#cool cool cool yeah for sure for sure for sure

[azullumi]

LOSER IN LOVE ? NAH, I’D WIN !!

a guide to being in a relationship with your local chrysos heir, phainon | established relationship, fluff, boyfriend headcanons, phainon is the sweetest ever, this is my coping mechanism after all that angst | wc: 1.2k

note from me — tweaking so bad i wrote this in an hour while waiting for maintenance

Give it up for the world’s greenest flag ever, even the most lustrous and beautiful of grass would be put to shame in front of him. No one will ever be the nameless hero, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

You never have to beg nor plead in front of him, he’ll let the world roll on your feet if it needs to. He’ll give you anything that you ask for or even mention in passing; that one vase you think is cool even though it won’t match your furniture? Bought and delivered to your door by yours truly. How about that dumb painting that looks funny but is too expensive? Yeah, he bargained like a professional. You want his door? Sure, go ahead, he doesn’t need that—oh, you were joking?

Sometimes it becomes too much that you have to tell him, “…And no, I don’t need it. I just like seeing it.” Or whatever you could come up with just to stop the gears of his mind from turning.

IS GOOD WITH KIDS !! He’s so well-known in the small community of children for how understanding and amazing he is, how he’s able to easily get along with them (even the grumpest ones), as he is able to catch up with their tricks and games. Other than that, they also know how he’s so in love with you. Like deeply in love with you even the children know it—some of them are disgusted (because cringe, ew, what is love?) and some listen to him talk about you with a sparkle in their eyes.

You didn’t even have to introduce yourself to them, they already know who you are. They know you before you know them, they have seen you despite never having met you. “Mister Phainon said that you have stars in your eyes and that not even the greatest of bards can compare to the melodies of your voice! He also said your hair is—“ The little girl is stopped by the snow-haired man beside you, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips. Are you embarrassed, ashamed, angry, or none of those things? Nevertheless, he gets a pinch on his cheek as he surrenders, both hands up in the air. Apologies slipped past his lips, compliments smoothly mixed into it: “I’m so sorry, you’re just so lov—OW!”

HORRENDOUS FASHION TASTE, however. You are not Lady Aglaea, but you have the eyes to see and judge the atrocity of combination presented and worn by your lovely boyfriend. “Take it off.” You say, and he blushes like a virgin who’s finally getting it: “W-Wait, we possibly can’t do it, not when there’s people around.” NOT LIKE THAT!! The redness of your face covered by your palms is all he sees. Oh dear, you know he wishes to simply wear all his favorite colors at once, but at this rate, he’ll look like a walking decorative pine tree meant to represent the spirit of holidays.

On the topic of clothes, the two of you match often. Colors, patterns, and everything that you can, and sometimes, it’s not limited to clothes. Bracelets, necklaces that spell out each other’s initials, teleslate charms, wallpapers, and everything. You and him are like pieces of puzzles that are meant to complete each other, because it really is like that. You and Phainon are the embodiment of one another, tangled in the strings, destinies carved by the sun to be together, hearts burned to beat into one.

SPARRING MATCHES AND FRIENDLY COMPETITIONS which always end up giggles and fits of laughter. In play-wrestling, he often lets you win, allowing you to to tackle him to the ground while you grin above him, teasing him of his title and his strength. “Oh, yeah?” Is all he says before your world spins and your positions are now reversed.

Beyond those things, he is the type to serenade you in the kitchen while humming or under the moonlight when the stars are watching. The type to have your date already planned to every detail and only tells you that you just have to show up (he’ll pick you up even). The type to give you your favorite flowers even though you never told him. The type to leave notes all over your home, letting you play into some scavenger hunt game until you end up in his arms, right where you belong. The type to be overly worried and anxious whenever he has to leave, knowing that it could take a long time and he might not see you for days, so he entrusts you into the hands of his trusted friends—“Phainon had asked me to bring this to you, he mentioned you were craving for it.” ; “Snowy asked us to ensure that you’re eating well!” ; “Here, it will help you fall asleep and he says you will need it the most.”

It’s stupid, and it makes you more fearful, and he has to reassure and comfort you through tears when he has come home because it felt like he wasn’t going to. “You made it feel like you’re going to die!” You sob, smacking his chest and he accepts it—your pain, anger, sadness, everything, he’ll take it.

Kisses? Showering you with it always, especially when the both of you are alone. He loves it when you do the same for him too—stain him with the marks of your affection, won’t you? Additionally, he likes to kiss you and interrupt each of your every word until it dissolves on his tongue and you give in to his warmth.

Hands? All over you already. It is for sure that physical touch along with acts of service ranks the highest on his love language chart. Your hands are always intertwined with his, he would always give you pats or ruffle your hair into a mess because he likes to tease you, and he lingers so close to you that your shadows might as well fuse.

On the mention of acts of service, he’s always at the beck and call for you. Think like Ken’s Barbie senses except it’s Phainon (and his ahoge is his antenna). He senses a disturbance in the air? He’s there already; pure exaggeration, but it feels like that often. “I know you can do it but allow me to help you because I want to,” he’ll say to you, a gentle reassurance, after you insisted that you don’t need his assistance and you don’t want to burden him. He likes it when you rely on him but he will still adore you the same if you wish not to.

Jealousy? Who even dares to mess with you, or him?

Nicknames? There’s a lot. Endearing ones, especially. His partner, his lovely sun, his dearest buddy, his comrade, his, his, and only his. Always dear to him.

It’s not hard to find comfort in him, even the mere presence and thought that he’s here, that you’re here, that you have him is enough to ease the tension on your shoulders. He is warm, you are warm in his arms, enveloping yours as if he’s shielding you from all the harm this world will bring to you. It feels as if knowing you is something easy and small for him—understanding the cracks of your skin, mended together by softness, tracing them like constellations, cradling you all the same because it is yours.

He simply adores the smile he gets to put on your face or the laughter that bubbles from your throat. It’s something he’ll never forget, deeply engraved into the corners of his mind, the essence of yourself tainting the edges as if you’ve become a part of his soul.

He’ll never forget and wishes he never had to.

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[deathsmallcaps]

I’ve been skiing exactly twice. There was supposed to be a third time, but I tried to catch a lost dog, my windshield wipers got fucked, and then I got lost. I figured that was it and I went home.

The first time: I was nearly 8, my brother was 3. He was little and heavy enough that when he (correctly!!!) crossed his skis to try and slow, it did not work. He ended up skiing right between a lady’s legs and made it down safely (mom could not catch him).

Second time: I wore a fucking helmet, and thank fucking god. I couldn’t even get off the ski lift without falling (backward once as I slipped off??? Nearly got run over by the next guy) and thunking my goddamn head. I kept at it and had a good time, but I stayed on the straight and WIDE fucking slopes.

I’ll stick with sledding with a helmet on, at least I’m already close to the ground and can bail easy

[rooksamoris]

“YOUR MOM/DAD IS SO HOT” !!

💞 — in which you tell them that their parents are fine af. 💞 — featuring; deuce spade, trey clover, jade leech, floyd leech, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia, silver vanrouge. 💞 — gender neutral reader. a bit over 200 words each. warnings: cursing, thirsting over milfs/dilfs. here's a link to my current follower event, featuring twst characters in classic disney scenes.

DEUCE SPADE. 

“Respectfully, your mom is so hot. Does she date younger?”

Deuce dropped the books from his hands. You were just in the library, collecting some books for an upcoming essay when suddenly you started reminiscing about the White Rabbit's Festival when you suddenly dropped that bomb of a statement. That was when you met his mother, the bombshell Dylla Spade, and you were whipped.

He looked at you in bewilderment first, and then something akin to disdain. You only ever saw him give that look to Ace when he was on his usual Ace bullshit, “The hell did you just say about my mom?” he asked, slipping back into his delinquent tone the moment he felt his dear mother was being disrespected.

Instead of stopping there, you smirked, “I said, respectfully, your mom is a total babe. I might just have to take a role as your step-parent,” you winked.

His face became red with both embarrassment and frustration, but he knew better than to blow up on you in the library of all places, so he bent down to pick up the books before looking away from you, “Yeah, well, she’s not interested. She’s got bigger things to worry about,” he paused, “Hey! Don’t call her!”

That was another thing. You had received her number when you met.

TREY CLOVER.

“Woah, your parents look good. Are they in search of a third? I’m down to help out in the bakery, if you know what I mean.”

He nearly dropped the stack of plates and coasters he was carrying. 

You were helping Cater and Trey set the table for the next Unbirthday party when Trey decided to show you a tart he was making based on a recent recipe his parents came up with. In the picture was his mother holding the tart up and his father was in the background putting a tray of pastries onto a counter. You thought they both looked so fine. And you were sure they were strong too, considering all the bags of flour they had to carry. All those heavy ingredients in bulk…

“No way you just said that,” Cater laughed. Trey was looking like a fish, and so he took a few pictures of him.

Trey cleared his throat, carefully putting the plates he was carrying down before he ended up dropping them and making a mess of everything, “I think they would be flattered to hear you find them attractive,” he replied, a bit awkwardly. What else was he supposed to say?

“You think so? When are you gonna invite me to your hometown so I can tell them myself, huh?”

JADE LEECH.

“How did your dad bag such a baddie? Like, damn, I’d let her step on me.”

Jade’s brow twitched, but his smile remained cool and polite as ever. You both had been going through some pictures from the wedding he had invited you to attend, where you partook in the Eternity Float. You had been trying to pick out which pictures to print for physical copies when you came across a self of yourself with Mrs. Georgina Leech. 

“My mother is married,” he said, placing a hand on his chest in his cordial manner.

“She’s got two hands,” you reminded him, grinning like a fool. You could not help yourself, she was a gorgeous woman. You could see the resemblance she had with her sons, but really she was the main event when it came to the Leech lineage, with her piercing eyes... and her tall figure. Ugh, the things you would do to be with such a lady.

Jade raised a gloved hand to his lips and let out a short chuckle. Unnaturally short. Almost threateningly short, “Yes, well. I imagine you would make quite the meal for her,” he replied, concisely. He was going for a sinister, horrific, effect, but your reaction was anything but scared. 

“I’d let that woman have me on a silver platter. You think she’d like this outfit?”

FLOYD LEECH.

“Damn, your mom is fine as fuck.”

Floyd turned his head slowly to face you, heterochromatic eyes wide and his nose scrunched in disgust. 

This was meant to be a fun day out, skipping classes to enjoy the warm day under the shade of a tree. He was draped across your lap, his stomach over your thighs as he scrolled through his phone. Or at least, he was scrolling through his phone before you made such an egregious statement, “Eww, Shrimpy! You can’t say that about my mom,” he groaned.

You raised a brow, just scrolling through your camera roll. It was pictures from the wedding Jade took you to attend, since Floyd decided to skip out on it. He thought it would be such a drag and lost interest.

He sat up and scooted away from you, frowning. You were his buddy, not his mother’s, and yet here you were talking about her like she was available to you on the market. It grossed him out and annoyed him.

“I’m just being honest,” you shrugged, still looking down at your phone like whatever you said was completely fine.

He looked down at your phone before he snatched it right out of your hands, sticking his tongue out at you when you looked at him in surprise. He stood up from his spot before running away.

VIL SCHOENHEIT.

“Jeez, I would let Eric Venue run me over in a semi truck.”

Vil was completely used to seeing some of the most feral comments over himself and his father. So long as it remains innocent and non-threatening, he does not worry too much. That being said, he did not expect to hear that from you the moment after you met his father. He blinked a few times as he touched up his lipstick and then turned to you. He pulled the tube away from his lips and arched his perfectly plucked brow.

“What?”

“Your dad. He’s just so hot, and charming. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever met a more welcoming man in my life. If he ran me over, I’d apologize for getting in his way and not kissing the very ground he walked on.”

That made his brow twitch. He was more bothered about this than he was of the usual thirsty comment. Perhaps it was because you were classmates, or perhaps it was low key a bit of envy. He did not know for sure just yet. A soft huff escaped his lips and he looked back into his reflection in his compact mirror, “Please refrain from such uncouth commentary regarding my father in my presence,” he muttered, coldly. 

You laughed and nodded, “Don’t worry, Vil. You can run me over too.”

IDIA SHROUD.

“Why are your parents kinda…”

Idia's bright yellow eyes widened in pure horror. It was like the world had stopped for a moment when you said that phrase. It was just some picture you saw on his computer, scent by his parents. There they were, veiled in their wonderfully engineered glowing masks, with his mother's pose very clearly showing she was excited while her husband was just happy to be there with her. Immediately, he turned his gaming chair around.

“What is wrong with you!? You can’t even see their faces??” 

“I can tell they’re hot, you know? I have a sense for these sorts of things. Besides, you ended up cute and Ortho is totally adorable. Based on those genetics, they’ve got to be fine as hell.”

If it was up to him, there would have been a teleportation checkpoint right on his desk so he could get away from this whole situation.

Sevens, there were no options on the dialogue-tree to respond to such a statement. He stared in pure shock. He brought you into his cave—his dorm room—and this was how you repaid him? He closed out of the tab of his parent’s messages, “I…” he muttered, “I… really think you need to touch grass.”

“That’s rich coming from ‘Mr. Please no outdoor classes,’” you replied, rolling your eyes, grinning.

MALLEUS DRACONIA.

“Woah, your mom is smokin’ hot. Hotter than the fire she breathes.”

Malleus had done you the great honor of inviting you to the Briar Valley over his break. He was excited to share the castle with you, and he was sure your presence would bring to it some much needed light and laughter. As he was giving you a tour, he came across a grand portrait of his mother, Maleanor Draconia, the late princess. She was beautiful and regal, but there was a welcoming warmth in her eyes. She must have been watching someone she loved when the portrait was being painted.

Malleus frowned, “That cannot be. I heard this portrait of her was painted in the winter,” he corrected you.

That made you snort, and then you laughed, hiding your grin behind your hand as you tried to calm yourself, “Jeez. No, Malleus. It’s an expression used to call someone very attractive, you know? Like someone you want to court.”

“Ah,” he hummed, but the more he thought about it, the more off-putting it was. He looked at you with knitted brows, “You wish to court my mother?” 

“Yeah, who wouldn’t? She’s a total hottie.”

He really did not like that, “You may call her beautiful, not hot. I do not appreciate that phrase very much,” he paused, “Now come. Let me show you to the gardens.”

SILVER VANROUGE.

“Ugh, he’s so fine. I would let Lilia make me into a pretzel any day of the week.”

Silver did not quite process the words completely yet, and just shook his head, “Even if he did cook you, it would be very poorly done. I doubt you would make an appetizing pretzel.” 

It was his turn to tidy up the lounge and you offered to join him in cleaning up. Thankfully, Diasomnia students were not as messy as some of the other dorms so it mostly consisted of moving furniture back into place and wiping down commonly touched surfaces. You were fluffing pillows when you made the comment after seeing Lilia pass through.

You glanced up from your work and gave Silver a look, waiting for him to catch onto your true meaning, “I didn’t mean for him to make me into a meal… unless he’s into that kind of thing.”

The expression on his face could best be described as the loading screen when the wi-fi was poor. When it hit him, his eyes widened and a flush covered his pale cheeks, “I see.”

“That’s all you got to say?”

“You should tell father. He would probably be pleased to hear it,” he muttered, trying to go back to focusing on wiping down one of the lounge mirrors.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[waitimcomingtoo]

Imagine Me And You

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: you and Peter have feelings for each other but can’t act on them since he’s your friends ex-boyfriend

Masterlist

“Is it weird to date your ex’s friend?” Peter typed into his laptop and waited for the results to come up. He was so engrossed in reading the responses that he didn’t hear you and Ned come up to the table he was sitting at.

“What are you looking at?” You asked as you plopped down beside him. Peter quickly slammed his laptop shut and hopped you hadn’t seen his screen.

“Oh, uh. I was just taking an “Am I Gay?” Quiz.” He lied with a causal shrug.

“Aw. Did you pass?” You asked with a teasing smile.

“Aced it.” Peter said with a click on his tongue.

“I knew you would. That’s my boy.” You laughed and patted his back.

“I love when you call me your boy.” Peter said jokingly.

“So no one cares that I’m here?” Ned asked when no one had acknowledged his presence yet.

“Do you? Then maybe I should call you that more often.“ You replied and leaned towards Peter. A blush painted Peter’s cheeks while Ned rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Maybe you should. But I’d like anything you called me.” Peter answered.

“Oh yeah? Even when I called you fart ass boy the entire bus ride home from DC?” You asked him.

“Okay. I didn’t love that.” He admitted, making you both laugh.

“You did it to yourself, mister.” You shrugged. “Should’ve waiting until you were alone to rip ass.”

“I thought it would be silent.”

“Aw. We all think things.” You said and teasingly patted his back again. You stared into each other’s eyes for a moment because no one wanted to be the first to look away.

“Can you guys stop?” Ned complained. “I feel like I’m watching straight American Heartstopper. And it sucks.”

You and Peter exchanged a look before scooting away from each other. There was always an awkwardness that followed when the unspoken feelings between you and Peter were spoken about. It’s not that neither of you wanted it enough to make the move. It was the boundary that neither of you knew if it was okay to cross.

Luckily, MJ came to the table and broke up the uncomfortable silence Ned had created. She sat down with a smile on her face but it slowly dropped when she sensed the tension among the three of you.

“Real weird vibe here guys.” MJ said out of the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry. That was my fault.” Ned said with a raise of his hand.

