this is why I can’t stay mad at you no matter how deranged you get you little maniac

so is quirk-stealing back on the menu then or what. don’t think I’ve been lulled into any kind of false sense of security by any of this lol

-- ARE WE SERIOUSLY CUTTING AWAY

so Todoroki really went after them ALONE. the better to put his dad right back up at the top of the Lose Your Quirk Sweepstakes finalists. well... second-to-top, maybe. like I said I will not be lulled

yuh-oh

why do I feel like the odds of Gigantomachia arriving to herald the end of this chapter just shot up DRAMATICALLY

so the next page is almost entirely just a list of cities that the news anchor is telling people to evacuate because they’re in Machia’s path. along with a bunch of dead heroes lying around everywhere, and Ochako being all ominous

(: weren’t they, though? heh. this is going to be so, so bad (: (: (:

-- fuuuuuuuuuuu

aaaaaand that’s it. hahahaha. okay then let’s summarize

Bakugou defied all expectations and kept his quirk (FOR NOW)!

Aizawa cut his own fucking leg off and it WASN’T EVEN REMOTELY ACKNOWLEDGED FOR REASONS I CAN’T UNDERSTAND (R.I.P. AIZAWA’S PRECIOUS LEG. YOU ALWAYS PUT YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD)

Kranch showed up after 157 years and is probably wondering why the heck I keep calling him “Kranch” now. THINGS CHANGE WHEN YOU’RE MIA FOR A WHILE MY LITTLE STARBUCKS CHRISTMAS CUP

Deku broke his arm for the 78th time

Tomura regenerated but seems to think Aizawa’s quirk is actually gone for good, which I’m pretty sure it’s not. so if they can keep him from destroying everything long enough for Aizawa to turn it back on again, we might possibly still survive this

and lastly, Machia is about to kill all of these stupid people frolicking around outside of this fitness club who are probably so proud of themselves for not being glued to their phones 24/7 because they prefer to LIVE LIFE IN THE MOMENT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. well that’s on you my friends. at least it’ll be a quick death. ffff

[spxllcxstxr]

Crushing (on) the Competition • L.E

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Sorry, can I request for Lily Evans? Just something that involves reader and Lily having friendly competition when it comes to studies, but Lily knows that reader has a crush on her but she waits for reader to finally admit it to her. — anon

Summary: Studying for hours in the library can lead to some strange dreams about one of your competitors.

Warnings: Gets a bit suggestive towards the end, school, homework, exams, a paragraph about Snape, glass breaking

Word Count: 1.6k

A.N: We can all agree that Karen looks absolutely stunning in this gif, right? Inspiration hit and this blurb became a fic. And I absolutely enjoy it. Hopefully it’s all good it became a bit suggestive, it really just came out that way without me planning it like that lmao. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all ❤️

****

The competition in your year was getting out of hand, in your opinion. There were four particular students, you included, vying for the top spot in every available class, but recently that seemed like an unobtainable goal. The four of you were equally matched as rivals, constantly battling each other for the top position, but never staying there long enough to boast and brag to your peers.

Hamish Stebbins, a Ravenclaw with pristine horn rimmed glasses and one of the most massive superiority complexes you’ve ever witnessed, was a force to be reckoned with, especially since he could bang out an O worthy essay of any length an hour before it’s due in class. And he made a living off of it. For the right price, a perfect score in any class of your choosing could be yours with that massive brain of his.

Severus Snape, while it pains you to admit it, was so effortlessly intelligent to the point where he was extremely smug about it. He took his time, carefully crafting out each word of an essay and never took short cuts on his assignments. Unlike Stebbins, however, his knowledge was his own, meaning not even Slughorn could force him to help another student with some measly little problem if it meant he had to impart some of his sacred knowledge.

Then there was Lily Evans. She poured her heart and soul into each assignment and it always paid off for her. But she wasn’t like the other two. Lily never bragged about her perfect grades or rubbed it in your face like Stebbins and Snape. She always went out of her way to help other students, for free, of course. Lily was willing to spend hours in the library explaining concept after concept to anybody who needed assistance. That was just the way she was.

And to be completely honest, you wouldn’t even be in the running for top of your year if it wasn’t for Lily and her persistent kindness.

Ever since you met in first year, the two of you held long study sessions in the library, pouring over textbooks until the text became fuzzy and your vision swam about. She often helped you understand lectures and pointed out how to decipher essay prompts. Luckily, you’re a quick learner so with her aid you were able to beat out most of the other students in your year.

The study sessions between the two of you still occur, but they’ve been shoved off to the side recently because of the heavy workload you each have to endure. The final two years of Hogwarts were the most crucial years of your life and you weren’t going to screw it all up now.

Plus, ever since she squeezed you into a bone crushing hug right before your final O.W.L. exam in fifth year, you can’t seem to form a sentence or even think straight around her anymore.

Your eyes always avoided her piercing green ones, instead focusing on how awkwardly your feet shuffled around in your black Mary Jane shoes against the stone flooring.

Many of those times where she would skip over to you unexpectedly, you would end up flinging your wand across the room or spilling your entirely new ink pot all over your fresh ream of parchment. She would always giggle and offer to help you clean your mess up, and you could never actually choke out a coherent thought before making a mad dash towards the exit.

So to save yourself from the embarrassment, you always wind up studying alone in the library well into the night.

So that’s where you find yourself well into Sunday evening, in the back corner of the library obscured by mountains of Transfiguration books, studying for the next day’s exam.

The four of you were equally skilled in the subject, meaning if wanted to be on top, you needed to work for it more than usual.

Your corner is dark and dusty, the only light being from the flickering lamps you lit and placed haphazardly around the oak table. They cast an eerie orange glow across the paper, almost dreamlike.

The handwritten black ink text starts to jumble together at around nine, which makes complete sense considering you’ve been holed up in this one spot since classes ended hours ago.

Your legs and your butt had gone numb hours ago, making your old rickety wooden chair seem comfortable.

Eyelids droop considerably, the weight almost becoming unbearable, just like how your head starts to slide away from your palm. The text starts to shift, and in your tired haze you distantly wonder when you started studying ancient runes.

You’re able to get out one meek yawn before your heavy head slips down to your textbook pillow and your vision cuts to a comforting black.

A delicate hand rests on your shoulder, trying to shake you awake.

In your dreamlike state, you blearily open your eyes and glance at the hand. It’s pale and freckled with light pink nail polish that looks fresh considering each nail is still in pristine condition. If they were yours, you would’ve bitten through it all already.

“(Y/n)?” The voice is soft and hushed. “Sweetheart, you gotta wake up, it’s past curfew.”

Your eyes trail up their robe covered arm and finally rest on their face. It takes you a moment to fully register the galaxy of freckles adorning their face and those green eyes that always made you fidget. She’s stunning in her Gryffindor robes, she always is in your dreams, her top two buttons are popped.

“Lily?” You mumble, still attempting to will yourself less tired. Yawning, you pick your head up.

“Did you spend all this time studying, sweetheart?” Lily continues, the hand on your shoulder trailing up to your jaw.

Sweetheart was the nickname Lily always used in your dreams and each time she addressed you, your stomach erupted in butterflies and your heart began to skip beats.

You hum and nod in response.

She pouts, her pink lips plump and vibrant. Swiftly, she moves a few of your books so she can prop herself up on the table while still looking at you.

Her grey pleated uniform skirt rides up her thigh a tad, exposing her soft and pale skin.

You swallow, eyes wide. “Merlin Lils, the things you do t’me.”

“And what, do tell (Y/n), do I do to you, exactly?” Her green eyes are wide and doe like, playful feigned innocence drenching her gentle features.

The particles of dust float aimlessly by, glowing like balls of light due to the lanterns you still have surrounding you.

She’s towering over your seated body, thumb swiping across your bottom lip.

Your dream was in a whole ‘nother territory now.

“Lily, I’ve fancied you since bloody fifth year! You can’t just—“ You sputter, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “We’ve got an exam—!”

She giggles, the lovely sound filling up the library.

“Oh, I’ve known about your crush for some time now, (Y/n).”

Breath catches in your throat. “Oh.”

Once again, Lily giggles. She pushes herself back against the table, skirt being pushed up even more, the stack of books behind her tipping, the lantern on top of them falling, falling, falling...

The shattering of glass makes you jolt up from your seat, the piercing sound waking you up as you tear your gaze away from Lily.

“Shit!” She curses. “Shit, I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

As she turns to wave away the mess, it suddenly occurs to you that you may not be dreaming after all. While her back’s turned, you pinch yourself hard, stifling your yelp behind your other hand.

A dreadful chill shoots down your spine causing your body to freeze.

You weren’t dreaming.

“Oh fuck.”

Quickly, your hands shoot up to your head, fingers grasping at your hair in disbelief and embarrassment.

Lily turns back to face you, eyebrows drawn together in concern, the glass gone.

“Are you alright? Did a shard get you—?”

“This—this wasn’t a dream.” You shakily state, staring at her.

“Do you frequently dream of me?” She raises an eyebrow, still stepping closer to your form.

“Yes!” You cry, before dropping your voice down, remembering that you are out after curfew even if Prefect Lily was with you. “That’s why I thought—I thought—“

“You only confessed because you thought it was a dream.” Lily interjects calmly in realization.

“Merlin, I’m so sorry!” You groan, gaping at your own stupidity.

“No! No, don’t be sorry, (Y/n)!” Her smile lights up her face once again as she moves her hands to cover your own. “I wanted to hear you admit your crush on me so I could...confess in return.” She bites her lip shyly.

“You—you like me?” You mutter, stomach doing complete flips.

“It was fifth year for me, too.” Lily confesses. “Something about seeing you all stressed out while studying and us huddling over a paragraph in the candlelight...” She trails off.

“Well that’s grand!” You laugh. “Absolutely ace!”

“Well c’mon then, sweetheart, let’s get you up to the dorms.” Lily chuckles as your rejoice.

“But the exam is tomorrow, Lily—“

“Tomorrow after lunch, (Y/n). You need your sleep if you wanna take down Snape and Stebbins.” Lily teases, helping you pack away your things into your leather bag.

“And if I want to take down you as well?” You ask, shoving books away and collecting your notes.

“Well,” She starts, shooting you a wink. “just ask me nicely.”

She laughs at your audible gulp before taking your hand and dragging you up to her own dorm.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[pumpkinpaix]

HI! I'm new to the MDZS fandom and I fell in love with Suibian, but you don't see it that much. I seen somewhere that it would burn out a weaker core and I cried cause I wanted to see that, and as far as I know it doesn't happen anywhere. I'm wondering if you could tell me anything and everything you know about Suibian. I'm starving for anything about it

hi anon! ahahah, it’s always a dangerous thing to ask me about “anything and everything” on a topic because I usually have too many thoughts, most of which are unorganized. but! if you’re interested in that, then here we go!

First, re: your comment about Suibian burning out a weaker core: I am not aware of this theory (or is it something from an interview?? if someone knows, please say so!), but if it brings you joy, then it’s certainly an interesting one to consider! Unfortunately, I don’t have much more to say on it because I’m unfamiliar with it, but I do have quite a lot to say on some other Suibian concepts!

ask and ye shall receive (a very jumbled heap of thoughts as i spiral further and further out of control):

[all rough translations are mine, and thus all mistakes are mine. I am using the version of the novel that is available on luoxia because I can’t be bothered to go flipping through my print edition ahaha.]

the questions about Suibian that interest me the most are why it sealed, when it sealed, when Wei Wuxian began to wield it again, and what that might all mean. I’m going to be talking about novel, CQL, and audio drama canon all together, because I think looking at each canon alone and in combination can raise a lot of very different points!! (I have not watched the donghua or read the manhua yet, so forgive me, I have nothing to say about them. /o\)

So! the one piece of information that we’re given consistently throughout all three of the canons is that Suibian was sealed after Wei Wuxian’s death and that no one but Wei Wuxian himself (and Jiang Cheng, by proxy) could draw it from its sheathe. Thus, Wei Wuxian’s identity is revealed and the golden core swap comes to light. Wei Wuxian is surprised by this, and asks Lan Wangji, “Did it really seal itself?” (novel, chapter 63; CQL, ep 42; audio drama, S2E15).

The novel and audio drama both include a line from Wei Wuxian that emphasizes Wei Wuxian’s surprise, implying that sword-sealing is very uncommon:

万中无一的大好事竟然让我给撞上了

Something incredible that happens less than once per ten thousand times, and I actually encountered it.

the irony, of course, is that this incredible thing is what ended up blowing his cover. rip Wei Wuxian.

but what I think gets really interesting is comparing different points at which Suibian sealed itself and what that might imply in conjunction with other information. Jin Guangyao says “shortly after” his death, but CQL includes a scene in episode 19 that implies that Suibian actually sealed itself much earlier.

[ID: Gif from episode 19 of the untamed drama. Lan Wangji attempts to draw Suibian after he and Jiang Cheng storm the Nightless City and retrieve their swords. He cannot pull it from the sheathe. /end ID]

(in case anyone is curious, it’s about 30 minutes in. I spent the effort to make the gif, so I might as well give you the timestamp lol)

this scene takes place during the period of time when Wei Wuxian is in the Mass Graves (aka the Burial Mounds) after Wen Chao cast him down and left him for dead, right near the beginning of Sunshot. I’m fairly certain it’s not mentioned in either the novel or the audio drama, so this is a CQL-only detail. (please correct me if I’m wrong; I get my canons muddled all the time //hides face)

CQL basically does nothing narratively with this scene other than giving us some sad shots of Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng (honestly, valid ;A;) but!! if we decide to accept this scene as our jumping off point, we can get to some interpretations about Wei Wuxian using information from the other canons!

take this exchange from chapter 57 of the novel (immediately prior to the massacre at lotus cove):

江澄道：“还不是又为咱们的剑的事去温家了。一想到我的三毒现在说不定被哪只温狗握在手里，真是……”

他面露嫌恶之色，魏无羡道：“可惜咱们的剑还不够灵，要是能自动封剑，那就谁也别想用了。”

江澄道：“你再修炼个八十年，说不定可以。”

Jiang Cheng said, “He’s gone to the Wen sect regarding our swords again, hasn’t he. Whenever I think that my Sandu might even now be in some Wen-dog’s hands, ugh…”

His face filled with loathing, Wei Wuxian said, “What a pity our swords don’t have enough spirit. If they could seal themselves, then no one could even think about using them.”

Jiang Cheng said, “If you kept cultivating for another eighty years, maybe.”

from the novel, it seems clear that sword-sealing is something that only happens when a person’s cultivation level is exceptionally high. if this is true, and we go with the CQL timeline of Suibian sealing itself long before Wei Wuxian’s death, it means that Wei Wuxian’s cultivation level wasn’t just high, it was leagues above pretty much anyone else when he was still a teenager. (In fact, Suibian had most likely already sealed by the time this conversation takes place.)

If we don’t go with CQL’s timeline, however, I think we could make a very different argument. It’s a bit of a reach, but I think it’s a lot of fun, if you’re willing to come with me on this journey!

Jin Guangyao says Suibian sealed itself “shortly after” Wei Wuxian’s death, but we don’t really have external confirmation of that. For all we know, someone only bothered to test it sometime after his death, and Suibian had been sealed for some indefinite amount of time. All we can say for sure is that by some point shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian was already sealed and resisted being drawn by anyone who tried it.

