#every time he is recovered something else happens to him

[desideriumwriter]

Anyone But You | Chapter 14

Summary: You avoid the tension between you and Fred, you end up sobbing again, and make a decision that you're not sure if it was a mistake.

CW: crying, kissing, yelling

WC: 1.8k

A/N: a shortie but it's the moment you all have been waiting for! somewhat

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You really didn’t mean to stay this many days at the burrow. But you surprisingly didn’t miss your bed all that much. And you were having fun.

Angelina had gone home before lunch, Lee was staying for one more day, and Harry was staying for the rest of break as per usual.

You felt bad for him.

You had shared the same loss, but you felt worse for Harry than anyone else. He was the one to see Cedric die. Then he had to go and battle a dark wizard, and bring the corpse back with him.

Remembering that he was younger than you made it worse, dealing with all that at fourteen obviously is going to take awhile to recover from.

It seemed that the both of you tried not to dwell too much on it, not wanting to think about it, and using this time at the Weasleys as a way to distract your thoughts from that event.

Harry didn’t want to remind you of what happened and you didn’t want to remind Harry of what happened. You still asked how one another were doing and responded to each other in small group conversations at the table. But really no more than that.

Anyways, you’re trying not to dwell on it. This a vacation, you should be happy.

You did your best to act normal around Fred, trying to act as if you haven’t cried in his arms twice, and slept in his bed twice, sharing the bed one of those times.

The hardest thing to ignore was that feeling in your stomach any time he was near to you.

You're not sure when it started, nor how long you’ve been ignoring it. Maybe months? That’s quite terrifying, you won’t think about it too much.

The day was simple. You ate breakfast, watched both of the twins along with Lee and Harry play Quidditch, the twins already using the beaters bats you got them. Lee offered to switch places with you, seeing if you’d like to play a round with everyone. You refused, terrified you wouldn’t be able to dodge a ball in time or fall off your broom and end up with a broken arm.

You all went inside eventually, talked, watched TV, ate lunch, talked some more, watched TV some more, watched everyone play Quidditch some more, ate dinner, talked more.

Nothing very exciting happened most of the day, except when Lee was able to hit George right in the nose with a scone from the other side of the table.

Also, you were actually able to make conversation with the twins without getting annoyed every other minute. That was new.

Other than that, nothing super important happened for most of the day.

Once you went upstairs to change, you realized that you underestimated how many days you’d stay when you packed your bag.

You were out of fresh pajama shirts, you weren’t in the mood to wear the same shirt you’ve chosen to sleep in the past two nights.

It wasn’t ideal, but you just decided to keep on the shirt you had on all day and sleep in that, changing into a new pair of pajama pants.

Leaving the room and passing the twins room, you noticed a light on and the door was cracked open, it’s usually shut.

Peaking your head in carefully, you saw Fred standing and hunched over on his desk, focused as he wrote something on a piece of paper. Probably a new idea.

Pushing the door open a bit more, it squeaked and you cringed at the sound. Fred’s head slowly looked to where you were. He smiled.

“Will you be joining me in my bed again tonight?” He teased, a sarcastic suggestive tone in this voice.

“You got lucky last night, don’t push it Weasley.” You stepped fully into the room, crossing your arms. Fred noticed and looked down at your shirt, his eyebrows creasing inwards for a moment.

“Is that the same shirt you’ve worn today?”

“Oh, yeah. I ran out of sleep shirts. This will do for now.” You shrugged, moving a hand to play with the hem of your shirt.

Fred didn’t say anything, he went over to his dresser and opened the top drawer, the wrong drawer. You got a glimpse of his boxers and immediately looked away. He slammed in shut with panic in his eyes, then clearing his throat as he opened the one underneath.

He pulled out an old shirt, it had a faded logo of some band he liked when he was prepubescent.

“Here, you can use this for the night.” He held out the shirt for you, you took it with a hesitant hand.

Looking down at it and rubbing the finger over the fabric, you bit your cheek. Feeling guilty all of sudden, about so much.

“Fred, why are you being so nice to me?” The words tumbled quickly out of your mouth, sounding painful.

“What?”

“I’ve been so horrible to you, all these years I've been so bitter and mean. Yet, you just let me in. You never held an actual grudge against me. I don’t get it.” You looked up at him, laying the folded shirt on the dresser next to you.

“Y/N, I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He stepped closer to you. He was so close. So close.

“Why can't you just be mad at me? Why can't you hate me the way I’ve hated you.” You whined, shoving him slightly, praying you would finally scare him away, make him despise you. 

Fred held your arms once you tried to push him away again, rubbing your thumbs over your wrists, and weakly saying your name.

“I could never hate you.” Fred spoke softly, you let out a breath of frustration and dropped your hands from his light grasp, wishing he would just tell the truth. He already was. 

“I don’t know why. Maybe it’s ‘cause I understood, I am annoying and I am a bit of an arsehole sometimes with my pranks.” He chuckled and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know Y/N, I just can’t hate you.”

“Godric, why are you doing this to me Fred?” You groaned, dropping your head to his chest, leaning against him. 

“I don’t know. I can’t help it.” Fred shook his head as he gently placed his hands on the sides of your face, holding it up to his gaze. You clenched your teeth together.

Can't help what? Can’t help what, Fred? You wanted to push so bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Scared to know his response.

His eyes were glazed over, and he took in a shaky breath. You stared at his soft lips, the sides of lips curled down.

He looked so fucking beautiful. You hated him for it.

And you didn't know why you did it. All you knew was that in that moment, while staring into his infuriating eyes and glancing down at his lips that were curled into a frown, you wanted to kiss him. 

Air rushed out of his lungs as you did. It was strange, you expected anger, definitely regret, but all you felt was satisfaction.

Fred took a second before he pushed back into the kiss, his hands still cupping your face. Yours ran through his hair.

That yearning, the strange feeling of waiting you both held in your bodies for so long finally felt relieved as your lips opened and closed around each other.

You’d slept in his bed last night, now you were practically making out with him. What the hell were you doing?

Fred was the first to pull away, his chest heaving and swollen lips. Fred didn’t look regret-filled either but he also didn’t look ecstatic or happy. 

He looked…unsure, which was exactly how you felt. 

His eyes darted all along your face, taking in your features, analyzing them, trying to figure out what your puzzling expression was. 

Though you knew what you wanted to do, you wanted to kiss him again. You leaned in then stopped yourself, pushing yourself completely away from him.

“Oh no. No, no, no.” You mumbled repeatedly to yourself, stress taking over your face as you pressed the balls of your palms against your eyes. “What am I doing?”

Fred whispered your name, disappointed at your sudden denial. You stared at him with puffy eyes, the lamp showed the shine of a tear that fell down his face. The guilt was eating at you now.

“Fred…we can’t. I can’t….I just. Fuck.” You rubbed your hands down your face, nearly running out the room and down the steps. Fred followed suit but stopped at the doorway of his room. Watching you dart away once again, you didn’t stop moving until you were outside.

Fred stepped back and rubbed a hand against his cheek, then using two fingers to wipe his watering eyes.

You sat on the wooden bench outside, your back against the table connected to it. Hunched over with your head in your hands.

With no idea of what you were doing, what you just did, and why you ran out on Fred, you moved your hands from your head to your face.

You were a complete idiot. A complete and utter asshole for what you were doing. You’ve begun to mess with Fred’s head as much as he’s been messing with yours.

You wouldn’t blame him if he held a forever grudge against you for this, you’d understand if he began to resent you.

The door leading into the kitchen creaked open. You brought your head up slowly, even though you really didn’t want to. Knowing who it would be.

“Hey.” Fred had his hands tucked into his pockets, a painfully awkward look on his face. He couldn’t meet your eyes. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I deserve to be asked that.” You let out a breathy laugh. Fred puffed out his bottom lip and shrugged. Moving to sit down next to you on the bench.

The two of you sat in silence, you sat up fully, resting your hand in your lap and fiddling your fingers.

“I didn’t mean to run away like that. I just wasn’t sure what to do.”

“I get it, there was a lot happening in one moment.” Fred lied, he honestly didn’t get it. He wondered why you couldn’t just come to your senses with your feelings.

“It was rude of me though. I’m just not sure about anything really.” You sighed.

Fred rested his hand over yours in a sympathetic way.

“How about we just stay here, as friends? It’d be really nice to call you my friend after all these years.” He chuckled. “I’m just glad we’re not at each other's throats anymore.”

“Yeah. Yeah we can be friends.” You nodded slightly, voice hoarse when the words came out.

“Okay.” A weak grin took over his face.

“Okay.”

It’s hard to stay as friends when you’ve already kissed him.

tell me what you thought here! <3 or ask tba to the taglist for this series!

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[ilovereading5252]

Dpxdc promt

The Everlasting Trio meets their alternative self from a different dimension.

While Sam and Tucker are trilled to hear all about Ivy’s and Selina’s careers Danny is horrified!

He can’t believe that his alternative self not only got their powers on purpose, but that they got them from Alternative!Vlad!!

Who is even more of a fruitloop here!!!

Not to mention the dating thing!!!!!!!

Danny is really glad Harley came to her senses and has no problem with him working some perfectly understandable feelings out on her ex.

[thedevillionaire]

what happened to him?

Hi, anon, and thanks for the ask but I've gotta be honest - this took me a fair while to work out what it was referring to lol. And if it's not about my tags responding to @whumpster-dumpster's post below, which due to recency/timing I think it probably is, um...sorry, and please send more details.

In brief: Cerberus's dearest and closest friend was killed in unknown circumstances on the mortal plane, which meant he couldn't bring him back. He has the power of resurrection within Underworld bounds, but couldn't access this. Despite a lot of trying. Desperate trying. For over a month. He'd never failed to achieve a magickal goal before (and hasn't since, in fact) and basically the combination of desperately wanting to save his only true friend - his social enclave has always been both very small and extremely important to him - but being unable to... The worst possible thing to fail at, and he failed at it, and he absolutely broke down over it, in the end. To this day, I don't think he's forgiven himself for it, really. He's a perfectionist and on the rare occasions when he truly cares, he cares very deeply.

[slippery-minghus]

ughhhh my coworker who i have to sit stupidly close to just tested positive. and he literally messaged me this morning hemming and hawing about coming in, but he didn't want to waste his pto. he shouldve fuckin stayed home. and the county literally just lifted the mask mandate for doctors offices on monday afternoon. if i get sick i'm gonna be so fuckin pissed

[luveline]

I would dieeee for some more of Spencer and bombshell after her getting injured😭 him taking such good care of her, the BEST doctors, researching every single option😭 reassuring her rhats shes just as pretty😭

—Spencer looks after you while you recover from a brutal injury. fem!reader, 1.1k

Spencer thinks it’s one of the team's more gruesome injuries. Hotch has been stabbed to mince meat and Emily half-killed, Elle got shot, and he’s had his fair share of violence, too, but he can’t imagine the horror of being hit in the face with a hammer. The pain so close to your eyes, your teeth, your brain, the fear and the sudden crack. He feels sick whenever he remembers the sound, and he was sick the first time he dreamt about the way you cried as it happened. Your strange yelp, the immediate drop to the floor. 

Spencer never hit somebody as hard as he did that UnSub. His gun whipped out possessed across the UnSub’s face, and then drove forward into their nose with a stomach turning crunch. 

They’re in custody, and you’re in bed recovering with some of the best doctors in the world. Spencer thinks you both won this round, even if it doesn’t feel like a win right now. 

“Shh,” he whispers, “shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry.” 

You cling to his chest as though worried he’s going to move out of reach, sobbing. You’re careful not to touch your face or his chest, the soreness too much, but the rest of you is clinging to him. You don’t have to worry, he’s not going anywhere. 

“Please, it’s okay,” he says, the tip of his nose to your forehead. “You can have another dose in twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes.” 

He supposes the pain reminds you of the full extent of the injury, your jaw fractured in two places, your gum traumatised, your face more bruise than anything else. You hate your appearance being out of your control, it’s making you panic —he can feel you shaking.

He’d sat down with your drink to find you already crying, he couldn’t have been gone for ten minutes, but it was long enough for you to fall deep into the throes of hysteria. You’d grappled for him as he sat down to hug you, your face hidden ever since, and now the shakes have started. He’s hopeless. 

But Spencer’s willing to do anything to make it better. “Can you tell me what’s upsetting you? Please?” he asks.

“It’s–” Harder sobbing, your tears dripping down from your chin to wet the thigh of his pants.

He has to calm you down.

Since you met Spencer, you’ve been the comforter. He can’t count how many times something has hurt him and you’ve rushed to save him. You’ve hugged and held and kissed him into smiling, you’ve never let him down, you’ve forgiven him after a hundred stupid mistakes, so Spencer doesn’t care that you’ve been inconsolable for days. He really doesn’t mind that he’s had to look after you this attentively. It’s his pleasure, and he’s getting better at it. 

He presses a few soft shushes somewhere in your hairline, his hand rubbing a circuit into your back with a firm pressure that never tips into roughness. He does it until his palm is numb. He could paint the slant of your back from muscle memory, fingers tripping down the creased fabric of your pyjamas, pulling back up to your neck. He’s never felt such tender sympathy. He hates that you’re in pain, but he doesn’t hate getting to rub your back. This is surely boyfriend territory. 

“You want something to drink now?” he asks quietly. 

You open your mouth to answer, sighing in pain momentarily. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Did you want the straw?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” He can’t force himself away. “You okay for me to move you?” 

“Yeah.” 

You can’t be blamed for short answers. 

There are surgeries to hold your jaw together when it breaks, and while you were unconscious (shock, rather than head injury), Hotch consented as your next of kin for the doctors to make sure things wouldn’t get worse, but it was Spencer who had to advocate for you afterwards. They’d wanted a metal connector to prevent dislocation. Spencer knew this could mean another scar, so he said no, because you might’ve said no had you been awake, and they should’ve asked you anyways. 

When you did wake up, you were vehemently against it. Which is fine, you can heal without it, but it’s scarier to do it unaided. Your jaw could dislocate if you do something wrong, which is not only horrifically painful, but a painfully horrific injury to have. You talk quietly. You take small mouthfuls of soft foods. 

Spencer looks at you now, tearstained, back arched like a kicked dog, and doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he were the one who got injured instead. 

He takes the hospital bed controls into his hand and presses the button to make the top of your mattress elevate. Tomorrow, they’ll send you home, and Spencer will have to construct a nest of pillows for you to sit in while you recover, but it’ll be worth it. Things won’t feel as intimidating when you’re in your own bed. 

“Lean back, beautiful,” he says. 

Your smile is a straight line with eyes lit up. “What for?” you ask. 

“Comfier. Less stress on your head.” You lean back. “Oh,” he adds, “and so I can get a better view of you.” 

Your eyes get impossibly brighter. “What do you think?” you murmur. Your voice sounds scratched to death from crying, tight from holding your mouth a certain way, but pleased anyways. It’s just as pretty as it always is to him. 

“You’re the prettiest girl in the world,” he says, reaching out to cradle your waist, his hand moving up and down the side of you tenderly. 

You have a bruise from under your left eye and bleeding down your neck, and you haven’t slept right for a few days, but you’re undeniably beautiful in Spencer’s eyes. 

You’ve been the most beautiful girl in the world literally from the day you met onward, with as much to do with your heart as your lovely face. He should tell you that, but he doesn’t. 

“Can I have water now?” you ask, covering his hand with yours. 

His confidence wobbles. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Sorry.” He grabs your drink, water spilling down the side to wet his hand. 

“Please don’t make me laugh.” 

“I’m not trying to,” he says pathetically. 

He holds the cup of water to your face and you guide the straw between your lips. Spencer’s sure he’s been in love with you forever, and it’s all but cemented now. 

[beautysamour]

Dick Grayson X Overstimulation ! something where Dick is jealous or a little angry because the protagonist doesn't care about herself Dick is an Overprotective boyfriend

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟐: 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

— 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“Di—ick,” you squeeze your eyes shut as you start to recover from your orgasm. The bed squeaks in sync with his cock hitting that weak spot inside your pussy.

“Oh, now the pretty girl calls out my name yeah? Fuck—,” he tries to keep his head up as you clench around his cock, “What happened to the other guy, huh?” He shuts his eyes, his dick twitching inside of you as a wet moan leaves your throat.

“He—he doesn’t matter! I wa—hah—was just teasing you,” you arch your back into him, fingers gripping onto the bedsheets as you start to remember how every vein on his cock feels.