“Usually is.” MJ shrugged. “Anyway, a friend of mine is having an art show this Friday and they need more bodies in the room. Would you guys want to come?”

“Sure. I’ll go.” You told her.

“We’ll come. As long as there is some kind of greasy food or ice cream happening after.” Ned answered for him and Peter.

“Cool. I’ll tell her the five of us are coming.” MJ said as she pulled out her phone to text her friend.

“Five?” Peter asked.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention that I invited Liz. Sorry, Peter.” MJ replied, making everyone look at Peter. The only one Peter cared to look back at was you. His face flushed an embarrassed pink as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no problem with it.” He said. “We’re cool now. And we’re all friends. It’s fine that she’s invited.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t hung out as a fivesome since you guys broke up.” Ned pointed out. “This would be the first.”

“Don’t say fivesome.” MJ said warningly.

“The breakup was almost a year ago.” Peter shrugged. “I’m sure it will be fine if she comes.”

“Okay. Five of us it is then. No one better bail on me this time. I don’t want a repeat of that time everyone ditched and I had to see Lego Batman by myself with Ned.”

“I haven’t cried that hard in a movie theater before I saw it and I haven’t cried that hard since.” Ned shook his head as he blew out a breath.

You were hardly listening as you stared off into the distance, the reminder of the reason you and Peter couldn’t be together causing you to check out of the conversation. Peter looked over at you and tried to catch your eye but failed. It twisted your stomach in knots every time you thought about what having feelings for Peter would do to your friendship with Liz. As much as you liked him, you could never betray her. So instead, you pushed it down and didn’t dare to meet his eye.

On Friday night, you and Peter stood outside the art studio, both on the phone. You were anxiously waiting for someone else to show up so you didn’t have to be alone with him any longer.

“You’re not coming?” You asked in disbelief.

“I know. I hate to miss the show.” MJ groaned. “But I’m having an allergic reaction.”

“You are? From what?”

“Not sure.” MJ said quietly, making you roll your eyes to the sky.

“You got that damn crab Rangoon from that place on the corner again, didn’t you?” You asked angrily.

“I cannot resist it. I am only human.”

“A human with a shellfish allergy.” You reminded her.

“Those are optional.” She insisted.

“They’re not. I’m coming to your dorm to take care of you.” You sighed and went to hang up.

“Don’t worry about me. Liz is here.” MJ informed you, making your freeze.

“Hey. I’m taking care of her tonight.” Liz called loud enough for you to hear. You looked over your shoulder at Peter before returning to the phone call.

“Do you need any help? Last time MJ ate those things, she puked so much I almost called the Coast Guard out of fear.”

“I think I’ll be okay. Besides, taking care of her is good practice for the NCLEX.” Liz replied.

“The what?”

“Nursing exam.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I got her. And don’t worry about me either, okay? I want you guys to have fun tonight.”

The kindness in Liz’s voice when she said the last part made you want to ask her exactly what she meant by that. You didn’t have time to ask before you heard MJ retching and quickly hung up the phone. You thought about what Liz had said before walking back to Peter.

“MJ bailed.” You told him.

“What?” Peter laughed in surprise. “This is her friend’s show. Did she say why?”

“You know why.” You sighed.

“That damn crab Rangoon.” He huffed and stamped his foot.

“She can’t stay away.” You shrugged. “What about Ned? Is he on his way?”

“He’s not coming either.”

“What? Why not?”

“He said he remembered that he didn’t want to and is playing The Sims instead.”

“Of course he is.” You grumbled and shoved your hands in your pockets. Peter recognized that you were cold and unzipped his jacket. He went to place it around your shoulders but then hesitated. You’d been distant during the week and he wasn’t sure his jacket was something you’d want.

“Is Liz almost here?” He asked as he slipped his arms back through his coat.

“No. She’s taking care of MJ. We’re really lucky to have a friend who’s becoming a nurse. One of us is always getting sick from something stupid.” You replied, making Peter smile. He and Liz really were cool now, but he much preferred having an evening alone with you.

“Oh. Cool. Just us tonight, then.” Peter said as a blush painted his cheeks. You looked up at him sadly and shook your head.

“I think we should go home, Peter.”

“What? Why?”

“Because.” You whined. “We can’t hang out just you and me.”

“We can’t?” He asked as his heart started to sink.

“No.” You insisted. “If it’s just the two of us, then it’s like a date.”

“Oh. And you wouldn’t want to be on a date with me.” He nodded his head and looked at the ground so you wouldn’t see how much that stung him.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You trailed off, making him look up at you with curiosity. You looked into his eyes and smiled sadly.

“We can’t. You know that.” You said quietly.

Peter knew that you were thinking about Liz. It’s not that he didn’t care if he hurt Liz by going out with you, it’s that he felt like he knew her well enough to know she’d be okay with it.

“So then let’s not make this a date.” Peter said to break the silence. “Because I don’t see any reason why the two of us can’t hang out alone. Let’s ditch this art show and go do something no two people on a date would ever do.”

“Like what? Take the LIRR to Long Island?” You asked him.

“Absolutely not.” Peter said in disgust. “I was thinking we could get some non-date food and then do a non-date activity.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a pizza right now.” You said coyly, starting to warm up to his idea. Peter smiled happily before holding out his arm. You hesitated for a moment and then took it, allowing him to lead you to the closest pizza shop.

It was tiny, dimly lit, and hardly the scene of a date, making it the perfect spot. You and Peter ordered and when he reached for his wallet, you put your hand over his.

“I got this, baby girl. Your money isn’t good here.” You told him before paying the man behind the register.

“Smart. Because if this was a date, I’d pay.” He said and tapped the side of his head. You laughed at him before getting your pizza. The two of you sat down across the table from one another in the back of the restaurant. The only other patron was shirtless and eating a calzone with two hands, so you had your privacy.

“So. What would two people not on a date talk about?” Peter asked between bites of his pizza.

“Hm. I don’t know.” You thought. “Shit from a butt?”

“Hmm. That’s a really good option.” He nodded his head. “But let’s keep thinking.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him and took a bite of your food. You had initially panicked over it just being the two of you tonight but that quickly fell away when you remembered how easy it was to be around Peter. As long as it stayed a non-date, your guilt would be at bay.

“We haven’t hung out just us in a long time.” Peter said, as if reading your mind.

“Yeah. It’s been over a year, I think.” You realized. “We went to that arcade that also sold purses and knives.”

“And hot dogs.” He added. “Remember I tried one and got a terrible nose bleed?”

“I remember that.” You chuckled. “I was so scared you were gonna bleed out in front of me. I think I gave you a tampon to put up your nose.”

“You did. And it was surprisingly very comfortable up there.”

“That was a fun night. We were out so late too. I had an early morning class the next day but I didn’t care. I didn’t want the night to end.” You said without thinking.

“Neither did I. That’s kinda how I’m feeling now. I didn’t realize how much I missed spending time with you one on one.”

“Aw, Pete.” You smiled and put your hand on top of his. “I missed it too.”

“You guys are a cute couple. Reminds me of me and my boyfriend.” The other man in the restaurant smiled at the two of you as he got up to leave. His comment brought the two of you back to reality and you quickly moved your hand. You looked to the side as Peter pretended to be busy with his napkin. Your reminiscing had landed you in date territory and you needed to pivot out of it quickly.

“The pizza is good.” Peter said to break the awkward silence that had settled.

“Yeah. I can feel a pimple forming on my chin and I haven’t even finished it yet but it’s pretty good.” You agreed without meeting his eyes. You finished your slices with small talk between bites before leaving the shop.

“Want to walk around a little? I need some movement to digest that thing.” Peter offered as he patted his stomach.

“Sure. Just, leave enough room for Jesus, okay?” You laughed awkwardly as the two of you started to walk down the sidewalk.

“Sure.” Peter chuckled and kept an appropriate amount of space between the two of you as you walked. The other sidewalk users that you had to maneuver around eventually caused you to get closer. Your hand bumped Peter’s a few times too many before you folded your arms and rubbed them up and down.

“Are you cold?” He asked you.

“A little. This damn Shein jacket is probably made out of candy wrappers and recycled Build-A-Bear skin. The wind goes right through it.” You grumbled and pulled the fake leather jacket tighter around your body.

“What an odd combination the seamstress chose.” He chuckled. “But it looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” You turned your head to give him a shy smile. Peter only let you walk a few more paces before placing his jacket over your shoulders. You gave him a grateful smile before slipping your arms through the sleeves. You knew Peter tended to run hot so you didn’t have to worry about him getting cold.

“I was going to give it to you back at the art show but I wasn’t sure if you’d want it.” He confessed to you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You played dumb.

“I don’t know. You’ve been a little distant this week. And a little jumpy tonight. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You replied in a tone that convinced no one. Peter stopped walking so you did too. He took a step towards you and put his hand on your shoulder.

“You know you could tell me anything, right?” He said in a tone so gentle your knees almost collapsed. You looked down at his hand and then into his eyes. You wanted to tell him that you liked him and that it was killing you to not be able to be with him the way you wanted, but the words didn’t come out.

“I’m okay.” You said instead. “Let’s just keep walking. It keeps me warm to stay moving.”

Peters wasn’t fully satisfied but he knew you got cagey when you were pushed so he let it go. You ended up walking to the pier of the Long Island Sound and stopped to looked at the water.

“Wow. It’s actually kinda pretty at night. You can’t see how brown it is.” You commented as you stared at the rippling waves. Peter was too busy looking at you to see what you were talking about.

“Yeah. Very pretty.” He said in a soft voice as he watched the setting sun illuminate your side profile. You both stayed like that for a moment in comfortable silence.

“The sun is going down. You want to watch?” Peter offered. You were about to say yes when a heavy feeling hit your chest.

“Watching the sunset is a date activity.” You said quietly.

“I know. That’s why you’re gonna watch the sunset and I’m gonna go over there and watch those pigeons fighting over an Elf bar.” Peter pointed to a bench a few feet behind you to let you know where he’d be.

“Okay.” You laughed. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“No promises.” He called back as he walked to where the pigeons were. You watched him over your shoulder as he sat down on the bench and felt your heart ache. He gave you a little wave before pointing at the sky, making you turn around. You longed to go over and sit next to him and watch the sunset together, but you couldn’t do that. If he had dated anyone else but your friend, you could. But everything was complicated so you stayed where you were.

“How was it?” Peter asked as he joined you on the pier once the sun had fully dipped under the horizon.

“It was beautiful. You would’ve liked it.” You told him. “It was one of those nights when the sun looks really red and the sky is orange. I know you like those.”

“I do. But don’t worry, I secretly watched from behind you.” He admitted. “But it doesn’t count as watching it together because we were socially distancing.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss it.” You said as you stared into his eyes. He stared back and raised his hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your cheek, but quickly put it down. You gave him a tight smile before tossing something into the water.

“What was that?” He wondered.

“My pizza crust. I was throwing it to the whales.” You replied. Peter looked back and forth between you and the water for a few times to see if you were serious.

“There are no whales in this water.” He said finally.

“Then what have I been throwing bread crumbs at for the past ten minutes?”

“I have no idea since whales don’t eat breadcrumbs in the first place.”

“Well something was popping out of the water to eat the crumbs.” You pointed out.

“In the Long Island Sound? It was probably the Babadook or something. Let’s go before it comes out and gets us.” He said and put his hand on the small of your back to lead you away. Your face went hot at the contact and you had to give him a look. He rolled his eyes slightly and dropped his hand.

“I know, I know.” Peter said sarcastically. “I dated your friend for three months almost a year ago so you and I cannot do anything that would suggest there was a romance between us. But I put my hand on Neds back too, by the way.”

“I know. That’s why you passed that “Am I Gay?” quiz this week.” You teased him. Peter laughed lightly but you could tell he was upset about something.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him, making him stop in his tracks. He looked at you with his big brown eyes and you felt that old familiar ache in your heart.

“It’s not the I regret dating Liz. She’s a great girl.” He began.

“I know.” You nodded, shocked that you were actually talking about this forbidden subject out loud.

“I cannot tell you how much I regret dating a friend of yours.” He continued, making butteries erupt in your stomach.

“Oh.” You said quietly. He looked to the side but you continued to stare at his face. He looked upset and had his usually blush splashed across his face.

“Peter.” You said softly and went to put your hand on his face. He quickly snapped out of his mood and threw a smile on.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asked.

“What?” You wondered, confused by the sudden change in emotion.

“Those little squishy oatmeal cookies with the cream in the middle. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Not the answer I was expecting, but okay. Oatmeal creme pies?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed. “Those were so good. They’ve been on my mind all week.”

“Let’s stop in and get some. I’m sure they have them.” You laughed and pulled him into the nearest corner store.

“Really? You want one?” He asked excitedly as you walked through the door together.

“No, but I can’t think of anything less romantic than watching you down one of them right now.”

“Oh, baby, you’re about to watch me down three of them right now.” Peter held up three fingers as he practically skipped to the snack aisle. You laughed and followed him to help him look. He didn’t find them in that aisle so he went around the corner to check the next one.

“How much do you think this is?” He asked as he came back to the aisle you were in with an orange cat in his arms.

“Put him down.” You ordered. “That’s the manager.”

“Fine.” Peter sighed and gently let the cat go. “Now I kinda want one of these giant protein cookies.”

“No way. Those taste like straight up sand and butt.” You warned him.

“At the same time?” He wondered. “Or is it like very sand forward with a butt aftertaste?”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” You playfully narrowed your eyes as you turned to him.

“I do actually, yes. Thank you for noticing.” He replied and took a step closer to you.

“The only thing I noticed is that eyelash that’s been sitting on your cheek all night. I want it.” You said and reached up to take it off his face. He gently caught your wrist and moved it away, bringing you closer to him in the process.

“Get away from me.” He laughed. “That’s my wish. Not yours.”

“Come here. Please, let me get it off your face. It’s been bothering me since the pizza place. I’ll do anything. I’ll buy you all the sand cookies you want.” You offered as you tried with your other hand to hold his face still. Peter had wrapped his arm around your waist now to better maneuver you away from his face as you struggled to get the eyelash.

“That is not what I want.” He said in response to your cookie offer.

“Hey guys.” A voice came from down the aisle, making you both freeze before untangling yourselves from each other.

“Liz.” You smiled in surprise and hastily fixed yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Peter gave her a small wave but said nothing. Her face was calm and if anything, delighted to see the both of you. Meanwhile, your heart was pounding in your chest and you felt guilt like never before.

“I’m just getting some Pepto for MJ. She only has the cherry kind and she said it-“

“Reminds her too much of her ex.” You finished her sentence. “I know. Is she okay?”

“She’s doing better. I think she’s learned her lesson this time. She’s not gonna eat them again.” Liz answered. You all were silent for a moment before bursting out laughing.

“That was a good one, Liz.” You said once your laughter died down.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “So, how was the art show?”

“Oh, we didn’t end up going. We got food instead.” Peter replied. Your heart started to pound again in fear of how that sounded to Liz.

“Oh yeah? Where?” She wondered.

“Just some random little pizza place. The pizza was like $2 and it tasted like the price. I bought my own, by the way. I mean, I bought his too, but only because I already had a five dollar bill out.” You quickly explained. Liz laughed at how you stumbled over yourself but didn’t make any sign of being upset with either of you.

“Wow. Thank you for all the details.” She said teasingly.

You felt about ready to explode by that point. Liz appeared calm and happy, the exact opposite of how you were feeling inside. You felt like you were betraying your friend right in front of her eyes and you didn’t understand why she wasn’t calling you out for being a bad friend yet.

“Peter, can you go get me a clear Gatorade?” You asked Peter.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Bye Liz.” He waved again before leaving the aisle.

“I don’t think they make a clear Gatorade.” Liz said once you were alone.

“They don’t. I just wanted to get rid of him.” You told her.

“Oh, smart.” She chuckled. “So, did you guys have fun tonight?”

“It was okay. It was a pretty uneventful hang out with a friend.” You said with extra emphasis on the “friend” part.

“Really? It seemed like you were having fun when I saw you guys.” She said with surprise. She didn’t sound angry which didn’t make sense to you.

“Fun? With Peter? No way. We’re only hanging out because everyone else bailed. I’d never hang out with him alone otherwise. And I never will again, just so we’re clear.” You assured her. Liz looked at you for a while before smiling softly.

“Hey, you know that red sweater you let me borrow last semester?” She asked you.

“Oh, yeah. The one with the big buttons.” You recalled.

“You know how after I wore it a few times, you told me to keep it?” She continued.

“Well, yeah. I thought it was cute but it never looked right on me. But it looked great on you. I wanted you to have it.”

Liz smiled when you said exactly what she was hoping. She put her hands on your shoulders to make you look at her.

“You can keep my sweater. It looks much better on you. And it was never mine to begin with.” She said in a soft tone. You caught on to what she was saying and looked over at the drink section where Peter was still searching for the nonexistent drink.

“Liz. I can’t.” You shook your head and looked down at the ground.

“If you don’t like him and I’m reading all the signs wrong, then l’ll drop it. But if you’re holding yourself back from being with him because of me, then both of you need to cut it out. Because it’s fine with me.”

“It is?”

“Of course it is.” She insisted. “Peter and I barely dated. And we broke up for a reason. We didn’t work as a couple and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean he’s off limits from you or any other girl. I think you should go for it.”

“But he’s your ex-boyfriend.”

“And you’re my best friend. I want you to be happy.“ She said with a friendly squeeze of your shoulders. You gave her a sad smile and then pulled her into a hug. She hugged you back tightly as Peter watched curiously from a distance.

