#for me... sharing this chapter now feels like a full circle moment

[lynzishell]

So here we are

...again

[clairoscharm]

you're my bestfriend

pairing : ellie williams x fem!reader

warnings : childhood bsf!ew, fluff fluff fluff, not sure what to feel abt this but wtv!, friends to lovers, mentioned of abby being in a rs w @r3starttt , modern au, college au! uhmmm that’s it? OH MENTIONED OF OWEN AS WELL

credits : @anitalenia @fawniiky @cafekitsune

✉️ : this is a draft or repost but i rewritten it :)

DAILY CLICK

DON’T BUY TLOU

WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE

The friendship between you and Ellie began when you were twelve.

It all started with a school project, an awkward pairing that felt like a chore at first. But as the two of you began working together, it quickly became clear that this was something special. You laughed over shared jokes, stumbled through awkward silences, and discovered you could lean on each other even during the chaos of adolescence.

By the time the middle school ended, your bond had become unshakable. Ellie wasn’t just a friend; she was a constant—a partner in crime, your confidant, your people.

That was years ago, back when everything felt a little simpler. Now, you were both in college, sharing a new chapter of life together. Time had only strengthened the connection between you. Through exams, messy dorm rooms, and late-night cramming sessions, Ellie remained the person who felt most like home.

When the winter break rolled around, there was no question where you’d spend it: back in Jackson, at your childhood house. The two-week Christmas and New Year holiday was the perfect excuse to escape campus life and dive into the traditions you and Ellie had built over the years.

One of the traditions you two built over the years was having regular sleepovers. These weren’t just casual, one-off events but rituals that kept your friendship alive, vibrant, and full of the joys that come with shared memories.

The two of you used to stay up until the small hours playing video games, binge-watching movies you’d seen countless times, and gossiping about everything from celebrities to the drama unfolding in your social circles.

Whether it was at her place or yours, sleepovers were a haven of connection.

This time, it was at your house.

—

The living room was alive with the sounds of laughter and playful bickering. The floor was strewn with takeout boxes and empty soda cans, remnants of a feast that fueled your gaming marathon. The TV cast a soft, flickering light across the room as you and Ellie faced off in a video game.

“Ha! Take that!” Ellie crowed, slamming her controller buttons with exaggerated glee.

“Don’t get cocky,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at the screen. “This isn’t over.”

Despite your competitive banter, there was an ease to the moment that felt like second nature. It was the kind of night where time blurred, where everything else faded into the background.

As you reached for a slice of leftover pizza, a thought popped into your head. You paused the game, grinning mischievously. “Wait, oh my god. I forgot to tell you something!”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, already intrigued. “Oh no. What now?”

“It’s not bad,” you said, your grin widening. “Just some campus drama you missed.”

Ellie smirked, leaning back on her hands. “Well, don’t hold out on me. Spill.”

You set down the pizza and leaned in, lowering your voice as if you were sharing top-secret intel. “Okay, so you know Abby Anderson, right?”

“Duh,” Ellie replied. “Big, intimidating, kind of broody? Hard to miss her. What about her?”

“She’s seeing this girl, Renee—you’ve probably seen her around. She’s an art student and works at the campus coffee shop.”

“Oh yeah, she’s sweet,” says Ellie, nodding. “Always remembers my order. What happened?”

“Well,” you continued, leaning in like you were about to share state secrets, “Abby introduced Renee to her team after practice the other day. And guess who decided to make things awkward?”

Ellie tilted her head. “Owen?”

“Ding, ding, ding,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Apparently, he was making these weird, personal jokes about Abby and Renee. But here’s the best part—Renee shut him down. Like, stone cold. I wish I could’ve seen it.”

Ellie's jaw dropped, and she let out a laugh. “Renee? Quiet, coffee-shop Renee? She shut Owen down?”

“Yup," you said, popping the “p” for emphasis.

"Abby looked like she wanted to high-five her right there. Owen just kind of slunk off after that. It was amazing.”

“I need to start hanging out at practice,” Ellie joked, shaking her head. “But what’s up with Owen? I thought he and Mel were a thing.”

“They were,” you said, her tone shifting slightly. “Till Mel broke it off last month. She said he was too focused on himself and not enough on, well, everything.”