He laughs, lowering himself so his torso meets your arched body. He watches the way your face contorts—it’s not enough.

“Ba—baby, I’m clo—!,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, the sound of his balls hitting your ass ringing through your ears, “Oh my…fuck.”

You moan as your knees get pushed to your chest, your boyfriends deeper thrusts causing your heart to stutter, “Dick, Dick—hah, baby, that feels good, that feels soooo—“

“I know, I know,” he smiled sadistically as he watched your eyes cross, he kissed the sides of your ankles as he flicked your nub—what a beautiful sight you were.

Suddenly your body stiffened, “Dick—Dick—! Dick, I’m—cumming!”

He chuckled at the way you gripped onto the bedsheets, as if you would never come back down from cloud nine if you hadn’t. His eyes glimmered with lust as he watched your cum splutter everywhere.

He waits for your eyes to open, waits for you to look at him—“Fuck, baby,” his eyes shut as he feels his cock twitch while your pussy spasms around him. His head drops, his grip on your ankles tightening as his cum mix with yours.

You fight back a moan as you watch him cum, the sight of him reaching his peak making your pussy clench, “You’re so hot.”

He chuckles, eyes still closed as he starts to lower your legs, “Even more than that guy?”

A cocky smirk forms on his face as you try to answer but get cut off by a moan—a moan that he’s responsible for, not that other guy.

“I already told you—,” you choke on your breath as Dick starts to slowly thrust into you again, “—he doesn’t mat—ter to me.”

Wincing as Dick hits your g—spot, you muster all the strength you could, which isn’t much right now, to wrap your legs around his waist, “Only yo—you matter.”

Dick snorts as you look at him through watery eyes, he makes sure to brush his finger against your nub as he hits your sweet spot. He leans down, pressing a kiss on your stomach and leaving a trail as he reaches your neck, “Figured that no one else can make you feel this good?”

The bed squeaks as he moves his hips, you secure your grip around his waist.

“A-also because I lo—love you,” your head tilts back against the pillow as the feeling of pleasure gets mixed in with pain as your pussy twitches around his dick for the nth time.

He pauses for a second at hearing those words—just for a second before his composure comes back—and tears start to fill your vision as your g—spot gets overwhelmed, “I love you too, baby, but,” his hand travels from your pussy to your stomach, and he pushes down locating his cock.

“I need you to forget him, and we have all night for that.”

[heartysworld]

The third wheel // LN4

Lando Norris x Female Reader

In his attempts to make you feel less lonely, Lando ends up being the one who feels neglected.

W.C: 1.5k

Feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Feel free to send requests or other questions if you happen to have any! Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

You wake up to the soft sounds of Milo’s tiny yawns and the gentle rustling of the covers as you carefully slip out of bed. Blinking against the sunlight streaming through the curtains, you stretch and cradle the little furball close to you. The puppy that Lando got you for your birthday has been your constant companion, especially during those long weeks when he’s away racing and you're unable to join him.

Milo has filled a void in your life that you hadn’t fully realized was there. His playful antics and loyal presence have made Lando’s frequent absences more bearable. Today, though, Lando is finally home for the summer break, and you’re both excited to spend some quality time together.

You move around the bedroom, getting ready for the day. Milo follows you everywhere like a shadow, his tiny paws padding softly on the floor. You pick out a casual dress and head to the bathroom to freshen up. As you brush your hair, you glance at Milo in the mirror. He’s sitting obediently, watching you with his big, adoring eyes, his tail thumping against the floor.

“Are you ready for a walk, handsome?” you ask, smiling at him as you lean down to give him a loving scratch between his ears and earning a small lick of your wrist.

From the bedroom doorway, Lando’s voice chimes in. "Yeah, just about," he replies, his tone filled with warmth and excitement.

You laugh softly, realizing that Lando thinks you were talking to him. Turning around, you see him standing there, grinning at you. "I was actually talking to Milo," you say, giggling.

Lando’s smile falters slightly, but he quickly recovers and laughs along. “I see how it is.” he mutters playfully, though there's a hint of real disappointment in his eyes.

You walk over to him and give him a quick kiss. “Oh, come on, Lando. You know I love you too. Ready to go?”

The three of you step out into the sunlit streets of Monaco, Milo trotting happily between you. The morning air is fresh and crisp, and you can’t help but feel a sense of contentment. As you walk hand in hand with your boyfriend, you two chat about everything that’s happened while he was away.

“Did you see the photos I sent you from when we visited that new café?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah, it looked amazing. We should go there together.” Lando replies, squeezing your hand.

You nod enthusiastically. “Definitely. They have the best pastries and even offer pup cups for pets!”

Milo tugs on his leash, eager to explore as the mention of his second favorite thing reaches his floppy ears. You laugh and let him lead the way for a bit. Every so often, he stops to sniff at something or chase a fluttering leaf, and you can’t resist bending down to pet him and tell him how cute he is.

Lando watches, a soft smile on his face, but you notice a hint of something else in his eyes. Is it jealousy? You brush the thought aside, focusing on enjoying the walk.

Later, you stop by a little café for a quick breakfast. You find a table outside, and while you and Lando sip your coffee and nibble on croissants, Milo sits at your feet, looking up at you expectantly.

“Do you think he wants some?” Lando asks, pointing to Milo.

You chuckle. “Probably. He’s always hungry.”

Lando tears off a small piece of his croissant and hands it to Milo, who gobbles it up with a wagging tail. “Good boy, Milo." Lando says, ruffling his fur.

As the day goes on, you visit a few shops, picking up some treats for Milo and a couple of things for the house. Everywhere you go, people stop to admire Milo and comment on how adorable he is while your worldwide famius boyfriend is waiting on the side. You beam with pride, feeling like a proud parent.

Back at home, you and Lando prepare dinner together. As you chop vegetables and he stirs the sauce, you talk about your plans for the rest of the summer break.

“I was thinking we could take a trip somewhere,” Lando suggests. “Maybe a weekend getaway?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agree, smiling at him. “Where do you have in mind?”

“Maybe the south of France? It’s not too far, and we could take Milo with us.”

You nod, your excitement growing. “I’d love that. Milo would too, I’m sure.”

As you finish preparing the meal, you notice Lando watching you with a thoughtful expression. “What’s on your mind, handsome?” you ask, setting the table.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know, sometimes I feel like Milo is the man in this relationship,” he says with a half-smile.

You pause, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he gets all your attention. I feel like I’m the one begging for it,” he admits, trying to sound light-hearted but clearly feeling a bit left out.

You laugh softly, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around his waist slowly making their way up to the base of his neck, something that you know makes Lando melt. “Lando, you’re always going to be my number one. Milo is just... well, he’s our little baby. It’s different.”

Lando chuckles, pulling you closer. “I guess I’ll have to get used to sharing you.”

The following race weekend, you’re at the Dutch Grand Prix accompaning Lando with Milo safely by your side. As Lando talks with some of his friends and fellow drivers, he shares his feelings about Milo taking over the house. They laugh, nodding in understanding.

“I know exactly what you mean,” says Carlos. “When we got our dog, I felt the same way. But trust me, it gets better. You just have to find a balance.”

Charles chimes in, “Yeah, and sometimes, it’s nice to have a little competition for their affection. Keeps things interesting.”

Lando grins, feeling a bit more reassured. The camaraderie with his friends helps ease his worries.

During the race, you and Milo cheer Lando on from the sidelines. Milo barks excitedly whenever Lando’s name is mentioned, and you can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

After the race, Lando comes over, sweaty and tired but grinning from ear to ear. He scoops Milo up into his arms and gives you a kiss. “We did it!” he exclaims, pulling your body closer to his.

“You were amazing out there,” you say, beaming at him. “We’re so proud of you.”

That evening, back at the hotel, the three of you curl up on the couch. Milo is snuggled between you, his little head resting on Lando’s lap. You lean against Lando’s shoulder, feeling content and happy.

“You know,” Lando says softly, “I think Milo might be growing on me. He’s not so bad.”

You smile, reaching over to stroke Milo's fur. “See? We’re a perfect little family.”

Lando chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, we are.”

As the night settles in, you all cuddle closer, enjoying the warmth and comfort of being together. In that moment, everything feels just right. The love and connection between you, Lando, and Milo create a perfect harmony, making every moment together special.

MASTERLIST

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[realcube]

— SAIKI RELATIONSHIP HCS

☆ very hesitant to hug you/hold hands bc he is afraid he might shatter all your bones. prefers kisses, less can go wrong

☆ except that one time he kissed you and was so flustered that a whole galaxy exploded

☆ but it was one of those really distant, useless ones so he moved on

☆ or that time you held his hand and he literally started levitating ??

☆ finishes exams in two seconds then spends the rest of the time annoying you

'i don't mean to disturb you but i noticed you put the wrong answer for question four' 'get out of my head!'

☆ i already wrote a drabble about this but he morphs into different objects to 'prank' you

☆ you always want him to shrink bc what's the point of having a psychic bf if you can't carry him around on your person like a polly pocket

☆ he's very apprehensive about it, however one day he finally agrees to it because you have a shift at work and you really wanted him to join you but it would be weird if he just showed up to your place of work unannounced so he shrunk and you carried him around in your back pocket

☆ that is until you almost sat on him!! and when he dived out to avoid being crushed, he fell onto the sticky work floor covered in dust

☆ still hasn't fully recovered 😿

☆ omg if you are insecure about a physical feature of yours , instead of using his powers to change you, he will use his mind control on the entire world so that your insecurity is now the beauty standard (similar to what he did with his hair)

☆ he doesn't use mind control on you though bc it's rude

☆ in fact he tries to avoid using his powers on you all together bc it would only cause trouble (with the exception of telepathy bc he likes to speak to you.. unlike he does with most people)

☆ and he's very strict with that ethic of his

☆ which is nice and all, and really easy until he does something super embarrassing in front of you

☆ like you see him scream at a cockroach or smth

☆ and he is SO tempted to use memory alteration on you so you could just forget that ever happened

☆ but he just can't bring himself to do it

☆ OR when your birthday was before his so he got you a present but didn't do that much else, but when it was time for his birthday and you went all out, he so wanted to either go back in time and do better or just alter your memory so you think he went all out too

☆ oh and passive aggression doesn't work on him ofc

☆ if you are ever mad or upset at him for whatever reason, you can't be like 'hmph i'm not gonna tell you what you did wrong, you just have to know :<' bc he can.. y'know.. read your mind

☆ and he also knows exactly what to do to make you feel better and forgive him, every single time

☆ plus you can never stay mad at him for long anyway bc he's just too cute!!

☆ too shy to admit that he wants to spend more time with you so he will use his powers as some sort of excuse

as you're about to leave saiki's room, he lies, 'wait. don't go. i have had a precognition that something terrible is going to happen to you if you do.' 'really?' you raise an eyebrow. 'and what might that be?' he wasn't really ready for any follow up questions so he stutters and thinks of the scariest scenario he can 'toritsuka.' ... 'toritsuka is going to do what? jump me?' 'no. just toritsuka.'

☆ for your birthday or anniversary he does something you call the 'saiki special' where he duplicates himself to give you a full body massage

☆ it's what dreams are made of !!!

☆ but yeah it's a lot of effort so he saves it for special occasions

☆ he would so love to watch trashy reality tv shows with you

☆ but he so uses it against you

☆ like if you are ever studying and are like 'why am i working so hard when you are psychic and can literally set us up for the easy life 😫'

☆ he'll be like.. you know who else never worked hard a day in they're life.. the kardashians!! do you really want to end up like that??

☆ and when you say yes this is the face he makes 😐

☆ dw though bc as i said before he will be in your head during exams so he can help you a little

☆ his love language is actually spoonfeeding you food and desserts

☆ and yes he actually uses his hands opposed to his mind to control the spoon, just to show you that being a psychic doesn't mean he gets to cut corners!

[charlieeenby]

meeting robin

the justice league is happy that batman is socializing, but they're worried that he doesn't seem to notice when robin is switched out every few years

warnings and tags: miscommunication but it's funny, alien invasion, mentioned violence

“Batman,” Clark said slowly, “why do you have a second heartbeat?”

Instead of responding, Batman grunted.

“A second heartbeat?” Barry questioned, zipping over. “How would that even work?”

Another grunt from Batman.

“Batman?”

“I don’t.”

“But I can hear a second heartbeat coming from you.” Clark said, confused.

“It’s not mine.”

Barry choked. “Huh? Who is it then?”

“Robin’s.”

Clark frowned. “Who’s Robin?”

Batman grunted again, and Barry groaned.

“Come on, man!”

Then, Batman’s cape, which hid his entire body, shifted. Clark heard a small giggle. A child popped out, beaming.

“I’m Robin!” he exclaimed, clearly excited to be there. Barry was startled and jumped back a bit.

“What the f-” he stopped short when Batman glared at him. “Fudge?”

“Batman, what is…who is this?” Clark asked.

“This is Robin.” Batman said, like it explained anything.

“We got that. Why is he here?”

Robin bounced. “I’m gonna help!” he said, and Clark caught an accent he couldn’t quite place.

“Help?”

This got him a nod. “Yeah. B said I was ready to meet the Justice League!”

“Who’s B?”

Robin squinted at Barry’s question. Then pointed up at Batman. “B.”

“Batman, where’s Robin?” Diana asked, surprised the young vigilante wasn’t with Batman.

“He’s busy. Couldn’t come.” Batman said, and Diana got the sense that there was something that Batman wasn’t saying to her, but she decided to leave it be.

“I see. Is he alright?”

“Fine. Work.” Batman seemed to be giving short answers again, something he’d stopped doing after Robin had shown up.

“Well, tell him we all missed him, please.”

Batman grunted.

“Batman, what happened to Robin?” Barry questioned, staring at the small boy that had replaced the teen they’d watched grow up. This one seemed shy, half hidden behind Batman.

“Nothing.”

“Well something had to have happened, Robin was a lot taller last time we saw him.” Clark said, also watching the boy. “That’s not the same person.”

“No.” Batman said in an almost growl.

“Huh?” Barry said, confused.

“That’s not the Robin we know. That’s someone else.” Clark said.

“We’re ready to start.” Diana said from behind Batman and Robin, the latter of which startled by her.

Clark heard a quiet ‘woah’ from the boy and smiled. He must be a fan of Wonder Woman.

The Justice League and Robin shuffled into the meeting room, Robin sitting in a chair very close to Batman.

For the entire meeting, he sat quietly, mostly watching Diana with obvious wonder across his face.

Afterwards, Diana approached him, kneeling down to his level.

“Hello. My name is Diana.”

“H-hi.”

“How long have you been Robin?” she asked gently.

“Uh,” he looked up at Batman, who nodded encouragingly to the small boy. “A few months.”

“And are you enjoying it?”

Robin nodded. “Yeah. It’s fun and we get ta help people.'' This boy had an accent as well, though it was quite different from the first Robin’s.

“That’s wonderful.” Diana said. “We’re excited to work with you, Robin.” the kid beamed, looking like he was having the best day of his life.

“Batman, what the fuck?” Barry exclaimed, ignoring the various looks he got at the curse. “Why did Robin get smaller again?”

“Because I’m a different person.” Robin said.

“But he just replaced the first one like, two years ago!”

“Four, actually.”

“Batman? Could you explain, please?” Diana asked.

They got a grunt in response.

Clark sighed. “Batman, please, can you explain this?”

Robin scoffed. “Are you stupid?”

“Robin.” Batman’s tone had a warning in it.

“There’s nothing to explain.”

A grunt.

“Batman, Robin is a girl.” Hal said, confused and done with the entire thing.

“Is that a problem, fuckface?” The entire League took a step back, surprised by this Robin’s language.

“No, of course not. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Hal said, trying to recover.

Robin huffed before turning back to Batman.

“Language, Robin.” was Batman’s response.

“Oh, come on, I coulda said a whole lot worse.” Her accent reminded Clark of the second Robin’s accent, though more pronounced.

“Tell that to Agent A.”

Robin gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

Batman grunted, though this sounded like one of his amused grunts.

“Fiiine.” She turned to Hal. “I'm sorry for calling you a fuckface.” that got a sigh from Batman.

She turned back to Batman. “Happy?”

Batman grunted again, and while Robin seemed content, Clark and the rest of the league had no idea what it meant.