“I appreciate you caring about my feelings. But it’s not necessary.Now, go get him.” Liz said once you pulled out of the hug. Peter came back and joined you in the aisle with a smile.

“Here you go.” Peter said as he handed you the bottle of clear Gatorade.

“What the hell?” You whispered in disbelief at his find.

“I better get back to MJ. But call me if you guys get sick from that pizza.” Liz waved goodbye and left to make her purchase.

“What were you guys talking about?” Peter asked once the two of you left the store with your items.

“My old red sweater.” You told him to put it lightly.

“The one with the big buttons? I remember it. You always looked pretty in it. How come you don’t wear it anymore?” Peter wondered. For once, you allowed yourself to enjoy the compliment from him without feeling guilty. You stopped walking and Peter followed suit and stopped with you.

“Because it was never mine to begin with.” You smiled fondly at him and slipped your hand into his. Peter smiled back at the unexpected gesture but his smile slowly faded when he realized he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Am… am I supposed to know what that means?”

“I think you know what it means.” You said as you took a step closer to him. Peter looked to the side and in confusion and still had no idea what you were talking about.

“I’m confused. Did you steal it or some-“

You cut Peter off by grabbing his shirt to pull him into a kiss. Once Peter’s initial surprise wore off, he put his hands on your face to kiss you back. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed yourself into him, kissing him until you ran out of breath. When you pulled away, Peter had a shy smile on his face as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“What made you change your mind about us?” He asked you in a timid voice. “And don’t say the red sweater because I still don’t understand what that meant.”

“I just realized we’re a good fit. And I didn’t want to hold myself back anymore.”

“So does this mean I can take you on a real date sometime? One where I buy your pizza and watch the sunset next to you?” Peter asked hopefully.

“It does. I’d really like that.” You answered coyly, making him smile.

“Does this also mean if you and I break up, I’m allowed to date Ned?” Peter asked jokingly.

“Don’t push it, mister.” You warned him.

“I won’t.” He held his hands up in defense. You started walking down the street again, this time hand in hand.

“Oatmeal creme pie?” Peter offered as he leaned the box of Oatmeal cookies towards you.

“Why thank you.” You said and took one. “Clear Gatorade?”

Peter accepted your offer and took a large sip of the Gatorade you’d been drinking. He winced at the flavor and looked at the bottle.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him.

“Ugh. This Gaterade is gross.” He grimaced. “Oh my God. This isn’t Gatorade. This is magnesium citrate.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the stuff you drink before a colonoscopy to, you know, clear yourself out.” Peter said with obvious discomfort.

“What?” You exclaimed and grabbed the bottle to read it for yourself. Sure enough, the neatly empty bottle was what Peter said it was.

“If you think about it, this is kinda the perfect way to end our non-date.” Peter said to try to make you feel better. You gave him a look before pulling out your phone.

“Hey Liz.” You said into the phone. “Funny story.”

Taglist 🏷️

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[flowergirl1243]

soft launch season - [part six]

SUMMARY: when Lando Norris' notorious party boy reputation may be too far out of control to save, you step in to save his image (and maybe his heart).

PAIRING: lando norris x fem!reader

part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven

ACT 6: CRASHING DOWN

The wall didn’t come out of nowhere.

But the silence after did.

One moment, he was fighting the car, tires going, rear twitching, and the next, he was staring at a cracked front wing, breathing hard, listening to the static in his ears.

"You okay?" "Yeah," he said. Automatically. "Yeah, I’m fine."

He wasn’t.

Physically, sure, the impact hadn’t been bad. Not like it could’ve been. But mentally?

He was unraveling.

By the time he got back to the garage, everything was too loud. Too bright. Too fake.

The pats on the back, the “unlucky, mate”, the way the team immediately started spinning it into strategy and silver linings, it all made his skin itch.

He sat in the back, helmet still on, visor down, and let the noise wash over him like water he was drowning in.

He should’ve seen it coming. Not the crash, the rest of it.

The slow build. The spiral. The consequences of pretending he didn’t care.

Because the truth is, he hasn’t been driving the same since Monaco. Since he let her slip through his fingers with a half-assed text and a silence he thought would protect him.

But you can only outrun the ache for so long.

And today?

Today it caught up.

The second the car slid out, the second the world tilted and the corner bit back, he wasn’t thinking about tire temps or weather windows or goddamn points.

He was thinking about her.

About the way she used to squeeze his hand before races. About the look on her face in Monaco, equal parts pride and fear. About the message she sent, “just tell me if this got too real. i can handle it”, and how he’d replied with “don’t worry” like a fucking coward.

He peels the helmet off eventually. Sets it down like it’s fragile, like he’s fragile. His jaw aches from clenching it too long.

He stares down at his gloves.

He doesn’t feel unlucky.

He feels like he deserves this.

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He stripped off his gloves minutes ago, but the tremble was still there, twitching in his fingers, in his wrists, crawling up his arms like static.

He hated this feeling. He hated how familiar it was. How it pressed into his lungs and made everything feel like it was closing in.

He should’ve been better at this by now.

But the crash, the loss, the silence he’d wrapped around himself like armor, it had all cracked.

And now he was just...sitting in the back of the motorhome with his head in his hands, sweat cooling on his neck, trying to breathe.

Trying to think.

Trying not to think.

But her face kept flashing through his mind.

How she looked that night in Monaco. How quiet she’d gone since. How he let her walk away without a fight.

And it hit him, sharp and sudden: She doesn’t know I’m okay.

She doesn’t know. Because he never gave her a reason to ask. Never gave her a place to stay.

He reached for his phone before he could talk himself out of it.

Found her name. Stared at the screen. Thumb hovering.

His heart was beating way too fast.

He almost texted. Can I call you? Something simple. Safe.

But instead he hit call.

Straight up.

Raw.

The dial tone rang once. Twice.

Then again.

His breath caught.

Four rings.

Five.

He was about to hang up when—

“...Hello?”

Her voice was soft. Distant. Like she was somewhere quiet. Like she didn’t expect it. Like she maybe hadn’t wanted it.

He swallowed hard. His voice cracked on the first syllable.

“It’s me.”

A pause.

“I know,” she said. Still quiet. Still unreadable.

“I, um…” He ran a hand through his hair. Pressed his fingers into the back of his neck like it might hold him together. “I crashed. In Canada.”

She went still on the line. He could feel it, the pause. The breath she held.

“Are you...are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Physically. Just—” His throat tightened. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t say anything.

So he kept going.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” he admitted. “I mean, I did. There’s like a hundred people who would’ve picked up. But I didn’t want them. I just wanted...”

He trailed off.

She let him sit in it.

Then, quietly: “You should’ve called me days ago.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Another beat.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For Monaco. For pulling away. For making you feel like none of it mattered. Because it did. It does. I was scared. I am scared.”

She was quiet. He heard the sound of fabric shifting, maybe her curling into herself the way she always did when she was trying not to cry.

“I thought you didn’t feel it,” she said finally. “I thought I made it up in my head.”

“You didn’t.” He was already crying. Quietly, tears slipping down his cheeks without permission. “I felt everything. That was the problem.”

He heard her breath catch.

“I miss you,” he said, broken. “And I don’t know how to undo what I did. But I know I don’t want this to be where it ends.”

A pause. Soft. Fragile.

Then: “I don’t want that either.”

And for the first time in days, his hands stopped shaking.

She barely had time to say hello before he had his arms around her.

No hesitation. No pause. Just Lando, breathing unevenly, pulling her to him like she was the only solid thing in the entire world.

And she let him.

Of course she let him.

His arms were around her waist, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his whole body shaking with the kind of pressure that only comes when someone’s been holding it together too long.

“You came,” he whispered, like he didn’t believe it yet. “Fuck, you came.”

“I told you I would.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still clinging to her like he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t keep touching her.

He looked awful.

Not the kind of awful you see after a crash, but the kind that comes after a crash you walked away from, only to realise what it could’ve taken from you.

His eyes were red-rimmed and tired. His jaw tense. His voice cracked when he tried to speak again.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

She reached up, brushed her fingers gently through his hair. “Start anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. Immediately. Urgently. “For everything. For Monaco. For going quiet. For making you feel like you imagined all of it. You didn’t. I promise you didn’t. I was just—”

He stopped, like the words physically hurt to say.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “And I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I felt everything too much, and I didn’t know how to hold it. So I dropped it. I dropped you.”

Her throat tightened. “Lando—”

“I crashed in Canada,” he said, cutting her off. “And it wasn’t even bad, not really, but the second the car hit the wall, I didn’t think about the points or the standings or what the team would say. I just thought, I never called her back. I never told her the truth. And that if something worse had happened, you’d never know.”

His hands found her face now, both of them, holding her gently, but so close, like he needed to memorise the exact shape of her just in case the universe tried to take her again.

“You’re it for me,” he said. “And I’ve been too much of a coward to say it. You’ve been patient and kind and everything I needed, and I gave you silence. I gave you space when all I wanted was this.”

He kissed her, not soft this time, not like before. This kiss was frantic, apologetic, aching. Like he didn’t trust words anymore.

And she kissed him back, hands sliding beneath his hoodie to feel the heat of his skin, to ground him.

He was still talking, even as he kissed her, whispering broken things into her mouth like he’d fall apart if he didn’t say them now.

“I missed you.” “I couldn’t sleep without you.” “Every time I turned around, I wanted you there.” “I don’t want this life if you’re not in it.”

She pulled back gently, forehead resting against his. Her hands cupped his jaw, her thumbs brushing the tears beneath his eyes that he was too tired to hide.

“I’m here,” she said. “I never stopped being here. I just needed you to see it.”

“I do now,” he breathed. “I swear to God, I do now.”

He clutched her to him again, tighter this time, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he was trying to crawl inside the quiet safety of her.

They sank to the floor together, backs against the wall, limbs tangled.

He held her in his lap, arms wrapped fully around her middle, his face pressed into her shoulder like he was finally letting himself rest, really rest, for the first time in weeks.

And she didn’t speak.

She just let him hold her.

Let him whisper thank you over and over into her skin.

Let him fall apart, finally, because this time, he didn’t have to fall alone.

Liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri and others lando where i'm meant to be 🤍

ynusername my favourite place, always

user31 I can breathe again, thank god.

user32 My parents are finally back together. I can sleep at night now.

Well! I think I'll do one more part and then close it off, unless you have any suggestions for what you want to see??? Let me know! As, always, the taglist is always open! Thank you so much for your love and support, I appreciate you so much!! taglist

@sol3chu, @charlesgirl16, @motorsp0rt, @imdyinghelpplease, @vampgege, @angeltroian, @ceekokocee15, @esw1012, @charlottes-ngvot, @janonymus0, @gigigreens, @hymntostars, @imagine-it-was-us, @meahel13, @milkiane, @hi26loveie

[himasntgod]

Hiya, could I please request first years with a reader/Yuu who's actually a lot older? Like, old enough to be a second or third year or maybe old enough to graduate but thanks to Crowley they're stuck in first year 😞

FIRST YEARS X READER

Where you are some years older than them, already graduated back in your world

Some clarifications of the dynamic, in case anyone needs them <3

At first, Ace doesn’t notice you're older. You’re smart, quick-witted, lowkey hot under stress, which is kind of his type, and you're way more competent than the average freshman. He assumes you just have your life together.

Then one day you offhandedly mention you already graduated somewhere else in your world. That this isn’t your first rodeo. That Crowley, in all his magnificent wisdom, stuck you in first year anyway.

“Wait. WHAT?”

He laughs—loudly.“Oh my Seven. You’re an undercover senior?! That’s so cursed. I love it.”

From then on, it’s constant teasing.

“Hey, Grandma, need help crossing the road to Alchemy?”

“Should I walk you Ramshackle after class, or do you want your cane first?”

But the teasing isn’t mean-spirited—it’s Ace’s very acelike way of flirting. What gives him away is the way his eyes linger on you when you laugh, the way he blushes when you lean in too close. The way he gets weirdly smug when you call him cute.

At some point, he admits it:

“Y’know… it’s kinda hot, actually. You being older and all. Like you’ve got everything figured out.”

“I’m literally re-doing high school.”

“Yeah. And now you’re stuck with me,which is obviously the real tragedy here.”

Despite the joking, he starts to really look out for you. Carries your textbooks. Makes sure you eat. Challenges anyone who talks down to you for being a “first year.”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks you deserve more than this weird limbo Crowley dumped you in. And if he can make you smile through it—even if you’re older, even if it’s complicated—he’ll take every chance he gets.

The moment Deuce finds out you’re older than him, it’s over. He’s already liked yo, your poise, your patience—but learning you’re basically repeating school? That you’re dealing with all this on top of it?

He looks at you like you’re a war hero.

“You’ve… already graduated? Like from a whole school back in your world?”

“And now I’m back in first year hell.”

“That’s amazing! I mean—horrible! I mean—”

He bows.

“I promise to support you to the best of my ability, sen—uh—Yuu!”

After that, Deuce is 1000% more formal. He tries so hard to be “mature enough” for you—sits straighter, studies harder, even pretends he totally understands advanced spell theory just to impress you.

You try to ease his tension, but he keeps glancing at you like you're this untouchable inspiring figure.

Which is hilarious when you’re both in a group project and you groan, “Gods, not again,” because you’ve done this assignment in a past life.

“It must really suck, huh? Being older and stuck with a bunch of us dummies.”

“You’re not dumb.”

“Still… I wish you didn’t have to go through this. You deserve better.”“But selfishly, I’m glad I met you this way.”

He gets bolder after that. Offers you his hand when you’re tired. Studies next to you even when he doesn't have to. And every now and then, he’ll slip:

“When we graduate—uh—I mean—when you re-graduate, I hope we can… keep seeing each other? If you're not back in your world by then....”

The crush is obvious. He respects you, maybe a little too much, but there’s something so earnest about how badly he wants to deserve you.

That might be what makes you fall for him in return.

When you first meet, Epel thinks you’re cool as hell. Calm under pressure, sarcastic, kinda intimidating in that “I’ve seen some things” way. He definitely does not clock you as someone older than him.

Then you casually mention you’ve already graduated once. And the look on his face is priceless.

“WAIT. YOU’RE—YOU’RE A WHOLE ADULT?!”

He’s flustered for like three straight weeks after that. Can’t make eye contact. Keeps forgetting his words around you. He’ll be like:

“I wasn’t checking you out! I mean—yes, but I mean, you’re all wise and stuff and I’m just a country boy and—"

Runs into a door.

What makes it worse (for him, better for us): the crush only deepens. Epel is so into the idea of someone older, more experienced, who doesn’t treat him like a delicate little flower. You actually listen when he talks. You know how to handle things. You’re cool.

He starts trying to prove himself: carrying things for you, using big words, pretending to know complex magic theories.

“Oh yeah, totally read that thesis on temporal rune distortion. Real eye-opener.”

(He 100% did not. He saw the title once.)

Eventually, he drops the act. One day, you’re both sitting under a tree after class, and he looks at you.

“I know I’m younger. And maybe I still got stuff to learn. But I ain’t a kid. I mean what I say. And I think I… y’know… I like you.”

There’s a beat of silence. He fumbles.

“Romantically! I mean romantically!!”

You laugh, but the warm kind, and Epel is pink for a week.

He doesn’t stop trying to impress you. But now he does it honestly, with his real self.

You tell him early on. It’s not like you’re trying to hide it.

“I’m technically older. Like, I was going to enter university back in my world. I should be in like... third or fourth grade here. But Crowley…”

Jack’s eyebrows go up.

“Seriously? You already graduated?”

You nod.

“…That sucks.”

And it does. But the way he says it? You know he gets it. He respects you even more after that. You’re responsible, experienced, and clearly strong enough to endure the humiliation of being stuck in first year again.

He also becomes so respectful it's actually kind of adorable. Like you’re this older pack member or smth. Holds doors open for you. Offers to carry your things. Tries not to speak over you.

You catch him watching you sometimes—like he wants to say something but keeps holding back.

Eventually, he admits it:

“I know I’m younger. But I don’t think feelings care about that stuff. I’ve… liked you for a while.”

He avoids eye contact.

“I respect you too much to pretend I don’t.”

If you accept his feelings, Jack is overjoyed—in the quiet, overwhelmed mood. He’s loyal to a fault, protective, and so serious about making you feel respected, not “babysat.”

He knows you’ve had a life before this. But he wants to be part of the next chapter.

When you reveal your age and educational background, Sebek does not take it well.

“You are a first-year! A fellow beginner! It is utterly irrational for you to be older than me!”

Cue him spiraling. He's stomping around, muttering about rules, ORDER. But then he is very flustered. Like so so flustered.

“How DARE Crowley place someone of your caliber in the same year as—”

Pause.

“…As ME.”

Then silence. Then blushing.

Because Sebek absolutely has a crush on you. And now he’s losing it internally because you’re older, more experienced, and somehow even more alluring.

He starts acting even more pompous—like he has to prove himself worthy of your attention.

“Older or not, I shall surpass you through diligence and dedication!”

He shouts this in the hallway. Loudly. In front of everyone.

He won’t say it, but he’s in awe of your emotional maturity. You don’t get rattled the way others do. You handle Crowley’s nonsense with a sigh. You don’t baby him, but you do take him seriously, which throws him completely off balance.

And that only deepens his feelings.