“Yikes,” she muttered. “That's tough, hope she's okay though.”

You nodded your head in agreement, then smirked. “Okay, your turn. Any juicy updates from your side of campus?”

She thought for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Oh! Dina and Jesse—there was this whole misunderstanding last week, but they worked it out, and now they’re even stronger.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Misunderstanding? What happened?”

“Well,” Ellie started, “Jesse had been spending a lot of time at the library with Cat—”

“Cat? Isn’t she like….gay?” you interrupted, your tone suspicious.

“Yes, but—,” she said, waving you off. “They were working on a group project for their media studies class. But Dina didn’t know that at first, and when she saw them together, she thought something was up.”

You winced. “Oof. That must’ve been a fun conversation.”

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding. “Dina confronted Jesse about it, and he immediately cleared everything up. He even invited her to join them at the library so she could see for herself.”

You smiled, her expression softening. “Aww, classic Jesse. That guy would probably walk through fire for her.”

“Exactly,” Ellie agreed. “Dina felt bad for jumping to conclusions, but Jesse was super understanding about it after they talked it out."

"It’s nice to see a couple that actually, you know, communicates.”

Ellie chuckled, tossing a fry at you. “What a concept, huh?”

“Right?” you said, laughing as you tossed the fry back at her.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, the hum of the television filling the room again. Ellie stretched out her legs, resting her head against the beanbag as she glanced at you.

“What about you?” she asked, her tone casual but curious. “Anything new in your world?”

You shook your head, leaning back. “Not really. My life’s basically a drama-free zone, which, honestly, I’m okay with.”

Ellie gave you a lopsided grin. “You’re lucky. The rest of us are out here living in a soap opera.”

“Yeah,” you teased, “But where would you be without my advice and impeccable commentary?”

Ellie laughed, her voice warm and easy. “Nowhere. You’re basically my rock, you know that?”

Her words made you pause, but before you could respond, she reached for another fry, casually throwing it into her mouth as though she hadn’t just made your heart skip a beat.

No matter how chaotic campus life, or Ellie’s stories gets, moments like this grounded you. With Ellie, it always felt like home.

A thick comforter lay sprawled over both of your legs, its soft fabric a welcome barrier against the cold. You shifted slightly, the rustle of the blanket mingling with the distant creaks of the house settling, a reminder of the quiet world outside this cocoon of warmth.

As you reached for a slice of leftover pizza, Ellie adjusted her position, her socked feet brushing against yours beneath the blanket. You didn’t say anything, but the small, familiar gesture made your chest tighten with an unspoken comfort.

In the brief pause between rounds, the room felt quieter.

The hum of the heater in the corner created a steady background rhythm, joined occasionally by the faint groan of the pipes. Outside, the faint whistle of wind against the windowpanes added to the serene atmosphere, as if the world itself were settling in for the night.

Ellie stretched her arms above her head, yawning loudly. “Okay, okay, I need a break. My hands are cramping,” she said, dropping her controller onto the couch beside her with a soft thud.

“You mean you’re tired of losing,” you teased, earning a playful shove in return.

“Keep talking, and I’m taking the last slice of pizza,” she shot back, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Ellie grabbed the remote and turned it off with a click. The sudden quiet felt startling at first, but the soft hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the house quickly filled the silence.

You glanced around the room—pillows and blankets were scattered across the couch and the floor, remnants of the makeshift sleepover setup you'd thrown together earlier in the night. The couch wasn’t big enough for both of you to sleep on comfortably, so you’d decided to make the floor a cozy nest instead.

Ellie flopped down on the pile of blankets with a dramatic sigh, her arm draping over her face. “I’m never going to move again,” she declared, her voice muffled by the fabric.

You laughed softly, tossing another pillow down beside her. “Good. That means I get the better blanket.”

Ellie peeked out from under her arm, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Over my dead body.”

Despite the mock protests, you handed her the thicker blanket before crawling onto the floor beside her. You stretched out on your back, the soft layers of the blanket beneath you cushioning the hardwood floor.

“God, I love nights like this,” she murmured, her voice low but content.

You nodded, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah. It’s kind of perfect, isn’t it?”

The world outside might have been cold and distant, but here, wrapped in the warmth of shared laughter and quiet moments, everything felt right.