We’re told over and over that one can only wield a spiritual sword effectively if you have a golden core/the spiritual energy to match it. Wei Wuxian stops carrying/using Suibian because he knows that in his hands, it will act as nothing more than an ordinary sword. His method of cultivation is no longer suitable for the sword. Suibian is tied to both Wei Wuxian’s soul and his golden core.

If sword-sealing only happens when the cultivator’s level is unbelievably high, then I think we can make the argument here that by the time of his death, Wei Wuxian’s core was likewise unbelievably strong – but Wei Wuxian is no longer the one developing his core. Jiang Cheng is.

I know it’s a ridiculous reach. To be clear, I don’t think the text actually intends this or supports this in any meaningful way, but I do think that it gives us some very tasty potential!! If Suibian sealed itself sometime after the core transfer (which, honestly, we wouldn’t know – after all, who’s been trying to draw Wei Wuxian’s sword?), but just if, I think we can plausibly make the argument that Jiang Cheng’s cultivation is truly extraordinary.

:DDDDDDDD

It’s fun right?? It’s a fun concept!!! Even if it’s nonsense, even if it’s not that deep, even if this was an unintentional coincidence, I think it would be interesting to look at this as being some kind of measure of Jiang Cheng’s accomplishments. On the flip side, I also think it’s very important thematically that Jiang Cheng’s value as a person has nothing to do with his cultivation, that he is, in fact, always second-best, but that doesn’t make him any less worthwhile or deserving of love. Maybe I’m just projecting lmao. Of course, being extraordinary doesn’t preclude him from still lagging behind Wei Wuxian–Wei Wuxian might have just been more extraordinary ahahah. We can have both!!

Now for a totally different thing! Interestingly, this conversation about cultivation levels and sword-sealing (the one with Jiang Cheng) also happens in the audio drama, S2E12 (about 15 minutes in, since I just checked), but Wei Wuxian adds an additional comment:

(don’t have the transcription of the original chinese, I’m just going to translate it as I hear it)

“But maybe you don’t need to cultivate to a certain level to have your sword seal itself. What if there were some other way?”

these two versions of the conversation actually imply pretty different things, I think! this addition opens the possibility to the audience that sword-sealing is possible even without an extraordinary level of cultivation, and I think lends credence to the idea that Suibian is just an unusually loyal sword, regardless of Wei Wuxian’s cultivation level. Whether that’s something inherent to Suibian’s “personality”, or whether this says something about how Wei Wuxian inspires loyalty wherever he goes, or whether it just speaks to the strength of their bond remains to be seen.

(obviously, this could imply any number of other things as well, but I find this to be the interpretation that makes me happiest.)

If we go with “Suibian seals itself after Wei Wuxian’s death” in this canon, I think this emphasizes the loyalty aspect with a touch of grief.

If we combine this with CQL and have “Suibian has been loyal since he was a teenager”, that also emphasizes the loyalty aspect – just in a different way.

Of course, doing meta combining unique details from different canons is largely pointless in terms of crafting any real “analysis”, so I’m mostly saying all of this because I enjoy the process of building the supercanon in my head that brings me the most joy! To summarize the varied interpretations I’ve brought up in this post:

CQL-only: Suibian sealed itself when Wei Wuxian was a teenager, at latest, by the time he was thrown into the Mass Graves.

Novel-only: Sword-sealing is very rare and achievable only through extraordinarily high cultivation. Shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian is discovered to have sealed itself, so Wei Wuxian’s core, by the time of his death, was extraordinarily powerful.

Audio drama-only: Sword-sealing is considered very rare and achievable only through extraordinarily high cultivation, but might also be accomplished by other methods. Shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian is discovered to have sealed itself. If Wei Wuxian’s core is not wildly and improbably powerful, this implies that Suibian has become an exceptionally loyal sword by the time of his death.

CQL/novel: Wei Wuxian was already incredibly powerful by the time he was a teenager.

CQL/audio drama: Suibian has been exceptionally loyal to Wei Wuxian since at least his teenage years.

Novel and audio drama-only have a much wider range of when Suibian could have sealed itself, as mentioned, so there are further variances within those interpretations.

there’s a lot of potential here!! with my personal feelings regarding the story, I like novel-only with Suibian sealing post-core transfer, audio drama-only with Suibian sealing post-Wei Wuxian’s death, or CQL/audio drama with Suibian sealing as a teenager pretty much all equally. I think the CQL/novel interpretation gets too close to casting Wei Wuxian as a hyper-special and innately noble individual in a way that undercuts the strength of his character arc, but that’s my opinion. (As an aside, this is actually one of my major complaints about CQL in general, independent from what I’m talking about here. But that is a topic for another day ahahaha. To be clear, I still love CQL very much, despite my many frustrations!)

As for what I think is the most “likely” to be the “right” interpretation (whatever that’s worth), I would probably say the one that emphasizes Suibian’s loyalty with Suibian sealing post-death, because I think it’s the most thematically cohesive and has the textual support to back it. (I think it’s a valid interpretation even using novel-only text; it’s just slightly less explicit without the additional comment from Wei Wuxian.)

A final detail:

We don’t get anything from either CQL or the novel that explicitly addresses when/if Wei Wuxian is able to wield Suibian again, but the audio drama’s rendition of the “Yunmeng” extra very subtly indicates that by the time that extra takes place, Wei Wuxian has cultivated a golden core and is carrying his sword once more. You only get it at a couple of moments, but Suibian sometimes clinks when Wei Wuxian moves or when he bumps into something. The two instances I can remember specifically are when Lan Wangji tosses the ring onto him (the ring hits Suibian), and when he’s rowing the little boat onto the lotus pond and the motion makes a sound. It’s!!! Extremely good!!! It makes my heart very full!!!!!

ANYWAYS, if all of my scattered rambling didn’t fill the Suibian-shaped hole in your heart, I would also like to recommend @zeldacw‘s wonderful WangQingSuiChen series of comics, featuring anthropomorphized versions of Wangji guqin, Chenqing, Suibian, and Bichen. I believe the most recent comic is here, and there are links to the rest of the comics in the post. If you just want her general tag for the AU (which is more than just the comics), it’s here!

If you have interest in listening to the audio drama yourself, you can purchase it through the MissEvan app (Mao’er FM). There are buying instructions linked in this post! If you need English subtitles, @suibiansubs is the group that does them. :)

I really can’t recommend the audio drama enough, tbh, it’s really really dear to my heart, and the team clearly worked so hard and cared so deeply for the story they were trying to tell. Consider this my regularly scheduled plug for the audio drama ahaha.

As always, my meta is my meta and if you don’t vibe with it, that’s chill! I change my opinions constantly (I think I changed them like three times in the course of writing this ahahaha), and I know some of my older meta has been making the rounds and every time I see it I think about all the ways my views have shifted since I wrote it rip. For this post moreso than usual, I want to emphasize that pretty much all of the meta included in this is meant to explore intriguing what-if possibilities, not for serious literary analysis purposes. I am aware that a lot of this is reaching/overinterpreting into implications that probably aren’t there. I just think they’re fun to consider!

so this was a mess, but I hope you or someone out there enjoyed it anon!!

(ko-fi, if you’re so moved)

[sodone-withlife]

one sentence

i saw sumayyah‘s answer to an anon’s ask (so all credit for this idea goes to them) about that scene in Omnivore where Rossi is offering Hotch his gun and this thing pretty much wrote itself (which is exceedingly rare lmao), so here is something that i thought would be just a few hundred words but ended up being a really long interpretation of the Foyet arc with hurt/minimal comfort with a good amount of pre-Mortch (or you can see them as platonic, i think it’s up for interpretation). 

also, just a quick heads up, i love Papa Rossi, but for the purposes of this fic, it might seem a little bash-y towards him

warnings: quite a bit of suicidal ideation, (almost) attempted suicide, implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, canonical character death

word count: 7.9k words

The highlighted words stared back at Hotch as Shaunessy’s words echoed in his mind.

A deal with the devil.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” he told Garcia.

“Because I found it, do I get to know what it’s about?” the analyst asked, unrepentantly curious. Hotch sent her a look.

Might as well. Shaunessy’s not going to last much longer, and we’ll be called in…  “The Reaper,” he said simply.

“Like—the Boston Reaper?” Garcia lowered her voice as she named the notorious killer. Hotch nodded. “I didn’t even know the BAU worked on that case,” she remarked. 

“1998,” Hotch informed her, remembering caffeine-fueled sleepless nights and the palpable fear on the streets. “It was my first case for the BAU as lead profiler.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t have a profile for the Reaper in the system, do we?”

Not in the system, no. “That’ll be all Penelope, you can go home now,” Hotch told Garcia, turning to the bottom drawer of the shelf behind his desk as the analyst nodded and left. Pulling out a worn folder bursting with papers and photos, he placed the newspaper clipping and the evidence bag protecting the contract into it. He left it to the side and refocused on the folder in front of him filled with sheets of old handwritten notes filled with annotations and crossed-out sections. 

There will be no sleeping tonight.

Early September, 1998

“You’re sending me?” Hotch was sitting ramrod straight in surprise, blindsided by Gideon’s sudden decision.

“Yeah,” Gideon answered simply, leaning back in his chair as much as he could in the cramped space and looking supremely unperturbed. “Do you not want to go?”

Hotch shook herself out of his shocked state, scrambling to gather his wits. “No—I mean, I’ll go, but—”

“But?”

Hotch carefully evaluated his words. “I’ve only been here a few months, and you’re sending me to Boston—alone—to help with the Reaper case? The case that has been going on for three years, longer than I’ve even been an agent, involving a killer that could probably put the Zodiac to shame?” 

The older agent shrugged. “I have to stay and hold down the fort since we are severely understaffed, but I’ll always be a phone call away, and you’re mainly there just to act as eyes for the both of us. You’re not working on this alone.”

Hotch stiffened as a sudden—but careful—warm touch on his hand pulled him out of the spiral of self-doubt he had been teetering over and grounded him. He brought his eyes back to Gideon and was surprised to see complete openness and no signs of deception or maliciousness that he had been forced to learn long ago at the hands of his father. 

“I’m not Dave,” Gideon began seriously, “I wasn’t the one who pulled you over here or the one you started out shadowing under, but I do talk to people. I know about your record in prosecution, in Seattle, and in SWAT, and it is very telling. You never doubted yourself before, and I have no doubt that you can handle yourself, so why are you starting now?” 

He leaned back, clearly done with the impromptu pep talk that Hotch, still frozen, figured happened once in a blue moon based on what Rossi had told him about the unit before he retired. The cramped room was silent as Hotch felt Gideon watching him struggling with internal strife. Slowly, he released some of the tension that was coiled within him, and Gideon turned back to his stack of consults with an air of satisfaction. 

“Start packing, Agent Hotchner. Boston awaits your presence.”

Late November, 1998

“Do you know what the hell is going on?” Hotch immediately asked when the call went through, pacing around his hotel room.

“And a good evening to you too.”

“Gideon.”

“What is it, Hotch?” his tone changed from dry to worried in a heartbeat, hearing the uncharacteristic urgency in his agent’s voice and the lack of nervousness that usually showed his agent’s discomfort towards using the less-formal form of address.

“Shaunessy, the lead detective,” Hotch spat out, throwing the case file that was in his hand on the bed. “He closed the case.”

“And that warrants a phone call at eleven PM, why?”

Hotch bit back a sharp retort, letting out a sharp breath. “You know I’ve been re-interviewing the victims’ friends and family, going through everything they had and lines of investigation that may have been dropped, working the profile along the way, but there have been no viable suspects, even with the accelerated killings,” he said quickly, a mess of emotions swirling inside him. “Gideon, no arrests have been made but he closed the case, just like that.”

“Remind me, when was the last victim?”

“Just over six weeks ago, a month after I got here. I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch said when Gideon didn’t respond, “that the case just went cold, but there were still things I had people following up on. It’s not cold,” he insisted.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it, Hotch. I know you don’t like it, but the locals have point on this.”

Hotch sighed, but it did nothing to calm him down. “I know,” he said, annoyed. “I’m catching an early train back to DC, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

January 2003

“The Reaper?”

Hotch slammed the folder shut and looked up from his desk, startled. He sent Gideon a glare, glad that no one else was there to see his composure slip, but he only looked vaguely concerned. 

“It’s been just over four years,” Gideon commented neutrally. “You’ve had that folder at the bottom of your third drawer, and you’ve pulled it out at least forty different times since ‘98.”