“Oh my god, this one has a sword!” Hal screeched, running into the meeting room.

“Who does?” Diana asked, standing.

“Robin! Batman got a new one and he has a sword! He tried to stab me!”

“If I had tried to stab you, you would have been stabbed.” a small voice said from the doorway.

Everyone looked over to find Robin, scowling and glaring at all of them.

“He looks just like Batman.” Barry whispered, and Clark agreed. The boy in front of them had an uncanny similarity to Batman.

“Of course I look like him, I’m his son.” Robin snapped, and there were various gasps around the room.

“His son?” Barry’s pitch was high enough that Clark winced.

“Yes.”

“Robin.” Batman appeared behind Robin, frowning at the small boy and looking more annoyed then concerned. “Please don’t stab them. They are our allies, not our enemies.”

Robin looked annoyed, glaring at the Justice League. “Fine.”

“Go sit.” Batman said, nudging the boy towards a chair.

Clark looked up when the computer whirred to life.

“Recognized, Nightwing, B-0-1. Recognized, Red Robin, B-0-3. Recognized, Spoiler, B-0-4. Recognized, Robin, B-0-5.”

Clark stood and walked over to the zeta tube, staring at the four people that stepped out.

“Hey, Supes!”

“Who are you?” he asked, confused.

“We’re-” the one in black and blue started, but was interrupted by the one in red.

“We’re looking for Batman. It’s an emergency.” he stated, matter of fact. “Where is he?”

Clark hesitated. He didn’t know these people or how they got into the tower to begin with, but he wasn’t keen on taking them to Batman.

He didn’t have time to make a decision before the zeta tube started again.

“Recognized, Red Hood, B-0-2.”

He knew that Red Hood was a crime lord, how was the computer recognizing him?

“Where’s B?” Hood asked as soon as he was through.

“We’re still working on that.”

Hood groaned. “What part of ‘emergency’ did you not understand?”

The person dressed in purple scoffed. “We just got here and Superman is in the way. You wanna fight Superman?”

Hood looked over at Clark. “Hi.”

“Hi. What’s going on?”

“We need Batman. Got a bit of an emergency.”

Clark frowned and looked down at Robin. “Robin, what is going on? Who are these people?”

Robin scoffed. “Hood and Red Robin both informed you of what is going on, Superman. I didn’t know you were that dense.”

At least he knew the name of one of the new ones.

“Alright. Just, stay here, okay?”

“Fine.” Robin snapped, looking annoyed.

Clark went over to the chair he’d been in and hit the intercom. “Batman, you’re needed by the zeta tubes.”

A few minutes later, Batman appeared. When he saw the assortment of vigilantes, he sighed loudly.

“What happened?” he asked, sounding tired.

“We are being attacked by aliens.” the one in purple said.

Clark frowned and Batman shook his head.

“So you came up here to tell me instead of using the coms? Why?”

“Well, the com lines are down.” Hood said. “So yes, we came up here.”

“B, we really need to go take care of the aliens. Can we go?” the one in black and blue asked.

“Yes. Go, I’ll be down in a minute.” Batman said, still just sounding mildly inconvenienced instead of like someone who was just informed of an alien invasion.

As soon as they were all gone, Clark rounded on Batman. “What the hell? Who are they?”

Batman grunted. “Notify the rest of the League, then get down there.” he walked away, and left through the zeta tube.

Clark sighed and did as Batman had asked.

“Will you explain this now?” Clark asked, waving at the group of vigilantes that all said they worked with Batman, despite the League only knowing about Robin.

Batman just grunted and Clark was about to lose it, but then Batman said, “Robin.”

Clark stopped. “Huh?”

“Nightwing was the first Robin, Hood the second, Red Robin the third, and Spoiler the fourth. Orphan was never Robin, but she was Batgirl. Signal is new and has only ever been Signal.

“What the fuck?” Barry exclaimed. “I thought they all died!”

Hood raised his hand. “I did die.”

Batman sighed at that.

“Did he really?” Clark asked.

“Yes. But he’s fine now.”

“Am I?”

Batman groaned.

[bigfatbimbo]

Take a Bite

1.5k words,, Bill Cipher x Reader

summary — Bill and the reader have sex, which has proven to be very difficult seeing as he isn’t doing anything, and, of course, things are never easy with that insufferable brat.

warnings — SMUT, bill being annoying and toxic, dom!reader, sub!Bill, heavy pain kink, bill’s human form, the fat fuck not the twink

a/n — Admittedly, this fic only happened because I never see Bill sub in fanfics and i’m very interested in what the dynamic would be. You’d be like… domming with a risk of death.

“Well, slick,” Bill leaned back and gestured up and down his body, “Give it your all.”

Amusement was thick in his voice, along with bubbling giddiness. He fumbled with the seams on his pants, not out of nervousness, but as if he had forgotten how to take them off and was looking for some kind of zipper. One, admittedly, that he would not find on slacks. 

“Wow, human clothes are just as bad as the fleshbags. So needlessly complicated,” He sounded on the verge of a laughing fit, “Oh, and toots? Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.” 

His amusement was not matched on your part. The situation invoked dull curiosity at best, in your opinion. The idea of harboring a wanted criminal, ex-overlord, god-like demon in your house challenged your idea of a good time. Having sex with that demon was even harder to swallow.

Then again, any situation with bill warranted an ungodly amount of stress. 

“Whatcha’ thinking about over there, sweet-cheeks?”

You smiled at that; of the few advantages you have, being in gravity falls for weirdmageddon proved to be one of them. You know of his powers, and with that, vague guesses on how to prevent them.

Tinfoil-lined bobbie pins were one of them. A guess, granted, but a good one at that. Really, not that complicated when you recall every alien movie you’ve ever watched. 

“Upset you can’t tell?” 

He laughed, “Upset for you, maybe. Trust me, it’d be so much easier for both of us if I could just read your thoughts. I’m already your roommate, how much closer could we ge- Ah.”

You brushed his pants crotch, and began to unbutton. For all his mightiness, the guy couldn’t work pants. “Careful, human body’s are touchy.” 

“Touchy,” He repeated, “Tell me about.” 

Getting his pants off was a task harder than it should have been, no thanks to Bill, who seemed to have taken to just lying there, occasionally flicking you, and then himself. 

When you finally peeled all of his clothes off, you warned him to brace himself, to which he ignored you. On top of that, the entire time Bill had been talking, droning on about ‘the last time he’d been in a human body.’

You wondered vaguely if he’d ever done this with someone else. In the time he’d been at your house he’d mentioned some ‘sixer’ ex-thing-ish of his. But you doubt he’d done anything with him.

As he’d mentioned, he hadn’t perfected his human form until very recently. Perfected is a strong word, he was pudgy and short, remanisent of a human peanut. And his teeth were terrible. 

Either way, you’d gotten him ready, and began your work. Laying a light finger on the tip of his dick, and running it down the base of his length, you got Bills first reaction: a short sniff.

Recovering fast, he adjusted his seat, “Yeah, tick tock, toots. This better be good.” 

It was his idea, you thought, but continued. Your fingers wrapped around the entirety of his cock and you began to stroke it. 

A sigh left Bills mouth, “Oh, this does have a kick to it. Maybe you’re not so bad, after all.”

Over the course of the next few minutes, you’d grow angrier and angrier. Although you were clearing making him feel good, he’d never shut his snide mouth for two seconds. 

“Jesus, slow down, pal— I just perfected this flesh-bag, at this rate your gonna break something—“ 

You didn’t realize how much your hand sped up. You thought for a moment, before completely stopping. Bill looked taken aback.

“Hey! what’s the—“

Without warning you grabbed his dick with full force and squeezed. He yelped, before giggling at the hurt.

This made you more mad, “God, do you ever shut up? I wish you’d lost your voice when you lost Gravity Falls.”

He stopped giggling. “I’d watch what you say, if I was you, kid.”

You threw your head back and laughed, running your hand slowly up his dick and then slamming back to the base of his cock. Finally, a reaction other than knowing bliss: anger. Weakness.

“Oh dear god, rearrange the features of my face then, Billy. See if I give a shit when you don’t have a place to live.”

His face turned red with rage, and he recoiled at the mention of your upperhand. And then, finally, at the slowing of your hand, a small, wavering whimper. 

You both caught it, and he was quick to put a hand of his mouth, “Sensitive human bodies - Hey, don’t look at me like that, that was not my fault.”

“God, you’re such a brat.”

“Oh please, what are you gonna do about it?” And he was completely serious.

Without much hesitation, you took the moment as an opportunity to abruptly sink yourself onto his dick. He sucked in a breath but you didn’t give him much time to do anything else.

“Ah- Now we’re talki—“ You slapped him hard across the face, and grabbed his cheeks with your hand, squishing them together, mockingly. Stifled laughter from Bill. 

“This is the form you spent all that time perfecting? I can barely feel anything. It’s worthless!” You sped up riding him, loosening your face to give the illusion you were bored, “You’re worthless.” 

His eyebrows arched down and his eyes widened, “I can kill you with a snap of my fingers! You think I need this sex— You think I need this hous— ah, ah—“

The unknown pleasure was getting to him, making his brain foggier than usual, and it was showing. Human senses were a key factor in your ability to keep the high-ground. Just as long as it felt good enough, he wouldn’t go back to his original form and… well. 

You wondered vaguely if you were actually going to be in mortal parole after this. But then again, the look on his face was almost euphoric, despite the anger. Thankfully, Bill was selfish, he’d probably chase the high again

You sighed, “Oh, you do need this house, Billy. Where else would you go? Everyone else in town has already forgotten about you, and your little maniac friends are no where to be seen.”

You sped up once more as your hands danced up his body, and continued, “With this whole out-of-sight-out-of-mind routine, i’m giving you something you won’t be getting anywhere else: attention.”

“You— Ah, curse this feeble human body! I’ll make your life a living hell-“ He whined, actually whined. 

Slamming yourself down on him, he cried out and then scowled. You raked your nails down his chest, deep enough to bleed, drawing out a  giggle from Bill as he felt the littlest bit of blood start to pool.

“You’re lucky this meatbag is— ah— funny enough—“ He was cut off with a gargle as a your hand sharply wrapped around his throat, and squeezed tight. 

“It’s not luck, i’m good at what I do, Billy. Not that you would know what that’s like, you pathetic shitbag,” although that insult wasn’t particularly true, you didn’t give him a chance to snap back, and instead put your other hand on his neck as well. 

You rode him with more speed than ever now. His eyes fluttered open and shut slowly, and he leaned into your hands. 

His face flushed, but a dreamy smile spread to the edges of his face as you made sure to leave bruise marks on his throat, still slamming against him. 

Although, you didn’t want to actually break him, so when his face began to turn purple, you let go. He gasped for air and let out a raspy, crazed giggle that went on for too long, and ending in a moan.

“I’m— “ Bills eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to decipher what the amusing thing the human body had planned next, “Somethings— somethings happening.”

His voice was broken, neck bruised, cheek red with a slap mark, eyes foggy, and chest bleeding from your nails. 

Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.

Clearly you’d kept your end of the deal, and from what you’ve gathered it was time for the finale. You chased your own climax now as well, even though, admittedly, you hadn’t been thinking about it the whole session.

Annoying as it was that Bill still managed to make something all about him —and he definitely knew, mind reading or not— you still kept up your pace. 

“You’re close?” 

He smiled blissfully, and nodded.

What the hell. You smiled, “Good boy.”

His reaction was… startling. He leaned his head back, let out a small half-whine half-laugh, and arched off the bed. Finally, he released.

[avocado-writing]

Hey, I love your writing and I just saw Deadpool and Wolverine and fuck it was good!

Could I request a Dp x W x reader smut where Logan goes into rut? If not that’s totally fine, but I figured it doesn’t hurt to ask

@saradika did an amazing Logan rut fic here, you really ought to go and read it if you like this kinda thing!

3.2k words. smut. minors dni

vaguely sub!Logan (he deserves to be taken care of); handjob (logan receiving); p in v sex (Logan giving, reader receiving); p in a sex (Wade giving, Logan receiving); knotting; fluff

It’s been a long day.

Logan is tired in a way he’s unused to being tired, at least for several years now - the kind where he’s worked himself to exhaustion after a hard day on the job. It’s not been easy, trying to build himself a new life from the ground up, make amends for how he was and attempt to be a good man again, but at least he’s got a pretty solid foundation beneath him: you and Wade.

He spots the two of you waiting outside the local bodega, finds himself rolling his eyes but smiling when Wade makes a big show of waving to him. Ahh. You two. He’s not quite sure where he fits in with your relationship, but you’ve both made it clear he’s welcome there. The three of you don’t go through something like what happened in the Void and come out without some pretty soul-deep bonds. And it’s… nice. It’s new.

Nothing too much has transpired yet, at least physically. The two of you are happy to pepper him in kisses but, so far, he’s gently turned down every invitation to join you in the bedroom. Not that he doesn’t want to. Fuck, he wants to. But he’s an old man now, a recovering drunk, and he has some… concerns about how well he’d be able to keep up. Doesn’t wanna humiliate himself between the two of you. So for now, he’s content to just be in a pile with you both when you’re watching a movie at night, held and caressed.

“Hey sugartits,” says Wade with a grin when he’s within earshot, “how was our hard-working man’s day at the testosterone factory?”

“Fine. Pretty fuckin’ tiring,” he confesses. He’s working manual labour at the moment, long days at a construction site, getting himself back into the shape he used to be. It’s good to feel like he’s doing something active and he’s making an okay paycheck too. You press a cool soda into his hand, a glass bottle, and he looks around before using his claws to pop the lid off. It’s refreshing as he gulps it down and he’s glad for it - no more booze. Not any more. He’s trying to be better and the two of you are either side of him to help get there.

“We got sandwiches for dinner, hope that’s okay,” you say, holding up a plastic bag. He breathes in the warm smell of the foil-wrapped food and…

… and he catches something else, too.

Something sweet, heady. It’s oozing off of you and Wade in waves. Catches in the back of his throat as he starts scenting the air properly. Oh fuck. 

His nostrils flare.

The two of you smell delicious.

And, for the first time in years, he can feel something begin to boil in his stomach, thick like molasses, the urge to mate.

Just lile that, he’s going into a rut.

“Logan, you okay?” you ask, noticing his shift in demeanour and reaching out to place a hand on his bicep. It’s like you’re made of static electricity, shooting a current all the way through him - and that’s just over his sleeve. God knows how he’d survive if it was skin-to-skin. He has to strangle a moan in his mouth before it can escape and incriminate him.

“Mmm. Not feeling so hot. Want to get home.”

You and Wade exchange a concerned look, but you know when not to push - and you stop Wade from doing so, too. He limits himself to an, “okay Peanut, keep your secrets I guess…” and leaves it there.

Logan makes himself hang behind as the two of you start the wander back to the apartment, tangling your fingers together and speaking in hushed tones. If he was in the state of mind to care more he’d try to listen in. He isn’t. The only thing he can concentrate on is trying not to get a semi in the street.

He thought he was over this. Thought that age and years of alcohol had grinded down that particular biological impulse. He’d sort of forgotten what it was like, actually, the urge to fuck so bad that part of his brain was worried it’d kill him if he didn’t. 

But then again, until now, he hasn’t had you both, has he? People who cared about him again. People who loved him. People who made it clear they’d look after him, whatever way he needed you to.

Fuck. Fuck. He needs to get home now.

It’s agony, the two of you walking in front of him. You both smell fucking amazing. There’s a soft, perfumey, light scent rolling off you; Wade’s slightly headier, nearly cloying. Together it is the most amazing combination he’s ever known. He digs his fingernails into the meat of his palm to steady himself until they bleed and heal, bleed and heal, bleed and heal - over and over. At least the pain is distracting.

When you open the door to the apartment he shoulders past you both and heads straight into the bedroom, attempting to slam the pathetic plywood door behind him and gruffly telling you not to follow. He can’t have you see him like this: animalistic, desperate, feral. So needy that it’s fucking humiliating. He needs to have something touching his dick, now.

He slumps down on the bed, hands fumbling at how quickly he tries to rid himself of his jeans. Fuck he wishes he hadn’t worn a belt this morning, just wasting time, getting in the way… he slices it off instead, flinging it to the side of the room where it hits the wall and lands on the shared washing basket. Three sets of clothes share that space like you share this one: yours, his, Wade’s. What a mixture. Fuck. For a moment he considers burying his face in it, smelling your combination and fucking himself to completion on the scent of home. At least he has the strength to resist that.