Eventually, after much overthinking and dramatic pacing, he storms up to you one day and blurts out:

“YOUR AGE IS IRRELEVANT TO ME. I ADMIRE YOU. I—CARE FOR YOU. ROMANTICALLY. PLEASE—DON’T LAUGH :( ”

You don’t.

Instead, you gently kiss his cheek. He goes silent.

His ears are red for three days. He refuses to make eye contact and keeps yelling “FOCUS!” at himself under his breath.

But he also stays by your side. Proudly. Passionately.

[accessible-art]

[IDs: A digital comic with 15 panels, some of which are combined in one image. Panel 1: A grinning blob figure holding a sheet of paper labelled "content", saying "I finally finished this thing!" They have small hearts around them. Panel 2: The creator is in a busy grey area with the walls papered with "content" papers, and is saying "I can't wait to add it to the posting place!". Each one on the walls has a varied amount of tiny like and reblog icons attached and other blob people are admiring or posting them. Panel 3: The blob posts their content and walks away hopeful, saying "I hope others will enjoy it!" In the corner it says "Posted by: OP" Panel 4: Labelled "Some time later..." Back in the posting place, they are smiling and saying "I wonder if anyone saw my thing-" Panel 5: They're holding it, with 3 likes and 0 reblogs attached, saying "Oh... It got just a few likes..." and thinking to themselves "Did they not enjoy my thing... if no one reblogged it... was it bad?" as someone offscreen interrupts saying "Ugh! Stop whining!" Panel 6: Zoom out to see an angry blob talking to them, and the creator looks close to tears asking "What? I-" as the angry one interrupts and says "Just be grateful you even got that! No one owes you a reblog!" The creator says "But- I didn't say-" and is interrupted again "So entitled! If your thing was any good, then it would have been reblogged!" to which the creator is speechless. Panel 7: Angry turns away saying "So tired of guilt-trippy bloggers!" as Creator is starting to cry, with their content wilted in their hands, thinking "Yeah... it probably wasn't very good..." Panel 8: Creator has dropped it on the ground, with one corner wilted, and is walking away with a broken heart over them. Panel 9: Labelled "Some time later...", a blob labelled "Random person" sees it on the ground saying "Ooh! That's neat!" Panel 10: They repost it saying "I wanna repost this neat thing!" Panel 11: Creator sees a commotion around random blob, with many blobs gathered and throwing hearts at random who looks happy. Panel 12: Creator is happy-crying saying "Gasp! That's my thing! People really do enjoy my thing?!" Panel 13: Creator is confused saying "Wait- That's my thing, but- that's not me!" and we see that the content now has many likes and reblogs, but the original "Posted by" has been scribbled out and now says "Posted by: Not OP". Random is happy standing in front of it as people say "Whoa! Such a cool thing!" and "I really like that thing!" Panel 14: Angry is back and yells at Creator "OMG! Stop whining! Just be grateful your thing is being seen! Why do you need attention so bad?" as Creator, tearing up again, quietly says "But that's my- sigh, nevermind". Panel 15: People continue to admire the reposted content as Creator slumps and sniffs, thinking "I'm not sure I want to create things anymore". In the corner is a credit to jessiarts.tumblr.com End ID]

Based on actual events

[random-remzy]

I think one of my favorite things about K-Pop Demon Hunters is the protrayal of women.

like-

Yeah! Girls can absoLUTELY look like this-

But also! Like this-

yes their makeup can be bold and perfect!

but also- They don't always wear it!

Yes they're dainty and delicate.

But they can be bold and messy!

yes they kan like and dislike people based on silly things!

But also form genuine connections based on important boundaries.

Yes they can be cute and strong and pretty.

But they can be weird, and sad and angry.

Yes they're talented

But they also put in so much effort

Yes. They know what they're worth.

But they're also critical of themselves.

Yes. They can wear something fancy and bold. And do something crazy and tell the world what they do

And they can wear casual clothes, and eat food at a back alley restaurant with their best friends.

yes they work hard!

And yes! They can be lazy!

And they can wear whatever they want and STILL look flawless!

Look-

The point is

I love girls

And I love these girls

Because these girls are probably the most realistic fictional girls I've ever seen. And they're literal profession is one of the most unrealistic ones in the wORLD!

I love this movie so much and I am so eternally grateful that people are learning and loving girls!

Because all of these are are what real girls look like. And how real girls act, sure its unrealistic in the sense that its fictional, but the context and ideas are there. Girls ar girls.

Okay, They're funky and weird and funny and gorgeous and angry and loud and sad and strong and special, and talented, and adorable and hardwroking and lazy and just soooo Awesome!

(I stand by all of this but also i just wanted to post screencaps of the girls cause' i love them and they're so cool and they're such amazing characters and they're so well written and 90 minutes of screentime was not NEARLy enough for me i need more-)

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (11) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F ! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael brings you home and takes care of you. You talk things through, and by the end, you’re both on the same page and closer than before.

Word Count: 3990

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/Early 50s), Head Injury (Factured Skull), Non-sexual nudity

Authors Notes: Just one more part. Part 12 will be the last (until futher notice, Maybe a sequel depending on season 2??? I'm sad ngl LOL. I’ll save the sappy talk in the next authors note.) If any of you watch Animal Kingdom I’m writing an Andrew Cody fic. So keep a look out for that. I have it typed, but Idk what the call it. Idk my writing process is wack. I don’t think, I just do. I don’t plan at all and I just make shit up as I go… but whatever works right? All of this is just for fun hence my user lol okay I’ll go now. Enjoy - Ryn (sorry for errors if you’ve been following along for this long y’all know I don’t proof read whoops)

After the end of Michael’s swift, he walked through the ER, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack, the other intertwined with yours.

He felt the stares immediately—wide eyes from the staff, surprised expressions barely masked. They weren’t entirely sure what they were seeing. Or maybe they were. Maybe they just couldn’t believe it.

Michael caught it too. He met the glances of a few nurses, offered a small, tight-lipped smile, then looked away.

Michael wasn’t embarrassed—he could never be embarrassed of you. That wasn’t it. He just didn’t want everyone in his business. But that line had already been crossed.

Rumor and gossip swirled, but his main focus, his main priority was you. Nothing else matter

Michael, he took you home—his place. He wanted you to stay there; it was easier that way. He had emergency supplies if anything went wrong, and it let him keep a close eye on you.

As the two of you made your way down the hall toward his apartment, neither of you said anything about the arrangement. You didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer an explanation. He expected you to protest—maybe argue, insist on going to your side of the hall—but you didn’t.

You wanted to. You thought about saying you didn’t want to intrude, that you’d be fine on your own. But the words never made it out. You were in too much pain, too wrung out and exhausted to care. And you already knew what he’d say—something about keeping an eye on you, monitoring for symptoms, making sure you didn’t take a turn.

So you stayed quiet. And followed him in.

“You probably want a shower,” he said softly

You nodded, but your body swayed a little too far to the left.

He caught your arm. “Careful.”

Together, you made your way toward the bathroom. Every movement felt floaty and too heavy at the same time—like your body wasn’t entirely yours. The edges of the room tilted, just slightly, and you blinked hard to stay grounded.

When you enter the bathroom you. “Can you stay?”

Your voice was quiet.

Michael didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You reach for the hem of your shirt, but your hands fumbled, clumsy. Lifting your arms made your vision blur, and you winced, one hand going instinctively to your lump

He stepped forward. “Hey—stop. Let me.”

You didn’t argue.

His hands were gentle as he helped you out of your clothes, moving slowly, methodically. When he eased the shirt over your head, you closed your eyes against the spinning, and he steadied you with one hand at your waist.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, the shirt now crumpled in his hand.

You nodded again, though you weren’t sure. “Just dizzy.”

You kicked off your shoes, the cool floor sending a small shiver up your spine. Your fingers trembled slightly as you fumbled with the button of your jeans, struggling to pull them down past your hips. The fabric caught at your thighs, and you paused, leaning on the sink to keep from swaying too much. 

When you finally slid your jeans down and stepped out of them, you stood there, vulnerable in just your bra and underwear. 

Michael didn’t move closer or look away. His eyes softened, not with desire, but with something quieter: care and respect. He gave you space, knowing you needed it, but stayed close enough that you could reach out if you lost your balance.

“Sit for a moment,” Michael said softly.

You lowered yourself slowly onto the closed toilet seat.

Michael moved toward the tub, turning the cold and hot taps, adjusting until the water flowed warm. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and stepped out briefly. When he returned, he held a thick, fluffy towel and a neatly folded set of clothes. 

“I don’t think I should stand,” you admitted, voice low, your body still heavy with exhaustion.

“Okay,” Michael nodded understandingly. “You don’t have to stand. You can sit.”

Carefully, you got off the toilet and moved to the edge of the tub, the smooth porcelain cool beneath your hands. You dipped your feet into the water, feeling the warmth as it flows around your feet.

Michael goes to sit on the closed toilet seat. 

“I’m gonna…” you said softly, pulling at the strap of your bra to let him know you were about to take it off.

He shifted slightly, turning his body toward the door, giving you the privacy you needed to strip without feeling exposed.

You hesitated for a moment, then began to remove your bra, the fabric slipping softly from your shoulders. Then your underwear followed. You lowered yourself slowly into the tub, 

Curling your knees up toward your chest, you hugged them gently, covering your body feeling safe and cocooned.

“Okay,” you said softly, signaling that he could turn back.

“You sure?” Michael asked quietly, his voice gentle and concerned, wanting to make sure you were comfortable being this vulnerable in front of him.

“Yes,” you said. Your voice was quiet, but steady. “I trust you.”

“Okay I’m turning around” 

Michael turned and stood up. He reached for the shower head, pulling the pin on the faucet to redirect the water. The steady stream shifted from the tub spout to the handheld shower, and he adjusted the flow gently, ready to help you wash.

Michael held the shower head steady, the warm spray falling in a gentle rhythm. He aimed the water over your shoulders and back in careful movements.

“Let me know if the water’s too hot or cold,” he said softly.

You nodded, eyes closing as the warmth soaked into your skin. The sound of water filled the quiet room, calming your breath.

“I’m going to wash your hair first,” he said.

You gave a small nod.

He adjusted the shower head and used his hand to shield your eyes, carefully wetting your hair. His fingers moved gently through it, avoiding the tender lump where your skull was fractured. He worked the shampoo in with care, soft and slow, then rinsed it clean.

When he was done, he reached for a washcloth, soaked it under the water, and handed it to you.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “I’ll let you do the rest.”

You took it from him with a quiet “Thanks,” and began washing your arms and chest, slow and steady. 

As you washed yourself, Michael respectfully turned his head, gaze fixed on the tiled wall. He kept holding the shower head steady, adjusting the angle when needed, but never looked your way.

Once you’d finished rinsing, you gave a small nod. “Okay.”

Michael turned off the water. He set the shower head down carefully and reached for the towel he’d left nearby.

“Here,” he said softly, draping the towel over your shoulders. His hands were steady, mindful. “Take your time.”

You nodded, then slowly pushed yourself up to stand. Your legs felt shaky beneath you. Michael offered his arm, and you took it, leaning into his steady presence as you stepped carefully out of the tub. Water dripped from your legs onto the mat below.

As he helped you find your balance, you adjusted the towel at your chest, making sure it stayed in place, then tucked the edge securely.

He reached for the clean white shirt he’d brought and gently held it open for you.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded.

You held the towel closed as he slipped the shirt over your head, guiding it gently down your arms. The fabric brushed your skin, soft and clean. Once it was in place, you let the towel fall. The shirt settled over your body—short, but long enough to cover you where it mattered.

Michael turned away without a word, facing the bathroom door again to give you privacy.

You reached for the shorts and stepped into them slowly, pulling them up and adjusting the waistband. 

Reaching for the towel you’d just let fall, you brought it up to your head and began to dry your hair gently. The motion was slow, cautious. Each pat was careful, mindful not to press too hard.

“All set,” you said quietly.

He turned around and asked, “Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

You looked up, a little unsure. “You don’t mind?”

“Course not,” he said with a smile.

“Please.”

The two of you walked into the kitchen. Michael grabbed a pot and started making chicken noodle soup. The soft sound of the spoon stirring and the warm smell of the soup soon filled the room, making everything feel calm and cozy.

He set the pot to simmer on the stove, then turned to gather a few bowls and spoons. The soft clinking of dishes echoed through the quiet kitchen.

You settled onto a stool at his island table.

Michael glanced over and gave you a small, reassuring smile. “It won’t be long.”

You nodded, feeling the calm settle around you, grateful for this simple care.

Michael carried the bowls over to you, setting one down in front of you. You wrapped your hands around the warm bowl, feeling a small comfort in its heat.

He sat down beside you, and for a moment, you both simply savored the quiet. 

The two of you ate quietly at the island, the soft clink of spoons the only sound between you. The soup was exactly what you needed. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until your bowl was nearly empty.

When you finished, you murmured a soft thank you, and Michael just nodded, already rinsing the dishes in the sink.

Afterward, you both headed back toward the bathroom. Michael knelt down and opened the cabinet under the sink, pulling out a fresh toothbrush still in its packaging. He handed it to you with a small smile.

“Figured you might want this.”

“Thanks,” you said, voice low with weariness.

While you brushed your teeth, Michael disappeared down the hall. He moved quietly, setting up his bedroom—thinking ahead to anything you might need.

When he returned, he leaned gently against the doorframe and asked, “You ready to sleep?”

You nodded.

You stepped into his room and paused. The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the space. On the nightstand, he’d placed a bottle of water, a few folded towels, and a small plastic basin—just in case. The sheets were pulled back neatly.

You climbed into his bed, sinking. It smelled like him, familiar in a way that made you feel safe.

“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly.

You heard him moving in the other room, picking up after dinner or maybe putting things away. But by the time he came back to check on you, you were already asleep—curled up beneath the blankets, the soft rise and fall of your breath the only sound in the room.

—

You woke in the middle of the night, disoriented for a moment. The sheets smelled of him. 

Michael

You were in Michael’s bed.

Yet, the space next to you was empty. 

Soft snoring came from somewhere nearby. You rolled over, careful with your head. Your eyes adjusted slowly, picking up the outline of a shape on the floor—a silhouette in the dark room. Quiet and still, except for the slow, even rise and fall of his breathing. Michael, curled up on the floor with a pillow and a blanket.

“Michael…” you whispered.

Nothing.

“Michael.” You say a little louder. 

He stirred with a quiet groan from the floor. “Hmm? Hey—what’s wrong? You okay?” His voice was heavy with sleep, words slurring together in the dark. 

“What are you doing on the floor?”

“​​I didn’t want to jostle you,” he murmured. “You'd sleep better without someone next to you.” he said, still half-asleep, words slurred with drowsiness. 

You listened to the soft rhythm of his breathing. Then your voice came softly, tentative but firm. “Lay with me…”

He exhaled hard, a sound of reluctant surrender, shifting to find a more comfortable position on the floor. “Not a chance.”

Trying not to sound irritated, you pressed on. “Whatever worst-case scenario you’ve built up in that doctor’s brain of yours, it’s not gonna happen.”

“Just go to sleep. You need the rest.” His tone was gentle but firm, and he didn’t move.

Silence stretched out between you, thick and heavy like the dark itself.

“Your back’s going to be sore,” you said quietly, your words a soft concern in the stillness.

“A sacrifice I’m willing to make,” he mumbled, already drifting back toward sleep, his voice fading like a whisper.

“You’re gonna regret it. You’ll never beat those old-man allegations.”

“I’m middle-aged, not old,” he protested weakly.

“Exactly, you’re practically headed to the old folks’ home.”

“Hey.” He scoffed, a dry laugh slipping through despite the quiet.

You giggled softly. 

The room fell silent again.

“Come on, Lay with me…”

“Sweetheart, please just go back to sleep.”

“Michael, Please?” 

He let out a long breath. You heard the blanket rustle as he sat up, then the creak of the mattress as he eased himself into the space beside you—slow, careful, like he was afraid of accidentally hurting you. 

He stayed on top of the covers, his body turned slightly toward you but keeping his distance.

“Happy now?” he murmured. “Now, go back to sleep…”

And somehow, despite everything—your aching head, the nausea,—you did.

A few times throughout the night, the nausea came back, unexpected and relentless. Each time, you stirred, feeling the sickness twist in your stomach. And each time, Michael was there—plastic basin in hand, ready before you even had to ask.

He got up with you, never once complaining or pulling away. He rubbed your back gently, his hand warm against your skin as he whispered softly, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“My chicken noodle soup was that bad, huh?” he joked, knowing you were only throwing up because of your injury.

“Michael…” you groan out a laugh. Your laugh told him everything — that you thought it was funny, but not funny because you were throwing up.

He laughs softly, “Okay, I’m sorry.”

He brushed your hair back from your forehead, his fingers light and soothing. Even in the darkness, his voice was a comfort, steady and reassuring. He leaned in and kissed the spot where your shoulder and neck met, a quiet promise that he’d be there, no matter what.

At some point in the night, Michael had ended up under the covers. Now, the two of you lay curled on your sides, facing the same direction, careful not to jostle your injury. Your head rested on a second, softer pillow he’d propped just right to keep pressure off the side with the fracture. His chest was pressed gently against your back, his body warm and steady behind you.

Michael's arm rested low across your waist, heavy in sleep but comforting. He’d left enough space between your heads to avoid brushing against the sensitive side, but his presence was still close. It wasn’t quite a spoon, more like a careful hover

When you woke, the space beside you was empty. The sheets were still warm, faintly holding the shape of where Michael had been. You blinked against the soft morning light filtering in through the curtains and slowly sat up in bed, careful with your head.