Hotch stared up at him in a challenge. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Gideon shook his head. “Just be careful. Don’t get too drawn into the chase.”

~~~

Sighing as he rubbed the familiar ache on the back of his neck that always appeared during paperwork days and especially stressful cases, Hotch closed his battered folder of notes and opened it back up again. It was almost compulsive at this point, repeating every twenty minutes and each time with the hope something new would catch his attention.

Hotch shifted, the bedsheets suddenly feeling unbearably scratchy and coarse even through his slacks. The case details buzzed around his head incessantly, distracting him from feeling the physical exhaustion and strain caused by the lack of proper sustenance and the stress of a day filled with dead ends.

The sudden ringing shattered the silence of the room, knocking him from his focus. He got up from the bed and warily walked over to the source, picking up the hotel phone and bringing it up to his ear. 

“Hotchner,” he said out of habit, only to freeze as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in reaction to the sudden, heavy breathing. “Who is this?” he demanded, throwing the folder he was still holding back on the bed with dread rising within him. 

“If you stop hunting me, I’ll stop hunting them.” His question about the caller’s identity went unanswered, though the cursed words of the contract spoken by the same distorted voice that was heard on the 911 calls from ten years ago was confirmation enough.

Anger flared inside him at the audacity, and he snapped back, “You think I’d take that?”

“It’s a good deal,” the Reaper replied flatly.

“I’ve misjudged you,” he said, some distant part of him wondering how Shaunessy felt when he himself got the offer ten years ago. “I thought you were smarter than this,” he was unable to help the derisive tone.

The silence was long enough for him to wonder how much he had caught him unawares with his response. 

“You should take it.” 

“And you’ve misjudged me.”

“This is your last chance,” he warned.

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “I don’t make deals. I’m the woman who hunts guys like you.” That got the reaction he was hoping for.

“There are no guys like me,” the killer growled, anger bleeding into his tone.

He scoffed. “You all think that.”

“You’ll regret this,” he warned.

It was said with such certainty that a chill shot down his spine, but it was overshadowed by his anger. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised, promptly hanging up without another word. He walked back around the bed, feeling a sudden need to put as much distance between him and the phone as possible. It was with some hysterical hilarity that he wondered if the next people to stay in this room would know about what had just happened—that a serial killer tried to threaten an FBI agent into surrendering in this room.

Those feelings faded away when a terrible feeling suddenly came over Hotch as he realized the Reaper knew which hotel—which room—he was staying in.

It wasn’t unusual during their cases for an unsub to contact another person in the midst of their crimes, but the memories of Elle in the hospital bed and Morgan in the interrogation room had been seared into his brain. 

Both times, unsubs directly went after members of the team.

Unable to remain in the room any longer, he went around unceremoniously throwing his things inside his bags before leaving the hotel room. Paranoia quickly crept back into his consciousness as he quickly made his way down to the parking garage with a hand near his gun, intent on heading straight to the field office.

Only half an hour later, Hotch was staring at the glinting gold ring on the bus driver’s hand, feeling oddly detached from the situation as he was confronted with the consequences of that cursed phone call.

“6 bodies, not including the driver,” Rossi said from the back of the bus. “He put them down with a gun—or, more likely, guns—and finished them off with his knife.” 

The call had come straight to the field office, just minutes after Hotch walked into the empty conference room that the team had taken command of. A beat cop had heard a series of gunshots and went to investigate, only to see the macabre painting of blood on the side of the bus with its occupants slumped over inside, unmoving. “Arthur Lanessa’s wedding ring,” Hotch heard himself say for the other agent’s benefit.

“What’d he take?” Rossi made his way down to him in the front. 

He snapped back into the present with a sudden surge of anger. “Does it matter?” he asked bitingly, turning and storming away from the crime scene for the relative privacy of a nearby alley.

“Hey,” Rossi called in worry, taken aback by the brash response. “What’s going on with you?”

Hotch stopped some way into the alley and took a deep breath, taking his time before turning to Rossi, who had followed closely behind. “He called me tonight at my hotel room and offered me the deal.” 

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him,” his eyes burned with the sting of tears—whether out of anger at the Reaper or himself, he wasn’t sure. “And then he does this.”

“So you think this is your fault?”

How could it be anything but? He looked away, trying to hide just how shaken he was. “It is.”

The familiar sound of the safety of a gun being released pulled his attention back to the man in front of him. “Well, here, use mine,” Rossi said, holding out his gun to him. “You convinced me. No, no, you hung up on him,” he pushed as he waved him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You practically killed them yourself—”

You practically killed them yourself.

You practically killed them yourself.

Killed them yourself.

Killed them. 

Yourself.

You.

You did this.

You should have made the deal

Hotch flinched away from the touch of cold metal against his head only to freeze in his place, ice settling in his bones as he processed what was happening. Barely seeing the horror on Rossi’s face, he stared at the other man’s empty hand before he focused in on the gun that was resting against his own head, tilted at an angle. There were five things he knew:

I have a finger on the trigger. 

My hand is trembling. 

I am still one of the best shots of the agents that are not in a tactical team.

Make one move, fire the gun, only the hearing in my right ear will be gone and the darkness continues to creep towards me.

Make a different move, fire the gun, I’ll leave Jack the legacy of a coward and Haley the knowledge that her efforts back in high school and college were for naught.

You did this, a malicious voice in his head said, sounding oddly like his father. And suddenly, he recalled the memory of the blood droplets hitting him and the ringing in his ears the first time he witnessed a gun go off when he was nine.

Slowly, deliberately, Hotch met Rossi’s horrified and guilt-filled expression and lowered the gun from his head. Carefully measuring his steps, he moved forward and pressed the gun into the older agent’s hand, which dropped down to the side, the weight of the gun now accompanied by something unseen, something much heavier.

Not sparing him another glance, Hotch turned and walked back out of the alley.

This isn’t the time nor place to break. 

But in the end, he didn’t have a choice. 

“Foyet escaped.”

Hotch’s blood ran cold as he processed JJ’s words before he roughly placed his mug onto the desk and stood up from his chair, following JJ outside to the bullpen that was full of noise and movement.

“Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing, they rushed him to the prison hospital,” JJ explained quickly as they made their way down the catwalk. Hotch twitched as he heard Rossi’s office door open behind him, the man coming out to see what the commotion was about.

“Get me the US Marshal’s Office,” Hotch ordered, making the executive decision to ignore the older agent in favor of getting down to business. 

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance, he said they’d call us if they needed it.”

Prentiss rushed to the trio, holding a phone up to her ear. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet’s house,” she reported.

Reid approached the agents gathered in the middle of the room, holding out a printout of what looked to be a set of blueprints. “They’re schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.”

Hotch looked at him blankly. “He had the schematics.”

“And not just for Woburn—for every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And ten years to plan,” Rossi added, a heavy silence following as everyone turned to the TV.

Finally, Garcia turned around. “They’re going to find him, right?” she asked worriedly.

Eyes still trained on Foyet's mugshot on the TV, Hotch was completely certain in his answer. “No, they’re not,” he said, just as the memory of Foyet’s words rose to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.

If you know me so well, how come so many had to die to bring you here?

I’m going to be more famous than you realize.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, trying to get a hold of the wave of nausea that suddenly overcame him. He brushed past the team, purposely heading out of the bullpen for one of the bathrooms that was further away for the sake of keeping the team and their concern off his back.

Within minutes he was throwing up bile and the small amount of alcohol he had drank back in his office into the sink, thanking the god he never believed in that the bathroom was rather secluded so there wouldn’t be anyone catching him in this moment of weakness. His eyes burned for the second time in less than twenty-four hours—only this time, a few traitorous tears managed to escape from underneath his eyelids. 

The taste of bile was strong as he turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold water, stiffening when he heard the door swing open and closed. Looking up to the mirror, he was both relieved and unsurprised to see Morgan locking the door behind him. 

“You’ve been avoiding Rossi,” Morgan commented quietly. Hotch huffed a sardonic laugh, straightening up and turning around to face him, leaning against the sink for support. It was a familiar situation, one first started years ago when it was just them and Gideon, and stopped after the team started growing. Then New York happened and Hotch had to de-stress in a gas station they stopped at on the drive back to Quantico, and their secret rendezvous started happening again, when cases hit too close to home for either of them.

Somehow he always knows what the root problem is. “Was I that obvious?”

Morgan shook his head. “You know you hide it well. I’ve just known you far longer than any of the others, besides Rossi, of course.” He didn’t go on, waiting on the other to decide the direction the conversation would go. 

Deciding to go for complete honesty, Hotch swallowed, tilting his head up and avoiding Morgan’s eyes. “He called me at my hotel room and offered me the deal.”

To his credit, Morgan only stepped closer, face creased in concern and a hint of knowing. “I said no, and he shot up a bus,” Hotch continued tonelessly. “I lost it in an alley near the crime scene. Dave had pulled out his gun and was trying to make a point about self-flagellation, but—” he cut himself off and shook his head frustratedly.

“I don’t know what happened. One moment I was just angry, and the next moment I was aiming a gun at my head,” he met Morgan’s eyes desperately, stern facade completely gone. “I don’t know what I wanted to do—I don’t,” his voice cracked as he sagged against the sink and his trembling became more pronounced. He quickly covered his mouth as a sob tried to escape his throat, prompting Morgan to move.

It was surprising to both him and Morgan how willingly he melted into Morgan’s body when the man reached out to stabilize him, but the sensation of the embrace was oddly calming for both of them. Neither spoke as they stood in the bathroom, not even as Morgan felt his shirt getting wet from the tears that Hotch finally let fall, and not even as the crying became more audible. 

Now, they would stay in the bathroom and soak up the comfort that they offered each other. They would talk about Foyet’s taunts and what Hotch confessed later. 

But later never came, because life never waits, and neither do unsubs.

Soon, they were racing against the clock as Reid got infected with an engineered strain of anthrax

Soon, they were investigating one of the worst, stomach-turning crimes they had seen. 

When they got back from the pig farm, Hotch only asked the team for a bare-bones report of the investigation and let them leave to the comfort of their homes while he stayed behind and dealt with the rest of the paperwork and red tape that was involved because of their foray into Canadian jurisdiction. 

It was past midnight when Hotch finally left the office and entered his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, knowing there was no way he was going to fall asleep that night.  

But Foyet was waiting, and Hotch was weakened by the exhaustion and stress of two all-nighters in a row.  

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he could only take comfort in the fact that his death sealed Foyet’s fate. There was no way Morgan the team—hell, even Strauss, or anyone in the bureau—would stop hunting his killer to exact their revenge. 

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it.

He slowly regained consciousness to the sharp smell of antiseptic and the unpleasantly familiar beeping of a heart monitor. Fatigue settling heavily over his whole body was the next sensation that registered in his foggy mind, and then the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Where am I?” he forced out through a dry throat, eyes still closed.

“In the hospital,” Rossi, his mind told him. He opened his eyes only to close them again when he was met with blindingly bright lights, letting out a pained breath. 

“How did I get here?”

“Foyet drove you.”

Morgan. He drew in a shaky breath as dull, pulsing pain finally made itself known through the painkillers.

“Can you remember what happened?”

That’s Prentiss.

He vaguely felt his head loll to the side before the memories rushed back into the forefront of his mind. Foyet’s words, the same exact words he remembered thinking back in that alley echoed unpleasantly,

You should have made the deal.

Hotch swallowed again and forced his eyes open through the heavy fatigue. “What did he take?” he asked quietly, unwilling to delve deep into what he remembered and deciding to mentally run through the details about the Reaper case instead.

“What do you mean?” Rossi asked, uncomprehending.

“The Reaper always takes something from his victims.” you’re one of his victims now—shut up and think about that later “Do we know what he took?” 

“There was a page missing from your day planner,” his eyes flew open and he looked over at Prentiss as she continued talking, “in the address section, the Bs.” 

No— “What did he leave?” Hotch asked, eyes slipping shut as a trickle of fear went down his spine and his brain screamed out in denial. 

“I don't know,” Prentiss said, floundering.

“He also leaves something with his victims,” he trailed off in a breathless whisper, unable to sustain the volume he had been speaking at as the throbbing grew stronger.

“I looked over your whole apartment,” Prentiss told him helplessly. “Nothing felt out of place.”

A thought came to him. “Where are my clothes?” Hotch asked, slowly trying to force his eyes open again. He turned his head, watching Prentiss bring a plastic bag over to the hospital bed. Careful to avoid looking directly at his bloodied clothes, Hotch managed to pull the bulging manila envelope closer to him on his chest. 

His hands froze as his credentials slipped out and he noticed a folded paper tucked inside. Slowly, shakily, Hotch pulled them out of the envelope and carefully flipped it open. 

He sank deeper into the bed as the breath he had been holding was almost punched out of him by the sheer terror that pulsed through him, the treasured picture of Haley and Jack staring back at him tauntingly. That’s my blood, he thought blankly, staring at the red streak he knew was deliberately painted over his family’s smiling faces.

“Haley’s maiden name is Brooks,” he finally said, almost numb to the implications. “I always listed her in the Bs in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands.” 

Some kind of precaution it turned out to be. 

“He knows where they live.”

And that was that. As Hotch was stuck in flashbacks and lied to Prentiss about what happened, Morgan led the SWAT team in sweeping Hotch’s old house and picked Jack up from his playdate. As Hotch talked with Haley and failed to not think about that night in the alley with the cold metal against his head, Morgan played with Jack outside and failed to not think about Foyet using his credentials so he could continue to torture his friend boss. As Hotch remained confined to the hospital bed, Morgan watched through an upper-story window as Haley and Jack were driven off into the distance to a location unknown to anyone but a select few in the Marshals service. 

Nine stab wounds, thirty minutes down time, and six days in the cursed hospital.

The numbers circled through Hotch’s mind when he stepped back into his apartment and had to work through the panic that rose within as he stared towards the place where he knew Foyet had been hiding. 

In the end, what brought him back from the edge was when his eyes caught the new security panel that had been installed over where he knew the bullet had made a hole and the sticky note with what he recognized as Morgan’s handwriting that was stuck over it, concisely written instructions on how to use it. If he looked around carefully enough for other signs of Morgan’s presence, he could see where the section of bloodstained carpet had been replaced, and that was only because there was the tiniest spot that had been missed. 

The tiniest reminder was enough to send Hotch into a panic, but he knew there was no way he could tell Morgan about it. 

Is this what you felt like, Elle? Unsafe in your own home, having to sweep each room for fear of another one of the monsters we hunt lurking in the shadows?

Slowly, numbly, Hotch worked his way through medical leave and physiotherapy, during which everyone in his team came over at least twice, Prentiss and Morgan the most often to help change his bandages. He knew they worried, but he couldn’t summon the will to care nor the words to thank them for keeping him company and preventing the darkness in his mind from taking over. 

And maybe it was a good thing, because there were things they didn’t know, things that he lied to them about. He lied and he lied, and he knew that if he had the words, they would all come tumbling out, and what little of himself that he had left would be exposed for all to see. 

Even if Morgan had tried to take everything he might be able to use, there was still his mind, and so if he had the words, they would all know how many times he envisioned holding cold metal against his head just as he had back in that alley.

On the thirty-fifth day after he was discharged from the hospital, when they were discussing Darren Call on the plane, they came close to finding out. 

So why hasn’t he killed himself yet? Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?

It was much later, after a day of being on the receiving end of careful, worried glances, and overhearing Morgan’s firm declaration from inside his office that he realized his slip. 