His cock is leaking when he pulls it out. Red, thick, pulsing in his hand as he wraps his fingers around it. Logan growls out a little noise of pleasure as he starts to work himself. He finds his hips bucking up pathetically into his own grasp but he knows it isn’t enough: if he’s going into a rut he’s going to need someone to help him through it. Look at him. Fucking pitiful old man jerking himself off because he has no control over his own body. What sort of partner would he make for you both?

“Logan, we just wanted to check you’re… oh.”

And then there you both are. In the doorway, eyes open and very much fixed on what he’s doing to himself. He can see the way Wade’s pupils dilate, how you lick your lips at the sight of his cock. 

“I mean, you could have told us you needed to bust one o–” you elbow Wade in the ribs, wiping the grin off of his face.

“Logan, honey,” you whisper, voice syrupy sweet. Oh shit. Another wave of pre dribbles down his knuckles and he hears Wade suck in a breath. “Do you need us to help?”

He can only grit his teeth and nod. He’d do anything to feel another set of hands on him right now.

Instead, he feels two.

Wade sits down on his right, you on his left. He doesn’t expect Wade to kiss him but he’s not exactly complaining about it either, not when the mercenary’s tongue swipes across his and it tastes so good. Your lips attach to the sweet spot of skin between his earlobe and his jaw and start to bite. Logan moans into Wade’s mouth as you nibble on him, tracing his pulse with your teeth.

When Wade pulls back it’s only to catch the back of your head and press your mouth to Logan’s too with a gravelly, “your turn.” Without debate you take over, kissing him softly but passionately, moaning against his lips. Your hand bumps against his, encouraging him to move it, and he does so dutifully - and it’s him moaning when you wrap around his cock.

“Fuck, look at that. Hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I used to subscribe to a lot of OnlyFans,” Wade murmurs, and Logan nearly yelps when he feels your hand get heavier on him. He glances down to see Wade has wrapped his fingers around yours so that you can both jerk him off at the same time. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Is this good?” you breathe, eyes wide. Logan can only groan and nod, and then suddenly he’s coming - a train to his guts, trickling down over both of you and choking out an amalgamation of your names. 

He feels you pull back, then hears you whisper “oh fuck” when he’s still hard.

“I told you!” Wade hisses. “I told you I thought he could go for multiple rounds!”

You press your fingers into his mouth to shut him up, making him lick Logan’s spend off your knuckles. He does so with surprising obedience. 

“‘S a biological thing,” Logan says through gritted teeth, still aware he’s throbbing even though he’s just had an orgasm, “gotta be inside someone to make it calm down.”

Your eyes widen. You and Wade look at each other.

“Do… do you have a preference?” you ask, voice low. He shakes his head.

“No. It’ll probably end up bein’ both of you by the end of the night.”

From the way the two of you light up, it’s as if he’s just announced that Christmas has come early. He watches, dumbstruck, as the two of you slap your fists into your palms, the same ones who just gave him the first non self-eked orgasm in years, and say in unison:

“Rock-paper-scissors-shoot!”

Your paper covers Wade’s rock. You grin and he grumbles.

“Fine, I’m more of a top, anyway…”

Logan watches the two of you begin to strip properly. If he had his senses about him this is something he’d enjoy doing himself, seeing every inch of soft curve you have to offer, the strong plain of Wade’s abdomen. But all he can do is stare with need as you unveil yourselves to him, two perfect presents he’s allowed to indulge in.

Wade’s hard, you’re pretty fucking soaked as you lay down on the bed in front of him, tapping his bicep to indicate the fact he’s still wearing his flannel shirt.

“This needs to come off,” you state, authoritatively. Well, fuck. That sends a roll of electricity down Logan’s spine which he wasn’t expecting. He starts to tug at it, pulling the material over his head as Wade fiddles with his jeans.

“These too big boy,” Wade mumbles, and he lets himself be handled by the two people he knows are sincere about looking after him. Together your abandoned clothes make a mess of the bedroom and Logan feels himself throb at the idea of being at the centre of the chaos.

“C’mere,” you sigh, opening your arms to him. Logan wastes no time in accepting the invitation, moving so that he’s above you and you’re able to part your legs to make room for his bulk. Any other time, any other time, he’d want to stretch this out. Maybe eat you out for a while as Wade is forced to watch, or vice versa… but right now all he can do is thrust wildly at your folds, feeling the blunt head of his cock slide against your wetness.

“C’mon loverboy, you can do it,” Wade whispers in his ear, and suddenly a scarred hand is wrapping around his length to guide him inside of you. Logan hisses as he sinks in with one fluid motion. You suck air in through your teeth, grinning up wildly at him.

“Fuck, Logan, that’s it…”

“How does he feel, baby?” asks Wade from where he’s reaching into the side table, though Logan’s whole body is so preoccupied with being inside a warm, wet hole that he can’t in that moment fathom why.

“Fucking fantastic,” you breathe as Logan starts to fuck you properly. There’s no rhythm to it, just utter desperation, just chasing that orgasm which will relieve him of the weight and languidness in his bones. You breathe roughly, the hair on his chest scratching your tits as they bounce up and down. You throw your head back and he buries his face in your neck, where your scent is strongest, and he knows he’s gonna have to go all night at this rate.

A finger circles his hole and for a second he freezes, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Wade is lining himself up in position behind him, bottle of lube in one hand, the other teasing at his entrance. The mercenary cocks a brow.

“What, you never had someone fuck you like this before? Gimme a break, peanut. The amount of flannel and leather you wear, you’ve known you’re bisexual for a long time.”

If he had more control over his speech he’d bite something back at Wade, but right now…? Yeah. He wants Wade to fuck him like he’s fucking you.

“Go hard. I can take it,” he growls, continuing to plow down, sinking his cock impossibly deeper into your tight heat and making you squeal. He hears Wade whisper a prayer of thanks to whatever god is listening and then he presses two long, lubed fingers inside him.

It’s a strange intrusion. Logan hasn’t had someone there for a long while now. That’s not to say it isn’t good, because holy shit it feels amazing to fuck back onto Wade’s hand as he move his hips against you. Wade does as he’s been bid, stretching him open roughly and wantonly, pouring more out of the little bottle when needed to ease his access. A third finger is added and every time Logan moves back to drive further into you, he feels himself hit Wade’s knuckles. 

“Holy shit,” Wade mutters, “look at you, peanut! Taking me like a champ. You reckon I could fit my whole hand inside, or…?”

“If you don’t put your dick to good use in the next ten seconds I’m gonna rip it off,” Logan snarls, needy and ferocious. Wade doesn’t have an answer to that, instead positioning himself behind him and holding onto Logan’s hips to make him go still. You mewl at the loss of movement but it isn’t for long - Wade sinks himself balls deep inside of Logan, filling him to the brim.

“Fu-uu-uu-ck,” Wade groans, eyes rolling back, then to you: “you’re right, baby. This is pretty goddamn fantastic.”

You smile up at him from beneath both men, reaching up so you can take his hand in yours and squeeze his fingers in the solidarity of sharing a man you’ve both been fantasising about since you met him for the first time at that dingy bar.

Then Wade starts to move, and Logan loses himself.

It’s messy and uncoordinated, but fuck does it feel good to ride out his rut sandwiched between two partners. Each time Wade presses down his hips, his head hitting that spot inside that’s been neglected for decades, he’s forced to fuck into you. Your cunt makes lewd, thrilled noises as he goes, and you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders to bring him closer. Your tongue swipes the hinge of his jaw and Logan moans, cradled and cared for and adored.

His second orgasm is on the horizon and, with it, a feeling in his cock he hasn’t known for a long time. One he didn’t expect to know again. As Wade dips down to start pressing kisses all over his shoulderblades, Logan moves his mouth to the shell of your ear.

“Gonna knot you,” he manages, and though you can’t be entirely sure what he means, you nod enthusiastically.

“Oh fuck. Yeah. Do it, Logan,” you breathe. Fog floods his mind as he starts chasing his release inside of you, base of his cock swelling. Wade can clearly sense that something is on the horizon and quickens his pace, the idea of all of you finishing together just too good to pass up; Logan feels him catch his elbow and manoeuvre his hand towards where your hips meet his.

“C’mon Logan, if we don’t all cum it’s no fun,” he chuckles. Logan gets the picture and moves so that he can press his callused thumb into your clit and work rough circles there. When you gasp in pleasure so hard that your eyes roll back in your head, he knows it’s working. 

Fuck. He can’t last much longer. Wade fucks down into him, the heat in his stomach builds, and then—

It’s like fireworks.

He feels his knot force its way along the straining length of his cock and you gasp and squeeze him as it locks into place inside of you. He floods you with his cum, biting down on a pillow as it rocks him to his very core, keeps moving his hand and then you’re there with him, walls fluttering as you let out a string of very colourful language. Wade’s head tips forward to rest on his back as he empties himself inside of Logan, his hot seed spilling out and dripping onto the mattress below.

The three of you collapse for a moment to catch your breaths. Then suddenly your hand is slapping his arm.

“Fucking move, you two. You’re crushing me…”

“Oop,” Wade breathes, pulling out of Logan and making him hiss with the loss of contact, but meaning that he can roll over and have you rest comfortably on top of him. You sigh, happier now, nestling your head into Logan’s chest. Wade runs his fingers over the seam where you’re connected.

“So what, this just stays like this for…?” he leaves the end of the sentence open. Logan hums, pretty fucking blissful.

“‘Bout half an hour. Not too long.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him. He can feel his cum ripple inside you obscenely, Wade’s own dripping out of his fucked-out hole. 

“You feel better now?” you breath, dropping a kiss on his pectoral.

“Yeah. Thanks. I, uh, appreciate it,” he manages. You and Wade grin at each other.

“Any time, pookie. Just remember, next time I have first dibs on that monster dong,” Wade states, slapping the side of his ass like he’s a prime piece of meat… but hey, maybe he is. Maybe he doesn’t mind so much if it’s coming from someone he cares about.

His cock twitches inside of you.

“Oh fuck, Logan, again…?”

“It lasts a few days,” he confesses. 

“A few days… I’m gonna go get the sandwiches. Well need sustenance for the road ahead,” Wade states, rushing out to the kitchen without even bothering to tug his sweatpants back on. Logan gives an affectionate chuckle and then, for a moment, it’s just you and him.

“Really,” he mutters, “thank you. Dunno what I’d have done if you two weren’t there.”

Your fingers come to tangle in his hair.

“Logan, honey. You don’t have to thank us. We love you,” you say, simply, and it stirs his heart in a way he hasn’t felt for a long time now.

Yeah. Maybe it'll take some time to say it out loud but loves you both, too.

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 2

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.7k 

Note : Thank you so much for all the love ya’ll! Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part!

Series Masterlist

“No Kin”

Monday morning.

The next couple of hours were a blur.

The harsh, sterile scent of antiseptic filled your lungs, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, burning a too-bright, clinical glow in your corneas. Sam's voice faded in and out, his words distant, like they were filtering through a thick fog. Everything felt disconnected, alien, as though you were drifting underwater. The reality around you belonged to someone else.

In a way, it did.

You blinked, trying to focus, but even the sharp edges of the medical bay seemed to blur at the corners. The walls seemed to close in with a claustrophobic pressure that made it hard to breathe.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your hands as Sam stood in front of you. To his credit, he had been sympathetic— but he was also mourning.

He was mourning a friend he had lost in you.

Still, he tried.

He told you about the last four years—how you had left the museum to train with the Avengers after an expedition to recover a powerful object in an archeological site three years ago. He told you how you had become a hero, fighting alongside some of the world's most powerful beings. He showed you pictures of you standing side by side with the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, who you swore only knew by reputation. 

It sounded surreal, like he was describing someone else's life, not yours. 

Sam’s words drifted around you like a static charge. You nodded when you were supposed to, said the awkward yes here and there. 

Sam hesitated every other second, his gaze soft but uncertain as he searched your face for some glimmer of recognition. His voice was steady, but there was a quiet strain as he forced himself to hold it together. 

Every time you failed to react to something that should have meant something to you, you noticed the brief hurt in his eyes, quickly masked. He pushed forward, pausing longer between sentences.

Deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t your life. You were supposed to be at the museum, curating exhibitions, setting up tours for students.

“You’re safe,” Sam had reassured. “We’re keeping you here until we know more about what happened. Until we can help you remember.”

But you couldn’t remember any of it—this life, this version of you that everyone else was all so sure of. 

Bucky had been by your bedside for days, but even looking at him made your head spin. You knew him, of course you did—everyone knew Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, the reformed hero. 

But the way he looked at you, with so much pain and familiarity, made your stomach churn. 

Why was he so devastated? What had you meant to him?

You needed answers, and you knew you wouldn’t find them in the clean, white, sterile room they kept you in.

Monday afternoon.

As the compound grew quiet, you decided you couldn’t stay there any longer. You didn’t trust yourself, didn’t trust this world they said belonged to you. 

So you slipped out, wearing whatever clothes you could find that fit you— black jeans and a white shirt. 

As you slipped through the compound's corridors, the faint hum of security cameras buzzing overhead felt like an accusation. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of how wrong everything felt. The shadows wrapped around you, familiar but unsettling, your muscles tensed with a mixture of fear and instinct that you didn’t fully understand. Your hands trembled as they brushed against the cold metal doors, the sound of your shallow breaths loud in your ears, blending with the adrenaline that coursed through your veins.

Sneaking past the security measures was easier than it should have been. It made sense, the more you thought of it. The compound was made to stop people from coming in, not prevent people from getting out.

Muscle memory guided your steps, an invisible map in your head kicking in without you understanding where they had come from. You moved through the halls like a ghost, heart pounding as you made your escape.

Your destination was clear—the museum. The place where your real life had been. The place that made sense.

—

When you arrived, using the staff entrance which you knew the code to, everything was wrong.

The exhibits were slightly different, the lobby had been renovated, and even the lighting felt a bit brighter than it should’ve been. 

You wandered the halls in a daze, your breath catching in your throat as you stumbled through what felt like someone else’s reality. How could everything have changed so much in such a short time?

Four years—they said you’d lost the last four years, but it didn’t feel like four years to you. It felt like a blink. A gap you couldn’t explain.

And then you saw her— a young woman with long black hair and a suit.

Alex!

You knew Alex! She was the intern you had hired what felt like just a month ago. 

She was older than you remembered, taller, with a hint of maturity in her features. 

Alex froze for a moment, her eyes widening as though she had just seen a ghost. Her smile faltered, the shock on her face poorly hidden behind an awkward attempt at casualness. 

She whispered your name.

"I—I haven’t seen you in so long," she stammered, her voice tinged with confusion. There was a pause as the distance between you felt like it had stretched for miles.

The version of Alex you remembered, eager but shy, was worlds away from the composed woman standing in front of you. The gap between what you thought you knew and what was real now felt more disorienting with every passing second.

She gave you a sisterly hug, squeezing you tight. When she pulled back, she asked. “What are you doing here? You—”

“I work here,” you interrupted, your voice shaky, your grip on reality slipping on thin ice. “I—I hired you. Last month.”

Alex’s expression shifted to shock. “You quit. Four years ago. You left to train with the Avengers. I thought you were on some mission.”

Your heart sank.

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. You backed up a step, your mind whirling, trying to reconcile the reality facing you with the one you remembered.

“I quit?” you whispered, more to yourself than to her.

Alex nodded slowly, confused. “Yeah, you… you told us you had to go help save the world or something. We thought you were pretty badass, actually.”

The realisation of it hit you then, hard and fast. The truth that everyone had been telling you, the facts you had refused to believe—it was all real.

You had been gone for four years. You had left behind the life you thought was yours, and now you were standing in the ruins of what was once familiar, a stranger in your own world.

You finally believed them.

Your legs felt weak, and you reached for a nearby display case to steady yourself. The room spun around you, the shock sinking in with every beat of your heart.

You had become someone else, someone you didn’t recognise.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you didn’t know if they were from the overwhelming grief of losing the life you thought you had or the fear of the unknown that now lie ahead you.

You looked back at Alex, who stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

“I—” you started, but the words wouldn’t come. How could you explain the gap in your memory? How could you make sense of a life you couldn’t remember living?

“Do you want to tell me?” Alex asked gently, sitting you down on a bench to the side of the main hall.