Ellie shifted beside you, lying on her side and propping her head up with her hand. “Do you ever feel like the floor is weirdly more comfortable than a bed sometimes?” she mused, her voice soft, almost thoughtful.

“Not really,” you replied, turning your head to meet her gaze. “But it feels… different. Like we’re kids again.”

Ellie smiled faintly, her expression softening. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

The quiet between you wasn’t awkward. It never was. Instead, it was filled with the subtle sounds of your shared presence—the rustle of blankets as Ellie adjusted her position, the faint sound of her breathing as she stared at the ceiling.

Eventually, you turned onto your side, facing her. The space between you felt impossibly small, your fingers just brushing hers where they rested on the blanket.

“Ellie,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“You’re my best friend,” you said casually, your voice quiet but sincere.

She looked up at you, her brow raised slightly, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, that’s a good thing, right?”

“Of course,” you replied, chuckling as you leaned back against the stack of pillows. “You’re like the best part of my life, Ellie.”

She grinned, setting her phone down beside her. “Right back at you. You’re stuck with me, you know?”

You both shared a laugh, the kind of laugh that felt natural and familiar. But as the sound faded, a brief silence stretched between you, and you couldn’t help but wonder—would things be different if she were more than just your best friend?

The thought crept into your mind like it always did, sneaking in during quiet moments like this. Whether it was the way her laugh made your chest feel light or how her presence turned even the most mundane nights into something special, the idea lingered.

Ellie rolled onto her back, her shoulder brushing against yours as she got comfortable. The soft rustle of the blankets and the hum of the heater filled the room as the house settled into the quiet hours of the night.

You let your eyes close, but the lingering thought of what if stayed with you, weaving its way through your dreams as sleep finally took over.

The quiet night enveloped the both of you, and in the peaceful cocoon of the living room, everything felt like it was exactly where it was meant to be—for now.

—

The next morning, as sunlight poured through the blinds, casting golden beams across the room, you found yourself back in the kitchen, preparing tea. You didn’t know it yet, but this was the start of something new—a chapter where the line between friendship and love began to blur in ways that felt as natural as breathing.

The faint whistle of a teapot came from the kitchen, pulling Ellie from her slumber. She stretched like a cat, groaning quietly as her body protested against the familiar couch cushions. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and blinked at the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

The house smelled of tea, the aroma pulling her to her feet.

Ellie was so familiar with your routines by now that nothing surprised her anymore. She knew that mornings were your sanctuary. From the way you’d groggily reach for your phone, squinting at the screen, to the way you’d lounge in bed for a few extra minutes before getting up to make tea and soak in the quiet beauty of the day.

Padding into the kitchen, Ellie found you standing by the counter, the steam from the teapot swirled lazily around you, and the sight made her pause for a moment. She always thought you looked effortlessly beautiful, but something about that moment felt different.

Your hair was loosely behind your ears, framing your face, and your posture relaxed as you waited for the tea to steep. You were humming—some song she couldn’t quite place—but the sight and sound of you in the morning light made Ellie’s chest ache with something she didn’t quite know how to name.

"Morning," you said, your voice warm with the remains of sleep.

Ellie slid into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, still rubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes. "Morning. You're up early."

You laughed lightly. "Early? It’s almost nine."

She chuckled, leaning back in her seat. "Fair point. Making tea again, huh?"

You nodded, lifting an eyebrow at her. "Want some?"

Normally, she’d say no. She wasn’t much of a tea drinker and often teased you about your near-religious devotion to it. But today, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she hesitated.

"Yeah," she said suddenly, surprising even herself. "Sure. Why not?"

You froze mid-pour, turning to her with a raised brow. "You? Tea? Are you feeling okay?"

Ellie shrugged nonchalantly, though her voice betrayed a hint of curiosity. "Don’t make it a thing. Just figured I’d try it since you’re so obsessed."

You smirked but said nothing, turning back to pour her a cup.

The kitchen was quiet save for the clink of mugs and the soft whistle of the kettle, and Ellie found herself watching you again, noticing the way the sunlight played on your features.

The moment felt oddly significant. As Ellie leaned against the chair, watching you prepare the tea, she noticed the way the sunlight caught strands of your hair, the way your movements were careful and precise, as though this simple act was its own form of artistry.