“I’m not going to stand by and watch this man kill himself,” Hotch had heard Morgan snap towards Rossi. Moments later, Morgan passed in front of his office window and made eye contact with him, making it clear that his choice of words was deliberate. 

Suddenly Hotch was back in the alleyway with the gun pressed to his head and managed to talk himself off the ledge he didn’t know he was standing on while Rossi stood there, frozen and horrified that his brazen attempt at making a point had backfired so disastrously. His own words on the plane came back to him, then thought about what others would have seen when he walked into that house unarmed, and he understood. 

He hadn’t been thinking at all when he went in to try and talk Darren Call down, but though he didn’t have a background in psychology, there were some things that didn’t need expert opinion to be said, and so he knew exactly his action could be classified as. 

Don’t lie to yourself, you know exactly what that was.

Hotch swallowed convulsively and broke eye contact with Morgan, turning back to stare at paperwork until the other man walked back to his desk in the empty bullpen. As much as he tried, he couldn’t forget Morgan’s impassioned exclamation nor the depth of the worry that was present in his eyes when they made eye contact through the window.

Maybe that was the day when things shifted. It wasn’t a complete change—the team still hovered around Hotch in uncertain worry, his thoughts never completely disappeared, and he nearly broke down in the bathroom the day Jack turned four in witness protection after seeing what footage of his child on a playground Garcia could enhance. 

There was, however, a different air to his and Morgan’s interactions after that case. Perhaps it was a long time coming, stemming from the painful understanding that was formed that day in the secluded bathroom when they found comfort in each other.

It wasn’t news that the higher-ups were watching him again, but then he walked back to his office after helping JJ triage consult requests to see Strauss fixing him with a stern stare. The next few days he spent trying to work through the frustration of recording and justifying every decision while trying and failing not to antagonize Morgan. And so while he waited for Morgan to come into his office, he could only hope that he hadn’t managed to destroy the strange friendship that had been built between them based on their shared knowledge of just how close he was to the ledge sometimes.

I should give him more credit, I don’t know how he puts up with me sometimes, and he has more than enough reason to report me to Strauss.

“Come on, Hotch, nobody's gonna replace you,” Morgan said, incredulous at the notion of Hotch getting replaced. “Fight Strauss. I'll go to the mat for you, so will everybody else. You know that.” 

“Morgan, it won't work,” Hotch spoke over him, trying to get him to understand. “Decisions like this have their own momentum. Unless I step down—”

“Step down? What are you talking about?”

A foreign feeling Hotch recognized with some surprise as amusement wriggled its way into his consciousness as he anticipated Morgan’s reaction to his coming announcement, “I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week”

“What? No!” Hotch couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching as his feeling of amusement grew slightly stronger at the visceral reaction. “Hotch, look, yeah, ok, sometimes your actions, I may disagree with them, but it's not enough for you to leave this team.”

“I'm not leaving the team, I'm just no longer in charge,” Hotch corrected, continuing before Morgan could get in a word. “You are.”

He watched as Morgan’s jaw dropped in shock, before finally asking, “Me?” Detecting no deception from Hotch who had nodded, he continued. “Look, I had the chance to be unit chief in New York, and I said no. I turned it down because I like this team. Strauss can't just fire you like this.”

“She can reassign me, and we can avoid that if I promote internally.”

Unable to come up with a counterargument, Morgan was silent for a moment. “This is wrong,” he finally said. 

A strange thrill went through Hotch at the confidence Morgan had in him—their relationship, while slightly different now, ultimately had been built on unstated respect and the ease with which both were able to call each other out on their bullshit; it wasn’t built on such blatant declarations of trust and confidence. Hotch opened his hands, shrugging helplessly. “It's the only way to keep the team together.”

Morgan nodded consideringly before carefully eyeing Hotch. “So all of this,” he gestured between them, bringing up the tension that had built up between them in the last case, “this is why you've been pushing me so hard, huh?”

“I haven't been pushing you that hard,” Hotch denied, only to get a disbelieving look from the other man. He let out a faint smile before regarding the other with a serious look again. “Morgan, I need to know right now. Will you do this?”

He couldn’t articulate the relief he felt when Morgan finally agreed and continued to feel for the rest of the night as he introduced Morgan to the other parts of the job. Just like every other positive emotion he had felt over the past few years, however, it was short-lived, as Hotch had freed up time to dedicate to the hunt, even as he often stayed later to help Morgan get adjusted. Within months, they were called into a family annihilator case and Hotch was confronting Karl Arnold, one of the few unsubs that had continued to haunt him even after the case was closed and they were killed or incarcerated.

Of course, Arnold had to get in the last word, and oh, did he get it in. 

The cursed eye of providence, now drawn over a newspaper article about the attack months ago, never failed to create a surge of anger and fear within him, but never had it created such a storm of emotions before now. One torturous night of waiting as the envelope the taunts were sent in went through the lab, and the whole team was in the throes of the hunt, and in the process, fell victim to tunnel vision.

What if they had slowed down and remembered that Foyet worked with computers? Would they have managed to catch him at the apartment unawares? Would they have been better prepared for what Foyet had planned to do?

But there wasn’t anything Hotch could do except try and talk Foyet out of going through with his plans while trying to maintain as level of a head as possible.

“Your mother tried to protect you from your father, but she wasn’t strong enough, and you hated her for that, didn’t you? So, you decided that all women were weak,” Hotch suddenly brought up, hoping to catch him off guard as he vaguely wondered if the team was on the line, listening. 

“Those are your words, not mine,” came the grating, annoyingly blasé reply.

“What were you, nine when you killed them?

“It was a car accident. And, now that I think about it, our childhoods are eerily similar, don’t you think?” 

Caught unawares, Hotch jerked the steering wheel, barely managing to avoid crashing the car as Foyet continued. “But it was only your father who died, whereas your mother remarried.”

How—? He turned cold at the show of Foyet’s obsession, which was clearly much deeper than he or anyone in the team could have predicted.

“No response?” the killer taunted.

“My father swallowed a bullet because he couldn’t live with his self loathing or the cancer,” Hotch finally snapped, quickly directing the subject back towards Foyet. Even with the pit in his stomach growing as it became clearer that he was being toyed with, he couldn’t help but use every negotiation tactic he knew and taught at the Academy, desperately but futilely trying to dissuade the killer. 

“Haven't you gotten what you wanted?” Hotch tried, somehow having regained his composure after the unpleasant bombshell. “You've set yourself apart from anybody we've ever dealt with. You're not just a famous serial killer, you're the Reaper. We're going to study you and your methods for years and years.”

“You know what I've been thinking?” Foyet finally asked after a few moments of silence, his next words sending his heart pounding in fear. “Haley looks really good with dark hair. She’s lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her. Where's the little man?” No, don’t you dare— “Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?” 

Hotch gripped his phone tightly as he heard the ringing of another phone. “That's your wife. Hold, please—Mrs. Hotchner,” Foyet took on an accent, tone turning jovial. “Open the gate and I'll drive in.”

Open the gate? That son of a—of course.

“Aaron?” the malicious glee was back, cutting right to Hotch’s core. “I really gotta go.”

Almost frozen with fear, he pushed the car faster, heading straight towards the old house and praying to whatever deity he could think of that he could get there in time. He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he got Morgan’s call, which was confirmation that the team had indeed been listening. He didn’t dwell on it and only continued to push the car, disregarding speed limits and almost hysterically glad that it was the middle of the day and the streets were relatively empty. 

When his phone rang, it was with numb, mechanical movements that he answered, fully prepared to beg and bargain for his family’s life if he had to, only to sharply inhale at Haley’s dearly missed voice, which turned shaky with fear when she realized the danger she was in. As Foyet undercut their exchange with his maliciously satisfied taunts, telling Haley all that he could never bring himself to confess about the case, Hotch could only think about how he was just too far away, Haley, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for lying to you about everything, I’ll never forgive myself—

But then Jack was on the phone, and the pure innocence and eagerness with which his son greeted him after months of no contact was enough to send a fresh wave of tears coursing down his face.

“Is George a bad guy?”

“Yes, he is,” Hotch answered, wanting to scream at him to just run away, get as far away from him as you can when an old memory was suddenly brought forth from his subconscious. “Jack, I need you on this case with me. Do you understand?” he tried to keep his voice steady, hoping with his whole being that his son would remember. “I need you to work the case with me.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

“Jack, hug your mom for me,” he requested, voice cracking and desperately trying to contain the sobs that were steadily building. He could only imagine the warmth his son was feeling from his mother now, potentially the last memory he would ever have of her. Hearing his son’s too-inquisitive question about his mother’s mood left him viciously biting down on his bottom lip, trying to maintain some modicum of control over himself.

“Is he gone?” Hotch finally asked, nausea joining the storm of emotions within him at the nickname Foyet had given his son.

“Yes,” Haley confirmed, letting her fear shine through now that Jack wasn’t there to see it. 

Each shaking breath was a stab straight to his core.“You’re so strong, Haley, you’re stronger than I ever was.”

Her response nearly sent him shattering into the pieces she had so carefully helped him put back together back in high school after his stepfather died.

“You’ll hurry, right?”

I can’t lie, I’m so sorry, Haley. I can’t lie to you. Not after everything I’ve already done, “I know you didn’t sign on for this.”

“Neither did you.”

Why does it have to be now that we finally talk about what caused the divorce?

“I’m sorry for everything.”

There was a short pause as Haley inhaled sharply, before leveling out into shaky breaths. “Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh.”

No, please— “Haley,” Hotch trailed off, unable to continue and almost paralyzed at the knowledge that these might be her last words because he’s too far away, I’m not going to—

“He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. He needs to believe in love, because it is the most important thing, but you need to show him. Promise me,” she ordered him forcefully.

“I promise.”

The sound of three gunshots tore straight into his soul. 

And then he was finding Haley’s body, trying not to let the seams break when renewed rage roared to life within him at the extinguishing of the light that had been inside her and lit up every room she walked in. Minutes later, he was straddling the demon that had haunted him for over a decade, the demon that he finally caught up to but at a terrible cost and then he was punching—

I’m going to kill that bastard son of yours and I’m going to tell him it was all your fault— 

and punching—

You practically killed them yourself—

and punching—

You should have made the deal—

someone yelled his name—

Promise me.

“—dead. He’s dead,” someone was shouting as Hotch tried to lunge forward away from the person pulling him back and towards the man who killed my wife HE KILLED HALEY—

But all the fight that had been inside him suddenly disappeared, and he was left staggering backward, mouth open in a silent, rage-filled scream as someone—it’s Derek—kept a careful grip on his body, holding his shattered pieces together just long enough for him to gather his tattered seams close to his chest and fling himself away towards the stairs. 

Hotch collapsed to his knees in front of the chest, seeing no indication of any taunting messages and daring to hope that his son was—

And the sight of his son, unharmed and blinking at the sudden change in brightness, nearly sent him into a mess of relieved tears that were also tears of unadulterated grief because I got his mother killed—

He held himself together and lifted his son out of the chest, seeing all the features he got from Haley—her his hair, her his eyes, her his inquisitiveness—and struggling to maintain his weakening control as he told Jack to go to Ms. Jareau, who was waiting with open arms in the doorway to the room that had once been his office. 

Hearing their footsteps fade away and shaking with suppressed sobs, he slowly stood up, injuries that he sustained in the fight finally making themselves known as he made his way across the hall to the room he knew Haley was lying in—

He saw Morgan taking her pulse and for a moment he couldn’t help but hope that she was still—

But Morgan was pulling back and he was gently placing Haley’s right arm back on the ground and he wasn’t yelling for medics and—

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” Morgan said softly as Hotch knelt down, his trembling becoming more palpable by the moment. 

If he looked past the unseeing eyes and the blood that pooled everywhere and her lying on the floor and—

He could almost convince himself that she was sleeping. For a moment, he was almost afraid to touch her, afraid to disturb her in her sleep, but in the next moment—

He was pulling her cooling body close to his chest and burying his face into the crook of her neck, gut wrenching sobs escaping his lips as a wave of grief shattered the flimsy show of control he had put up for Jack’s sake, his son who just lost his mother because his father was addicted to the chase and I broke my promise, Haley, I’m so sorry—

She’s gone. 

The solemn silence weighed heavily on the team as they waited for Hotch to finish testifying before Strauss and the brass. They had all expressed their outrage when they got the orders to come in for their statements, only two days after their leader nearly lost everything, but there was nothing they could do.

It had been painful to watch the man who had been a protector for so long, since childhood through his teenage years and into adulthood, try to maintain the post, disregarding his own health in favor of being the earliest in the office and last to leave, spending every free moment trying to get rid of the threat to his family. It was worse having to listen over the phone as his control started to slip while he tried so desperately to save his family from a madman. 

With the sight of him savagely beating Foyet’s dead body into the ground, all vestiges of the infamous controlled facade gone, they all hoped for Hotch’s sake that Jack had found safety and were beyond relieved to see him in JJ’s arms. Reality caught up to them, however, when they watched as Morgan had to physically wrestle Hotch away from Haley’s body so she could be transported to the ME’s office.

When they got the full autopsy, they could only be glad that Hotch wasn’t there to find out all that Foyet did to his first love.

And within a year, Hotch’s family had been ruthlessly snatched from his desperate, flailing grip and torn into broken pieces before being shoved back at him, misshapen with pieces missing. 

The faint sound of a door swinging closed had them all straightening up in their seats, turning to look into the bullpen where Hotch was walking up the stairs in front of his office, only to freeze right in front of the door with his hand just in front of the door knob. 

They watched worriedly as he let his outstretched hand fall back to his side and slowly backed up from the door, almost as if he were in a trance and startled when Morgan suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room and through the bullpen towards the man.

Their confusion cleared up when they realized that Hotch wasn’t stopping as he backed up, somehow unaware that the stairs were right behind him and stumbled, only barely catching himself on the railing. For Jack’s sake, they forced themselves to stay seated but watched out of the corner of their eyes as he tried to stand back up, only for his knees to buckle underneath him. 

Before he could hit the ground, Morgan quickly grabbed onto his arms, almost collapsing himself under his dead weight but managing to lower them both onto the ground, holding onto him in a way eerily reminiscent of what he had done when he pulled Hotch off of the barely-recognizable body of George Foyet. 

Hotch was still staring at his office door as if he had seen a ghost, and it was with heartbreak that Morgan realized what it represented to him—it was the source of so much passion and temptation that had gotten the love of his life killed. Looking back at the conference room and seeing the eyes focused on the two men, Morgan carefully pulled Hotch up from the ground and slowly guided him out of the bullpen, knowing that the team had Jack taken care of.

They walked through the winding hallways and into the bathroom that he followed Hotch into the night it all started to go horribly wrong. This time, it was different and yet the exact same, and after Morgan locked the door behind them, he pulled Hotch towards him, mindful of his bruised ribs. 

Surrounded by the four walls that heard so many of their small talks and witnessed their vulnerabilities, it wasn’t long before Hotch’s eyes began to burn as he finally melted into Morgan’s protective hold when the dam finally broke, letting out a wave of pain and anguish that was only made the slightest bit more bearable by the warmth of Morgan’s his friend’s care.

But even that couldn’t make that one sentence disappear.

You practically killed them yourself.

[yuta-nakamots]

Walk You Home - l.jn

Pairing - Idol!Jeno x Idol!Reader

Genre - Fluff, friends to lovers, kinda crack-ish

Warnings - None (please feel free to let me know if I should add any though)

Summary - You met Jeno when you were a trainee and he had lent you his shoulder to cry on. He became one of your closest friends and one of your best supporters, eventually merging the two and becoming your best friend. Your friendship with Jeno was something you wouldn’t trade for anything, maybe aside for an actual relationship with him.

Word Count - 8.3k