Alex had her hands folded in front of her, fingers tense, her eyes searching your face as if trying to read something in your expression that wasn't truly present. The familiarity in her gaze was unnerving, as though she saw something in you that you couldn’t find in yourself.

Taking a slow breath, you began. The words felt heavy, tangled in your throat, but you forced them out, piecing together the fractured shards of memory. You told her what you knew—or rather, what you didn’t. 

You spoke of waking up in the compound, of how nothing seemed to fit, the way the people around you treated you like a ghost of someone you couldn't remember being. Each sentence seemed to echo with uncertainty, the fragments of your life splintering as you said them out loud.

Alex’s face shifted as you spoke, her initial composure cracking. Her eyes grew darker with every word, her mouth tightening at the corners as she tried to hold onto the version of you she knew. Her hands trembled slightly as they unfolded, offering to hold your hand.

You watched her as you spoke, the silence between your sentences growing uncomfortable. The pain in her eyes mirrored the unease inside of you, a recognition of everything that had been lost, even if you couldn’t name it. When you finally finished, there was nothing left but the soft sound of echoes throughout the halls.

Finally, Alex shuddered, before giving you a small, sad smile. This must be so difficult for her to take in, and yet she was still here, as a friend.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “You’re always welcome here.”

You weren’t sure if that was comforting or not, but you nodded anyway, swallowing the lump in your throat.

It was real. All of it. And now, you had no choice but to face the truth.

You weren’t the person you thought you were anymore.

—

You wandered through the museum in a haze, your footsteps echoing softly in the dimly lit corridors. It was after hours now, the building nearly silent except for the distant hum of air conditioning and the muffled sounds of your breathing. You didn’t know why you stayed, but something kept pulling you forward, drawing you deeper into the heart of the exhibits. The old, familiar halls felt like a sanctuary, a place where time had paused, even if your own life had raced ahead without you.

That’s when you found it—the World War II exhibit.

The dark wood floors and vintage lighting gave the room a nostalgic feel, a place frozen in time, just like the stories held within it. You wandered past the displays of uniforms, medals, and grainy black-and-white photographs of soldiers who had once fought for a future they believed in. Then you stopped.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

His name was etched in bronze on a plaque beneath a glass display case. Besides his photograph was a set of his old military clothing, neatly arranged—his jacket, trousers, and a pair of worn boots, remnants of a life long past. 

You didn’t remember him, not really. But standing there, looking at that face, you felt a pull. Something deep and bittersweet. Something that said this man, whoever he was, mattered.

You stayed there, frozen, for what felt like hours. Trying to piece together a past that didn’t feel like yours. A life you had lived but couldn’t remember. The weight of it all pressed down on you, leaving you feeling untethered, lost.

You felt a tug in your chest as you stared at the sepia-toned image of Bucky once again—the Bucky from another time, another world. His boyish grin was a far cry from the man you’d seen at the compound, a man worn by time and experience. 

Your own breath sounded too loud in the quiet of the exhibit, and the steady thrum of your heartbeat made the walls feel closer than they were.

Then came the voice that broke the silence. Low, hesitant. “I thought I might find you here.”

You turned sharply, your pulse quickening. Bucky stood in the doorway of the exhibit, his figure half-shadowed by the dim light. His face, though calmer now, held that same unreadable look from earlier—like he was carrying something heavy, something aching. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, as if he didn’t trust himself to move them.

“I—uh, yeah,” you stammered, the edges of your voice shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

Bucky took a few steps forward, his movements careful, as if he feared he would you. His gaze drifted to the display, lingering on the younger version of himself. For a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—a glimpse of the man he once was.

“You found me,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath.

You nodded, swallowing hard. 

When you tried to speak, your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat. Bucky didn’t seem to notice, too focused on the shadow of his past. 

“I don’t remember,” you finally whispered. The words tumbled out before you could stop it, the guilt that followed sinking deep in your chest. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s face didn’t change much, but you saw the slight tightening of his jaw. “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly, his voice calm, with a rough edge.

“But I should,” you said, frustration slipping into your voice. “I don’t know where I fit in any of this.”

Bucky stood beside you now, not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that you felt the warmth of his presence. He let out a slow, deliberate breath, as if he’d been holding it in since the moment he’d walked in. “I know what that’s like,” he said, his voice soft, almost too quiet. “More than you think.”

His words hung between you, and you could feel the truth he carried. He didn’t have to say more—you knew he’d been through this, lost in a world that didn’t fit him anymore.

You had lost 4 years of your life.

They took nearly a century of his.

“How did you deal with it?” you asked, your voice a fragile thread, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Bucky glanced at you, his eyes softened, but you could see the battle behind them—the countless days of grappling with the man he used to be and the man he was now. He looked back at the display, his shoulders tense. “I didn’t… not at first. But there were people who reminded me I wasn’t alone.”

If only you knew, he thought, that one of them was you.

His words made your throat tighten. You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The man you were standing next to wasn’t just a stranger—he was someone who had known you, helped you, maybe even saved you. And now, you were the stranger in your own life.

You felt a lump form in your throat, your heart aching with a mix of confusion and fear. “I don’t know where to start,” you whispered. 

Bucky’s gaze softened, his voice gentle when he spoke. “You have an apartment not far from here,” he said, “Yelena and I helped you move in last year. I could take you home?”

That was kind of true. Yelena helped you move in as he silent carried the heaviest of boxes since he was the only one without a mission that day who could.

You blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his words. “I— I don’t know if I should be alone.” You told him, not knowing if you trusted yourself enough.

“I have a spare bedroom, if you need to stay with someone for a while?” The significance of his offer hung between you, heavy and raw.

You might not remember him, and you might never get these four years back. But you’re still you, to some extent. This was the least he could do.

Maybe, maybe this was his chance to start over with you.

After all, he did promise you that when you woke up, he’d make it up to you.

You took a shaky breath, feeling a strange mixture of relief and sadness. “That sounds… good,” you said softly, your voice trembling.

You might not remember him, but you could tell that you trusted him.

For a moment, you both stood there, the quiet of the museum wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. The past might have been lost, but standing here, in front of Bucky’s old life and the pieces of your own forgotten history lost to the fray, you felt something solid you could finally hold on to.

-to be continued…

Taglist: @hzdhrtss @irisk12 @tayyyystan @seventeen-x @lomlbuckybarnes

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @avatarofthetimelords @bckynatt @winchestert101 @zemosprincesa

@nngkay @hiireadstuff @sapphirebarnes @thatesqcrush @bethexo07

@florie1 @nyutasgirl @coraliix @harrysgothicbitch @jules-and-gemss

@infqnitysblog

[theyluvkarolina]

౨ৎ PLAYING FAVORITES ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Oscar’s daughter has favorites. And sadly, he isn’t one of hers, in fact her favorite happens to be her favorite American, Logan. He says it’s fine and that he doesn’t care… but actions speak louder than words.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Not really a pairing, but reader makes multiple apperances 🩵

WARNINGS ౨ৎ Sadie being a menace

A/N ౨ৎ got requested more sadie, the more sadie you shall receive. i was writing this before the logan news and i’m absolutely distraught. i decided to start from the group up and include logan to feel a bit better hurt ❤️‍🩹

Part of the Dad Oscar mini-series 🩵

“Sadie, are you ready to see Dad drive fast?” You asked, adjusting her little McLaren cap as I held her hand to the garage.

“No.” Sadie says bluntly in her toddler way, her lips forming a small pout as she clutched the tiny stuffed koala Oscar had bought her from her a year ago from Australia.

You couldn’t help but blink at her straightforwardness, crouching down to be at eye level with her. “No? Not even to cheer him on?”

Sadie shook her head with determination. “No. Wanna see Logan.”

Sadie’s pout deepened, and she hugged her koala closer to her chest. “Logan’s funny.”

“Yes, he is. But you know who else is funny? Daddy. Remember when he made silly faces during breakfast?” You suggested.

Sadie tilted her head, considering this for a moment, before shaking her head again. “Logan’s funnier.”

Before you could respond, you heard footsteps approaching, and there was Oscar, already in his race suit, with a forced grin on his face, clearly overheard the conversation. “Hey, little miss,” he greeted giving a kiss on your cheek before crouching down beside you and holding out his arms for a hug.

Sadie looked at him for a moment, then back at you, before finally deciding to toddle over and give him a quick hug. It was short, sweet, but not as enthusiastic as the ones she usually reserved for Logan recently.

Oscar’s smile faltered for just a second, but he quickly recovered, lifting her up in his arms. “Guess I’ll have to up my game if I want to be the favorite, huh?” he teased, though there was a trace of something more behind his words.

“Daddy’s funny,” Sadie said, almost as if she was trying to console him.

“Yeah?” Oscar’s eyes lit up with hope, but Sadie quickly added, “But Logan’s funnier.”

You winced, but Oscar just laughed it off, giving her a playful tickle. “Well, Logan better watch out then, because I’m coming for his title.”

This was going to be a long day for Oscar.

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

The buzz of the McLaren garage was background noise to Oscar as he watched his Sadie, toddle around with a bright smile on her face. It was a year after her first ever Grand Prix… and safe to say you and Oscar have definitely learned a lot from it. Normally, her little smile would make his heart swell with pride, but today, it was bittersweet. The reason? Logan Sargeant was the source of her joy, not him.

Logan, Logan, Logan. that was the name coming out of her mouth the past month.

Sadie had been enamored with Logan since the first time she was born. Who wouldn’t when their godfather was her dad’s best friend who happened to have the same job?

She would light up at the sight of him, smiling at every chance she could excitedly in her toddler way, always eager to be scooped up into his arms. And Logan, the ever-charming American, was more than happy to oblige.

Oscar leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching as Logan lifted Sadie into the air, eliciting giggles that echoed around the garage. He tried to convince himself that it didn’t bother him. So what if Sadie liked Logan more? It wasn’t a competition. He was her father, not Logan. Surely she likes him more.

…

Right?

“Hey, mate. You good?” Lando’s voice snapped Oscar out of his thoughts. His teammate had appeared beside him, eyebrow raised in concern.

Oscar forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Lando followed his gaze to where Logan was now letting Sadie play with his cap, much to her delight. “Looks like someone’s got a new best friend.”

Oscar’s smile faltered slightly. “Yeah… guess she does.”

Lando didn’t miss the hint of disappointment in Oscar’s voice. “You know she still loves you, right? Kids go through phases.”

“I know, I know,” Oscar replied, trying to sound nonchalant as he rolls his eyes. “It’s just… I didn’t think I’d be playing second fiddle to Logan, of all people.”

Lando chuckled. “Well, at least she has good taste. Logan is fun… in his weird American way. Baseball, football, hotdogs and stuff like that. But you’re still her dad… no one can take that from you.”

Oscar nodded, though his eyes were still glued to the scene in front of him. Logan was now teaching Sadie how to high-five, her little hand smacking against his with enthusiasm. The sight should’ve made Oscar laugh, but instead, it made him feel… left out.

“Maybe,” Oscar said quietly, “…but sometimes it feels like I’m just not enough for her.”

Lando looked at him, surprised by the admission. “Oscar, she’s a 2-year-old. It’s not about you being enough or not. She just likes Logan because he’s fun and new. Trust me, when she needs comfort, when she’s upset or scared, it’s you she’ll run to.”

“Did you indirectly call me old and boring?”

“You know what I meant!”

Oscar wanted to believe that, but watching Sadie beam up at Logan made it hard. He knew he was being irrational, that he shouldn’t let a child’s innocent preferences get to him, but the sting was still there.

“…Zak is calling me over.” Lando gave a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he spots the CEO waving a hand over. “Just keep what I said in mind. She loves you Oscar. Sadie’s just happy to see a face she rarely sees. Good luck in quali, yeah?”

Oscar nodded as Lando walked away, but his focus was still on Sadie and Logan. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—jealous of his best friend, of all people. It was silly, really, but he couldn’t shake it.

As the preparations for Qualifications continued, the garage was abuzz with activity. Oscar was trying to get back into the right mindset when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

“You look deep in thought,” You said, coming up beside him with a warm smile.

Oscar turned to her, managing a half-hearted smile. “Just thinking. You know how it is.”

Your eyes followed his gaze to where Sadie and Logan were now playing with a small toy car. “She seems to be having a blast with Logan.”

Oscar sighed. “Yeah, she’s been obsessed with him lately. It’s like I’m invisible.”

Your expression softened. You wrapped an arm around him and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not invisible, Oscar. Kids can be unpredictable. Logan’s just the new fun thing right now. It doesn’t change how much she loves you.”

Oscar looked at you, the weight of your words hitting him. “I know you’re right. I just hate feeling like I’m second place.”

“Oscar,” You said, lifting his chin with a gentle touch. “Sadie is 2 years-old. I think you need to remember that Sadie’s attachment to Logan doesn’t diminish her love for you. She’s just interested in her godfather she rarely sees. If anything, it just means she’s comfortable with the people around her, and that’s a good thing. Remember how she went from hating everything Lando did in the free practices to loving him at the end of the day? It’s the same thing. You’re her dad, and that’s a role no one else can fill.”

Oscar took a deep breath, letting your words sink in. Your gentle touch and reassuring smile helped ease the knot of insecurity that had settled in his chest. He glanced back at Sadie and Logan, and the sight of his daughter’s unrestrained joy started to warm his heart, even if the jealousy still lingered a bit.

The buzz of the garage continued around you both, and Oscar gave a thoughtful exhale, a much needed one. “Thank you, lovely. I guess I needed that.”

You gave him a soft smile, then glanced over at Sadie. “Logan might be fun for her at the moment, but remember that she’ll always be the one calling you dad.”

Oscar’s lips curved into a grin at your comment.

Yeah. Dad does sound pretty nice.

“Dad!”

[zayneslady]

hey!! loved that angst fic you wrote xx can i request the boys reaction to when the reader/mc and them are in an argument, and they accidentally said something extremely hurtful and it made reader cry. make the boys regret it so much pls hehe😼 thank you 💗

warnings: angst, open ending again hehe and again, reader is not MC

characters: Zayn, Xavier, Rafayel x reader (separately)

a/n: my first request *-* thank you so much! This exact trope is one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it! Get your tissues ready! Also thank you to everyone's support in my first post! I'm so happy! ❤️

Classification: scenarios

ZAYNE ❄️

You didn't want to admit it, but you were sick. During the day you felt a little sore in your throat and your nose was stuffy. Arriving at Zayne's house after work, it was more than obvious that you had a fever. Your face was red and the chills running through your body made you shiver. 

There was nothing else to do, you would miss work tomorrow to fully recover. Furthermore, with the care of your loving doctor, you knew you'd be fine in no time. So you quickly took a shower and after drying your hair, you grabbed a blanket and curled up on the couch with a cold patch on your forehead, waiting for Zayne patiently. 

To your surprise, he arrived at a normal time and your heart vibrated with joy when you saw him enter. He had his head low as he stepped out of his shoes and closed the door behind him. 

"Zayne! Welcome back! How was your day?” You greeted him as he shrugged his coat off. “Guess what," you said, giggling softly because it was quite obvious by your funny voice that you were sick. "I got a little sick after yesterday's ra- 

You jumped a little when Zayne suddenly groaned, whipping his head up to look at you. “Oh my Lord,” he said, annoyed. “Can't you see I'm fucking tired? You do not know when you shut your damned mouth? I can't stand you! Why are you so clingy?” 

Your eyes widened and your face turned bright red. Your mind went blank and you didn't notice the tears streaming down your face until Zayne's face changed from complete anger to guilt. He looked at you from the door as if he didn't know what had happened just now. He didn't recognize himself. How did he dare to talk to you like that when you-

He gasped softly, “you're sick.”

You tried to clean your tears with your hands as you got up from the couch. Zayne made an attempt to come close to you, but you quickly ran to the bedroom only to come back after a couple of minutes with your shoes and coat on. 

“Excuse me,” you said, as you approached the door. 

“What? Where are you going like this? You need to rest.”

You nodded, trying to keep some distance from him. “I know. I'll rest back home. So please move.”

“Stay here. I'll take care of you,” he grabbed your hand and more tears fell down. How could he talk so sweetly right now after what he said. 

You shook your head, pulling your hand away and pushing him aside so you could open the door. “I don't need you, Zayne. Not when you can't stand me.”

“I was wrong, please.”

“I was wrong too. Goodbye, Zayne.”