A moment later, the bedroom door creaked open. Michael stepped in, balancing a tray with both hands — toast, scrambled eggs, some cut-up fruit, and a cup of tea that still steamed.

“Breakfast in bed?” you chuckled, memories stirring of quieter mornings months ago when you’d surprised him the same way.

“Like I said, you set the bar pretty high,” he said, quoting himself from that morning with a crooked smile.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your smile gentle and touched with sleep.

He made his way over and climbed into bed beside you with the tray. You shifted slightly to make room, sitting up a little straighter against the pillows he’d fluffed and stacked behind you the night before. He settled in next to you like it was second nature, his thigh pressed warmly against yours, careful not to jostle the arrangement supporting your head.

The tray rested comfortably across your lap, 

“How are you feeling?”

You took a moment before answering, eyes flicking down to the plate in your lap. “Okay,” you said slowly. “Still a little off, but… I don’t feel dizzy. And my stomach isn’t doing somersaults, so that’s a win.”

“Good. That’s good.” He nodded, though the crease between his brows lingered. Then, more gently, “How’s the head?”

“I’ll give you some meds after breakfast,” he said, his voice low, edged with concern. “Something mild, won’t knock you out.”

You nodded slowly, leaning into his touch just a little.

“Okay.”

He let his hand rest there a moment longer, thumb brushing lightly against your temple. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”

“I know...and thank you for yesterday at the ER, and last night...for taking care of me"

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice low.

He just gave you a soft smiled and leaned in and kissed your forehead—slow, steady, like he needed reassurance as much as you did. When he pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes that lingered just a beat longer before he shifted the mood.

Michael exhaled quietly and gave a half-smile, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own. 

“Though I kept it light,” he said, nodding toward the plate. “Hoping it’s not bad enough that you threw it up like the chicken noodle soup a few times last night.”

You groaned through a laugh, nudging his arm. “Stooopp,” you said, drawing the word out as your smile spread. You knew he was joking gently, lovingly and it made you feel lighter somehow.

He grinned and leaned in, his lips brushing your temple in a soft kiss. “Just saying… if you do throw it up, I’ve got the basin nearby. We’re a well-oiled machine at this point.”

You laughed again, more freely this time, “You’re the worst.”

“Nah,” he said, handing you the fork. “Just your personal chef, doctor, and comedian all rolled into one.”

You smiled as you picked at the fruit, choosing a slice of melon first. Michael reached for a piece of toast, took a bite, and chewed beside you in comfortable silence.

Then, you glanced over at him, something soft but serious settling in your expression.

“Can we talk?” you asked quietly.

His chewing slowed. He looked at you—really looked at you—and nodded like he already knew what you meant.

“You sure you wanna do that now?” he asked gently. “We don’t have to… we can wait.”

You shook your head. “No. I think we should.” Your fingers toyed with the edge of the tray. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he said immediately, setting the toast back down. “Of course. Whatever you wanna do.”

Together, without saying much else, you both reached for the tray. He helped steady it while you shifted slightly, and you slid it carefully onto the nightstand beside you. The plates clinked lightly as they settled.

He turned back to face you, one leg bent slightly on the bed, elbow resting on his knee as he looked at you with quiet patience.

“I thought about what you said—the night of my ceremony, sitting on that park bench, and then the morning after, when you told me I needed to figure out what I really want, what I truly need. You said if I kept pushing people away, I’d only end up hurting people who care. And I realized even myself and… after everything went down in the elevator, I broke up with Aiden that night. I told him I was done. That I needed to be on my own. I’ve been working on myself since then. I still am.”

Your voice faltered slightly, but you held his gaze, feeling the weight of every word between you. It wasn’t easy to say, but it was true. You were trying, really trying, to heal.

“You told me a man won’t make me question whether I’m loved… He won’t make me beg for affection, or make me feel like I’m asking for too much just by wanting to be seen.”

You swallowed hard, vulnerability threading through your voice. “That man… that man is you, Michael. And I want you. I want us.”

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining gently, searching for reassurance. “But I still have so much work to do on myself. I want to be whole before I can really be with someone. I hope you understand.”

Michael’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Hey,” he said quietly, “we don’t have to rush into anything. We’ll take all the time you need.”

A warm relief washed over you, and you exhaled slowly, your heart beating steadier.

“We’ll go slow,” he continued, voice steady and certain. “At whatever pace feels right for you. Because you matter. And this—us—it’s worth waiting for.”

“You’re not worried?” you asked.

“About what?”

You hesitated. “That I’m… 25. Naive. Stupid… I don’t know…

You looked down at your guys hands. 

Michael didn’t speak right away. His, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady.

“The age gap crossed my mind,” he admitted. “You’ve still got so much ahead of you. And I’ve lived through a lot. I worried I might hold you back. That one day you’ll see all of this differently, me differently and regret it.”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just full.

After a moment, Michael’s grip tightened just slightly, as if to anchor both of you.

“But the truth is,” he said softly, “being with you… it’s never felt like a mistake. Not once. I’m here because I want to be—with you—not because I’m trying to relive anything, or because I’m afraid of being alone.”

You looked up, meeting his eyes, searching for the certainty you needed.

“I know you’re young,” he continued, “and that life still has so much to show you. But I don’t want to hold you back. I want to walk beside you, whatever comes next.”

Your heart fluttered, caught between hope and fear.

“Do you really mean that?” you whispered.

Michael smiled gently. “More than anything.”

“Like k said we’ll take it slow. You set the pace—always. No rushing, no pressure. It’s about us, moving at whatever speed feels right for you.”

His fingers tightened gently around yours.

“I just want to be here—with you—however that looks.”

You felt the tension ease, like a weight lifting from your chest.

“Whatever you need, we’ll figure it out together….okay” 

“Okay” you smile. 

Your lips find Michael’s—soft, lingering kisses that make your heart flutter, but you can’t help the giggles that escape between each one.

He pulls back slightly, a crooked smile tugging at his lips as he searches your face, his eyes warm and curious.

“What? What’s so funny sweetheart?” he asks, chuckling softly, his brows lifting in genuine curiosity.

You press your fingers to your mouth, still grinning. “Your beard… It’s tickling my face.”

Michael chuckles, brushing his thumb gently along your cheek. “Oh really?” he teases, leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“It didn’t bother you before,” he says, raising an eyebrow playfully.

You smirk, teasing back, “Because when you first kissed me, tensions were high. I was too distracted by everything else to notice the tickles.”

He laughs quietly, the sound low and easy. “So you’re saying my rugged charm is… too much for you to handle now?”

You laugh again, softer this time, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him a little closer. “I’m saying your rugged charm needs a trim”

His grin widens, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he murmurs, pressing another gentle kiss to your nose. “But no promises.”

No more questions, no more worries—just a shared understanding. Whatever the future holds, you know you’re not alone. You and Michael are on the same page now, ready to take the next step, however slow or steady it may be.

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere@beebeechaos@antisocialfiore@delicatetrashtree@xxxkat3xxx@homebytheharbor@woodxtock@letstryagaintomorrow@livingavilaloca@elkitot@annabellee88@hagarsays@emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989@whos6claire@harrysgothicbitch@trustme3-13@qardasngan@silas-aeiou@k3ndallroy@ohmystrawberrycheesecake@ay0nha@404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy@steviebbboi@alliegc28@catmomstyles3@ardentistella@madprincessinabox@circumspectre@the-one-with-the-grey-color@thatchickwiththecamera@violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin@capj-1437@airgoddess@nah2991@interestellarprincess@laurensfilm@peachjellyy@aj3684@sorryimstupidrn@escapingjune@robbyslittlelamb@nicisthename92@littlezee80@lucidanne@spooky-librarian-ghost@the-salty-asian@lonelyheartsm@lovelyjulieee @memoriesat30 @glamorizethechaos @guiltypleassure243 @princessjayll @teapartydreams

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

[kingjackalope]

Honestly I love kanji. Love it. So much that I'm learning hanzi now. Yeah it's a lot of work, but that work pays DIVIDENDS later.

Why is 生 read so many ways? Because it can be growing, sprouting, raising, raw, pure, vital or LIFE (the core meaning). You'd have to learn half a dozen words for those concepts no matter what the language is. 生い, 生える and 生き have different okurigana (the hiragana following it), nama is usually a prefix before nouns, and uncommon readings will get furigana (a pronounciation guide) in most publications. (And honestly most words don't have that many readings 生 and 上 are the big scary ones, but you don't have to memorize every reading! Just remember new and weird readings on a word-by-word basis as you encounter them.)

I've met multiple people who said they wanted to learn Japanese but quit when they hit kanji. I think that's really sad. Yeah, you have to have realistic expectations (fuck all of those 'It takes two years to be fluent in Japanese' internet weirdos, they're talking out of their asses), but it won't take you until you're old and grey. It will take several years, sure. But once you have a good foundation it gets way easier and it's so fun! You can even start parsing Chinese! Taiwanese is so tantalizingly readable you'll find yourself understanding text you have 0 phonetic knowledge for.

I just started learning Mandarin after years of visiting Chinese grocery stores going "This package says 100% fruit juice no added sugar" and shit like that. Will it take me another 4 years before I'm past the "See spot run" level stuff? Probably. But it's cool! It's fun! Stop telling yourself why it's impossible and try enjoying the process!

[heartyluv]

Note: Apologies for my abrupt and brief radio silence, luvlys. I missed you guys and worked on this for you at some point while I was gone. I hope you enjoy! 😚

Warning: Smut (protected sex!), please don’t do what reader does in this irl omg LOLLL

Word Count: 2.9K (why can’t i keep anything shortttt)

Summary: Caleb reallyyy likes the new delivery girl.

Horny!Caleb/DeliveryGirl!Reader

Somehow in the span of Caleb ordering himself dinner and waiting for it to arrive, his dick had gotten hard. The desperation to have some sort of relief was overriding any hunger he felt, making it impossible for him to sit still on his living room couch.

It was one of those moments where it just hit him—where nothing necessarily provoked it, but he felt that subtle ache in his sweatpants that became too bothersome to ignore the longer he tried. He wanted to hold out since he wasn’t too keen on the idea of being mid stroke, only to be forced to stop and deal with rushing to wash his hands whilst trying to contain what would inevitably be a very obvious hard-on in the event that his food got to him quicker than he anticipated.

It’s because it’s happened to him before that he’s so wary.

But with the twenty minutes that passed, he couldn’t help but surrender to the greed within him and assured his horny mind that he definitely had it in himself to make it quick—that he could come fast enough before the usual delivery man showed up.

Unfortunately for him, though, at the same moment that he picked up his phone to watch one of his favorited videos while he jerked himself off until he couldn’t take anymore, the bell rang.

If that wasn’t a way to make a man soften, he didn’t know what else could.

“Gotta be kidding me,” he chuckled to himself and shook his head. Throwing his phone down onto the soft cushions, he let out an exaggerated huff as he stood and mentally chastised his cock to behave. Once he approached the door, he fixed his demeanor and briefly checked below the belt to make sure he was presentable before he opened it with a polite smile.

But almost as quickly as he sported it, it dropped just as fast.

It wasn’t Mr. Russo, the older salt and pepper haired pizza delivery man he’s pretty cool with. Instead it was you, a sight so fucking captivating that all intentions he had to disregard the problem in his pants was fair to chalk up as relatively implausible.

You smiled at him so sweetly, the sound of separating velcro grating his nerves as it clashed with and overpowered your whimsical voice when you went to pull his pizza out of its heat-holding bag.

“Good evening!” you chirped. “One large cheese pie with pep and mush for…” Taking a brief look at the receipt on top of the box, you continued. “Caleb?”

He shouldn’t have been getting hard all over again when he saw you in the first place—that was a given. You weren’t some piece of meat, rather just a woman doing her job. But he couldn’t help but be near steel when his name rolled off your tongue, leaving him utterly bewitched as the innocence in your recitation somehow made it even more alluring.

He hated to be brief in his efforts to survey the beauty that is you. From light denim jeans that were damn near painted on to your grey collared uniform shirt with the pizzeria’s logo splayed across your chest doing nothing but outlining the curves of your breasts perfectly, there was no way he could be normal about you.

Oh, and your visor. Yeah, that was cute, too.

“T—That’s me,” he stuttered before clearing his throat, but he couldn’t be embarrassed about the subtle voice crack when your eyes mirrored patience and understanding. It made him wonder what they’d look like when replaced with lust and pleasure.

Would you let him find out?

Selfishly, he wanted to hear more of you. What better to do than spark conversation?

“Mr. Russo doing alright?” he inquired as you handed him his meal. “I don’t think he’s missed a day before.”

“Oh, he’s fine! He’s been busy training a few new hires, so he’s in-store for now. He told me some regulars might be confused to see someone other than him delivering their food,” you chuckled.

“Ah,” Caleb nods, incapable of ignoring the shudder down his spine when your soft fingertips grazed his skin after he took the boxed piping hot cheesy delicacy that was waiting for him. “I assume you’re one of them? I’ve…never seen you before when I went.”

“Yeah, actually. Started two weeks ago.”

“Cool, cool,” he nodded, the insistent throbbing of his cock only getting spurred on the more you held eye contact with him. He was torturing himself at this point, but he couldn’t bare to see you walk away. Not when you’d be a perfect solution.

Realistically though, you couldn’t go anywhere even if you wanted to. He still hadn’t paid you, and it was the fact that you were just standing there in silence with the bag on your side and a calm tolerance etched across your features that made him realize he never got the cash out his wallet after placing his order.

“Shit!” his eyes widened, ultimately failing at shaking away his salacious thoughts when his gaze briefly landed on your plush thighs that he couldn’t help but crave to be in between. “I’m so sorry. Give me a minute. $19.50, right?”

“No worries,” you assure. “Happens to the best of us. And yup, $19.50!”

Just as he turns around to rush and go fetch your payment, a quick thought comes to his mind. He gives you his full attention again, pressing his lips together as he wondered if it was wiser to just let you remain where you are. But Caleb wouldn’t be the man he is if he wasn’t a gentleman.

“You can…” he points a thumb backwards into his apartment. “wait inside if you want. I’m not entirely sure where my wallet is at the moment and I’d feel awful about you waiting in this warm hallway if it takes me a second to find it.”

Well…it is hot. Even though the sun had set, with this heat wave, it was a still a sweltering 85 degrees on this humid July night, and it somehow felt worse as you stood in the clean yet suffocating hall of his building.

But you knew better—you knew you had zero business going into a stranger’s house, let alone a man’s. You should’ve quickly declined already and made sure he knew you didn’t mind waiting as long as you needed to in the uncomfortable temperatures.

Instead, his alluring smile, strong muscles, and captivating voice that he so smoothly exudes, were like kryptonite along with the cool air that wisps against your sweat slicked skin, calling to you from behind him.

Mr. Russo knows him and knew this was my last delivery before I headed back. It’ll be fine. Besides, he seems harmless, and I don’t feel there’s anything to worry about.

You were trying to convince yourself, and it sure enough worked because with the survival skills of a baby deer, you swallowed down your hesitance and accepted his offer before he stepped aside to let you in.

Never did you think that when you woke up this morning, got ready for work, and went about your day until you got the address for your last delivery, that you’d be getting fucked by the customer.

How you got here was just as—if not more—surprising. You have never slept with a stranger before. Ever. But the man getting ready to pop that cherry seemed like a more than suitable candidate.

When you waited for Caleb to find his wallet and two minutes turned to five, a part of you grew concerned when the busying footsteps ceased.

You didn’t anticipate that when you embarked on your search to make sure he was okay, you’d find him in his bathroom with the hem of his white tank top in his mouth to suppress his groans as he desperately pumped his cock in his hand.

A normal and more plausible reaction would’ve been to run out, to apologize profusely for the interruption, to even offer the pizza for free—anything to get you out. But he never stopped touching himself and you couldn’t stop staring as his precum beaded at his flushed tip until he took it to work the sticky substance down his length before it went to waste on the rug.

He had let the fabric fall from between his lips and kept his eyes on you the slower his movements went, abs flexing with any subtle shift. Breathlessly, seemingly still cocky despite the pink tint on his cheeks, he purred with a smirk, “Why don’t you join me? I’ll tip you nicely for your help.”

And it was with great surprise to both of you that you nodded. Not a moment of hesitance was shared when you got closer and let him kiss down your neck as your body pressed into him, feeling the heaviness of his cock against your belly.

Not only was he handsome, but he made you feel a type of arousal that you don’t think you’ve experienced before. It was consuming, foreign—but it was something your mind and body knew only he would be capable of stoking the flames of and dousing them when the time came. Weirdly enough, you trusted him enough to take care of the temple that is your body.

There was no need to prep you, your cunt already slick with desire and clenching fervently in your white cotton panties from the need to have him as deep as you anticipated he’d go. So when you assured him of that and he was given your consent, he bent you over his countertop to make you watch the yearning in your pupils as he pulled a condom out from the drawer.

Only an inkling of gentleness was used when he tugged your jeans and the thin material against your pussy down, revealing only the necessities and leaving you just as exposed as he is.

He rubbed down your puffy slit back and forth as he expertly ripped open the golden foil packaging with his teeth and rolled the lubricated condom down his veiny cock. Your walls clenched tightly in excitement at the sight alone.