A/N - this is inspired by a dream i had two months ago so it’s not really the best storyline lmao but let me know what you guys think. character inspo drawn from @t-aeycng​ as Soojin because she is truly a wonderful person and you should definitely check out her work as well

You ran up the stairs, stepping onto the stage overlooking the sea of fans, the largest audience you’ve ever performed in front of. You looked away from the crowd and your eyes instead settled on Jeno’s face, wanting nothing more than his comforting frame against yours but that was something you didn’t think you would ever tell him.

Three years ago, when you first joined SM Entertainment, you had left your home country in hopes of pursuing your passion of getting to perform in front of thousands of people. It was spring when you first arrived, you thought it was quite fitting as you were beginning a new chapter of your life just as the Earth was too. When you first came to Korea, you had little knowledge of the language and culture and were immediately labeled as an outcast among the other female trainees. They didn’t exactly mistreat you in any way, they just didn’t include you in activities because they didn’t know you or have any way to communicate with you.

You spent your days holed up in practice rooms and even on the days where you had training sessions with the other girls, most of them barely made any effort to talk to you, excluding one person. Her name is Soojin. From the time you first saw her, you knew she was going to be popular. She was beautiful no matter what angle you looked at her from and she had a personality to match.

After a particularly difficult dance class, all the others had left for the cafeterias, talking about how the teacher was so harsh this time around. The only ones left behind were you, packing up your things, and Soojin who was still practicing what you were taught that day. Right as you were about to leave, she called out your name.

“Do you want to eat together?” She asked, speaking slowly and carefully enunciating her words so you could understand. You were frozen in shock and all you could do was nod your head and shyly say yes.

From that day on, Soojin was essentially your guardian angel. She made sure to introduce you to everyone and include you when they went out together, she helped you develop your language skills and taught you how to get through the weekly tests the trainees were put through. You clung to Soojin the way a baby cub does to its mother.

During the holidays, she told you she wouldn’t be staying at the company and instead, going home to her family. She graciously invited you over, to which you declined, not wanting to embarrass yourself and your elementary speaking skills. You were unsure how you’d function without her, but you’d soon become grateful for that week because that was when you met Jeno.

It was already 9pm yet you were still in a practice room, not quite able to perfect a run in a song you were preparing for the weekly exams. You were tired and lonely, feeling more homesick than ever now that you were left on your own without Soojin to comfort you. You sat down, deciding to let yourself rest for a few minutes as you scrolled through social media and saw your friends and family posting pictures of their festivities together, causing tears to escape from your eyes and you let yourself fully break down, feelings of loneliness and yearning tearing at your heart.

You didn’t know how you missed the sound of the door opening, but suddenly there was a warm hand on your shoulder and a simple “hey” spoken from someone with a warm and rich voice. You looked up and immediately froze on the spot. You had seen other senior artists around the company before but they had never talked to you before, as you were only a trainee and they probably didn’t even know your name, yet here was Jeno, squatting down in front of you, his eyes searching yours to find the reason why you were crying all alone in a practice room.

“Are you okay?” That was all Jeno asked, his hand leaving your shoulder as he sat down in front of you. He waited for a bit as you tried to calm yourself down and dry your tears. “I’m Jeno, but I suppose you already knew that. Your name is?”

“Y/n,” you said, your breath almost catching in your throat as you involuntarily hiccuped, “I’m a trainee and I’ve been in Korea for six months” you told him, just as Soojin had taught you.

You saw Jeno’s features soften as he started to piece together why you were crying. “Your Korean is pretty good for coming only six months ago,” he said before continuing on, “but you shouldn’t be crying alone in a practice room.”

You looked up at him, telling him that usually, you’d be with Soojin but she went home and you’re not really close to any of the other trainees. He nodded his head, seeming to understand your message through your basic Korean. “I really would like to stay and comfort you, but my members are coming soon because we have to practice for one of the end-of-year festivals.”

You pushed yourself off from the ground to unplug your phone from the stereo and pack up, understanding where he was going with this but he followed you, not yet done talking. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to give you my number so you can contact me whenever Soojin’s not around.” You turned to face him, shock evident on your face. “You won’t be bothering me, I promise,” Jeno said, trying his best to reassure you, “aside from practicing and performing I really don’t do much so you’d be welcome to text me anytime you want someone to talk to. I’d hate for you to go through this alone.”

He fished his phone out from his pocket, opening up a new chat and handing it to you, “here, you can even send the first message so you know that it’s me.” You accepted his offer and typed in your own number along with a short message to let you know it’s Jeno and hit send before handing him back his phone, feeling your own buzz in your hand, and light up showing the message you had just sent.

Unknown Number > y/n 9:15pm: Hello, this is Jeno

Jeno helped you gather your belongings and walked you to the door, even holding it open for you. You gave him a shy ‘thank you’ before stepping out into the hallway and he smiled at you saying that he’ll text you once his own practice is over not even a second before sound of his members coming down the hallway can be heard from their obnoxious yelling and giggling.

Jeno kept his word and as you were getting ready for bed that night in the empty dorm, you received another message from him.

Jeno > y/n 10:31pm: Y/n I just ended my practice and I’m heading to my dorm now. What are you doing?

Y/n > Jeno 10:32pm: Thinking about my next exam. They’re difficult.

Jeno > y/n 10:32pm: Ah, I remember those 10:33pm: I didn’t like them either but it feels good when you look back and see your progress

You maintained the conversation until he told you he arrived at his dorm building, to which he told you he’d text you after he washed up and ate dinner. He indeed texted you, but you were already fast asleep, the crying from earlier finally catching up with you. From then on, not a single week went by where Jeno didn’t text you.

Jeno always made sure to check up on you after an exam, asking how you did, encouraging you when you didn’t do so well, and praising you when you did do well. He even treated you to dinner a few times to congratulate you whenever you earned a B or better. He was pretty much your stand-in Soojin for whenever she was gone or got too busy with other things. He was just as patient as she was when it came to teaching you Korean and explaining things to you, his signature eye-smile showing whenever you repeated a new word back to him.

Soojin was surprised when you told her about your new friend when she came back to the dorms, almost kicking your door down in her excitement to see you, but she later held your hands in excitement saying “I can’t believe my y/n made her first friend on her own! And it’s Jeno! THE Lee Jeno from THE NCT Dream of all people! Maybe I should leave you more often” she joked before flopping down on your bed next to you to hear more about your relationship with Jeno.

Within another year and a half, you had debuted in SM’s newest six-member girl group, with Soojin as your leader, and Jeno wasn’t shy about showing his support for your group. When you coincidentally promoted alongside NCT Dream, he always made sure to wish you good luck before you went on stage and gave you tips after monitoring your performance. On one of the music shows, Jeno and the boys had won first place and they all insisted on keeping you and your group on stage with them.

Jeno’s face lit up when you danced the chorus of the song with him and he burst out in laughter when you imitated his own rapping part. There was something about you, the way you smiled as you clowned him, the way your eyes shone when he complimented your dancing. Jeno was beginning to fall for you.

Fans of both of your groups had noticed your close relationship, and though dating rumors were inevitable, most of them found the two of you to be quite cute together. You had seen a few of the compilation videos they had made for you and him though you only watched a handful of them and never dared to show them to Jeno, not wanting him to get the wrong idea because unbeknownst to him, you were falling for him too.

When the next SMTown concert was announced to be in your home country, you were overjoyed at the thought of being able to go home after two whole years away. You immediately texted Jeno to express your excitement and he matched it, jokingly telling you that he couldn’t wait to meet your friends and family.

A few days later, Jeno texts you asking if you’re free to hang out.

Jeno > y/n  4:38pm: are you free on Wednesday night? 4:38pm: Jaemin wanted to go grocery shopping after practice 4:38pm: Soojin said you guys are running low on toiletries so you can come too if you want

y/n > Jeno 4:47pm: yeah I’m free but I have practice on Wednesday night too

Jeno > y/n 4:50pm: really? What time?

y/n > Jeno 4:51pm: I think Soojin said 7

Jeno > y/n 4:51pm: wait really? That’s when I’m supposed to have practice I think 4:52pm: Renjun and Jisung both said 7 as well 4:52pm: did they tell you which room you’re in?

y/n > Jeno 4:54pm: I think it’s the basement one 4:54pm: don’t know why they have us in that huge one though

Jeno > y/n 4:55pm: no way! We’re supposed to be in the basement too! 4:56pm: do you think they mixed up our schedules on accident?

y/n > Jeno 5:00pm: I just asked my manager, he said that’s the one we’re supposed to be in

Jeno > y/n 5:01pm: that’s what mine just said too! 5:02pm: y/n, do you think...maybe...just maybe…

y/n > Jeno 5:02pm: what, Jen? just say it lol

Jeno > y/n 5:02pm: we’re working together for a performance?!

When you arrived at the basement practice room, the largest one in the building, sure enough, Jeno was in there waiting for you along with the other members of Dream. You ran to him and hugged him out of the sheer excitement coming from the idea that you’d be getting to perform together.

You and Jeno were so overly happy that it made Haechan gag while Jisung plugged his ears with his fingers and made a pained face at Chenle. However, your hug had the opposite effect on Jeno. He felt a burst of butterflies rise from the bottom of his stomach and he excused it as simply being excited to perform with you after having seen your hard work through your trainee days.

The dance your groups would be doing has a little bit of a darker sexy vibe which was something your group had never tried before. While it was something completely new to you, the boys had already done it before so they had fun showing you guys the right expressions and laughing as you and your members tried to copy them.

The type of dance was a little more provocative too and it wasn’t exactly your forte but you tried your best. You caught Jeno looking your way a couple of time but you figure he’s just trying to make sure you’re doing okay. Eventually, you give up trying on your own and you turn to go ask him for help during a break, slightly surprised to see that his eyes were already on you.

“Jeno, I don’t get that one move, the one that goes like this” you say and show it to him, his eyes glued to your figure as he tries to analyze what you’re doing.

You saw his tongue peek out from between his lips, a common habit of his when he’s really thinking, which doesn’t happen very often. “I think you’re being a little too loose with your movements, try tense up your arms and do it sharper” he explained, showing you through his own example.

You tried it again but you could tell you still weren’t doing it right from the way he sighed and moved to stand behind you. You felt the warmth from his chest seeping through both of your shirts and you had to fight the urge to just lean back against his strong shoulders but luckily you’re snapped out of your short daydream by Jeno’s hands wrapping around your wrists to guide your movements.

He ran through it a couple of times and you quickly caught on thanks to his teaching. Just as you turned your head to thank him, Jeno wrapped his arms around your body, embracing you in a hug and bringing his head to rest on your shoulder. Shocked by the close proximity of your faces, you both jump away from each other and start apologizing as your cheeks start to heat up. Fortunately, you were saved from your embarrassment when you hear Soojin calling everyone back from their break and you scampered away to stand with your members.

The head choreographer began pairing people up and you almost let out a squeal when she said you and Jeno would be together. There were no intimate portions of the choreography except for one short moment when you had to stare him down as you circle around each other as if you were ‘two lions about to fight’ as Haechan had explained it.

You and Jeno couldn’t help but giggle and make faces at each other every time that part comes up until both of you got yelled at and caused everyone to have to do push-ups as a punishment, angry glares being cast your way from your members.

The next time that part came up, you’re just slightly startled when Jeno completely switches to his performance mode and looks at you with a sultry glint in his eyes. You’ve seen this look thousands of times before while he’s up on stage whether it be from the sidelines or through a screen, but there was something different when you see it up close and you know his eyes are on you.

You took it as an opportunity to learn from him and try to give him the same gaze back during the following run through and when his eyes meet yours, you see them instantly shift away to somewhere behind you and you let out a slight smirk, finding it amusing how Jeno could still be so shy when you’re merely copying his own actions.

During the final run of the day, his gaze locked with yours and doesn’t wander away for even a second, almost as if he’s challenging you to look away first. You had to remind yourself that it’s just an act that he’s putting on for the sake of the performance, he’s not actually challenging you, though you almost wish he was. As soon as it ends, you’re broken out of the trance that is Lee Jeno himself while he went straight to his members, not even bothering to talk to you and give you feedback like he usually did.

You didn’t know what just happened, but you could feel there was now some sort of tension separating you and Jeno.

As all of you were monitoring the run on the large TV, Renjun laughed while saying “Jeno and Y/n look like they’re about to fight.” Your members giggled at his joke and one of them even calls it a ‘lover’s quarrel’. You didn’t dare look over at Jeno but you could feel his now-familiar gaze locked on you.

As your groups continued practicing together and the concert drew closer and closer, the tension between you and Jeno only grew worse, neither of you interacting with each other aside for during the dance itself. You found yourself itching to talk to him and tell him about the cute hat you saw in a store the other day, or how Soojin almost burnt the kitchen down while cooking dinner the week before. You didn’t have the guts to talk to Jeno, not when his jaw was squared shut and he wouldn’t even look at you unless it was during the dance.

During a break in one of the last rehearsals in Korea, you were playing around with your members and trying to do different tricks like backbends, roundhouses, aerials, and such. You knew these were Jeno’s specialty and you were taken aback when he didn’t come over to show off his skills and instead Jaemin did, though he was nowhere close to being as good as Jeno as he clumsily fell over from the handstand he was doing, causing you to have a fit of laughter.

Jeno doesn’t know why he feels so upset to see you laughing because of his groupmate and he especially doesn’t understand why he feels angry when Jaemin tries to spot you as you do a handstand and end up falling and dragging Jaemin down with you, both of you almost scream-laughing as your bodies lay tangled with each other.

It only gets worse when later that week, as Jeno is eating dinner with the other members, he sees Renjun’s phone light up showing a message from you telling him to enjoy his meal. Jeno didn’t even know the two of you had exchanged numbers and it was starting to drive him insane when your name kept popping up on Renjun’s phone throughout the night and not once on his own.

Renjun catches him staring, to which he leered, “what, lover boy? Are you mad that you can’t keep y/n all to yourself? Just relax, I’m only texting her to learn some phrases before the concert.” Jeno didn’t respond, not wanting to expose the fact that he didn’t even have you anymore, best friend or not.

He finished eating and excused himself from the table, leaving to go wallow in his own self-pity because he had unintentionally broken your friendship. He had realized his own feelings for you during that one dance practice but proceeded to distance himself from you out of fear that acting on his feelings would ruin your relationship, leading to the exact opposite to ruin it. Jeno cried himself to sleep that night hoping that the phrase ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ would hold true on your end, that you were missing him just as much as he was missing you.

The next time you saw Jeno was at the airport when all the company was getting ready to leave for your home country. He was wearing a simple outfit consisting of a plain black t-shirt with his black joggers along with a black snapback and his glasses to complete his plain yet oh so attractive full black outfit.

You were sitting in the lounge area with your members and one of them pointed him out and commented on how good he looks. You glanced over just in time to see him momentarily take his hat off and run a hand through his soft, light brown hair before placing his hat back on his head.

You felt a slight shiver go up through your spine as you watched him do such a simple action yet you were unnerved to hear that one of your members found him attractive even if you did too and you knew thousands of his fans did as well. Maybe distance made your heart grow fonder of him, given all the time the two of you spent away from each other and just wanting your best friend back. A few minutes later, after zoning out for a while, you were brought back to reality by your phone vibrating, showing three messages from Jaemin whose number you had gotten through Renjun.

Jaemin > y/n 8:16am: what rows do you guys have? 8:17am: we have 13 and 14. I’ll be sitting with Jisung 8:17am: he overpacked his snacks so now I have some of them. You’re more than welcome to come over and help yourself to them

Y/n > Jaemin 8:18am: we’re 16 and 17 8:18am: i’m not that hungry right now but I just stop by during the flight