Ellie found herself smiling.

"How come you want to try it today?" you asked, breaking the silence.

She shrugged again, her fingers idly scratching behind the ears of one of your pets who had wandered into the kitchen. "I don’t know," she said softly. "Just felt like it."

You nodded and smiled at her before grabbing a container that has ‘Sugar’ written on it.

Knowing Ellie’s aversion to bitter drinks, you added two and a half sugar of full spoon into her tea before mixing it. As you stirred, you felt her gaze on you, uncharacteristically focused.

Ellie’s gaze lingered on you longer than usual. The scene felt timeless, almost nostalgic, as if it had happened before and would happen again countless times.

"I want to live with you forever one day," Ellie said suddenly, her voice quiet but steady.

You froze, the words taking you back to when she had said the exact same thing years ago. Back then, it had been a lighthearted comment, something tossed into the air during one of your late-night talks. But now, there was a weight to her tone that hadn’t been there before.

A blush crept across your cheeks, but you smiled nonetheless. "Let’s do that somewhere in the future, yeah?"

When you handed her the mug, she caught the faintest smile on your lips. Your fingers brushed briefly, and Ellie felt a warmth that wasn’t just from the tea.

The two of you moved to the living room, settling onto the couch with your steaming mugs. The morning sunlight spilled into the room, wrapping everything in a gentle glow. It was one of those rare moments of absolute serenity.

Ellie took the mug, cradling it in her hands as the warmth seeped into her skin. She hesitated for a moment before taking a sip. The sweetness hit her first, then the floral notes of the tea. It wasn’t bad.

"Not terrible," she admitted, her voice laced with surprise.

"High praise," you teased, grinning as you leaned back on the couch.

Ellie shook her head, smiling despite herself. "What’s your secret?"

Leaning closer, you whispered as though sharing a sacred truth. "I add a little extra sugar. Don’t tell anyone though, it’s our secret."

Ellie chuckled, her grin widening. "My lips are sealed."

The room fell into a comfortable silence again as you both sipped your tea. For you, the moment felt like something out of a dream.

You had always imagined a life like this—peaceful mornings with someone you loved, sharing quiet moments over a warm cup of tea or coffee. You’d daydreamed about it as a teenager, envisioning a cozy home filled with the soft sounds of laughter, the pitter-patter of pets (or maybe even with kids around), and the kind of love that felt like warm, cozy, slow, like home.

Ellie knew about those dreams. You’d shared them with her years ago, during one of your late-night talks. She had always admired how clear you were about what you wanted in life.

As you sat there, sipping your tea, you found your thoughts drifting. Ellie was so deeply embedded in your life, in your heart, that imagining a future without her felt impossible. And yet, the idea of wanting her in a romantic sense felt like a line you shouldn’t cross.

Ellie broke the silence, her voice soft but filled with meaning. "You know what this reminds me of?"

You turned to her, tilting your head slightly. "What?"

"Back when we were teenagers, you told me about your dream life," she said, her eyes locking onto yours. "And this… this feels like it. Like the future you described."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"And honestly," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "I want it to be me."

The words hung in the air, weighty and electric.

"You… you want it to be you?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Ellie nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yeah. I’ve wanted it to be me for a long time."

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. Emotions swirled within you—surprise, joy, and an overwhelming sense of belonging.

"I want it to be you too," you admitted, your voice soft but certain.

Ellie’s smile was radiant, and she reached out to place her hand over yours.

"I meant what I said earlier," she confessed. "In the kitchen. And years ago."

Your heart swelled as you realized this moment was everything you’d ever dreamed of.

Sometimes, the simplest things—a cup of tea, a quiet morning, the soft glow of sunlight—can carry the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. This moment, this connection, felt like coming home.

You had always dreamed of this life, and now, you were finally living it, with Ellie by your side.

Together, and perhaps, it’s a forever kind of thing.