XAVIER ⭐

“My poor Xavier,” you mumbled, gently cleaning a wound in Xavier's side. You winced when he did and your heart broke. You knew perfectly well that this could happen because of his line of work, but you felt terrible every time he came home hurt. “Oh, Xav, is it too painful?” You asked as you started to bandage him. 

He shook his head, breathing heavily and resting his head against the pillow on his bed. “It could be worse. Thank you for helping out.” 

“No need to thank me,” you said, smiling at him as you placed a tender and loving hand over his now bandaged wound. “I wish you didn't have to do this. It's so dangerous.” 

Your words had no poison. You clearly didn't want Xavier to suffer in any way. Why couldn't he have a regular, safe job? Maybe he's just strong because he has to protect everyone. You said those words from the bottom of your warm heart, so you were more than surprised to hear Xavier's response:

“What? Are you saying I'm weak?” He spat and you blinked. 

“N-No! I'm just saying that I wish you had another job because- 

“Is that so? So you rather have a bunch of wanderers attacking innocent people? Just because you don't want me to get hurt?” 

“It's- It's not like that! I never said that. I just get worried sick for you and-

“Maybe I should really stop, huh? Just turn a blind eye to everything that's happening like egoist people like you di.”

He just kept vomiting out words, one harsher than the last. Every time you tried to speak and fix this misunderstanding, his irrational words drowned out your voice and it made something heavy and nauseating settle in your stomach. This was not going to end well in any way. 

“Xavier, my love, please listen to me. I do not- 

“Maybe one day a wanderer will actually kill you. And believe me, I won't even bat an eye at you,” he said, crossing his arms and turning his head away from you. 

Your eyes had never filled with tears as quickly as that moment. Your body began to shake with suppressed sobs as you felt heat and disappointment throughout your body. Did Xavier just... wish for your death? And in the hands of a creature as horrible as a wanderer? 

“Oh no,” he suddenly said and you flinched when you felt his touch against your cheek. “I am so, so sorry.” You cried a little harder before getting up from his bed. “W-Wait, my star. Please, I'm sorry.”

No words came out. You simply grabbed your bag and left the room.

He called your name and then groaned in pain as he tried to move. “Pl-please, come back! Where-

You couldn't hear more of his words as you closed the door of his apartment. Did this mean the end? You truly thought so. 

Rafayel 🐠

"Ah, welcome back, Rafayel!" The amount of excitement that rushed through your body whenever your eyes landed on him was almost overwhelming. It wasn't that you hadn't seen him in a long time, but a second without him felt like a century. 

His eyes, usually warm and sparkling, looked cold and even angry at seeing you in his house. "Hello," he said dryly as he closed the door behind him. You frowned slightly. "What are you doing here?" 

"Hmm, nothing much. I just wanted to visit you. Is that alright?" 

He sighed, placing a paper bag on the table. "Yeah, sure. I gave you a key after all."

You cleared your throat, nodding awkwardly. "Did... you have a good day?" 

He sighed again and shook his head as he stepped out of his shoes. "I didn't. It was terrible for the very first moment I opened my eyes. You see," he started and you nodded, listening carefully. "I overslept so I lost precious time for my painting. Then I didn't have time to eat so I didn't eat anything but a piece of bread."

You immediately got up to make dinner for him, maybe after eating he'd feel better? 

"And the worst thing was," he said, collapsing onto his couch. "I couldn't find my emerald green paint so I had to go all the way to the art store and get a new one! Ugh!" 

You blinked, frowning a little. "Your emerald green?" 

"That's what I said."

"Hmm, I'm very sure I put it in all of your greens?" You left the ingredients aside as you walked to the paints. "Here it is." 

He got up and looked at you with an astonished expression. Confusion quickly turned into anger and he was yelling at you in a second. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"You saw me last night!" You explained, carefully leaving the paint back in place. "You said you wanted your paints to be more organized and I asked you if I could help you out! You even told me you liked how I organized it by colors!" 

Rafayel let out a frustrated sigh as a hand carded through his hair. "I can't believe I just lost all of that precious time because of your stupid mistake!"

"Excuse me?"

"Every time you try to help, you just mess things up! Can't you keep your little hands to yourself for once? I was just stupid for letting you help me out! You are way too much, I can't stand you sometimes.”

You were stunned. He had never said anything like that about you, you couldn't even remember other times when you wanted to help him and you ruined it. Besides, it wasn't your fault. The green paint was there all along and he just hadn't taken the time to look for it properly.

You knew it wasn't your fault, but his harsh words and the anger and hatred in his eyes were too much. Tears quickly filled your eyes and began to fall down your reddened cheeks. 

Rafayel realized his mistake a bit too late. Letting out a gasp as he watched the first tear fall, he hurriedly approached you, but you backed away, putting space between the two of you. He couldn't say anything, too surprised by his own words.

What was just a moment seemed like minutes, endless hours with deafening silence. Only your sobs echoed around the entire house, until your voice, small and trembling, made him jump. 

“I won't touch your stuff again, Rafayel,” you said softly, avoiding his eyes. 

“N-No, I didn't mean-

You nod, “if you don't mind, I'll sleep in your guest room. Goodnight, Rafayel.”

Deep inside you so desperately wanted him to stop you, but he watched you disappear into the hall and never called you back.

You knew it was going to be a very cold night.

[steddieas-shegoes]

don't want to move on

for @steddiesmuttyseptember prompt 'make-up sex'

rated e | 18+, minors dni | 3165 words | read all tags on ao3

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

If Steve knows one thing, it’s that Eddie knows how to get under his skin and in his bed.

Ever since their breakup, a disaster of epic proportions for the entire friend group, Steve’s kept his distance from every possible interaction with Eddie. He’s made sure to find reasons to miss group outings and put himself on the schedule at work on the nights when he knew Eddie would be at movie nights or dinner. He purposely scheduled pool parties for days and times he knew Eddie would be busy.

But he couldn’t get out of this one.

And now he has Eddie’s eyes on him from across the room, staring into his soul, reading his mind probably.

It makes him want to hide. Or take his pants off.

He hasn’t quite decided yet.

“Are you gonna glare at him all night or go talk to him?” Jonathan asks from behind him.

Steve turns, feels ridiculous that he’s been caught, and crosses his arms across his chest defiantly.

“I’m gonna ignore him until he leaves and then excuse myself so I can sulk in peace,” Steve admits.

Robin was his platonic soulmate, but Jonathan has become a sort of unexpected best friend. He was there the morning after the breakup, barely holding Steve together with spoonfuls of peanut butter and reassuring words that didn’t stick quite as hard as the peanut butter. They got even closer after that, and hardly a day passed where Jonathan wasn’t texting Steve or showing up at his apartment with take out and stories from whatever modeling shoot he was working on.

“And you think he’s gonna let that happen?”

“If he knows what’s good for him.”

Jonathan snorts. “Okay. On that note, I’m gonna go check on Nancy. She got into the weed earlier and she’s probably at the stage where the walls are squiggly and she can feel her lungs touching her ribs.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he nods. He knows what she’s like at that point. Jonathan needs to get her home before everyone knows what she’s like at that point.

The moment Jonathan is gone, Eddie is walking towards him.

Steve’s never felt more like prey in his life, never seen Eddie strut like this. He’s frozen. He forgets how to breathe.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” are the first words Eddie says to him in six months.

No hello. No awkward exchange of pleasantries.

Just a mild accusation and a piercing look.

“I wouldn’t be if I’d known you’d be here,” he retorts, deciding to match his energy. If Eddie is allowed to be at this party of a mutual friend’s mutual friend, then Steve is too. “Didn’t even know Ivy had your number.”

Ivy was one of Nancy’s friends from school, and Steve had been invited to quite a few of her parties over the last few years. When they were together, Steve always brought Eddie, but he didn’t know if Ivy and Eddie had ever even met.

“I know Ivy pretty well, actually,” Eddie says in a way that makes Steve pause.

What the fuck does that mean?

“So you’re…friends?” Steve asks even though he thinks he knows where this is going and he thinks he’s gonna be sick if he’s right.

“Yeah.” Eddie smirks. “Friends.”

“Oh.”

Steve has to abort whatever mission he thought he was on. This is gonna end with him crying in front of Eddie and everyone else at this stupid party that he came to because he’d had a rough week and just wanted to have a drink with friends and-

“Are you gonna be sick?” Eddie asks, reaching out to him as if that would even help.

“No!” Steve backs away. “I just need to head out. Got an early morning.”

“On a Sunday? You don’t work Sundays.”

“And how would you know?”

Steve needs to leave. He can’t engage in anything else with Eddie. He won’t recover.

“Because you wouldn’t have come at all if you had work in the morning. And everyone you would hang out with is here.” Eddie steps closer to him. “Unless something’s changed?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not sure I owe you an explanation of my schedule.”

Eddie seems to realize that Steve’s right, taking a step back.

“Right. That’s true. I guess.”

And suddenly Steve can see how uncomfortable Eddie is, how much courage and energy it took him just to walk up to Steve at all. He’s always been pretty easy to read, at least for Steve, but right now it’s like he’s made of glass.

“How you been?” Steve asks, ignoring the pull he feels to the door for the pull he feels to Eddie.

“Um, good. Yeah, great. Fantastic. You?”

Steve raises a brow at the response. Eddie’s never been fantastic a day in his life.

Except maybe that one time he ate Steve out on a patio chair by the pool and then fucked him in his parent’s hot tub and claimed that he’d never been happier in his entire life.

“I’ve been fine.”

Not a lie. He has been fine most of the time. Fine isn’t anything special, or anything good.

“You look…good.” Eddie settles on, as if he was going to say something else entirely. “Still going to the gym?”

“Not as often as I should,” Steve admits. He’s about to call this quits when he sees Jonathan giving him a thumbs up from the doorway. “Uh. I should actually probably head out though.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure. Want me to let Ivy know you had to go?”

Steve shouldn’t fucking push. He knows he’s gonna end up hurt worse if he gets any form of confirmation on what he thinks is going on.

“I’ll just text her. But I guess if you see her before you go…”

“I mean, yeah, I’m kinda…living here right now?” Eddie rubs his hand along the back of his neck.

Steve thinks he might pass out.

He’s living with a woman not even six full months after he broke up with Steve because Steve wanted to take the next step and move in together?

He feels like he’s going crazy.

“With Ivy?” Steve can barely hear his own voice, doesn’t even know if Eddie hears him until he responds.

“I couldn’t renew my lease so she offered to let me stay here for a few months while I looked for something else,” he explains, as if that clears anything up. As if that helps the jealous fire in Steve’s heart calm. “That’s the only reason I’m even here tonight. I was off and she needed an extra pair of eyes to make sure no one tried to drive home after drinking.”

“Well, I haven’t even been drinking.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“You think I’ve looked anywhere other than you since you walked in the door?”

Steve feels like his entire body is lifting above the floor, and he’s reminded that Eddie’s good at this. Flirting like he means it, using words but not wanting more than that.

That he may have feelings for Steve, but god forbid those feelings lead anywhere other than a bed or a date.

“Doesn’t seem appropriate to stare at me all night with your girlfriend in the next room.”

“Girlfriend? What? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Eddie seems genuinely confused, his brows furrowing as he looks around the room and back at Steve.

“Isn’t Ivy your girlfriend?”

“Ivy?! Ivy Jane? The woman who told me on day one of me living here that if she even so much as accidentally saw my dick she’d cut it off?” Eddie laughs, unamused. “She’s a friend at most. More of a useful annoyance.”

Steve is confused. Why did Eddie make it seem like there was more to it than that? Why couldn’t Eddie renew his lease? Why didn’t anyone tell him about any of this?

“Look, you probably shouldn’t head home on your own. I know you didn’t drink, but it’s still pretty late, and I know you walked here.” Eddie sighs. “Can I at least get you an Uber?”

“To go less than a mile?”

“Or I could walk you.”

“And then walk back alone?”

“You don’t have to argue with everything, you know,” Eddie grumbles. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”

“I didn’t know ex-boyfriends cared that much.”

It’s a low blow and Eddie’s physical withdrawal is immediate. Steve instantly feels bad.

No matter what happened between them, he knows Eddie. He knows he’s trying to be nice and all Steve’s doing is making that task more difficult.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve sighs. “I’m just surprised that you’d care this much when we haven’t even talked in months.”

“Steve, I’ll always care about you.”

It’s a knife to his chest.

Because that’s not even remotely close to what Eddie had said to him months ago when he was throwing his shit in a bag and running as fast as he could. It’s not how he made Steve feel when he told him they were done.

”I’m not gonna keep pretending this can end well for either of us.”

He’d made it pretty obvious he had no intention of loving Steve beyond the year they spent together, and Steve had no choice but to assume he’d been faking feelings for him to try to get over him.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s let tears fall until Eddie’s thumbs are brushing them away, his touch so soft it makes Steve want to sob.

Before he can say anything or push Eddie away, Eddie’s hand is on his lower back, guiding him down the hallway of the apartment.

He doesn’t fight it, even though alarm bells are ringing in his head telling him to pause and go home, maybe try to talk to Eddie when he’s calmed down from the shock of seeing him. The warmth of Eddie next to him is enough to silence any fears he has.

He’s sitting on Eddie’s bed. The room is surprisingly plain for a room that belongs to Eddie, but the sheets on the bed are scattered and one pillow looks more like a ball, so he knows it’s his. Eddie sleeps the same way he talks: constantly moving, shuffling around, trying to find comfort in touch.

“I’ll take the couch once everyone leaves. You probably shouldn’t be alone right now,” Eddie says from in front of him, keeping his hands to himself.

He probably shouldn’t, but if Eddie’s on the couch, doesn’t that leave him alone anyway?

“You can come get me if you need anything,” Eddie explains further. “And I can come check on you.”

“Right,” Steve’s voice is shaky. “But you could stay?”

Eddie’s eyes are scanning his face, always trying to see what Steve isn’t saying. He’s always been good about reading Steve.

“Is that what you want?” Eddie eventually asks.

Steve nods because he can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound like he’s desperate for more of Eddie’s touch.

He lays down and waits for Eddie to join him, but he’s not sure what he’s hoping for anymore. The best thing to do would be to tell Eddie he changed his mind and send him to the couch, the second best would probably be to go home. But what ends up happening is Eddie locks the bedroom door and slips his shoes off, strips his jeans down his legs, and slides into bed with him.

He doesn’t touch him at first, though the bed isn’t quite big enough for them to not accidentally brush arms as they find comfortable positions.

Steve lets his eyes close, even though he’s never felt more awake, even though he feels every breath Eddie takes as if it’s his own.

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes shoot open at Eddie’s whispered confession.

They were together for a year and Eddie never said it. Steve didn’t even say it for fear of Eddie running. And when he finally did say it, when he had the nerve to ask him to move in with him, Eddie ran.

So, he couldn’t have possibly heard what he thought he just heard.

“I know it’s too late. I should’ve told you six months ago.” Eddie scoffed at his own words. “Actually, I should’ve told you when I realized it on our third date. There’s no excuse. You told me why you were hesitant to tell people how you felt and I should’ve known it would be harder for you than it would be for me.”

Steve turns on his side, eyes wide as he takes in the way Eddie’s eyes are slowly blinking up at the ceiling, fingers tapping anxiously against his own stomach.

“Why did you leave, then? If you loved me, why did you let me think you didn’t?”

Steve’s impressed with his sudden ability not to cry when he’d so easily let tears fall earlier.

Eddie turns his head. His fingers still. The room is silent, but Steve can feel the vibrations of the music playing down the hall.

“I don’t know.”

It’s anticlimactic, and not good enough, but Steve believes him. He believes that Eddie truly doesn’t know his own thought process behind walking away from what could’ve been a good future for them.

“Why say it now?”

“Because I needed you to leave here in the morning knowing that what you were asking for wasn’t unreasonable. I needed you to know that your feelings were fine, and that nothing you did pushed me away. You deserve the chance to move on properly.”

Steve can feel his heart in every nerve ending of his body, pulsing to a wild beat, a dangerous tempo that he isn’t sure he wants to control. Eddie always made him feel like this, like he was one step away from jumping off a ledge, like he was flying through the air without a parachute.

“I don’t want to move on.”

Steve crushes his lips to Eddie’s, letting out a pained groan that’s muffled by Eddie’s lips pushing against his own. It’s not soft, not even gross the way their kisses got when they’d been sweaty and pushing each other to their limits for hours.