You indeed took Jaemin up on his offer about halfway through the flight when your members were complaining about not liking the food being served. You mentioned how Jaemin had snacks he didn’t mind sharing and they immediately begged you to get them from him. You had forgotten to wear a hoodie so you were snuggled into the airline blanket for warmth, not wanting to leave your spot, but you ultimately lost a game of rock paper scissors so you had no other choice but to shake off the blanket and brace yourself for the cold.

As you trudged your way up a few rows, you easily find Jisung due to his large frame, though he was asleep while Jaemin was nowhere to be found, presumably having gone to the bathroom. You didn’t even bother looking around you to see where the other members were, your only goal in mind being the snacks in Jaemin’s bag because the quicker you found them, the quicker you could go back to your warm seat.

You opened up the overhead compartment and spotted Jaemin’s bag, though it was almost out of your reach. You raised yourself onto your tip-toes as you struggled to reach it when suddenly there was a warm hand on your waist and someone against your back. You froze, watching as the stranger easily grabbed the backpack and brought it down safely, handing it to you.

You turned around only to find Jeno looking down at you. It felt like a whole minute passed as you both just stared at each other, neither of you wanted to speak first, when really only a few seconds went by before Jaemin came walking down the aisle.

“Ah, y/n, you came!” He exclaimed, taking his backpack from your hold and unzipping it, “Sorry, I was in the bathroom, but I’m glad you were able to find my bag” he said, opening it up and showing you all the snacks he had. “Did you want some too, Jeno?” he asked, noticing Jeno’s presence behind you.

“No, I just came by to ask Jisung something,” he stated, “but I’ll come by later since he’s asleep” he said, already turning to walk back to his seat.

Once he was out of earshot, Jaemin sighed before telling you, “he’s been acting really weird lately. Even in the dorms, he’s all quiet and moody and none of us know why.”

“Maybe he’s on his man-period” you quipped while you took a few snacks from the bag while Jaemin rolled his eyes at your immature joke. You thanked him for the snacks and made your way back to your group members who were overjoyed when you handed them the bags of chips and dried fruit, all the bags opened within mere seconds. You only ate a bit, preferring to wait until you got to the hotel where you could eat room service food instead.

About an hour later, Soojin, who was sitting next to you, got up and told you she was going to the bathroom. You hum in response to let her know you heard. Not even a whole minute passes by before she sits back down next to you. You looked up from the game on your phone, asking her “did you even wash your hands-”, but you stopped midsentence when you realized you were looking at the face of Jeno, not Soojin.

Before you could say anything else, Jeno already blurted out the words, “I’m sorry.” You were still in shock, continuing to look at him with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights. Jeno continued on anyways, “look I know I’ve been really cold and distant towards you for the past few weeks but that’s because...because-,” you noticed him fidgeting with his hands and you shifted in your seat to face him and look him in the eyes, “because I have feelings for you” he said, his words coming out almost too fast for you to process.

“Y/n, I didn’t want my feelings to ruin our relationship because I truly do treasure what we had, or had, as best friends, yet I allowed myself to break us apart somehow and I really do feel like shit because of it-”

“Jeno, it’s okay-” you began, cutting him off.

“No, y/n, it’s not okay,” he interjected, resuming his previous thought, “especially since you are finally returning home after two years away, I want you to be happy during this time,” his hands now shifting to play with a loose thread hanging from his shirt, “and I want to be able to be with you and share that happiness because I still remember the broken-hearted girl who was crying by herself in the practice room from homesickness.”

“Jeno, I...wow, I don’t know what to say” you mumbled, letting yourself fall into your seat, your thoughts running wild in your head.

“I know this is extremely sudden, but I just want our old relationship back. I want to stand by your side and watch you smile. I won’t even bother asking you to be my girlfriend because I know you’re going to reject me so don’t worry about that” he stated, dejection obvious in his voice.

Your head snapped up to face him, “what if I told you that I wouldn’t reject you?” Now it was Jeno’s turn to be stunned speechless. “I need some time to think this, to think us over” you confessed, motioning between the two of you to get your point across. “I need time, but I’m willing to be friends first before anything else” you conclude.

Jeno was wringing out his hands and picking his nails while smiling as he whispered “thank you” before he froze when you pulled him into a hug.

“I missed you” you murmured into his ear.

Jeno allowed himself to sink into your embrace before telling you “I missed you too.”

Both of you stayed there, enjoying the feeling of finally holding each other after being apart for so long until you pulled away to grab your phone just as it was about to slide off your lap. The display lit up and you realized you’ve been talking to Jeno for well over ten minutes, which made you worry about Soojin as she still hasn’t returned from the bathroom yet.

“I think I’m gonna go check on Soojin” you said, taking the blanket off of you as you stood up from your seat.

Jeno grabbed your hand before you could step out into the aisle. “She’s in my seat with Chenle,” he reassured, “I ran into her when she was leaving the bathroom and I asked her if she’d be okay with staying with Chenle for a bit while I talk to you.” You peered over the rows in front of you, and you found Chenle’s blonde head indeed next to your leader just as she playfully shoved him, no doubt playing that kart rider game everyone was obsessed with recently.

As you sat back down, relieved at knowing Soojin was okay, you shivered due to the few seconds you were exposed to the cold air hitting your skin as you searched for her. You do your best to steel yourself and not show Jeno that you were cold, knowing that he’d scold you, but he already knew you’d be cold when he saw you in the airport only in a t-shirt and leggings.

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” he says, more of a rhetorical and sarcastic than anything, answering his own question muttering “of course you are” as he leans back to take off his hoodie, unintentionally flashing you his abs in the process causing both of you to shy away from each other as he hands you your saving grace of the flight. You gratefully took the hoodie from him, letting out a sigh of relief when you pull it down over your body and feel its warmth made from Jeno’s body heat.

Jeno stayed with you for the rest of the flight and only leaves to go back to his seat when the flight attendant announces that the plane will be landing shortly. Luckily, your members were asleep and hadn’t witnessed your exchange with Jeno but they knew something was up when they saw you in the hoodie you certainly did not have on earlier.

Soojin smiled at you as she returned to her seat, buckling herself in while telling you “I’m glad you and Jeno are talking again. Not gonna lie, it was pretty awkward during rehearsals.” She only chuckled when you shrunk into the hoodie, pulling the strings of the hood closed over your face to hide your embarrassment.

By the time you arrived at the hotel, you were dead tired. You just wanted to shower and go to sleep which is exactly what you do once you reach your shared hotel room with Soojin.

You crawled into your bed, freshly showered and already half-asleep, ready to succumb to your exhaustion. Right as you were about to doze off, you heard your phone go off, pulling you out of your near-sleeping state. You reached around for it and turned it on silent once you got your hands on it, reading the notification that had rudely awakened you.

Jeno > y/n 12:13am: You looked really tired earlier so I’m pretty sure you’re already sleeping, but I hope you rest well. Only one more rehearsal tomorrow (today? Because it’s already midnight??) and we’ll be performing in front of your friends and family the day after! Let’s do well :)

y/n > Jeno 12:16am: I was almost about to fall asleep but I’m not mad only because it’s you 12:17am: Let’s show them the most powerful best friend duo in the world

You saw that Jeno had immediately read your message but you didn’t bother waiting for his response, already drifting off to sleep once again, though you wouldn’t have gotten a response anyways because Jeno thought you just friend-zoned him.

From the start of your day, you were already swamped with activities, shooting tons of videos in your native language to thank your fans and prompt your group while also being an in-house translator for your other members as they shot their own individual videos. It wasn’t until after the full rehearsal started that you were finally allowed some time to slow down and rest. Your group had already finished the first performance in the show and now you were in the on-deck area waiting for NCT Dream to meet you guys for your short joint rehearsal before going on stage.

You heard them coming before you even see them, the infamous “hi everyone! This is Haechan cam with 37.5% viewer ratings” greeting ringing out from the hallway. You and your members didn’t know he’d be filming so you hadn’t done anything to take care of your appearances like hair and makeup but all of you respectfully stood up to greet him and the other Dream members.

Your members grumbled amongst themselves as Haechan left the camera filming during your on-stage rehearsal, saying how they hoped this section wouldn’t get aired because none of you looked good without your hair and makeup done as you all fell into formation. You hadn’t noticed Jeno’s presence behind you, “I think you look nice, don’t let the girls tell you otherwise”, his short affirmation startling you, barely having time to shoot him a quick smile before the music started playing.

You didn’t bother doing facial expressions since it was only a rehearsal and you already felt so drained. When it came time for the dreaded eye contact portion with Jeno, you were expecting the normal fierce look but instead, you were met with his eyes smile as he made faces at you, almost making you laugh. Jeno’s heart fluttered when he saw the grin you were holding back, happy that he was able to brighten your day, even if it was only for a few seconds. If this was all he could do to lift your mood, then that was what he would do.

The previous night, Jeno had convinced himself that no matter what happens between the two of you, friend zone or not, he was going to make sure you were happy and fully enjoyed this short trip because you deserved it. You were home, and home was the whole reason why he had met you crying in the practice room on that fateful night. He told himself that he’d deal with his own unrequited feelings later but for you, he’d temporarily push them aside so he could watch you flourish in the place you loved so dearly.

Bringing you back to the current moment, as you walk out across the stage alongside your members to meet the boys of Dream in the middle. You look into the ocean of people, admiring the colors of the lightsticks and their almost hypnotizing effect paired with the screams from the audience.

You are beyond nervous, Jeno could tell that much from the way you struggle to find his face, even more so to meet his eyes. During the performance, when you again gazed over at him, ready for his predatory look, you saw another batch of his funny expressions, though this time you didn’t try to hide the smile that crept onto your face as he ruined his image.

To Jeno, he doesn’t care about all the bad pictures he’d see of himself or the whooping he’d get from the performance directors later. He was willing to endure it all if it was for you.

By the end of the concert, you were spent, all your energy thrown out of your body from dancing and rapidly switching between languages to translate all too frequently. When you joined all the senior artists for the final stage, you let your body go on autopilot as you wandered around, trailing behind your group as you tried to read all the signs and banners the fans were holding up.

You were lost in your own world until you felt two very strong and familiar arms wrap around your waist, almost scaring you enough to jump off the edge of the stage. You hear Jeno’s laugh from behind you and you whip around ready to beat him up for nearly shoving you off the stage but you stop in your tracks when he extends his arms out to show you a large banner of your country’ flag with the words “We Love You Y/N” stitched onto it.

You felt your heart swell with pride as you immediately took the item from Jeno and turned to face the audience, doing your best to hold it up, though your arms alone weren’t enough. Jeno grabbed the end of the flag that was almost touching the ground as he laughed at you while helping you to fully show the flag and thank the fans.

After you let them take a few pictures, you wrapped it around your shoulders and happily skipped off to rejoin your group, Jeno hot on your tracks as all the artists go into a line to do the final bow all together. As you ran past your members, Jeno snatched onto you, pulling you into the line right where your two groups met, lacing his fingers with yours as you both raised your arms up to bow to the audience. If only both of you could feel what the other was feeling, you’d know that the tingle of excitement you both felt was not one-sided.

When everyone came together for the group picture, you ended up getting smashed between the countless members of NCT alongside Soojin whose hand you had grabbed onto during the bow. As the cameraman started to count down, you were suddenly lifted into the air, feeling hands on both sides of your hips. You looked down to see Jeno on one side and Soojin on the other as they held you up, causing your smile to grow wider just in time as the camera flashed.

After they put you down, you turned around and caught Soojin leaning it to whisper something into Jeno’s ear, a simple “I will” was all he said in response. Once Soojin had already walked away, you were about to ask Jeno what she said, but he acted faster, almost aggressively pulling you into a back-hug with on arm around your waist, the other being used to wave at fans and point out the signs with your name and pictures on them.

You don’t know if it’s the close proximity of your bodies or simply the excitement from being able to pick out your own fans and thank them, but you felt a rush of adrenaline as you walked with Jeno. You looked up at him, admiring his side profile, finally understanding why his fans always called him a prince as you felt your palms grow sweaty and your heart skip a beat. Maybe you had just realized your own feelings for Jeno.

Once the two-day concert was over, you stop by at your manager’s hotel room to ask if you were allowed to go out for the day, the urge to visit your hometown feeling stronger than ever. He graciously said yes, telling you to let him know if you needed any help and to be sure to take someone else along for safety measures. You thanked him and ran off towards the elevator, hitting the number of the floor you knew Jeno was on rather than heading back to your own.

You excitedly jogged down the hallway to his room and knocked on his door after double-checking his text message to make sure you had the right room. Jaemin opened the door, greeting you with his loud “ohoho!”

“Jaemin shut up, oh my gosh,’ you gasped, not wanting someone to file a noise complaint, “I’m here to ask Jeno about something.”

Jaemin pulled you into the room while yelling “yah, Jeno Lee, your girlfriend is here!” much to your embarrassment. Just as you were about to whine at him and deny Jaemin’s statement, you saw Jeno shoot up from where he was lying on his bed, grabbing the blanket in a failed effort to cover his naked torso and he flung himself off the bed, looking for a shirt to put on. You swear you could see a faint tinge of pink on his cheeks as he rummaged through his suitcase but you don’t know if it’s from the lighting of the room or if he’s actually blushing. You choose to believe the first option, not wanting to give yourself false hope.

You sat down on Jeno’s bed as you asked, “do you wanna go out with me?” to which Jeno froze in place as he tried to process your words. “I mean, would you like to go and spend the day with me because I want to go home and show you where I grew up” you blurted, quickly rephrasing your words as your own cheeks began to heat up.

Jeno only grunted a response, letting you know that he did want to go with you as he threw a shirt over his head. Jaemin let out a laugh of excitement while clapping his hands and squealing “eeheehee my babies are going on their first date together! Make sure to bring Nana some delicious snacks!”

“Yeah, we’ll get you the strawberry ones you love so much” Jeno said, causing Jaemin to pout as he flopped onto his bed. Before Jaemin could pester either of you any further, Jeno was already grabbing his things and pulling you out the door.

On the elevator ride down to the lobby, Jeno asked “so where exactly are we going today?” You pulled your phone out of your pocket and showed him pictures of your favorite restaurant from you old neighborhood as you searched up the directions on google maps. You started telling him about all the memories you had there and how good the food was, and though Jeno was listening to you, he was really only paying attention to your face. He loved the way the edges of your crinkled when you smiled, the was your eyes shone when you talked with so much excitement.

Once both of you were in one of the company vans and you had already given the directions to the staff member who’d be driving, you decided to take a nap in your seat, already dozing off before you had even left the hotel parking lot. Jeno took a moment to admire your sleeping form next to him, finding you just as beautiful as when you’re awake. He took a few pictures of you, not wanting to let this moment go to waste before he too allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

You woke up to Jeno gently shaking you and telling you that you’re outside the restaurant, your half-asleep state barely even remembering which country you were in. You took a few seconds as your brain started functioning again and you wasted no time in yanking the door open and thanking the staff member as you jumped out of the van, Jeno following your actions as you nearly ran into the restaurant.

The second you set foot through the entrance, the sounds and the smells brought back so many memories and you almost teared up though you quickly brushed it off as you switched into your native language and asked the hostess for a table for two. As you followed her through to all so familiar restaurant, Jeno looked around, admiring the artwork scattered across the walls as he said the phrase ‘so beautiful’ in your language.

You whipped around when you recognized the words he just whispered, “how do you even know how to say that?”

“Oh, I uh, learned it for you,” he stuttered sheepishly, his hand going to scratch the back of his head, “I wanted to be able to talk to you and the fans better so I’ve been learning it on the side” he explained, a slightly awkward silence falling upon both of you as you sat down at the table, thanking the hostess as she handed you the menus.