When he finally breached your hole, there was no such thing as masturbation in his mind anymore after getting the opportunity to have you like this. He almost came inside the rubber like he was feeling the tight warmth of a pussy for the first time, but that’s exactly what your spongey walls were to him.

He’s never felt anything so snug and perfect in his life, and the whimper you two vocalized together as your bodies joined made him believe that the feeling was shared.

The way your eyebrows knitted with pleasure and pouty lips parted as he buried himself to the hilt in one swift motion was so euphoric to witness. It was almost like he could feel your bliss mingling with his own.

How could he possibly imagine giving up something so special?

“S—so full…mmph…” Your head dropped between your shoulders for a moment from the overwhelming feeling, and the erotic pitch in your tone made his cock twitch insistently inside of you.

“You suck me in so good,” he cooed with a exasperated grin, teeth tugging on his bottom lip as his eyes worshipped your beautiful stretch marks. Your back arched as far as you could go to let him reach the most personal parts of you. Shamelessly, you met him thrust for thrust to answer his question.

“Keep fucking yourself on me…just like that…”

His gaze met yours briefly in the large mirror before it went back to watch how your slick made the condom glisten when it caught in the light. Even with it on, it was like he could feel every glide against your insides as if he were bare.

“You’re so fuuucking soaked.” The deep grunts masked over his words made your stomach flip. Or maybe he was just that deep in your guts. Perhaps it was both.

His powerful hips rutted into your plush flesh to make the echos of smacking skin an entrancing sound he wished he had access to whenever he wanted.

Caleb couldn’t help but have his hands all over you—gripping your ass, smacking it to make it jiggle more than it already was, and gripping your hips to bring you close when you felt far. Addicted was too insufficient of a word to express how far gone he was.

“You’re my special delivery girl, aren’t you?” His hold grew firmer and you were thankful for it because without that pinch as a reminder, you would’ve already been in the clouds and completely taken.

“I am….I am…” you chant, the mouthwatering sting of his heavy balls against your clit making you nothing but a mess beneath him.

And you took on all of his onslaughts with delight, stars gleaming in your vision when you snaked your hand down to your sensitive bundle of nerves to make your orgasm come faster. If you didn’t, you were almost certain it would bring you to tears.

“C—Caleb, please don’t stop,” you mewled, your whines increasing as his pace did the same.

“Only you could get me to…” He fisted your shirt to make sure you remained pressed to him so that he could keep that intoxicating momentum.

You found yourself wondering if you hit the sex partner jackpot with the way he was slamming into your heat and begging you for more when he already had it all. Slender digits hastily circled your clit, the combination of that and the man buried within you making it hard to differentiate where you began and he ended.

“You’re gonna make me c—come…I’m about to…oh fffuckk,” you cried, your muscles choking him and making his own impending climax inevitable as your sharp breaths and jolting body became his motivation. You nearly became slack against the heated surface, your already drenched cunt turning into a waterfall from his unrelenting thrusts. Your mewls shuddered as they escaped your throat and were full of desire the more he used you to chase his own high.

Your unyielding hold around his dick only allowed Caleb a few more strokes before his actions stuttered behind you, his consistency faltering as a familiar pressure built inside of him. His heart pounded and ecstasy coursed through his system before heavy streams of cum pulsed from the head of his cock, flooding the thin latex that separated him from filling you to the brim until all you could do was thank him for it.

He was speechless, watching how your thick thighs shook and your fat pussy trembled around his throbbing length.

“I don’t usually do this,” he pushed out a winded titter. “Just fucking anyone that lets me, I mean. I have self control—I don’t want you to think that I don’t. But there must be something about you…”

You felt a surge of warmth in your chest as his thumb caressed your exposed skin while he tried his best to find the right words.

“Neither do I,” you admit. “But…I really enjoyed it. Maybe I need to be delivering to you more often.”

He snorted unexpectedly, nodding and licking his lips. “I can agree.”

You tensed and he hissed when he slipped out of your delicate body after giving you a warning. He tied the condom once he pulled it off before disposing of it, and you kept your eyes on him—part of it was simply out of curiosity about who you just slept with and the other in silent admiration.

Caleb was aloof to your staring while he cleaned off his cock and helped slide your pants back up from behind as you remained bent over until he brought them high enough that you needed to stand.

God, was he pretty. From his sharp jaw, angled nose, and soft hair—he was a perfect embodiment of anyone’s dream.

“What?” he asked shyly. You damn near fell out when you watched him blush like he wasn’t a different person just seconds ago.

“Nothing.” His arms come around to zip you up and button your jeans. “Just…I think I like looking at you.”

“You think?”

“I have to get to know you before I’m sure.”

“That’s fair.” His hands rested on you, pressing more kisses down the side of your throat. “You could stay. I’ll tell you everything you wanna know.”

“Of course you’d offer that,” you tease. “But I have to bring the money back to the store. I’m probably raising alarms already with how long I’ve been gone.”

“I can call Mr. Russo.” His hair tickles your cheeks the further he goes. “Tell him I’ll pay him double—no, triple—to let it slide. Would you stay then?”

“We’ve always been taught to be wary of strangers, Caleb.”

“I was just inside your pretty pussy, baby. I know what you feel like when you come, how you bite your lip when she…” his large hand goes between your thighs and cups you through your jeans. “feels good. Now I even know that penetration alone isn’t enough to get you off. And I’d like to learn more. Trust me, we’re a little bit past that stranger phase, don’t you think?”

Now you’re the one with a heated face. “Maybe.”

“I won’t try to convince you. It’s your call, but I…wouldn’t mind getting to know my helper on a deeper level.”

You audibly laugh, making him smile. He seems to like all the sounds you make.

“I’ll even let you take a picture of my ID so you can send it to anyone you want to for your safety and peace of mind. If you do wanna stay, you tell me whatever I need to do to make you comfortable.”

You turn around to face him. Placing your thumb over his lips, you press yours to the digit and smirk as he frowns over the barrier you’ve placed. “Soon.”

He reluctantly accepts defeat, the pit in his stomach already forming at the thought of you leaving.

“Soon,” he parrots, only his cadence makes it sound more like a promise.

Once he actually gives you the cash and the generous tip like he promised, Caleb sulks all the way to your comical car with a cartoon pizza mascot on top, shutting the door after you get behind the wheel and pressing a tender smooch to your forehead when you roll the window down to say goodbye one more time.

“No goodbyes,” he says firmly. “See you later.”

You grin so hard that it makes the apples of your cheeks pop. “I’ll see you later, Caleb.”

The needy man watches you pull out of your parking spot and fixates on your taillights until they disappear into the night and you’re completely out of sight.

Thankfully though, with your phone number saved and despite an undoubtedly cold pizza upstairs that he needs to reheat, Caleb now has a newfound specialty he plans to ensure becomes a permanent addition to his palate.

🍎 Tags: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @moonchildjae00 @caien @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @meadowinthesky @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @ajyoursgirl

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat

Creds to @/saradika for the pizza & star dividers!

[sei-rq]

hi req incoming!?:) (chars I had in mind; Sae, Rin, Shidou) with a fem reader. Maybe 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 drabbles if you do that sorta thing if not that’s cool! (I’m VERY curious to see this with Sae if you wanna just do one)

Reader working as an intern or something for character’s team. Reader finds herself alone with them and ends up arguing, which is odd since readers usually sweet but the character pushed their buttons. After the character insults reader in the argument reader slaps them then feels bad. How would they react??

I genuinely do not have the source of this sudden slapping obsession but someone said Sae’s head would snap to the side and this usual stone faced man would give you the most devious smirk because he’s actually a freak in disguise.

YOU LIKE YOUR GIRLS INSANE !?

a/n: absolutely adore this req, honestly now that you mention it, i'd go insane for feral sae !! and holy fuck, I definitely think reo would get turned the fuck on if he got slapped, please tell me you get my vision.

ft: itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, kaiser michael.

itoshi sae:

he's too into it.

WAY too into it, it literally happened because he was being difficult as usual, there's nothing new to it with sae.

but he has been pushing your buttons for as long as you've worked under him.

god knows what he had said way too bluntly this time around to piss you off, you don't remember

however this time, rather than that fake understanding and kind smile that you normally show to people to deal with situations quicker, was no where in sight, because you were alone with him.

you couldn't give less of a fuck anymore, not after what he said—

"i'm starting to think you took on this job because you're a people pleaser and you like the male validation from the team members, such a push-over."

a loud 'CLAP' could be heard in the empty room, the silence that followed after was deafening.

oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

and before you can apologise and beg to whatever god is up there to not lose your job, there is a 'pftt' sound coming from the man that still has his faced pushed down, from both the slap and for the dramatic effect.

before it's a full on chuckle filling the room.

"guess you aren't a push-over after all."

and he gives you the most DEVIOUS smirk before saying "hope you know what this means for you, cariño."

itoshi rin:

"can you just shut up? you're being annoying." rin huffs as he sees you go over the interview questions for the nth time for the team.

and normally you'd ignore rin's cold remarks and you're trying your best to do it right now too

but fucking hell, he's breathing down your neck like he's judging your entire existence.

"can you stop looking at me like I escaped the psych ward, please?'

he blinks "hard not to, because you did describe yourself pretty accurately."

you didn't mean to, your hand moved before you could think, it was supposed to push him back, you were supposed to hit his shoulder out of pure frustration.

you didn't realise he was leaning down to your level.

SMACK!

and oof.

you're terrified for your job and your life as you immediately make sure that he's okay, but he looks up with dazed eyes, wide enough to look like an owl.

and he looks down at you like you just completely rebooted his system.

"you're going to regret that."

yeah so, you assumed as much, but not like THIS.

safe to say, he was late for the interview, there was a mysterious bandage on his cheek and his hair was uncharacteristically messy.

shidou ryusei:

ryusei is an absolute menace, everyone knows that.

and it's not that he made you upset, or said something to make you mad, you both were alone together as you were working on some important documents.

safe to say, you really shouldn't be doing serious things anywhere around this absolute gremlin of a man.

honest mistake on your part.

"oh that looks interesting, lemme see!" the paper is snatched from your hands and..

RIPPP!

yeah, he fucked up big time.

and you're normally so composed and ryusei doesn't expect anything more than a sigh and complains leaving your mouth.

SLAP!

he made a mistake.

but he doesn't regret it, he'll rip apart twenty more documents if he gets to experience you crash out like that again.

"shidou, i'm so sor-"

'oh nonono, why don't you make sure you mean that and repay me in another way?" and he has the most mischievous look on his face.

mikage reo:

reo never gives you any trouble.

he's the last person on earth to bother someone without reason.

and he's the one you get along most with because of how sweet and kind he is.

even if it's performative.

he's nice.

but right now, he's being anything but cooperative.

his friend and teammate, he has an unhealthy obsession with has been locked off, reo is crashing out.

he isn't listening and he has skipped out on important events and interviews.

being the team's manager, you were asked to deal with it.

you really tried. words just didn't seem to reach him in that moment.

"mikage, listen–"

"you wouldn't understand, you're doing nothing but pretending to be nice–" okay, hypocrite much.

SMACKK!

and he's so dramatic, head turned to the side, eyes wide, hand holding his cheek like he can't believe you.

he probably hasn't ever been slapped in his entire life, let alone been touched like that, he's the heir to mikage corporation for fuck's sake.

maybe it's the light headedness or him finally losing his mind, he can feel all his pent up stress going straight to his dick.

well.

why don't you take responsibility for messing up a face that's worth 705.8 billion yen?

kaiser michael:

so unhelpful.

literally the most unhelpful person alive, he's been buzzing in your ear like an annoying mosquito for the past hour.

usually you would not care, just nodding along with a polite smile.

today he's being extra bitchy, something about isagi.

and you literally want to tell him that you don't give two fucks about what isagi did or how kaiser is feeling about the situation.

"and he–"

"kaiser, i'm busy."

"doing what? you literally get paid to work with us and deal with us, don't tell me that you're so unprofessional and useless that you can't even–"

CLAP!

head swung towards his right, eyes blown wide.

"you didn't just! oh fuck you did!"

and he's malfunctioning.

hot, hot, hot.

he can't believe that's what got him going, why don't you help him take care of it?

after all, it's your fault.

[so-writing]

Off Season - Quinn Hughes

Normally, summer is Quinn’s favorite time of the year. He gets to stop being the captain of the Canucks and the face of Vancouver hockey. He gets to leave the pressure of his on season behind, while he basks in the sun on the boat sipping his beverage of choice during his off. Summer is when he feels he’s at his most peaceful. 

This year is different.

The upcoming season could be his last hard push at leading the Canucks out of the regular season. If he wants to, he can walk freely to damn near any team he’d like. Everyone, if you’re not living under a rock, thinks he wants to. Quinn isn’t so sure though.

So, he’s determined not to let this summer slide easily by like those in the past. Quinn has been with the Canucks since he was drafted and there’s never been any real thought to giving himself entirely to anyone but the Canucks. There still isn’t, as long and he’s concerned, but the thought of leaving lingers in the back of his mind and weighs heavier than he’d like on his summer plans.

That’s why he decided to get into running. It isn’t the best idea he’s ever had, because he doesn’t fuck with running, at all. 

It’s not his thing but he’s come to find that the peace and quiet of the early mornings keep his hatred at bay for at least a little while. Every morning around 5:45 he pushes out the door with a water bottle and his thoughts and runs until it hurts his lungs. It’s a new development, one he doesn’t love but is slowly warming up to. 

At first, he’s sweating almost immediately but as the days of summer tick by, Quinn falls in love with the adrenaline rush that running gives, for the first time in a long time, he feels in control of himself completely.

He isn’t sure when he started noticing you. 

Someone he’s never met, never even seen before, runs his route around the same time he does. Quinn is jealous of your ability to make running look like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He watches you, trailing behind, as your hair whips back and forth and your arms pump through the run. He sees other things too but he tries not to look. 

It’s embarrassing that he notices because he’s not a creep at all, just a people watcher. One morning, early July, he gets ahead of himself and plows right into you. 

“Oh shit!” 

You tumble forward, barely catching yourself on the pavement and he follows, falling on top of you in an awkward mess. 

“What the fuck, man? Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

Heat springs into his cheeks immediately but he can’t help the smile that graces his lips as the two of you stand and dust yourselves off. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying much attention. I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, you weren’t paying attention? Could’ve fooled me.”

He’s caught. Yikes.

“Sorry, sorry about that,” he wants to collapse into himself. You’ve obviously noticed him and called him on it and he feels nothing but shame because of it. 

“It’s fine, I’m mostly kidding,” you extend your hand to shake, “nice to finally meet you running buddy.”

“Yeah, good to meet you,” he shakes your hand with a little too much force and gives you a small smile, “I’m not a creep I promise.”

“I know, I’ve seen you around enough to gather that.”

Quinn searches your face, hoping it’ll click and he’ll recognize you before this gets any more awkward than it already is. When nothing comes to him and then silence goes on too long, you laugh uneasily. 

“Damn Quinn, you really don’t know do you? We’ve only been living next door to each other since you and your brothers bought the place. I’ve introduced myself at least twice.” 

Holy shit, you’re the fucking neighbor? And you’ve met? And he couldn’t place your face or remember your name if his life depended on it?

“I’m really sorry, this is so shitty of me. I’m Quinn.”

You laugh at the situation, you’re a bit deflated and more than a little humiliated. You play it cool though, can’t let the hot, rich, pro athlete neighbor see you sweat. 

“Yeah,” you turn away from him and put your earbuds back in, “I know.”

Leaving Quinn behind, you break into damn near a sprint. The sooner you get away from him, the better. Holy shit, how fucking embarrassing and humbling at the same time. You don’t look at his house as you pass it and run up your driveway.

[zepskies]

CATASTROPHIC BLUES

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: Nine months isn’t as long as it sounds. When you run into your ex-fiancé at a bar, he finds out what you've become. You find out the truth.

AN: Okay, so this was only supposed to be a 1K drabble sequel to DOWNGRADE for my lovely friend, @waynes-multiverse, but of course it snowballed on me lol. (And there’s a little more to come!) This is set during early season 1, let’s say between 1x02 and 1x03.

Song Inspo: “Hits Different” by Taylor Swift (YT)

Word Count: 6.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, drunkenness, skeevy men, Mark doing his best with an angry, hungover reader (bit of grumpy x sunshine), talk of cheating, what really happened, and other truths revealed…

Nine months. It should’ve meant something.

You should be able to go out with your friends to the club. You should be able to feel confident in one of your favorite dresses and the tallest pair of heels you could almost walk in.

You should be able to let loose on the dance floor, letting the closest attractive guy grind on your ass.

He later offered to get you a drink, his hot breath in your ear. An uncomfortable chill ran down your spine. But you know what? Fuck it.

You went back with him to the bar, taking the chance to rest your achy feet. He tried to make small talk with you, despite you being stiff and awkward now that you couldn’t distract yourself with the vibes of the music running through your body. Now the thump thump thump of the bass was too much, too distracting for a normal conversation.

Blake was an oxymoron—he dressed like a wealthy hipster and talked like a frat bro. He had the skinny jeans and a silky patterned shirt, a thin gold chain around his neck, an obnoxious gold pinky ring, and a trendy cropped haircut. You regretted letting him buy you a drink, but then again, you never wasted good vodka.

You also started to get suspicious when one of your friends “casually” came up on his other side.

“Ask her about her job,” Sarah whispered. You just barely caught it.

“Oh, yeah. So, uh, what do you do?” Blake asked you. You were pretty sure he was more interested in your cleavage than your job.