It was forgiveness and yearning and need wrapped into a single point of contact.

But once Eddie’s hands found Steve’s hips, all he wanted was to feel Eddie everywhere.

“Missed you,” he admits breathlessly.

“Missed you, too, Stevie. So much,” Eddie gasps against his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for them to strip out of their clothes, for Eddie’s mouth to find all of Steve’s sensitive spots, for bruises to be left in places that will be hard to cover up tomorrow. They’re both panting, trying to hide moans against the pillows and sweaty skin.

Steve laughs when Eddie’s lips trail down to the head of his leaking cock.

Eddie looks up, frowning as if he’s disappointed that he was interrupted.

“What could you possibly be laughing at?”

“How easy it was to get me in your bed. Did you know I was coming tonight?” He does his best not to sound accusatory, but a small part of him worries that Eddie’s plan all night has been to get him naked. It wouldn’t be the first time those were his intentions.

“I had no idea you’d be here,” Eddie nips at his thigh. “But if I did, I would’ve planned this exact outcome, yeah.”

Steve slaps at his shoulder but moans when Eddie’s lips wrap around the head of his cock, tongue lapping up the precum that had been gathering for a while.

They get lost in it, in being able to touch each other, in finally having what they’d both missed for so long. Steve’s hands hardly ever leave Eddie’s hair and Eddie’s tongue is like a magnet to every inch of his skin.

He kisses down his length, he sucks bruises into his thighs, he sucks his cock until Steve’s trembling under him, saying his name over and over. Begging, praying, he didn’t even know anymore.

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s close until Eddie’s asking if he wants to finish like this or with Eddie inside him.

“Want you inside, but I don’t know if I can last that long,” Steve pouts. Now that he feels the coil in his belly and the flush of his chest and neck, he knows there’s no way he’ll make it through Eddie stretching him. He’s half-tempted to just have Eddie fuck him with no prep, but Eddie will never go for it. “C’mere?”

Eddie kisses his way up Steve’s body, biting a nipple and licking sweat from his collarbone before settling perfectly between his legs. He’s smiling down at Steve like he could stay there all night, like he didn’t just get interrupted in the middle of one of the best blowjobs of Steve’s life.

“Can we just…” Steve tilts his hips up so his cock rubs against Eddie’s. Both of them groan as Eddie hangs his head. “Like this?”

Eddie nods before resting his forehead against Steve’s and letting out a breath.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he whispers, like it’s a secret that he’s been getting off making Steve feel good.

“Me either. ‘S okay.”

Their cocks brush together as Eddie leans down on his elbows. Steve lifts his legs up to wrap around Eddie’s waist, pulling him down so there’s a constant friction between them.

“Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you,” Steve’s breath catches on his words.

Eddie’s hips move faster, and Steve does his best to meet every thrust. They’re in sync as if they were never apart, and Steve thinks this is all he needs for the rest of his life.

He knew that before, when they were together, and after Eddie left. But feeling it now, with Eddie above him, surrounding him, practically sharing his breaths, he knows Eddie’s it for him.

That thought is what sends him over the edge.

He cups Eddie’s cheek in his hand and pulls him into a searing kiss, one that’s more tongue and teeth than lips, more passion than finesse.

But it sends Eddie over the edge, too.

After, when they’ve stopped shaking and Eddie used his t-shirt to wipe up their mess, Steve taps his fingers against Eddie’s chest in a familiar pattern.

“Since when do you know the beat to a Metallica song?” Eddie asks, smirking down at him.

“It’s what you always used to tap on my arm when we were falling asleep. I didn’t know it was Metallica,” Steve yawns as he speaks, exhaustion seeping through every pore of his body.

“You remembered that?”

“Mhm. Remember everything.” He yawns again and lets his eyes close.

He’s pretty sure Eddie starts tapping a new pattern on his arm as he drifts to sleep. He doesn’t recognize it, but he’ll have plenty of time to learn this one, and the next one, and whatever else the future brings for them.

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: hanahaki disease, fem!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter one of four!

wc. 6.8K

↳ part 2

At Jujutsu High, power was everything. It determined your place, your worth, and sometimes even your fate. And you, a second-year student with a cursed technique so insignificant that no one ever seemed to remember your name, found yourself lingering in the background. It wasn’t by choice, but you’d grown accustomed to it. After all, how could someone like you stand out when surrounded by others like Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro?

Your cursed technique wasn’t something anyone would envy. It barely held up in combat situations, more suited for distractions or temporary barriers. Compared to the raw physical strength and resilience of Itadori or the strategic mastery of Megumi, your abilities felt… lacking. As a result, you were often overlooked, blending into the scenery like another unremarkable stone on the path.

But there was one person who never blended in. Satoru Gojo.

The first time you met him, you were overwhelmed by his sheer presence. His easy smile, the lazy confidence in his voice, and those striking cerulean eyes hidden behind his blindfold. He was untouchable—both in power and in personality. Students revered him, teachers respected him, and the world feared him. And you, much like everyone else, were drawn to him.

You told yourself it was admiration at first. How could you not admire the strongest sorcerer alive? But over time, admiration twisted into something deeper, something more dangerous. You began to notice the subtle ways his hair would fall into his face when he tilted his head, the low chuckle in his voice when he made some sarcastic comment. His casual dismissals toward the world around him only made you more curious, more desperate to be seen by him.

But Gojo was always preoccupied—teaching, fighting, keeping the balance between the worlds of curses and humans. And you… you were invisible in his orbit. A flicker in the corner of his eye that never quite caught his attention.

You started to resent how your heart quickened every time he entered a room, how your thoughts always drifted to him when you were supposed to be training. And yet, there was nothing you could do. He was untouchable, after all. Out of reach in every way. You told yourself over and over that your feelings were foolish, that they would pass. But they didn’t.

Instead, something began to change.

It started as a tightness in your chest—a strange pressure that made it hard to breathe. At first, you thought it was just nerves, the result of constantly being on edge around Gojo. But the tightness grew worse. Every glance at him sent sharp pangs through your lungs, each breath becoming more labored. You tried to ignore it, tried to pretend it was nothing.

Then the petals began.

The first time it happened, you coughed violently in the privacy of your dorm room, spitting up something soft and delicate. When you looked down, you saw it: a small cerulean petal lying in your palm, shimmering faintly in the dim light.

Hanahaki. The name came to you like a curse, like something you’d only heard about in stories. A disease born from unrequited love, where feelings rooted so deeply in your heart that they grew into flowers, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.

You couldn’t believe it at first. You stared at the petal, trembling, hoping it was a mistake. But the next day, another petal came, and then another. Each time you saw Gojo, the flowers in your lungs bloomed more violently, until your chest ached with the weight of it.

You couldn’t tell anyone. How could you? How could you explain to your classmates, to Gojo, that your cursed technique wasn’t the only thing making you weak? How could you admit that your body was betraying you, all because of feelings you were never meant to have?

So you did the only thing you could—you hid it. You avoided Gojo as best you could, keeping your distance, hoping the flowers would stop growing if you just ignored them. But every stolen glance, every overheard laugh, every fleeting interaction only made it worse.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this. Sooner or later, the petals would consume you entirely. But the idea of confessing… of letting Gojo know how you felt, terrified you. He would never return those feelings. Why would he? You were just a shadow, a forgotten student with a weak cursed technique, not someone worthy of his attention.

And yet, as another petal fell from your lips, you realized that you were running out of time.

The question wasn’t whether you would confront your feelings. It was when. And what would happen when the strongest sorcerer in the world finally noticed the weakest in his shadow?

You had always been good at keeping secrets. It was easy, blending into the background, letting others take the spotlight while you remained unnoticed. But this—this was different. The weight in your chest had grown unbearable. Every breath felt like inhaling thorns, each cough delivering a fresh bloom of cerulean petals into your hand. The once delicate flowers now felt like lead lodged in your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out.

You needed help, and there was only one person who could provide it.

Shoko Ieiri.

The walk to her office felt impossibly long, every step weighed down by hesitation. Shoko had always been approachable, if not slightly aloof. You respected her for her skill as a healer, and for her unflappable demeanor. If anyone could help you understand what was happening—or at least buy you some time—it was her.

As you arrived, you hesitated outside her door, clutching a fistful of crumpled petals in your pocket. You knocked softly, your heart thudding louder than the sound of your knuckles against the wood.

“Come in,” came her voice, calm and indifferent as always.

You entered, trying to steady your breathing as much as possible. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and incense, a strange combination that somehow fit her perfectly. Shoko sat behind her desk, sipping from a cup of coffee, her eyes tired but alert as they glanced up at you.

“You look like hell,” she remarked bluntly, setting her mug down. “What’s up?”

You swallowed, the sharp taste of petals lingering on your tongue. “I need your help… with something.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, gesturing for you to take a seat. “Alright. Spill it.”

You sat down, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and desperation swirling in your stomach. For a moment, you considered lying—telling her it was something minor, something fixable. But the weight in your chest reminded you that this wasn’t something you could ignore any longer.

“I… I think I have hanahaki,” you said quietly, pulling the crumpled petals from your pocket and placing them on the table between you.

For the first time since you entered, Shoko’s expression changed. Her usually indifferent gaze sharpened, and she leaned forward slightly, examining the petals with a frown.

“You’re sure?” she asked, though the answer was obvious. The vibrant blue petals spread out on her desk, a damning confirmation of the truth.

You nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve been coughing them up for a while now. It’s getting worse.”

Shoko let out a long sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Hanahaki… it’s rare. Most sorcerers don’t deal with it because they’ve got other things to worry about. But I’ve seen it before.” She sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “You know what this means, right?”

You nodded again, your throat tightening. You knew exactly what it meant. The disease would continue to progress, the flowers growing more and more until they either filled your lungs entirely, or until you did the one thing you were terrified to do—confess. Only then would the blooms wither, depending on whether or not your feelings were returned.

But you also knew that the latter was not a possibility.

Shoko seemed to sense your thoughts. “There’s no cure for hanahaki, other than—well, you know. Confession. And even then, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. You could still…”

Die. She didn’t say it, but you both knew it was an option on the table. An unspoken shadow hovering between you.

You felt a sharp pang of fear, but forced yourself to remain calm. “Is there any way to slow it down? I don’t know if I’m ready to…” Your voice trailed off.

Shoko leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple. “I can give you something to ease the symptoms—numb the pain, make it easier to breathe—but it’s just a band-aid. The flowers will keep growing. You can only delay the inevitable.”

A heavy silence fell between you as you processed her words. You had expected this, but hearing it confirmed still made the weight in your chest tighten. Delaying the inevitable was all you could do. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

After a long pause, Shoko spoke again. “You should tell him, you know. The person you’re in love with.” Her voice was soft, unusually gentle for someone so pragmatic. “It might be the only real solution.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stared at her, wide-eyed. “I can’t. He—he wouldn’t…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to say it out loud.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, her gaze narrowing slightly. “He wouldn’t what? Listen? Understand? Or are you just scared he won’t feel the same?”

Her words cut deep, but you couldn’t deny the truth behind them. You were terrified. Terrified of Gojo’s reaction. Of his inevitable rejection. He was too far above you, too unreachable. Confessing your feelings would only cement your insignificance in his eyes.

"It’s Gojo," you finally admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, the name heavy on your tongue. You looked down, unable to meet Shoko’s eyes, the weight of your confession settling between you like a secret that had been waiting too long to be spoken.

"He’s the one I…" Your voice caught, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over. "He’s the one causing the hanahaki. I’ve loved him for so long, and he never noticed. And now…" You trailed off, your chest tight with the familiar ache, knowing that simply saying his name wasn’t enough to change anything, but it was the truth you had been hiding, and now it was out in the open.

Shoko’s expression darkened as she watched, her hands folding together in thought. "You should have come sooner," she murmured, moving to grab a few supplies. "You’re lucky it’s still early enough that we might be able to manage the symptoms."

She began to work, carefully checking your vitals and preparing something to dull the pain. "There’s no cure for hanahaki except—" She paused, giving you a knowing look.

"I know," you said quietly, avoiding her gaze. The cure—having the love reciprocated, or undergoing surgery that would remove the flowers but erase your feelings entirely. The thought of forgetting Gojo completely... it hurt almost as much as the disease itself.

"I can give you something to slow it down," Shoko said finally, handing you a small vial. "But it won’t stop the petals from blooming. You need to deal with this, one way or another."

You nodded, taking the vial with shaky hands. "Thank you," you whispered, though it felt hollow. No remedy could fix the real problem.

As you left the room, Shoko’s words echoed in your mind. You knew the truth—there was no escaping this. Not without facing your feelings for Gojo head-on. But how could you, when you were nothing more than another faceless student to him?

The petals continued to bloom, their cerulean hue a constant reminder of the love that would never be returned.

The days blurred together, one petal after another blooming in your lungs. The nosebleeds were no longer occasional—they came daily, seeping through tissues and staining your hands with the undeniable proof of your condition. You tried to ignore it, to act like everything was fine, but the fatigue was becoming too much to bear. Each breath felt heavier, and the tightness in your chest was growing more unbearable by the day.

Shoko’s office became a second home. Every time you felt the blood creeping toward your nose or the cough rising in your throat, you found yourself standing at her door, face pale and eyes pleading for something—anything—to dull the pain. Each time, she’d hand you another vial or patch you up, her expression more concerned than the last.

“You can’t keep going like this,” she said one afternoon, the frown on her face more prominent than usual as she wiped the blood from your upper lip. “You need to either let it run its course or... you know the alternatives.”

"I’m not ready," you muttered, avoiding her gaze. You knew what she was implying, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face it. "Not yet."

Shoko sighed, leaning back against her desk. "You know I’ll have to tell Gojo eventually, right?" She said it like it was an inevitability, which, in many ways, it was.

Panic shot through you at the thought of him knowing. He couldn’t. Not now, not when you were still trying so hard to keep yourself invisible to him. "Please, don’t," you whispered, your voice shaky. "Just… don’t tell him it’s me."

Shoko hesitated, her brow furrowed in concern. "You know he’ll figure it out. He’s not stupid, and the moment he realizes one of his students is suffering from something like this—"

"Promise me," you cut in, desperation lacing your voice. "Promise you won’t say my name."

She stared at you for a long moment, then sighed heavily, pushing her glasses up on her head. "Fine. I’ll keep your name out of it. For now. But you can’t hide forever."

You nodded, relief washing over you. Hiding was all you had left. As long as he didn’t know, you could pretend it didn’t matter. You could stay in the background, where you were used to being—unseen, unnoticed, just another face in his class.

It was easier to avoid Gojo when he was always so busy. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and the others constantly vied for his attention with their loud voices and powerful techniques. It made it simple to slip into the back of his classroom, your chair by the window offering a sanctuary where you could fade into the background.

He never looked your way, not when Yuji was busy cracking jokes or Megumi was asking pointed questions about combat. Gojo’s blindfolded eyes were always on them, his energy, his focus, everything wrapped up in the more powerful students. It was almost a blessing, in a twisted way—he didn’t have time for someone like you.

You spent most of class staring out the window, one hand subtly holding a tissue against your nose, ready to catch the inevitable trickle of blood. You felt it coming now, the familiar warmth creeping down your nostrils, but you didn’t move. It had become so common that it barely registered as pain anymore, just a constant dull ache in the back of your throat and chest.

When Gojo asked a question, you didn’t raise your hand. You never did. It was safer to stay quiet, to let Yuji or Nobara answer while you watched the clouds drift lazily by outside. You were disappearing, bit by bit, wilting away as the petals bloomed inside you.

But every time Gojo laughed—every time he made a careless joke or smiled that easy, charming smile—you felt it. The tightness, the sharp pain of another petal taking root inside your lungs. You wanted to hate him for it, to hate yourself for letting it get this far, but those feelings only made the flowers grow faster.

There were moments, brief flickers of time, when his attention would shift—when his gaze would sweep across the classroom, pausing on each student. You’d hold your breath in those moments, praying that his gaze wouldn’t linger on you for too long, that he wouldn’t notice the fatigue in your eyes or the way you kept dabbing at your nose when you thought no one was looking.

But he never lingered. Not once. Not on you.

And somehow, that hurt more than the petals ever could.