© clairoscharm 2024

[dashielldeveron]

cunning | shinsou x reader

Shinsou x Fem!Reader. BNHA spoilers for chapter 425. Note: written in a fervent haze backstage at a show I’m working and posted from mobile, so it’s much more casual than my normal stuff. ~1k words

You dragged Shinsou by his tie down the corridor towards the entrance to the stairs, and the moment you rounded the corner, you slid your hand up to grip the tie’s knot to yank his mouth down to yours. Shinsou flailed for a split second, as he always did when you initiated, as if he’s perpetually shocked that you would be so desperate for him, but he recovered, pursing his lips to return the kiss, casual, almost lazy about it—and he chuckled under his breath.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” You said with a huff, bitter you had to tear your mouth from his to speak, so you settled for pressing kiss after kiss along his jawline. “Couldn’t tell your girlfriend that you were finally transferring into the hero course—“

“It’d be suspicious if you’d been the only one without a reaction to Aoyama’s leaving, now, wouldn’t it?” Shinsou placed his hands, featherlight, on your hips and slid them up to your waist, where he tapped his fingers in a ripple. A vein in his neck visibly throbbed when you gave his tie another pull, and with a sly grin, he tilted his neck to expose more of it.

“Oh, you slut.” But you conceded, finishing your path to just before his ear and then trailed down his neck. “God, fuck,” you said, releasing his tie to wrap your arms around him, reaching up to grip the hair at the base of his neck, “I can’t—can’t believe after all of this, you wouldn’t share any shred of good news; God knows we need some after all of this—“

“I know, baby.” Shinsou pressed his lips to your forehead and nuzzled into your hair, guiding you back against the wall. “Am I not allowed a surprise every once in a while?”

“Shut—shut up,” you said, biting your lip, “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, your cunning nature wouldn’t be endearing. You’re a frustrating little sneak, y’know?”

“Yes, I like to think so,” said Shinsou, grinning toothily in the moment before he lifted your chin with a tap of his finger to kiss you again. This time, he returned your fervour, connecting his lips to yours, varying pressure as he pleased, letting your tongue flick at his coconut-pear chapsticked lips before finally opening his mouth. His tongue pressed against your gums in that slow, teasing way he liked, and he tilted his head to the side to reach the roof of your mouth.

When he suddenly broke from you, you let out an honestly embarrassing whine, and he rubbed his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. “How can I stop teasing you when I get looks like this afterwards? You’re adorable.” Shinsou’s eyes, full of mischief, flicked up to catch yours. “Want me to make it up to you?”

He always thinks he can talk his way out of trouble with you, and to be fair, he usually could. You couldn’t stay mad at this man. “Sure. Surprise me.”

“With pleasure,” said Shinsou, sliding his hand to cup your cheek, and when a crooked grin stretched across his face, the haze of his quirk floated through your mind.

Feeling light.

Distant.

But very, very happy. And teeming with affection.

For you, Shinsou’s quirk always felt like he was cradling you tightly, like his love could touch you. Like you were safe. Still cogent, still in the moment, but acutely aware you’d do what he’d tell you. Others probably felt scared under Shinsou’s quirk because he was scared of them.

Shinsou traced a circle over the edge of your cheekbone. “You with me, baby?” When you nodded, Shinsou kissed you again, slow to pull away, half-lidded eyes unbearably fond. “Then get close to orgasm. But don’t you dare come.”

You inhaled sharply. “Oh, you rat bast—“

And the hazy buzz of a building orgasm flooded you all at once. It’s shocking, really, an electric sort of whizz-bang, when it comes on so quickly—and you gasped, impulsively hunching over and knocking clumsily against Shinsou’s cheek, then clutching at his blazer lapels to hide in his chest. Warmth and static and fog and gosh, you were tripping over your own feet, and you’d thought Shinsou was trying to steady you when he gripped your hip, but no, his hand kept going to the swell of your ass and down to the underside of your thigh to yank it upwards, hooking it over his own hip. Staring you down while you struggled to even keep your eyes open, Shinsou rolled his hips into yours, and you just about cracked in half.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle the honest-to-God sob from how good it felt, how intense the blur and haze was combined with the distant-floatiness of his quirk, and Shinsou laughed to himself again before he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in, feeling you tremble while he ground into you, taking your other hand in his to lace your fingers together. Fuck, you were close; you were so damn close, but it’s like he’d set a lock on you, like you’d keep rolling that boulder up that hill, like—

“Ahem.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Aizawa-sensei clearing his throat, but Shinsou didn’t rush as he dropped his brainwashing and surfaced from your neck, blinking blearily at your—your shared homeroom teacher, with crossed arms and Bakugou and Todoroki in tow, the former tactfully (embarrassedly?) looking away and the latter unable to tear his gaze away from you.