The silence was quickly broken when Jeno started asking you about the different dishes, his mind overloaded with the foreign language, and all the different options. You tried your best to explain them to him, though he ultimately ended up just letting you choose his food for him, trusting your judgment more than his at this point.

Lunch with Jeno consisted of him being amazed by the food and cutely repeating phrases you were teaching him and you taking pictures and videos of him, wanting to save this moment into your memories.

Once both of your stomachs were full and you had fought with Jeno over who’d be paying the bill, Jeno won, of course, you took a breath of fresh air as you walked out of the restaurant, reaching your arms up over your head while yawning as you felt the beginning of a food coma start to take form.

You made Jeno call the staff member to pick you up and take you to another location you thought Jeno would like as you skipped down the road to one of your favorite parks. He ended the call after he sent the address of the park and ran to catch up with you. You heard him coming so you kept skipping along until he got closer and suddenly stopped, essentially brake checking him and cracking up as he slammed into you, nearly knocking both of you to the floor.

As you grab onto him to stop him from actually falling face-first into the floor, you interlocked your fingers with his and pulled him over to the playground you used to hang out at with your friends all throughout elementary and middle school. It stopped before high school though because this was also where you had your first heartbreak the summer before your freshman year.

One humid summer night, you were here with your crush and you had finally worked up the guts to ask them out thanks to the confidence of starting a new chapter of your life. You were undeniably broken when they rejected you and walked away without even bothering to tell you why. You sat on the swing set, allowing your tears to fall in silence.

You tell this story to Jeno as you sit at that same swing set, his strong arms gently pushing you forward every so often. “How about I make this place a happier memory for you?” he suggests, moving to stand in front of you, his hands grabbing the chains of the swing to stop your momentum.

You let confusion overtake your face as your feet settle on the dirt beneath the swings, fully stopping your movement and looking up at Jeno. “Y/n, I just want you to know how utterly thankful I am to have met you,” he began, making sure to hold eye contact with you, “you’ve brought so much joy and happiness to me without even knowing it and i’m glad to be your best friend. I would’ve never thought that we’d become so close due to our backgrounds but that’s what makes our friendship so special.” He pauses, trying to carefully piece together his next sentence. “I know I told you that I have feelings for you, but even if I can only stay by your side as a friend, I’m more than happy to do just that as long as you are happy-”

You abruptly stand up, cutting him off midsentence as you let your hands go to his which were frozen in place from where he was previously anxiously playing with the hem of his shirt. “Jeno, I’d like to give us a chance.” His eyes widened as he looked at you, not believing what he was hearing. “I’d like to give us a chance if it’s okay with you” you confess as Jeno smiles at you before pulling you into his embrace.

You hug him back, letting yourself get lost in his scent, your head resting on his shoulder. “Does this mean I’m your girlfriend now?” you ask, giggling into his chest.

You lean back slightly to see him nod as he said “Y/n, the girlfriend to the one and only Lee Jeno”, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. He still held onto you, not even bothering to pull away when he pulls his phone out of his pocket to answer a call from the staff member who’d be picking you up.

Once he ends the call, he kept his phone out to check the time and you felt all giddy when you see that his wallpaper is a picture from the concert of him and Soojin holding you up as if you were Simba, your laughter caught and preserved in time. “You know, Jeno, one day I’m gonna be able to hold you up like that” you muse.

“Mmm, I wouldn’t set your hopes too high” he teases. You were about to hit him but he took off running towards the company van.

You chase after him yelling “Lee Jeno, this isn’t how you treat your girlfriend!”

He only laughs as he shouts back, “best friend first, girlfriend second” causing you to roll your eyes as you continue to run after him.

A/N - this is inspired by a dream i had two months ago so it’s not really the best storyline lmao but let me know what you guys think. character inspo drawn from @t-aeycng​ as Soojin because she is truly a wonderful person and you should definitely check out her work as well

@nct-writers​

[preciouspeterbparker]

the warmest bed i’ve ever known

finally got this bitch finished! 

based on “tis the damn season” by taylor swift. i was also listening to the phoebe bridgers cover of “christmas song”, “last christmas” cover by pale waves (recorded @ spotify), and “home alone, too” by the staves 

also this is only my 2nd time writing starker so lmk what you think plz?

happy holidays! - bloo

word count: 6.07k. this was intended to basically be a porny blurb...instead there’s so much fucking plot it’s probably overwhelming and minimal porn. i’m sorry

warnings: angst, depression & anxiety, drug use (that good kush ft some hotboxing & shotgunning), smut, character death (not tony or peter), tony’s kind of country lmao. despite all the aforementioned things, there is in fact a happy ending! 

summary: peter makes the trip back home for christmas and once again finds himself caught up in deep brown eyes and a charming smile. tis the damn season. 

Peter had forgotten how cold New York winters were. He’d grown used to the year-long warmth of Los Angeles. He supposed the cold was appropriate- it was as if the weather was in cahoots with the solid, frigid thing that was sitting in the pit of his stomach. The last time he’d spent Christmas in Aurora, the last time he’d seen him… Tony.

Just thinking the other man’s name made Peter flex his hands anxiously as he slid out of the driver’s seat of his black Mercedes AMG GT into the amber glow of the streetlight, gently shutting the door closed behind him, still in the overly cautious period of owning the new car. He wondered what Tony would think of it. Last time Peter had come home, he was still driving May’s old Subaru. It’d been almost 2 years to the day, now, which felt like both a century and no time at all. He wished it wasn’t so hard. He wished they hadn’t been caught in this song & dance for so long. It seemed like no matter how good Peter’s intentions, it always came down to one thing: he was so damn scared. He always ran away, no matter how badly he wanted to stay. 

Scuffing a boot through the slush in the street, the brunette straightened his shoulders and made his way toward the brick building, a quick smile quirking half his mouth up as he read the neon red sign above the closed garage door. Stark’s. Memories came flooding back, the countless nights he spent cooped up in the little shop during high school, sketching elaborate ensembles and daydreaming about having his very first collection while surrounded by the smell of motor oil and the sounds of tinkering. The bell above the door jingled merrily as Peter stepped through and wiped his feet on the mat. The pleasant sound of Frank Sinatra crooning the words of “The Christmas Waltz” met his ears. Another small smile flitted over Peter’s face. That was something that tended to happen when he was around Tony. 

“Just a second,” came the slightly muffled voice, a little strained. The man in question was bent over, headfirst in the engine of his old 1979 Chevy C10, the one he’d gotten senior year of highschool. The collar of a heather grey henley peeked out from under a deep red and green plaid flannel stretched over his shoulders as he leaned a little further under the hood, using a wrench to tighten what looked to be a lugnut to Peter from his spot by the door, too nervous to go further inside. 

“I can wait,” Peter replied softly, trying not to stare at Tony’s jean-clad ass and anxious of the older boy man’s reaction. (It looked like Tony had done a lot of growing up over the past two years, no longer the boy he remembered. Peter supposed the same could be said about himself in a way, though he wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse.)

And apparently he was right to be cautious.

Tony promptly smacked his head on the underside of the hood as he jerked upright at the sound of Peter’s voice. “Fuck.”  Moving more carefully, Tony stood upright and turned around, his dark eyes wide. “Peter,” he said, visibly and audibly surprised. To be honest, it hurt Peter a little bit, how surprised he sounded. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Did they not do this nearly every year over the past seven? Had- Oh god, had something changed? Fuck, did Tony finally get tired of-  Had he found-

Peter resolutely cut that train of thought off before he could panic. “Hi, Tony.” He swallowed drily, making eye contact for a moment, before casting his eyes away only for them to make their way back to the open face in front of him. “Think you have time for a quick bite to eat?” He slipped his left hand into the pocket of the new, warm wool coat he bought expressly for this trip. “It’s almost dinner time. And I have a treat,” he intoned, tapping his right pointer and middle fingers against his lips.

Tony beamed and immediately reached for a shop rag to wipe his hands, the black grease and oil smearing on the probably-used-to-be-white-at-some-point fabric. One of those hands came up to scratch at his facial hair, a new addition that made something simmer deep in Peter’s gut. The older man's brown eyes twinkled as he paused to glance at Peter. “You had me at ‘hi, Tony.’” He then proceeded to move about the shop, swiping his phone from atop a chest of metal drawers, Sinatra’s voice coming to an abrupt stop. He pulled on his old lined jean jacket (the one Peter was constantly mending in high school; now it just had small tears in some places, and what appeared to be Tony’s d-i-y patchwork in others). The sign on the front door was flipped to ‘closed’ and Tony pulled a keyring from his belt loop, locking it and flicking off the lights. The streetlights outside the building and the colorful holiday lights strung along the edge of the roof provided just enough light for them to be able to clearly see each other, the sun having set early, around four o’clock. Peter had forgotten about that as well. 

He moved to grab his car keys from a pocket but Tony spoke up, patting the dark green paint of his truck’s hood and walking over to the garage door. His hand hovered over the button that would open it. “Actually, I just finished giving Delilah a tuneup, mind if we take ‘er for a spin?” 

“Sure,” Peter agreed without hesitation, still feeling relieved (and grateful) that his invitation was accepted. 

Tony pushed his palm against the button and paused to do a double-take after the metal door lifted completely. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Peter’s car parked in the small lot beside the shop. “Damn, L.A.. Not worried about your fancy new car?” His tone was slightly teasing, but there was a bit of shock mixed with something else as well, and it caused Peter to go hot, feeling insecure. (What if Tony didn’t like who Peter was, now? Peter didn’t exactly like who he was now.) Tony must’ve noticed his discomfort, because he cracked a grin and bumped his shoulder against Peter’s as he made his way to the driver’s side, yanking the door open. “C’mon, Parker, ‘m just fuckin’ with you. Hop in - how’da some burgers from Delmar’s an’ a trip out to the field sound?” 

***

They grabbed food from the hole-in-the-wall diner down the road (the one where sixteen year-old Peter burned the shit out of his hand on his first day and promptly quit) and once they were bundled back in the truck with their burgers, fries and one banana milkshake (“yeah, but these are your favorite,” Tony had said in response to Peter’s exclamation that it was too cold out), Tony drove them out to the field behind the old high school. He parked the car under the lamppost, leaving it running in order to keep the heat on. His thick mechanic’s fingers began to fiddle with the temperature controls. Nat King Cole was playing quietly on the radio. 

Peter shifted the paper bag of food in his lap, searching for words but not knowing what to say, and plucked the joint and lighter from his coat. The paper-covered filter found its way between his lips and he inhaled softly as he lit the tip. Satisfied with the light, he french inhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. The first hit was always the best. Peter loved the way he could feel it all the way in his bones. He didn’t know how to describe it other than deep. When he opened them, he made eye contact with Tony in the dim light, and immediately cut his gaze away as he felt the heat rush to his face. He could feel when Tony looked away a moment later.

The lull continued and Peter gingerly held the joint between his fingertips as he exhaled, hand outstretched.  

Worn fingers plucked it away, and Peter’s eyes were immediately drawn to the slightly chapped lips that wrapped themselves around the filter. “You stayin’ at um, at May's...old place?” Tony faltered as he inhaled, as if he wasn't sure what the most sensitive way to talk about it was. 

“Yeah," Peter said softly as he looked down at his lap. Spending his first night in the house alone last night had made him feel the loneliest he'd ever been in his life, and that was saying something because he’d been feeling pretty miserable lately. Peter saw May everywhere he looked, waiting to hear her call for him to come taste some new-fangled recipe from the kitchen, or to please, for the hundredth time, rinse the dishes before he put them in the sink. He missed her more than he thought possible, her death earth-shattering after having already lost Ben when he was 17, back when this mess all started. When he left for the first time. When he started running away. “It’s- It’s weird but I’m...adjusting. It’s honestly not that different to when she was alive, though. Y’know- recently.” He cut himself off, not sure if he wanted Tony to know the full reality of his existence, now. 

Because it was true. It killed Peter to admit it, but his relationship with Aunt May started going downhill around the time of Ben’s death, too. By the time she had her heart attack a little more than two years ago, he hadn’t seen her in over a year, or talked to her in nearly as long. It was the biggest regret of his life, pushing May away; the second was the way he essentially did the same thing to Tony, however drawn-out it had been. 

Peter reached out for the joint and his fingers brushed against Tony’s, sending a jolt up his spine. “How,” Peter started, swallowing as he twiddled the lighter between his fingers not holding the joint. “How’ve you been, Tony?” He was scared to ask what he really wanted to know. Have you finally had enough? Did you stop waiting on me? Am I too late? To distract himself a bit, he cracked the window so he could ash the joint before taking another drag. 

"Same ol’, same ol’,” came Tony’s reply, his voice weary. “I mean, you already know this, but nothin’ really changes here." The quiet way he said it was slightly self-deprecating and the younger man hated it, hated that he had something to do with it. (Peter remembered the way he spat the words at Tony in the wee hours of the morning oh so long ago. "I've gotta get out of this fucking town- I can’t stay here, Tony! You might be okay dying here, a nobody with nothing, but I'm not!")

That’s why I had to leave, he thought, chest tightening. I was trapped in this town. It was never you, Tony. You were perfect. You’re perfect. 

"..Yeah," is what came out instead. Peter took another hit before he handed the joint back to Tony and began rifling through the grease-splotched bag, passing the older man his burger before unwrapping his own. He took the top bun off in order to lay down a handful of fries from the bag, smooshing the top back on afterwards. A moan left Peter’s mouth at the first bite, and he heard a chuckle bubble up from Tony’s chest. (He would never admit it, especially not to anyone back in L.A., anyone who didn’t know him before, but this was his favorite meal in the world.)

“Funny that you still do that. So, um,” Tony began again, stuffing a few fries in his mouth and chewing as he spoke out the side of his mouth. “I saw your new collection. It looked nice.” He licked a bit of salt off his thumb. 

Peter’s ears burned as he swallowed his bite and raised an eyebrow at the man across from him. “You pay attention to fashion, now?” He fought off a smile at the thought of Tony delicately flipping through the pages of a high-fashion magazine. 

“Not like- I’ve tried to keep up with your work,” Tony mumbled, swallowing, his own face taking on a bit of a rosy-hue. “Like to know what you're up to all the way out there.” The joint touched his lips for a few seconds before it made its way back to Peter’s fingers. “I do know how Google works.” 

Peter shivered as he felt something flutter in the pit of his stomach at the salt grains that touched his tongue when he took his next pull. “Tastes like salt,” he breathed on the exhale, locking eyes with Tony through the smoke that had accumulated in the car. 

Something flashed in the older man’s eyes as he stole the weed back and took a large hit, crooking his salt-sprinkled fingers to beckon Peter closer. 

Peter’s own reddened eyes widened when he caught on to what Tony wanted, his heart picking up speed. They hadn’t done that in years. Still clutching his burger in his left hand, he used the right to support himself as he leaned over the console to press his mouth against Tony’s. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, fighting the urge to slip his tongue somewhere it didn’t belong. One of Tony’s hands came up to pull his head closer for a moment, his tongue having the same idea as Peter’s, causing him to whine into Tony’s mouth. His pants were getting tight as he licked right back in response, feeling a slight burn from exhaling through his nose. He missed this. Nobody kissed him like Tony did-

“Shit!” Tony pulled away sharply, and Peter’s heart stopped for a second. But when he realized what was happening, he couldn’t contain the surprised cackle that erupted as he saw the joint land in the other man’s lap. “Quit it,” was Tony’s reply, though he was grinning as he said it. He grabbed what was left of the joint off his jeans and stubbed it out the rest of the way on the dashboard. “It burned my fuckin’ finger.”

“Oh poor baby,” Peter shot back, shifting in his seat and taking another bite of his burger. He willed the slight chub to go away, but knew it was a lost cause. He pretty much signed up for it; he was always turned on when he was high around Tony (and most of the time when he was sober, too). Some kind of conditioning or something, he thought deliriously. 

“Ya better hush up, Parker,” Tony snarked and dipped some fries into Peter’s banana shake. He rolled his neck a bit, reaching for his burger. “So, kid. Tell me ‘bout L.A..”