“I’m an assistant to the Head District Attorney of California,” you said blandly.

The guy blinked. “…Oh. Cool.”

“And what do you do, Blake?”

“Well, my dad owns an advertisement company, so I do some stuff for him every now and then. But mostly I’m a competitive gamer. Like, uh, League of Legends, Counter Strike, Mortal Kombat. What about you? You a gamer?”

Blinking slow, then sighing, you leaned over and locked eyes with Sarah, one of your best friends and a well-known esthetician in L.A.

“Where’d you find the trust fund baby?” you asked. “He one of your clients? Let me guess. He likes his asshole bleached the same shade as his hair.”

Sarah bit her lip in embarrassment. Blake coughed and spluttered into his scotch. You didn’t stick around for the predictable denial and slid off the bar stool. You gave him $15 for your drink, downed the rest of it in one long gulp, and savored the rush of it tingling through your head on your way out of the club.

“Wait!” Sarah called after you. Your other two friends just rolled their eyes and stayed behind to keep drinking and dancing. They were used to your antics by now, just like you were used to theirs. They'd been trying to set you up on dates for a couple of months now. This one was the sneakiest by far.

Sarah, for her part, never let you walk out alone.

“Next time you try to set me up with someone, can you please just tell me,” you said tiredly, “instead of pretending you want to hang out with me?”

Sarah deflated. “Look, we’re just trying to help.”

“I know,” you said, holding yourself against the chill in the air. “I know, okay? I know you guys want me to move on, because I’m a fucking bummer. I know I’m…I’m not handling all this as well as I should be. And I know they still talk to Rachel.”

Tears stung in your eyes, but you sucked in a subtle breath. Sarah’s blue eyes were sad and glassy with guilt, even if it was just by association.

“Go back inside,” you said eventually. “I’ll just take an Uber home.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you ended up at a bar down the street. You barely ever went clubbing anymore, but you hadn’t stepped foot into a real bar in nine months.

“Come on, sweetheart. You really want to do this here?”

“You’re one to fucking talk! But you know what? Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to say. I just…I don’t know how you could do this to me.”

“Please,” he said. The green of his eyes were desperate. It was the first time you ever heard him beg. “Just let me explain.”

You wouldn’t let him touch you, let alone try to hold you. The thought alone made you sick.

“I saw you, Mark. I saw the goddamn pictures. And my sister told me all about how your last night of ‘freedom’ went. But you know what? You’re fucking free.”

You put the ring in the palm of his hand. He stared down at it, jaw clenched. Meanwhile, hot tears streamed down your face.

You walked away first—out of the seaside bar in beautiful Venice, California, with every piece of your heart bleeding out into the street.

Another vodka cranberry at the end of the bar turned into shots you couldn’t name or count. You rebuffed men who tried to talk to you. You ignored the voice in your head that sounded a lot like your dad.

Sweet girl, what the hell’re you doin’?

You stopped trying to answer that question a long time ago. Just like your friends had stopped trying to get you out of the house after work. No more wine tastings or Sunday brunches. No more weekends at the beach. The coarse grains of sun-bleached sand would only remind you of Santa Cruz—a sweltering summer, a perfect day, now fractured and wrong in your mind’s eye.

A fucking lie.

Another empty glass hitting the bar counter drowned out the salty crash of ocean waves, but you finally had to stop when your stomach churned with alcoholic slosh. Your brain reeled when you tried to blink. Your eyes felt dry, irritated, and glassy at the same time.

You got up from your seat and used the wall like an anchor on your way to the bathroom. You checked yourself in the mirror there. Your black dress, your hair, and your makeup were still intact, so you supposed you still looked good, if absent in the eyes. Again, you blinked too hard. Fuck.

On your way back out, new noise was filling the bar. A whole group of four or five people came in and grabbed seats at the bar, laughing, ordering drinks, giving each other shit. They sounded like cops. You knew, because you’d grown up around them your entire life.

“All right, Oliveras. What’re you drinking?”

You stopped short at the voice, deep and rich like aged whiskey. In fact, you needed the back of an empty chair to hold you steady.

“What, you're buying?” she shot back.

Amber. You recognized her profile and the litheness of her frame. You two were old friends, since you roomed together back in college. You hadn’t heard from her in months though. She had called to give her condolences when your almost-marriage fell apart.

And now, your ex-fiancé had an arm draped casually behind her chair. His smile was effortless, charming, the crows’ feet around his eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Well, within reason,” he replied, inclining his head. “I think I’m in the mood for some good fuckin’ whiskey—”

You stumbled in your stupid heels. You nearly took a whole table with you, but two chairs broke your fall. Almost all the cops in the group looked your way, their heads swiveling with a trained response to sudden sounds. Your name fell from Amber’s lips, a small, shocked breath.

Mark’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening when you looked up at him on reflex. You were forced to take him in, his green eyes, the new haircut, the well-trimmed beard, the jeans and dark blue jacket. He had no fucking business looking that good.

But you were like two shocked deers not expecting to meet in a forest—neither one willing to move or speak, or even blink…

Until you stumbled again. Your weight on the unstable chair began to give way.

“Shit.”

He and Amber both jolted to help you. Mark’s hand reached for you first, but you firmly ignored it and somehow straightened onto your shaky feet. You smoothed down the dress and fixed the little straps the best you could, even though one was hanging down your shoulder.

Your arm got tangled in the thin chain of your purse, but you slung that over your other shoulder with all the grace of a toddler. Then you affected a “polite” smile that just came off looking like a grimace.

“Uh, hey. Of all the gin joints in the world and stuff, right?” You made sure to enunciate, hoping your hand wave was casual and not insane. “I’ve gotta go.”

You pointed toward the door before you made it your mission to actually get there. Your heart pounded loud in your ears. The rush of cool and quieter air was a balm to your frayed mind, but it wasn’t enough.

The way he looked at her…

The turning of your stomach became a violent roil. You closed your eyes against the movie reel torturing you in your mind. You imagined how their night would go, drinking, laughing, touching, stumbling back into his house at 2:00 a.m. Maybe he’d end up actually loving her, someone more like him. More than he claimed to have loved you.

The liquid contents of your stomach rebelled, and you threw up right on the edge of the street. You clung to a utility pole as you coughed and cried involuntary tears. You heaved and gasped for breath when you couldn’t stop.

“Hey, you okay, sweetheart?”

Alarm trilled in the back of your mind. You had enough awareness to look behind you. Finally, you noticed the guy. He’d approached you in the bar earlier, but you’d turned down his advances. You couldn’t remember what you said to him. He clearly remembered you, though. 

You waved him off, not even able to speak as you tried to stay upright against the utility pole.

He didn’t take the hint. He drew closer, wrapping the pretense of a helping hand around your arm. He fingered the edge of your leather jacket.

“You need a ride? I’ll get you an Uber or something,” he said, with the facsimile of concern. “Where do you live?”

“Hey,” a voice cut in, deep and with authority.

You tilted your head, and Mark’s stern face came into view along with the rest of him. Him and those damn bowed legs.

“Take a walk, pal. I’ve got her,” Mark said. He flashed his LAPD badge for good measure.

That made it even easier to knock away the foreign hands off your body and angle himself in between. His arm came around your shoulders, supportive and safe.

Half of you was grateful, the other half resentful, but all you could do was glare at him. He shot you a quirking smile.

The other man backed off, trying to hide his annoyance. He continued down the street with his hands in his pockets. Mark itched to do more than just scare him off. A familiar protective anger had burned in his blood, raising his hackles, but he had to focus on you.

He led you back to the front of the bar. He went slow enough for you in those red stilettos (ridiculous, he thought, no matter how sexy they were).

“Late night, huh?” he said.

“What d'you think you’re doing?” you said. Your tone would be more snippy, if you had any energy left. Your inner world was reeling, unfocused and barely conscious. You had no choice but to lean on him as you gripped his jacket, the dark blue denim rough between your fingers.

“Well, I’m thinking I could call one of your friends, have ‘em take you home. You came out alone?” he asked. He was trying to be civil, retaining his sense of humor, but there was no masking the concern in his eyes. Not completely.

“No,” you admitted, “but ‘m alone now. Obviously.” You snorted.

Mark’s lips twitched upward. He heaved a small sigh. “All right. Well, who do you want me to call? Sarah? Yesenia? Lauren?” 

After a moment, you shook your head, even though that just made it swim. Fuck.

“I can’t…don’t want them to see me like this,” you said. The confession provoked a sniffle, a tremble of your lips. This time, you couldn’t stop the sting of tears from flooding over. You covered your face, as if that could stop your embarrassment, your overwhelming emotions from clogging in your throat in a painful lump.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Mark said. His tone pitched deep and gentle. It was an easy reflex for him to give into as he soothed a hand over your hair to try and calm you down.

You didn’t know it, but there was a gaping ache in his chest that had never really faded away. Seeing you again, let alone like this, made it sharp and splintering.

He led you to his car, and he took you home.

For a moment, you saw it so clearly.

Tracing his brows, the line of his nose, and the cut of his chin while he slept. What his hair felt like between your fingers, loose and soft, or gripped tight with need.

The sound of his voice reaching deep into your bones. The way his arms allowed you to reclaim safety whenever he came back to you…

Worrying for your dad on his twenty-five-year beat in Homicide had transitioned into worrying for Mark. He was always quick to reassure you though, to downplay with his ridiculous sense of humor and good sex. The best, actually.

But it was the in between moments you missed the most.

The distant sound of a lock turning in the door had you waking, slowly, a silent struggle in your bed. Your eyes cracked open.

Were you okay now? Was that him? Was he home? Had the past year just been a cruel invention of your mind to torture you?

…No. Your throat momentarily closed up as you realized. This really was just your shitty reality.

You groaned as you picked your head off the pillow, pushing your body up until you were sitting on the edge of your bed. Your bare legs hung off the side. You still wore your wrinkled black dress from last night, but your heels were strewn forgotten on the floor. You didn’t remember taking them off. You didn’t remember getting back to your apartment, let alone to your bed.

However, it all started coming back to you when the door shut again. Fresh coffee wafted in from the living room, along with something sweeter.

Your bedroom door creaked open, and there he was. Mark fucking Meachum.

He held a tray with two hot coffees and a greasy brown bag from your favorite bakery. Your gaze crept up to meet his, though yours was decidedly grumpy.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a smile. “It’s already almost noon, but I figured we can’t start the day without coffee.”

“Did you stay here all night?” you croaked in disbelief.

“Yeah, just, uh, took the couch out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the living room. “Could use a couple of extra throw pillows though. Think I got another notch in my spine…”

At your persisting glare, his expression sobered.

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all,” he said.

“Well, mission accomplished,” you snarked. “You can go now.”

Mark watched you try and fail to stand. You sunk back down to a seat on the edge of the bed, closing your eyes for a second while you attempted to stop your head from swimming.

He sighed and set down the coffee and pastries on your desk nearby.

“Have you been making this a habit?” he asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but last night was the first bar I’ve been to in exactly nine months and...fifteen days,” you replied. You swept your fingers over your cheeks, grimacing when you found remains of your mascara. You probably looked like a gremlin. This wasn’t exactly the way you wanted to look when you next saw your ex.

Except you’d never planned to see this man again.

“All right,” Mark said. He grabbed your purse off your desk, where he’d set it last night. He popped it open, your private goddamn property.

“Excuse me,” you protested angrily.

He retrieved a whole pack of cigarettes. “How about these?”

He tossed you the pack, and you barely caught it. Your irritation grew and grew, along with the sting of shame. The worst part was, he knew he didn’t have to say anything.

The unfiltered nicotine in your hand was the reason your father died. He’d been the Captain of Mark’s precinct for ten years—the exact number of years since your dad had quit smoking. It hadn’t mattered much in the end.

Still, you resented that raised brow of judgment on Mark’s face.

You leaned over and grabbed a lighter from your nightstand. You fished out a cigarette from the pack, and you took your time lighting it up. You were being an asshole, you realized, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You made a show of holding the cancer stick between two fingers. You looked up at Mark, right in his eyes, and tried to channel Audrey Hepburn when you brought it to your lips for a long drag.

And you immediately coughed it up. Fuck.

Smoke polluted the air above your head while Mark nodded in vindication.

“Yeah. How’d that feel, Smokey?” he asked (all too high-and-mighty, in your opinion). He crossed the distance and took the cigarette from your hand while you kept coughing. He went into the bathroom to get rid of it.

Meanwhile, you held a hand to your chest and groaned. Damn him, he was right. Your stomach roiled at just the taste of that shit in your mouth, let alone first thing in the morning.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up?” he suggested, sweeping a hand toward your adjoining bathroom when he came back out. “A little coffee and sustenance will be waiting when you’re done.”

“Seriously, you can go. You don’t need to wait up for me,” you rasped, but the man still helped you to your feet with a supportive hand on your arm and your lower back.

“Yeah, and what if you lose your balance and crack your head on the bathroom tile? Nope, not on my watch.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“He ain’t gonna help if you take his name in vain like that,” Mark couldn’t help but tease, fully expecting your glare. That was something your mom used to say.

You groaned, annoyed and still nauseous.

“Would you just shut up?”

“Nope, pretty sure I’m physically incapable.”

You snorted. “Clearly.”

He made sure you were steady on your feet before he left you in the bathroom. You avoided his gaze when he closed the door. His heart gave a painful pulse.

What the fuck am I doing? he thought.

Brushing your teeth and taking a hot shower had its innumerable benefits—making you feel alive and close to normal again, for example. But the one thing it didn’t do was get Mark out of your apartment.

You sat together on your couch while the TV played at a low volume. You saw the remnants of Mark’s night in your favorite throw blanket tossed over one of the armrests. The pillow he'd used for his head was caved in and smelling like his cologne, a rich, woody scent of sandalwood, spice, and musk.

You tried to ignore it while you finished eating a blueberry muffin. He polished off his third donut and washed it down with some more coffee.

“So,” you said. “Amber Oliveras.”

Mark blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Last night. You two were out together, seemed to be having a good time. Sorry I crashed your date,” you said, trying not to seem as bitter you sounded in your head.

Mark’s brows furrowed. “We’re, uh, not together. Not like that. We’re just working a case.”

“A case?” you said dubiously. “She’s DEA. You’re Homicide. What kind of case would you be working on together?”

He hesitated, brushing some pastry crumbs from his mouth. “Sorry, I can’t get into the specifics. You know the drill.”

Yes, you knew his cases were supposed to be confidential, but that hadn’t stopped him from telling you details before, especially because you were D.A. Valwell’s Executive Assistant. You had a higher clearance than the average civilian anyway.

But you let it go. It truly wasn’t your business, after all.

It was Mark’s turn to look your way. Morbid curiosity was eating him alive. Or maybe that was just the pull of being with you again, seeing your face, hearing your voice…even if you hated him.

He did think you were torturing him a bit too. You smelled nice, like floral soap and minty freshness. You were wearing an oversized shirt from your college days that was already threadbare from how many times you ran it through the wash. It slipped off one shoulder and barely went halfway down your thighs, brushing the edge of some little shorts. He had to stop his eyes from following the path of your bare legs.

“So, uh, how’ve you been?” he asked.

You paused. You even set down your muffin and chuckled, giving him a long look.

“How does it look like I’ve been?”

A grim silence fell between you two, thick and tense.

“All right," he said. "How long’ve you been smoking?”

You shook your head, lips pursing at his audacity. “You really don’t have any right to judge me. You know that, right?”

Mark rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, an anxious, frustrated tick you knew well. “Look, what happened back then—”

You rose a hand to stop him. “Please, for the love of God. We don’t have to go through this shit again.”

You got up from the couch, intending to throw away the coffee cups and garbage if it meant gaining some space from this man.

But he followed you, stopped you with an imploring grip on your arm.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said. He met your gaze, firm, earnest. “It didn’t go down the way she said.”

Your instinct was to jerk your arm out of his grasp, but he just held you in place, gently, but insistent. 

“Are you gonna let me explain this time? If you do, then just let me get it out. And afterward I’ll screw. I’ll walk the fuck outta here, and I promise you, you’ll never have to see me again.”

You stared up at him, close to seething, but there was something in his eyes that stilled you, gripped you more than his hands. A sliver of doubt began to creep in.

Your sister apparently hated you enough to fuck your fiancé. Had she been vindictive enough to lie about it?

You had realized, all too late, that you couldn’t put anything past her. Mark could be stubborn, but he wouldn’t dig his heels in on this without a reason.

So you relented, with a small nod.

Breathing a subtle exhale of relief, Mark guided you back down to the couch. You turned off the TV and sat facing him with your arms crossed. You gave him an expectant look.

Mark steeled himself. Where to fucking start?

A beat to think, and then he knew.

He had to give you everything.

Nine Months Ago...

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers Mark stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him. Your father reminded him beyond the grave, with words Mark never forgot.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” she said, guiding him further into her hotel room. With slurring words, Mark asked her to go find you. He needed to talk to you.

“Shit, think I left my phone downstairs too. Needa get it,” he muttered.

“You’re a mess. I think you need to lay down first,” she said, huffing as she supported his weight over to her bed. She helped him lay down. A subtle smile tugged at her lips as she began to open up his jacket. He resisted at first, giving her a look of confusion.

“You should get comfortable. I doubt we’re gonna be able to move you from here.” She giggled.

He guessed he could see the sense in that. He let her help him shrug the black leather jacket off. You helped him pick it out a couple of weeks ago while you were planning for this trip.