“Shinsou,” said Aizawa-sensei, as Shinsou dropped your thigh and disentangled himself from you, with heat burning your face to oblivion but Shinsou appearing annoyingly calm, “I was going to discuss your move into the Class A dormitory, but considering whom I had next door—“ Aizawa’s eyes slid over to you. “—I may have to do more planning.”

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

Fixing MHA's Ending So It Follows Through With Its Core Themes (And It Basically Fixes Itself)

I don't like retconning at the best of times, but turning what started as essentially a Hope focused narrative into a "realistic" tragedy at the very last second is some wild work.

So I'm gonna do what I do best as a fic writer and fix it!!!!!

The Summary

So, I'm pretty sure all of us were on mostly the same page up until the very last panels of the Shigaraki fight (Having AFO being just "born evil" was probably the start of things not being great, but I'm willing to let that slide because it doesn't really effect the overall function of the story that much). Once that and the epilogue started is where I mostly saw people being like ????????? to a lot of choices, so I'm going to focus on those two sections only.

We're gonna be rewriting:

-The deaths of the Villains + Kurogiri (obvs)

-The overall post-War actions and reactions

-The continued existence of the Commission and the Hero Rankings

-Hawk's fate

-Spinner's fate

-A liiiiitle tweak to Chisaki's fate

-Slight tweaks to the Todorokis

-and finally What to DO with the Villains + Kurogiri now that they're alive

And we'll be starting with...

Toga

Now for a battle that was so beautiful, this really did end up completely falling apart.

I'm not gonna justify every single Villain Rescue I do, but Toga's really comes down to one simple reason for me:

Her bullies literally wanted her to die as atonement.

You don't...typically make your character's fate agree with their bullies or abusers (otherwise???? why are you explicitly portraying them as bullies and abusers to the audience if you want us to ultimately agree with them?????)

Throughout most of the story prior to this, Hori made it a staple in the show that dying for the cause, hurting yourself for the cause, martyring yourself or otherwise telling someone to kill themselves for the cause is a vile thing to do. So, it makes ZERO sense why he would suddenly retcon this at such a critical moment, especially since he already set the stage for it to be wrong in the first place.

(also does anyone also think it was weird/creepy that Hori LITERALLY has her do this with Twice and she very explicitly says "Don't be stupid I don't have to give all of my blood away"? No? Just me?)

Everything happens the same, she still thinks she's sacrificing herself, "If only, if only", blah blah blah

AND THEN...

Hawks

This is such low-hanging fruit plot-wise it actually feels offensive that it went nowhere

Nothing happens with Hawks. We all say it, fans and non-fans alike. He is wasted potential incarnate. His story is a circle and it so easily did not have to be that way because of one simple writing decision:

Hawks and Toga share a blood type.

Up until now, it really did seem like Hawks learned nothing from Jin's death. The first thing he says when he sees the clones is, "We have to kill them now!" But then, picture him still battered and broken from his fight with AFO, wingless, but there is still SOMETHING he can do to save someone's life.

And he puts the needle in his arm instead, and before she can question it, he tells her Jin would want her to live. He's not gonna make the same mistake twice.

(I also think it'd be nice if he said something like how lucky she is, to really go full circle with the Jin story, but I'm not trying dialogue here lol)

And that leads us to...

Shigaraki (and Kurogiri!)

This is a double feature because with the way I'm doing it, I can't save one without the other.

So, something that happens during this and is super anti-climactic and seemingly pointless is Midoriya losing his hands. He gets em back in like 2 seconds, because Eri gives him a surprise rewind almost immediately after. The actual point of it was just to show the brand new rule that physical damage that happens in the vestige world also happens in the real world, so that killing Shigaraki a few chapters later would still make sense.

We're gonna get rid of that rule entirely and just say that Midoriya does not lose his actual arms in the fight, and psychological damage in a ghost world does not reflect physically in reality (or idk. If you DO want that to happen, then just say the embers of the vestiges protected him one last time or something).

And because he doesn't lose his arms, Eri still has a surprise rewind to use.