Every time you coughed, every time a cerulean petal hit the ground, you felt yourself coming undone. You kept your distance from Gojo as much as possible, avoiding his usual haunts and slipping away during training sessions. But it was impossible to avoid him completely. Sometimes you’d catch glimpses of him in the hallways, laughing with the other students, his presence as overwhelming as ever. Each time, the flowers bloomed a little more, spreading deeper into your lungs.

You were running out of time.

One evening, after a particularly harsh coughing fit, you stumbled into the training yard, desperate for fresh air. The cool night breeze did little to ease the tightness in your chest, but at least here, you were alone. You leaned against a tree, struggling to catch your breath as another wave of petals slipped past your lips.

You hated this. Hated how weak you felt, how helpless you were against something as absurd as unrequited love. And yet, every time you thought about confessing, the image of Gojo’s indifferent smile flashed in your mind, and the words died in your throat.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching. Your heart raced as you straightened up, wiping the petals from your mouth and stuffing them into your pocket. You looked up, expecting to see one of the other students, but it was Shoko.

Her usual cool, detached demeanor was still in place, but there was something different in her eyes—something that made your stomach twist with unease.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice lower than usual.

You swallowed, already guessing what this was about. “What is it?”

She hesitated for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Your condition is getting worse, isn’t it?”

You didn’t need to answer. The way you clutched your chest, the way you struggled to keep the petals hidden—it was all the confirmation she needed.

“I’ve been holding off as long as I could,” she continued, her voice softer now. “But I talked to Gojo.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you. Your breath caught in your throat, not because of the flowers this time, but because of her words.

“You what?” The question came out in a whisper, sharp with disbelief.

“I had to,” Shoko said, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’re not going to make it much longer if this keeps up. I didn’t mention your name, like I promised, but he needed to know.”

Your legs felt weak, and you stumbled back, leaning heavily against the tree for support. Of course, she’d done what you’d asked—told him without revealing your identity. But it didn’t matter. The mere thought of Gojo knowing, of him even being aware that someone in his proximity was withering away because of him, made your chest tighten in ways that had nothing to do with the flowers.

“What… what did he say?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Shoko gave you a long, measured look before speaking. “He didn’t take it as lightly as you might think. He’s worried—though you know how Gojo is. He hides it behind his usual attitude. But this? Hanahaki? He knows what it means, and it’s not something he can ignore.”

You could barely process her words. Gojo? Worried? It didn’t make sense. He was always so untouchable, so far above everyone else. Why would something like this even matter to him?

“Did he… ask who it was?” you asked, already fearing the answer.

Shoko nodded, crossing her arms. “Of course he did. He was… concerned. It’s not every day that someone’s literally dying over unrequited love. But I didn’t tell him. I just gave him enough to know it’s serious.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest—not the flowers, but something worse. Guilt. Guilt that your feelings had somehow become a burden for him, even without him knowing who you were.

“I… I shouldn’t have asked you to tell him,” you muttered, looking down at your feet. “I just… didn’t know what else to do.”

Shoko stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “You’re allowed to feel what you feel. And if this is the only way to keep you alive a little longer, then so be it. But you can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to face him.”

You shook your head, feeling a lump rise in your throat. “I can’t. He’ll never—”

“You don’t know that,” Shoko interrupted, her gaze sharp. “Gojo’s a lot of things, but he’s not heartless. He might surprise you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you couldn’t shake the overwhelming certainty that confessing would only lead to more pain. Gojo was untouchable. Even if he cared in some distant, detached way, it would never be the way you wanted.

Shoko sighed, stepping back. “I won’t push you. But just… think about it. You don’t have much time left.”

With that, she turned and left, her footsteps fading into the night.

You stayed there for a long time, alone in the dark, the petals in your pocket a heavy reminder of the choice you had yet to make.

You sat at your usual desk in the back of Gojo’s classroom, your head leaning against the cool glass of the window. The hum of conversation filled the room, a low murmur as the other students talked amongst themselves, waiting for Gojo to stroll in with his usual swagger. You kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the leaves stir in the breeze.

It was easier this way—hiding in plain sight, letting the louder students command the room while you quietly faded into the background. No one really noticed you, not even Gojo.

Still, there was a part of you that longed for his attention, even if it was just for a moment. A glance, a word, anything that would remind you that you weren’t invisible to him. But every day passed the same—Gojo laughing and joking with the stronger students while you wilted away in silence.

You pressed a tissue to your nose, feeling the familiar warmth of blood trickling out. Another nosebleed. It had become so frequent that you almost didn’t notice it anymore. Almost. The petals in your lungs shifted uncomfortably, a tightness building in your chest as you fought the urge to cough. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself, especially now.

Shoko had promised not to tell Gojo it was you, but you knew her patience was running thin. You visited her office almost daily now, seeking some sort of relief, but there was only so much she could do. Hanahaki wasn’t something that could be easily cured—at least, not without confronting the painful truth behind it.

You couldn’t afford that. You weren’t ready for him to know. What would you even say if he found out? The thought of confessing made your stomach churn, your fingers tightening around the tissue in your hand. How could you ever explain the way you felt when you were barely able to understand it yourself?

The door slid open, and Gojo sauntered in, his usual carefree grin plastered across his face. The room seemed to brighten at his presence, his energy infectious as he greeted the class with his typical enthusiasm. You kept your eyes trained on the window, refusing to meet his gaze. It was better that way—safer.

“Alright, kiddos, settle down,” Gojo called out, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

The chatter died down as the students turned their attention to him, hanging on his every word. You listened, too, but from a distance, as if you were an outsider observing a scene that didn’t quite include you. His voice was the same as always, smooth and light, filled with that teasing charm that made the others smile. But for you, it was another reminder of how far away he really was.

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice something different in his tone today—an edge, barely noticeable, but there. He wasn’t as relaxed as usual. His gaze, though still hidden behind his blindfold, seemed to sweep over the class with more intensity, as if he were looking for something.

Or someone.

You swallowed hard, your heartbeat picking up as a flicker of panic settled in your chest. He wouldn’t know, would he? Shoko hadn’t said anything. She promised.

But the longer he stood there, the more restless you became. You could feel his attention shift, his energy probing the room, lingering in places it hadn’t before. There was something sharper in the way he moved, in the way he spoke to the students—like he was searching for an answer to a question he couldn’t quite articulate yet.

He didn’t speak to you directly, of course. He never did. But that didn’t stop the creeping suspicion that he was starting to notice something.

“Everyone’s doing alright, yeah?” Gojo asked casually, his voice lilting, but there was an underlying concern that hadn’t been there before.

Yuji, ever the optimist, nodded enthusiastically. “All good here!”

Megumi grunted in agreement, and Nobara shot Gojo a playful smirk. The usual banter, the usual flow. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Gojo was waiting for something. His attention drifted, not settling as it usually did.

You shifted in your seat, the petals stirring in your lungs again. The ache had become a constant companion, always there, always waiting for the next bloom. You pressed the tissue harder against your nose, trying to focus on your breathing, trying to stay invisible.

But it didn’t work.

“Hey, you back there,” Gojo’s voice suddenly cut through the room, casual yet commanding. Your heart stopped in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

He was talking to you.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Gojo’s attention was on you. Your hands shook slightly, the tissue still pressed to your nose as you quickly tried to pull yourself together. You forced a weak smile, nodding slightly, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a lie, but you hoped it was convincing enough.

Gojo didn’t press, but you could feel the weight of his gaze linger a moment too long before he turned back to the rest of the class. The tension in the room slowly eased as the lesson continued, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He had noticed you. And now, it was only a matter of time before he started to connect the dots.

As class ended and the other students filed out, you stayed behind, your legs weak and your mind racing. The tightness in your chest was unbearable now, each breath a struggle as the petals continued to bloom, slowly suffocating you from the inside out.

You stood, gripping the edge of your desk to steady yourself, but the world swayed around you, your vision blurring. You felt the cough building in your throat, but you swallowed it down, trying to hold it back.

Gojo was still at the front of the room, his back turned as he gathered up some papers. You glanced at him, your heart heavy with unspoken words, knowing that the distance between you was more than just physical. Even with his attention momentarily on you, he was still so far away—too far for you to ever reach.

The petals in your lungs fluttered violently, and before you could stop it, a wet cough escaped your lips. You doubled over, clutching your chest as the tissue in your hand was soaked through with blood.

It was getting worse.

You could feel it—Gojo was also beginning to put the pieces together. His usual carefree demeanor was still there, but underneath it, you noticed subtle changes. The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long, the occasional pause in his speech as if something was pulling at the back of his mind, the shift in his tone when he asked how you were doing.

He was connecting the dots, slowly but surely.

It had started out small. After that one class where your coughing fit had drawn his attention, Gojo had seemed more… aware of you. You weren’t used to that. For so long, you had been the invisible student, blending into the background while he focused on the stronger, louder ones. But now, it felt like you were always under his watch, even if it was subtle.

You couldn’t help but notice how often his blindfolded gaze would drift in your direction during class, the easy-going smile on his lips faltering for just a moment when your breath hitched or your shoulders tensed with the effort of keeping another coughing fit at bay. He never called you out in front of the others again, but the worry was there—hovering beneath the surface, waiting for you to crack.

It was getting harder to hide. The petals were growing larger and more frequent, blooming violently inside you whenever you were in his presence. It wasn’t just the physical pain anymore; it was the emotional strain of knowing he was starting to figure it out. Each time you saw him, the flowers bloomed more aggressively, as if they, too, could sense that time was running out.

You sat in class, staring blankly at the notes in front of you, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders. The tissue box on your desk was nearly empty again, and you were already clutching another tissue in your hand, waiting for the inevitable. Your lungs felt tight, each breath more difficult than the last as the flowers took root deeper inside of you.

Gojo was at the front, as usual, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed as he casually spoke to the class. He seemed as relaxed as ever, but you could feel his attention on you, even if he didn’t directly address it. Every time you shifted in your seat or raised a tissue to your nose, you could sense his focus sharpening, though he kept his distance.

“Alright, kiddos, let’s wrap it up for today,” Gojo said, his voice light and playful as he clapped his hands together. The students began packing up, Yuji and Nobara already bickering about something as they made their way out of the classroom.

You stayed behind, as you often did now, waiting for the others to leave before making your quiet exit. But today, Gojo lingered, too. You could feel the tension in the air as you stood from your seat, your legs unsteady beneath you. The weight of his gaze was palpable as you gathered your things, your hands trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice was softer than usual, and when you turned to look at him, you saw that his posture had changed. He wasn’t leaning against the desk anymore, his arms uncrossed and his expression… unreadable. “You feeling alright?”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked, but this time, there was something different in the way he said it. It wasn’t casual concern—it was heavier, like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to say it out loud.

You forced a smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, the words sticking in your throat as you grabbed the tissue box, clutching it tightly to your chest like a lifeline.

Gojo didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you. His smile, too, faded a little, replaced with something more serious, more focused. “You sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his words pointed.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze as you tried to make your way toward the door. But your body betrayed you. The familiar tightness in your chest returned, and before you could stop it, a violent coughing fit overtook you. You doubled over, one hand clutching your chest as you brought the other to your mouth, the tissue doing little to contain the blood and petals that escaped.

Cerulean petals fluttered to the ground, streaked with red, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the pain tearing through your lungs.

You didn’t have to look up to know that Gojo had seen. The room was painfully silent, and you could feel his gaze burning into you.

“Wait.” His voice was firm now, no longer soft or teasing. You heard his footsteps approaching, and your heart raced in your chest as panic set in. You couldn’t face him. Not like this.

But it was too late.

Gojo’s hand gently caught your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Look at me,” he said quietly, his tone serious but not unkind.

You hesitated, your breath shaky as you slowly turned to face him. His blindfold hid his eyes, but you didn’t need to see them to know the concern that was etched into every line of his face. For once, there was no trace of his usual cocky smile, no hint of the lighthearted jokes he often used to deflect serious situations.

“You’re not fine,” Gojo said, his voice low, steady. “You haven’t been fine for a while, have you?”

The tears that had been building behind your eyes finally spilled over. You wanted to deny it, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was shake your head, the weight of your secret crashing down around you.

Gojo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, a silent reassurance. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten for a different reason.

“I…” You swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Gojo’s expression softened, though the concern in his voice never wavered. “It’s hanahaki, isn’t it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, the weight of the truth finally too much to carry alone. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s hanahaki.”

Gojo exhaled softly, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he processed your admission. “Do you know who—” He stopped, the realization dawning on him slowly. “Wait… is it—?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, your silence enough of an answer.

It was him. It had always been him.

And now, he knew.

The silence between you and Gojo was thick, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a storm cloud. You could feel his gaze on you, sharp and penetrating, but it wasn’t enough to make you look at him. You stared at the floor, your hands trembling as you clutched the empty tissue box, your breath still shaky from the violent coughing fit that had exposed everything.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Gojo asked quietly, his voice stripped of the usual playfulness, replaced by a gravity that was foreign on his tongue.

You felt a surge of frustration bubble up inside you, mixing with the pain in your chest. Why hadn’t you told him? The answer was painfully simple, yet tangled in a mess of emotions you’d tried to suppress for so long. You tightened your grip on the box, swallowing hard before finally speaking, your voice thick with unshed tears.

“Why would I tell you?” you muttered, your words sharp even though they came out barely above a whisper. “You’re always so busy, Gojo-sensei. You didn’t even know I was here before today.”

Gojo stiffened slightly, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“It’s not your fault I have a meek technique that didn’t catch your attention,” you continued, the bitterness in your voice surprising even yourself. “I was just… invisible. So why would I tell you?”

You finally looked up at him then, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like ages. His blindfold still obscured his eyes, but you could see the way his jaw tightened, his posture tense. There was no easy smile now, no casual demeanor. Just the weight of his presence, heavy and serious in a way you had never seen before.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Gojo asked quietly, his voice softer but carrying the same intensity. There was no arrogance in his words, just genuine confusion, as if the idea of him not noticing was somehow inconceivable.

Your frustration boiled over, and you shook your head, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I don’t need to think anything, Gojo-sensei,” you said, your voice louder now, trembling with emotion. “I know you didn’t notice.”

Gojo opened his mouth as if to respond, but he hesitated, his expression tightening. It was the first time you had ever seen him at a loss for words. He wasn’t used to being called out like this, to being told that he had missed something important. Especially something as important as one of his students suffering in silence.

You took a step back, pulling away from his grip as you fought to steady your breathing, the petals still stirring in your lungs. “It’s not your fault,” you added, quieter now, your anger giving way to the exhaustion that had been building inside you for so long. “I didn’t expect you to notice. Why would you? You’ve got students with real potential, students who deserve your attention.”

Gojo’s expression softened, and he took a step forward, his voice calm but firm. “You’re one of my students, too,” he said, his tone laced with a sincerity that cut through the pain. “I should’ve noticed. I do notice.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head again. “You notice now because I’m dying, Gojo. Not because of anything else. If I didn’t have this—” you gestured toward your chest, “—you still wouldn’t see me.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his frame loosening as he let out a slow breath. “That’s not true,” he said softly. “You’re not invisible to me.”

The vulnerability in his voice startled you. Gojo wasn’t supposed to sound like this—he was always so confident, so sure of himself. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed almost… regretful.

“Maybe I was too caught up in everything else,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression tight. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I care about all of you.”

You looked away, the words landing heavily in your chest. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he truly cared about you the same way he did Yuji or Megumi or Nobara. But the reality was, you had spent so long on the sidelines, watching as his attention was always pulled in a hundred different directions, that it was hard to accept that you could matter, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, more serious than you had ever heard it. “I should have seen you sooner. I should’ve been there.”

The sincerity in his voice cracked something in you, and for a moment, the anger and frustration ebbed away, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

“It’s too late now, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Gojo didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable. He stepped closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, but he didn’t touch you. “It’s not too late,” he said quietly. “It’s never too late.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob as another violent cough wracked your body, more petals spilling from your lips. They fell to the ground between you, fragile and blood-stained, and you stared at them, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.

“How can you say that?” you choked out, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Look at me, Gojo. It’s too late.”

Gojo’s expression darkened, but there was a determination in his voice as he spoke. “No,” he said firmly, his hand finally resting on your shoulder, grounding you with his touch. “It’s not too late. We’re going to figure this out. I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

His words, so certain and filled with resolve, made something inside you tremble. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe—just maybe—things could change.

But as the petals continued to bloom inside your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had already run out of time.

notes: i'll be posting one chapter per day - so please stick around! If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know <3

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