Rachel tossed his jacket to the foot of the bed, and she sat close to him on the edge of it. Her bare thigh brushed against his arm as the skirt of her dress rode up. It looked like she’d been about to take a shower after a night out with you and your friends. He instinctively moved his arm, crossing it with the other over his chest.

“You know, I never got a chance to thank you,” she said.

Mark’s brows furrowed. It was taking all of his concentration just to keep her face in focus.

“For what?”

“You were really there for me when Dad passed. You were like our rock, coming by with food, checking in on me when you visited. It really meant a lot to me,” she said. Her words said one thing, but her eyes were beginning to lead him somewhere.

“Your dad was a good man,” he said tiredly. “You guys went through a lot. You, your mom, your sister. It uh, hit her pretty hard.”

Rachel’s lips pressed together. “Yeah… She was his favorite, you know.”

Mark blinked. “What, he said that?”

“He didn’t have to,” she said, glancing away. She began to drum her fingers against his arm. He noticed it, but he was also trying to concentrate on what she was saying. “He always talked to her more, trusted her more, even when he was harping on her. She got that government job, probably thanks to him. But he was proud of her.”

“’M sure he was proud of you too,” Mark said.

“No, I don’t think so. I just don’t know why,” she said, sniffling as tears welled up in her eyes.

Mark frowned in sympathy. “Aw, hey.”

He didn’t know how to make her feel better, but he didn’t like to see her cry either. He sat up the best he could in the bed. She met him halfway, burying her face in his chest and sliding her arms around his middle for a hug. He gave her that comfort, patting her on the back.

Only, she didn’t stop there. She shimmied a bit higher and buried her face in his neck, where she pressed a little kiss. An alarm bell rang in Mark’s mind, but his body was too slow to respond. She turned her head and laid another kiss on his cheek, and then his lips.

He finally jerked back, holding her at arm’s length.

“Hey. What the hell’re you doing?” he demanded. His tone was sharp without a filter.

Rachel’s tearful eyes met his as she bit her lip. Her hand tentatively drew down his chest, warm over his shirt.

“I just…I finally had to tell you how much you mean to me,” she said. “And I think she takes you for granted.”

His brows furrowing, Mark grabbed her wrist.

“Rach, I love you. I really do, but you’re like a lil' sister to me. I love your sister. I wanna marry her.”

The thought alone struck a sharp jolt of pain through his skull, and through his chest. He did want a life with you. But is that fucking fair?

Could he really shackle you to a dying man?

Sure, he didn’t know how long he had, but that could be a cruel waiting game, one you'd just gone through with your father for three months. Mark didn’t want to put you through that all over again.

“Look, just...go tell her 'm here. Please,” he said. The fight was draining out of him. His energy was waning, his eyes blinking slow.

Rachel nodded, wiping at her tears. She left him in a huff, but she went to lock herself up in the bathroom first. The sink faucet turned on.

Mark sighed. Fine, let her clean up and pull herself together, but she’d better go get you. He doubted he could make it, even if he crawled. But if he had to, he would…

Slowly, the ticking seconds turned longer. His eyes grew heavier, until he was unable to pry them open again. He fell asleep.

He woke to a streaming sun in his eyes, and a pounding ache between them.

Shit. He groaned, covering his eyes. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t good for an already fucked head after all.

“Hmm, good morning, sleepyhead.”

Mark frowned. He looked over and found Rachel leaning on his arm. She was lying naked under the thinnest sheet. He knew, not only because of her bare shoulders, but her nipples poking through the fabric.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunted, immediately turning over to climb out of the bed. He was very fucking relieved to see he still had his jeans and underwear on, but his shirt was missing. He found it strewn on the floor.

“You actually did that yourself,” Rachel remarked. “Think you got a bit hot last night.”

There was a playful note in her voice. Mark grit his teeth. He was fucking pissed.

“You’re over the fucking line, you hear me?” he snapped.

“What, are you really gonna tell her?” she taunted. “It’s not like we did anything. I just prefer to sleep naked.”

He snorted. Sure. And what happened to the part where she was supposed to go find you and tell you where he was? No, the girl saw an opportunity, and she took it.

Mark hesitated though, because she raised a good point. Goddamn it, what was he going to tell you?

His jaw clenched, and he angrily finished getting dressed. He got up and stormed out of the hotel room, but not before Rachel got of out bed and let the sheet fall away from her slender form. She walked in confidence and feminine sway over to the bathroom, smiling in amusement when he quickly turned away before he saw anything.

The door slammed shut.

Her smile slowly fell. Tears of embarrassment stung in her eyes. Not really because he was mad at her, but because he’d rejected her too.

She knew it was wrong. Yeah, she was pretty sure it was the worst thing she’d ever done. Part of her even hated herself for it. You were her older sister, after all. You, who always looked out for her when you two were kids—better than Mom did. You, who got the most attention from Dad, and the quiet reliance of Mom.

Yeah, Rachel did love you...but she also kind of hated you too.

After she got dressed, she went back to find her phone. She cycled through the pictures she took, every angle that made it seem like your fiancé had spent the night in her arms after the hot and steamy bits.

It was a joke. A cruel prank. But maybe after this, you wouldn’t open your mouth to criticize her ever again. Maybe you’d think twice next time, because in the back of your mind, you’d remember that she could’ve had your man.

Now...

Mark finished telling you the story from his perspective. He gave you as many details as he could remember: what she said and did, and what he said and did.

Understandably, you were getting more upset by the moment. That pendulum swung between shock, and anger, and upset again. It all culminated in hot tears as you crossed your arms, holding a hand over your mouth.

“How do I know that’s true?” you asked, wiping vainly at your cheeks.

The problem was, you wanted to believe him. Of course, you also wanted to believe your sister wasn’t quite as screwed up and hateful as you thought she was, but even this was insane. You'd only ever tried to look out for her. Maybe along the way you had been a little critical, a little too judgmental. But had you really deserved this?

Could you even let yourself hope it was all a lie?

Mark met your gaze head on. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

You sighed in frustration. “Mark, you’re a professional fucking liar. I’m not a human polygraph.”

“But you know me.”

“I thought I did,” you said, rubbing at your eyes with shaking hands. Eventually, you were able to look at him again. “If what you said is true, why the hell didn’t you just tell me that?”

“You wouldn’t let me! You made up your mind before I could get a word in edgewise.”

“I was angry!"

God, what an understatement. You'd been so furious and hurt, you'd seriously debated taking one of your dad's old golf clubs and knocking out every window, headlight, and tail light in Mark's precious car.

"So you're saying you didn’t even fight for me. You just let me think the worst of you all this time? For what?!” You sunk your hands into your hair and pulled hard on the strands. You shook your head. “And you know what, why did you get so drunk in the first place? Your friends told me you went back to the hotel early, by yourself. It had to be for a reason.”

Mark nodded slowly.

That was when he knew, he really did have to give you everything.

“You, uh…remember those headaches I’d been getting?” he said. “Started about a month after your dad passed.”

Your brows wrinkled with a hint of confusion, but you nodded as the memory resurfaced.

“Yeah, you were going through entire bottles of Advil. But what does that—”

“I went to the doctor.” Mark rubbed a clammy palm over his jeans. He could stare down murderers, drug lords, and terrorists with steel in his veins, but coming clean with you was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He knew it in his bones, just like he knew why he needed to do it.

“Turns out… I’m sick, baby.”

Your expression changed, almost instantly. Traces of anger and doubt fell away, but so did some of the color in your face.

Mark took the chance to get a little closer on the couch. He laid a hand over yours on your thigh, but your whole body was locked up, sitting very still.

“W-What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean,” he sighed, “I’ve got a mass in my brain the size of Nevada. I don't know how much time I got exactly, but..."

Your eyes widened. Your hands clenched into the fabric of your shirt, until your nails bit into your palms. As you processed those words and began to understand the weight of them, it sunk inky claws into your mind, into every shady corner.

You shook your head in denial, lips trembling. Mark just held your gaze, a silent confirmation that he said nothing but the truth.

"I found out a few days before the trip to Venice. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, but obviously I didn’t handle that part very well," he said.

Anger, stubbornness, suspicion, pretending you didn't care what he had to say—all of that faded. It drained out of your muscles, out of your pores. You began to fall apart.

You turned your hand under his and squeezed, hard. It was a while before you could speak, but Mark was patient. He held your hand and stroked his thumb back and forth across your skin while you tried and failed to hold onto your tears. Then your soul-wracking sobs.

Finally, he couldn’t help himself. He brought you closer, soothing a hand over your hair and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, a coarse whisper. “God, Mark. Why the fuck would you let me think you cheated on me, with my sister?”

He gave a wry huff. “I guess I thought I was being noble. I thought I’d rather have you hate me, than try to stay with me. Watch me break down, bit by bit, for God knows how fucking long. Now I know I’m just selfish. I don’t want you to see me like that… Hell, I don’t wanna see me like that.”

You pulled back on him. Devastation filled your bleary eyes, but you caressed his cheek with a shaking hand.

“Have you gotten treatment?” you asked.

“Doc says it’s not worth it.”

The divot between your brows deepened. “What about a second opinion?”

He hesitated.

“Have you seen another oncologist?” you pressed.

“No. Guess I didn’t see the point. I saw the scans myself. I don’t know how you’d confuse a big fucking tumor for anything else.”

“Mark.” You shook your head and wordlessly guided him closer. You framed his face with both hands, while his own found purchase on the soft curve of your waist.

It was nice to feel your touch again…but at what cost? All that stubborn fire in your eyes, all that pain, it was everything he’d been trying to avoid. 

Still, you were gentle, sliding your fingers up into his hair. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

After all this time, you were still his peaceful spot. If you only knew the amount of death he’d seen in just the past couple of weeks on Blythe’s taskforce, the chaos, the stress of near-misses, being on the sweet razor edge of getting killed, saving his own body the trouble. That thrill took its toll.

Before that, those nine months undercover had been a divorce from his reality, pretending that he hadn’t left you broken along with whatever heart there was left in him.

He never imagined that he’d be here with you again. He never thought you’d forgive him, let alone touch him like you still loved him.

When he opened his eyes, you were still there. Tears clung wet to your lashes. You led him closer, where you tenderly rested your forehead against his.

He let you do it too. You were the only one he’d soften up for like this.

He smiled. “Hmmm. What now, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, but you slowly pulled back and opened your eyes. You didn’t go far though.

You guided him into an even more familiar path to your lips. It was more bittersweet than he remembered, but worth it all the same.

He was home.

AN: So, you guys forgive me? 😘💙 I know it's not the happiest ending ever, but it felt like a good place to pause for these two. Rachel was more complex than she seemed, and so was Mark's side of the story!

I have at least one more actual drabble in mind for these two, coming soon! 😂 Please let me know what you thought of this one 💜

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Mark Meachum Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Mark Meachum Tag List (Part 1):

It seems like a lot of people on the Dean tag list like Mark! lol So if you prefer not to be on this list, just let me know. I'll take you off no problem (you won't hurt my feelings lol 💜).

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

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@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

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@mrsjenniferwinchester @fromcaintodean @kiddieclaws

[alien-slushie]

DcxDp idea

The 2013 Movie "Mama" but; make it Danny(in ghost form) taking care of Damian while filtering/getting rid of the pits, and tormenting/haunting the League of Assassins, specifically Ras. Nobody knows whos doing these things,(tripping them, mixing olive oil into their soaps, unplugging their phones at night, pouring paint onto their clothes, hiding their shoes/weapons, making sure their pillows are never cool, scratching on the windows at night, banging on doors, and watching them through the shadows) and its making Ras paranoid AF. Her father's increased paranoia, especially with the dwindling pits, encourages Talia's decision to send Damian to Bruce, and Danny follows.

Due to Danny's influence and soft natured care, even though Damian had never really seen Danny outside of shadows and flickers of light, Damian is a bit more perceptive to Dick's care and Bruce's no killing rules. I mean, he did try to attack Tim still, and Danny stopped him.

The Bats obviously realise there's something following and taking care of Damian, but he refuses to tell them what because he doesnt want them to exorcise the spirit whos protected him since he was 3. Once they realise that Danny is no harm to them, outside of superficial pranks at best, they leave him alone. For now.

The irony that Bruce's kid was adopted by a Ghost/Spirit was lost on no one.

[neeeooon]

two-way mirror ;

4 | awkward silences

ft. fem!reader & sae, rin

cw. take the title for what it is, cussing, mention of self-bruising (once), and other anxious tendencies

you sat at the cafe across from the itoshi brothers, your hands clutched so tightly in your lap you could feel bruises forming.

the older of the two (you assumed, based on the way he sat straight and didn’t avoid eye contact like the slouched one beside him) scanned over your photos with a certain eagle-eye precision that made you feel nauseous. of course, he’d scrutinize your work; his little brother was your target. you swallowed roughly and cleared your throat to cover it.

“um, i have a few more, if you want…” you trailed off when he looked up, and sank further into the plush cafe seats, praying they’d suck you in and teleport you back home.

someone placed a water cup in front of you, and you’d been so spaced out, daydreaming about your couch, that the action made you flinch in surprise. you looked up to find ichika smiling softly at you before she turned her attention to the others there. “hope i’m not interrupting! want anything to eat? you know you get a discount when i’m working.”

“part of the reason why i wanted to meet here,” sae grumbled, but his lip curved into a small grin when he put your photos down and handed his menu to her. “i’m okay with black coffee. rin?” rin mumbled something you missed over ichika’s sudden gasp.

when you glanced in her direction, your face burned at the sight of your photos in her hands. “wow! you took these? they’re amazing!”

“yeah..” you replied anxiously. you had to get used to people seeing your work. praising it, even. you were already familiar with criticism, especially after getting rejected from art school.

as if she could sense your hesitancy, ichika carefully placed the photos back on the table and jotted something down in her notebook. “black coffee and an oreo milkshake—“

“i didn’t—“

“—got it! anything for you, y/n?” you gestured to your water, and ichika left to grab their things. it grew quiet without her there, and you returned to picking at the drawstrings of kiyora’s sweats.

sae smirked. “i’ve seen enough. you’d make a great addition to our team.”

“thank you,” you said, silently praising yourself for not stammering.

“that makes the majority a yes,” he continued, silently sliding the photo of rin over for him to see. “if you’ll excuse me, i’m running to the restroom.” he didn’t directly say that it was to give rin some time to speak up, but his intentions were obvious.

you almost asked him to stay, and you could practically see the same question in rin’s glare as he followed his brother’s retreating form with wide eyes. sae disappeared around the corner, and you were left alone with rin. you accidentally caught his eye and immediately looked away, rin doing the same.

it was uncomfortably quiet. you weren’t sure what to say, and usually, you could get away with not saying anything at all, especially since you didn’t often put yourself in one-on-one situations with people you weren’t familiar with. you opened your mouth, desperate to break the awkward atmosphere, but nothing came out.

“‘s good.”

your gaze snapped up to find rin peering down at the picture you took of him. again, you tried to form a reply, but thankfully, he continued.

“the lighting is cool. i guess. i don’t know much about photography.”

“… thanks. it wasn’t anything i did, though. the lights you had at the show were really pretty. i guess i was drawn to them, or something. i don’t know.”

rin hummed, not once looking up at you, but now engaged in the conversation. “kaiser and shidou argue about it a lot. the lighting, i mean. kaiser thinks blue makes him stand out more, and shidou thinks blue dulls him, or something. i tune them out when they get annoying.”

he was being awfully social, but you were grateful, since it meant you didn’t have to speak—

“how did you get the background to blur?”

shit.

gulping down your nerves, you wrung your hands out as you fumbled your reply. “the lens. i use a wide aperture ‘cause the shallow depth of focus is the point. since the lens is more open, more light reaches the sensor. plus, i have my camera all set up so when i apply a little pressure to the button, it’ll focus on what’s centered without taking a picture. the background blurs better with my lens and stuff. i mean, at least i think it does.”

you didn’t mean to talk so much, but you couldn’t stop once you started. your face flamed. “sorry. that was a lot.”

rin hummed as he picked one of the photos up. “so you don’t add filters or anything to your pictures?”

“i try not to. i want them to be as authentic as possible.” you rubbed your hands over your pants. “keeps it real. the only filters i add are, like, black and white ones, sometimes.”

“cool.”

“thank you.”

it got quiet again, but it didn’t feel nearly as tense this time around. rin continued looking at the photograph in his hand, and you snuck the one closest to you so you weren’t just sitting there doing nothing. sae returned a few minutes later with his coffee and rin’s milkshake. rin scowled at the sugary drink but used his straw to spoon some of the whipped cream into his mouth.

“so,” his brother said, eyes already on you when you looked over. “have you two decided?”

you blinked. “on..?”

“on if you can work together or not.”

right. that was the whole reason you were even at that table in the first place. your face burned, and rin stabbed mindlessly at his milkshake. “fine. it won’t be the worst thing in the world, i guess.” his words were a little grumbled, a little distracted, but you were grateful for it.

“yeah,” you replied, trying to force a bit of enthusiasm into your voice. “i think it could work.”

sae flashed a rare smile and waved his hand as he spoke. “great. i’ll send you our offer, the starting amount, and give you three days to formally decide after reviewing it. sound good?”

you nodded. “yeah. you have my contact info.”

masterlist // previous (ch 3) // next (ch 5)

notes -> chat is this two awkward people trying to have a conversation orrrrr ? ALSO ALSO do you want me to add ichika to the ft. section or no since she isn’t a real character

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