***

Peter was basking peacefully in his high, humming along to whatever was playing through the speakers. He and Tony had both finished their food, chatting about this and that, but nothing of real substance, their earlier stilted conversation far from their minds. Shooting the shit, as Tony called it, over some weed and a meal was their normal routine when they were younger, and it came as naturally as breathing. Peter had never met anyone else he could simply coexist with on this level, simply enjoying the other’s presence for what it was. I love you, he thought as he looked at Tony, who was leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed and nodding his head along with the beat. I’m so in love with you and it scares the shit out of me. 

The younger man’s eyes roved over Tony’s face as his mind raced. What was he doing? Would something be different this time? He wasn’t that angry seventeen year old anymore- now he was twenty-four, clinically depressed, and living someone else’s life. Would it be so bad to finally leave that all behind, to finally let himself have what he’s denied himself for so long? Didn’t he deserve to be happy, after all this pain? And even if it wasn’t in the cards for them, if Peter was destined to be alone, wouldn’t even the most miniscule amount of time with Tony be worth it? 

Tony’s gravelly voice startled him back to the present. “I should probably be gettin’ you home, huh, Peter?” The bearded man opened his eyes and began sitting up, turning to look at him. The expression on his face was unreadable, and Peter didn’t know if he should agree or protest, so he merely lifted a shoulder in faux indifference, shooting Tony a half-smile.

Please, call me Pete… Just Pete, Peter begged in his head. Tony calling him by his full name made the ugly thing in his chest wriggle uncomfortably. Last time he was home, before he said those awful things, Tony hadn’t called him Peter in years. Yet another beautiful thing that he’d taken for granted and ruined for himself. 

“Could also drive around for a bit if you wanted, see some lights.” Damn Tony and his ability to read Peter so well. The suggestion was soft, and he looked down as he said it, almost as if he was feeling shy. 

Peter shook his head minutely and shifted a little in his seat, gently biting his lip. “I’m getting a little tired, haven’t smoked in a while,” he lied through his teeth, but the smile on his face was real this time. 

Tony grinned right back at him.

(“What would we even do on a date? There’s nothing to do here, Tony,” Peter said with a laugh. “I dunno,” Tony replied, snuggling the lighter-haired teenager closer into his chest as they snuggled on the couch. “We could go look at the Christmas lights, get some hot chocolate… I could tie some mistletoe to the mirror in the truck. There’d be sum kissin’ involved….” He trailed off as Peter’s lips found his own. “Or we could do the kissin’ right here,” he murmured, sinking into the kiss.)

***

The drive back to May’s house was spent with Tony catching Peter up on everyone in town as they passed various houses. (“Remember Happy Hogan, the butcher?? Him an’ that pretty florist, Ms. Potts, got married last year. Think they’re havin’ a baby,last I heard.” “Rhodey’s mama died this spring, she got cancer, but he an’ Mr. Rhodes still live out here now that Rhodey’s moved home. Honorable discharge last fall. Done got himself a new girlfriend now too, Carol; he met ‘er in the Air Force.  She’s a sweet one, I think you’d like ‘er.”) 

When they pulled into the driveway, Tony cut the engine and hopped out. Peter did the same, grabbing the bag with their trash and patting his pocket, double-checking for his keys and lighter. He stepped around Tony, who had stopped at the bottom of the front steps, and walked up to the door, fumbling for a minute with his keys under the porch light to find the right one (it had robin’s egg blue polka-dots of May’s favorite nail polish). Tony’s footsteps followed him up the stairs. 

Peter stuck the key in the lock and opened the door a crack before turning to face the taller man. “So.”

Tony’s eyes searched his own as they gazed at one another. “So,” he parroted back. His index finger went up to rub at his nose as he took a hard sniff in. There was a beat of silence. “Thanks for the joint, and uh, the company. It was good seein’ you,” he said at last, a hint of his signature lopsided grin curving his lips. 

Peter felt the goodbye that was coming before it even left Tony’s mouth, and something in him broke. “Don’t leave me here alone.” The words came out of Peter’s mouth in a mumble, and suddenly he couldn’t make eye contact with Tony, losing focus and staring at his own feet instead. He felt the harsh burning of tears as it hit him again just how alone he was about to be when he walked inside, how alone he already was. He was always so fucking alone. 

Even in L.A., so much bigger than fucking Aurora, New York, surrounded by thousands of people, Peter still felt invisible, insignificant. He had no friends. Sure, he had a publicist, and connections, and celebrity acquaintances & clientele. But without his money and his clothes, what would he have? What did he have when he was just Peter Parker, rather than Peter Benjamin, semi-famous designer? Nothing. (When he got the call about May, and he’d broken down in the bathroom during a business meeting with representatives for Tom Ford, he realized he had no one to call. No one to comfort him or tell him it would be okay. He’d sobbed into his pillow that night, screaming his throat raw with Tony’s number punched into his phone, ready to be dialed. He never called.) He had nothing and no one, and it was all his fault because he was so stupid, and maybe this is just what he deserved. If he hadn’t pushed everyone-

“Hey- Hey, Peter, no. Never,” Tony was saying gently, cautiously pulling Peter into his strong arms and out of his anxiety attack. “‘m not goin’ anywhere if y’don’t want me to, baby.” He tucked Peter’s head under his chin, a chill running down his spine due to the chilly evening air. “S’okay, everythin’s okay.” 

Peter sucked in a deep breath through his mouth, trying to calm himself. His forehead dug into Tony’s shoulder painfully but it helped to ground him. The soothing sensation of Tony’s fingers tracing circles on his back helped, too. Peter’s breath was still hitching every so often, so he shut his eyes and tried to synch his breathing with Tony’s. It felt so nice to just be this close to someone- Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held. Tony had probably been the last one to do it, though. (He’d had sex in L.A. of course, but it was all superficial. Nothing real. Nothing like what he had with Tony- not even close.) Shifting slightly, he buried his nose in the crook of Tony’s neck, searching unconsciously for the smell he loved so much; a mix of gasoline, teakwood, and something smoky. The scent sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, and that hot feeling simmered in his stomach again. He’d always joked that he would bottle Tony’s smell if he could. Tony would just laugh and jokingly tease Peter for always having his nose in his neck or armpit.

Now Tony just hummed lightly in response, tightening his hold for a moment before relaxing. “‘Yer’okay,” he whispered, once he could feel that Peter’s breathing had evened out for the most part. 

Peter pulled back a bit and stared at a spot in the middle of Tony’s chest, thinking. He decided to go for it. Worst that could happen was Tony saying no, and leaving Peter here alone, but he knew he’d end up alone eventually. But he’d delay the inevitable as long as he could.  “Kiss me, T,” he said quietly, leaning in before he could change his mind. His lips brushed Tony’s and he pulled back, trying not to go cross eyed looking into the other’s eyes. “I don’t wanna be alone anymore.”

Tony stared at him for a moment before their mouths met again, and Peter nipped gently at his lip before clumsily walking backwards through the cracked front door, pulling Tony with him with their mouths still connected. Tony’s foot kicked it closed behind them, bathing them in darkness, and he tripped a bit when Peter clutched at the lapels of his jacket a little too hard. Cursing under his breath, he leaned back against the door and tugged Peter along, using the support behind him to balance as he toed his boots off. They disconnected momentarily as the shorter man did the same, hands still gripping the denim. 

Peter licked his lip as they stood in the dark entryway. Looking up at Tony, he shrugged his coat off, letting it fall to the hardwood floor beneath them. He reached out and gently pushed the denim jacket off the taller man’s shoulders too before leaning in, stopping just before their lips made contact. “Come upstairs with me,” he whispered. 

Tony’s mocha eyes flitted around for a minute, searching his face for something. Peter couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw, but Tony kissed him again before taking his hand. “Your room,” he questioned, taking hold of the banister and leading Peter up the stairs. 

***

“Fuck, Tony. Right there, right there, ohhhhh.” Peter was on his back with one leg thrown over Tony’s shoulder and the other bent off to the side, the ball of his foot pushing into the mattress. The mechanic’s uncut cock was stretching his lubed hole. Tony was leaning over him and one of his hands was clutching at Peter’s hip, the other at the leg up by his face. His facial hair scratched deliciously against the pale skin on the inside of Peter’s knee as he pressed a kiss there. 

(Tony had kissed and licked and sucked praises into the skin of his neck, chest, stomach and thighs as he’d fingered him open at a torturously slow pace. “So good fer me, Pete. Look at you. You’re so goddamn beautiful.” Peter had whimpered and whined the whole time as he tried to fuck himself on the thick digits whose pads were caressing his prostate.) 

A moan left the older man’s lips as he looked into Peter’s eyes. “You feel so good, baby. Always feel so- fuckin’- good,” he grunted, thrusting further in the tight, wet heat. “Love fuckin’ your ass.”  He dug his fingers tighter into Peter’s skin, sure to leave bruises. 

Gasping, Peter arched his hips up, toes curling, cock bobbing against his stomach with every thrust. He could feel Tony deep inside him, in that place that only he had ever been able to reach. Fuck, why had he ever let this go? Never letting you go again, Tony. You can’t leave me alone. I need you. I love you. He whined, baring his neck in a silent plea and bringing his leg down so that both were wrapped around the man’s thick waist. Tony reacted accordingly; his hands moved up to clutch at Peter’s near the headboard and his mouth latched onto the column of Peter’s neck, sucking. A wounded noise escaped Peter, his hole clenching, and Tony bit down harshly at the sensation. Peter keened again, going limp on the mattress as his legs fell open to the side. “Shit, Tony, god!” 

Hot, wet breath tickled Peter’s neck with every ragged exhale that left Tony’s mouth, causing the smaller to whine lewdly, squirming. “Yeah? Are you- mine? Y’gon be mine- huh, Pete?” Peter heard the unspoken question, the twinge of desperation in Tony’s voice. Will you finally be mine? He sounded tired, that deep-in-your-bones type weariness, Peter noticed as he felt his own chest start to get tight. He’d really done a number on the person who deserved it the least. And for what? To come crawling back years later, expecting to be forgiven? 

Yes, he thought in response to Tony’s question, hating himself for it. One of his hands tangled itself in the crown of Tony’s head, fingers pulling the strands at the root possessively as teeth sunk into his neck again. Yours. Always yours. He let out another moan, rolling his hips in an attempt to get some friction on his neglected cock that was weeping precum as Tony continued to thrust in and out of him. “Please, please- Tony, please.” If Peter had any shame left, he’d probably be blushing at how needy and wrecked he sounded. Instead it just turned him on, knowing just how gone he was for the other man. 

With a grunt, Tony redistributed his weight and brought two fingers to Peter’s lips. “Open up fer a minute, baby,” he requested softly, slipping the digits inside. Peter laved them with his tongue, coating them with thick saliva and Tony groaned at the feeling, dick twitching in Peter’s ass. Once they were sufficiently wet, he pulled his fingers away, a thin string of drool stretching to connect them to Peter’s slick lips. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, Pete, Christ.” His calloused hand wrapped loosely around the hot, rosy cock between them. “Fuck my hand, baby.” 

Peter complied without hesitation, rocking his hips and pressing his shaft in and out of the slick tunnel that was Tony’s hand. He cried out when Tony’s thumb caressed the underside of the head as the cock inside of him nailed directly into his prostate. The pressure had already been a lot, but the pleasure was suddenly overwhelming in a new way. He was so close and Tony hadn’t even been touching him for thirty seconds. “F-fuck, Tony, I’m gonna- Ahhhhh-”  

“Yeah, cum for me, Pete,” Tony’s warm breath heaved into his ear, tongue sneaking out to lick the outer shell and dip inside briefly at the same time he tightened his grip on Peter’s sensitive member.  “Fuck, cum for me, baby, cum on my- Cum on my cock- God-.” 

And with a cry, Peter did just that, biting into Tony’s shoulder as the tension in his gut snapped, hole twitch relentlessly around the hard cock inside him as his own shot spurt after spurt of hot cum on his chest; some reached the hollow of his throat and his chin. “God, Tony, shit, shit, shit.” 

“Yesssss, Pete, holy fuck.” Tony buried himself inside one last time, his mouth latching onto the column of Peter’s neck as he reached his orgasm, shoving himself inside as deep as possible. His dick twitched, painting Peter’s insides with his spend and making him groan. 

They stayed that way for a moment before Tony pulled back to look into Peter’s eyes. “Lemme clean’ya up,” he offered gently as he carefully pulled his softening cock out of the heat of the younger man’s ass. There was a slight burbling sound, and he brushed his lips against Peter’s when he saw the embarrassment flash across his face. “Hol’ on.” Climbing out of the bed, he made his way to the bathroom that was adjoined to Peter’s room.

Peter’s heart was beating uncomfortably in his chest as he lay among the sheets, bringing his hands up to his chest to fiddle with each other anxiously. It couldn’t be over. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. He wasn’t ready to be alone again. 

When Tony walked back in, he got back on the bed, gently wiping the cum off Peter’s chest with a warm rag, smirking at the full-body shivers that ran through the young man in response to the cloth being swiped lightly over his nipples. Once his chest was clean, Tony moved down to run the fabric between Peter’s ass cheeks, collecting the milky-white substance that was leaking out of the hole. 

“Stay,” Peter whispered, once Tony had thrown the washcloth in the hamper and climbed back into bed at Peter’s invitation of patting the spot beside himself in bed. He wiggled so that his back was pressed up against Tony’s front. His fingers tangled themselves with those on a slightly larger hand and as he let his eyes slip shut, he felt Tony’s lips press a kiss into the sweaty curls at the back of his head. 

*** 

When Peter woke up, it was well past noon. The bed was so warm that the heat from his and Tony’s bodies trapped up under the fluffy comforter would be sweltering if he didn’t crave it so much. 

Peter swallowed drily as he looked at Tony’s face in the afternoon light, peaceful in sleep. At some point during their sleep, they had shifted to where they were facing each other. He wanted to trace his fingers along the strong facial features in front of him, but he refrained, not wanting to wake the older man. He knew he needed to talk to Tony. He knew that Tony deserved better. But maybe Peter could be selfish just this once... It was Christmas after all. Tis the damn season and all that. 

Leaning forward, with a hand pressed gently against Tony’s chest, Peter pecked his lips against the sleeping man’s in a kiss. He got no response, so he did it again, adding a little more pressure. Tony began to stir; his arm wrapped lazily around Peter’s naked waist, pulling their bottom halves together. 

“G’mornin’,” Tony mumbled sleepily as he blinked a few times before his gaze focused on Peter. His voice was scratchy and rough, and Peter’s hips jerked slightly in response as he whispered back his own greeting, partially because Tony had begun to get hard. The mechanic brought up a hand and took hold of Peter’s chin, pulling their mouths together as he ground their burgeoning erections together. 

Peter wrapped a leg around Tony’s waist as they lay there on their sides and began to gently rock his hips. “Tony,” he mewled, eyes screwed shut. The words were bubbling up inside him, just like the arousal was blooming in his gut. One of his arms wrapped around Tony’s neck, pulling their bodies together as close as they could get. 

“Yeah,” came Tony’s breathy reply. His eyes were roving over Peter’s flushed face as he undulated his own hips, thumb coming up to press against the younger’s spit-slick bottom lip. “Whadisit?”

Peter took the digit into his mouth for a moment and they made eye contact as he swirled his tongue around the tip, fellating it. He released it from his mouth with a pop, biting his own lip. “Am I too late,” he asked quietly, burying his face in the muscled chest before him, pecking tender kisses on the heated flesh. “Do you still love me?” His voice shook as he continued, breath faltering as well as the sensations built up. He squeezed his eyes shut even though Tony couldn’t see the tears building in his eyes as he chased his pleasure, preparing for the inevitable pain that was sure to follow. 

“Pete.” The way Tony said his name was reverent, like he didn’t see Peter for the walking mistake that he was. He was breathing heavier now, too, with the exertion of frotting their hard cocks together. “How could I ever stop, baby?” He craned his neck in order to meet Peter’s eyes. “Was just waitin’ on ya t’come home.” He pressed their lips together as Peter’s leg tightened around his waist. “Was always just waitin’ on ya t’come home,” he repeated. A particularly hard thrust had them both groaning, clutching desperately at each other as they chased that euphoric feeling. “’Course I love you, Peter. Now cum for me.”

Peter couldn’t help but obey as a sob burst from his lips, Tony following him over the edge. “I love you,” he cried, as their bodies shook together. “I’m s-sorry Tony, I love you- Don’t go, don’t ever leave me. I won’t- I promise I won’t go again. I can’t go again, I can’t leave you again. I won’t.” Tony’s thumbs came up to wipe the tears from under his eyes, and a kiss was pressed to his temple as he felt himself be pulled into those strong arms. 

“I’d never leave you, Pete.”

***

The bed was cold when Peter woke again. He lay there, watching the sunset through his bedroom window. Gentle creaks could be heard as the house groaned under pressure from the falling snow. He rolled over, grimacing at the pain in his lower half and pulling a pillow to his chest. It still smelled of teakwood, smoke, and gasoline. He smiled, burying his face further into the intoxicating scent. “I love you,” he whispered to the empty house, feeling lighter than he had in years. 

(Yes, the bed was cold, now. But Tony would be back to warm it up. And he’d have burgers, fries, and a banana milkshake when he returned. Maybe even a joint. Peter was glad he didn’t have to wait long. They’d had just about enough of that over the past seven years.)