But before we get to that, we actually have to save Shigaraki. So, here's the super complicated rescue rewrite I came up with. Ready?

Kicking AFO out of his brain and giving him back full control over his body simply does not kill him.

That's it!!!! That's really all that needed to happen!! It was a very conscious choice to make that kill him! It's actually more work and details to kill Shigaraki than it is to save him!! Hori already went out of his way to say that Nana's vestige protected him so that he wasn't completely swallowed by AFO, just so he could say goodbye before fading away anyway. What if, considering the fact that hatred of Nana is what damned him, love FROM Nana actually just plain ol saves him? Full stop? We come full circle. It would make it a fantastic mirror to the Todoroki fight and solidify the theme that love from your/a family, even a broken one, will save you!!

And then further in the background, Bakugou doesn't randomly kill (?????? Even after reading it again I'm still really confused about how Kurogiri dies. I think this is what happens?????) Kurogiri, and instead starts to lose control like they feared. But then, refusing to give up on him, Aizawa hits him with the now-available Rewind Juice and it finally, finally stabilizes his mind for good.

The day is saved.

And that just leaves...

Touya

Unfortunately my stupid husband can't stop trying to kill himself for 2 seconds despite my best efforts to convince him otherwise, so there's really nothing I can do about the extent of his injuries

However, there's LOTS I can do about the way we're treating said injuries! =D

First of all, because Touya is my favorite, I do wanna allow myself the space to briefly rant about how his entire situation was handled because brother. first of all. It's so incredibly obvious that he was supposed to die on the battlefield with his comrades. That man had no fuckin eyeballs by the end of that fight, bffr. And then it was like Hori remembered the thing about the noodles and was like 'oh shit I better at least wrap that up lol' so he brought him back--eyeballs and TEARDUCTS magically intact btw so naturally the audience with reading comprehension was like 'oh he's healing somehow I guess'--just to get that specific moment on the books (and maybe just to draw Touya in his Batman Who Laughs era because I mean he does look pretty sick in the tank) and then turned around and killed him again. With no explanation what the random functioning tearducts and magical regrowth of eyeballs was about.

Like...my guy, you ain't gotta do all that. Again, it's so much harder and more complicated to kill him than it is to keep him alive. Not to mention he was killed OFF-SCREEN. WE DON'T EVEN GET TO SEE ANY--IF ANY--CONVERSATIONS HE HAS WITH SHOUTO OR HIS FAMILY, WHICH WAS THE WHOLE POINT OF NOT KILLING HIM ON THE BATTLEFIELD. INSTEAD OF THE SEXY SHIRTLESS SERVING-FACE-AT-A-FUNERAL IMAGE OF TOUYA WE COULD'VE SEEN A FLASHBACK OF THEM TALKING AND HIM SMILING AND BEING HAPPY WITH THEM FOR WHATEVER TIME THEY HAD AND THAT STILL WOULD'VE BEEN MORE SATISFYING. Y'KNOW. BECAUSE THAT WAS THE WHOLE FUCKING POINT OF THE TODOROKI PLOTLINE?????????????VSSSBBNM,.;;PUSAAXXGHIIRWDFGG

But anyway.

Fixing Touya's death is really simple. We can do two things, actually.

Work with the deus-ex Ice Quirk a little bit, make the Phoenix Theory canon. Ice heals him, the tank is a giant fridge. Lo and behold, it would explain why he magically healed eyeballs and tearducts. It's an incredibly slow process, but eventually he'd heal enough to be out of the tank and in a normal hospital setting for the rest of his recovery. It also gives him a goal to pursue for the future, I.E learning how to control the new side of his powers and mayybeeee getting interested in studying Quirk Biology in the process 👀

He simply!!!!!! Doesn't die!!!!!!!!! Out of ALLLLLLL the MHA characters, I would 100% believe you if you told me that Touya Todoroki nevertheless persisted. That's like...his entire character. You don't even need to give me a reason. His entire character up until now has been 'the one that's somehow still alive' to the point that the fucking Dr. Eggman lookin ass mad scientist that brought him back to life in the first place (in WORSE condition) was like 'yeah no idea how he's still here that's scary'. I'm sorry, the entire fucking show I've had to see A. An old man without a face with a back alley ventilator system shoved directly into his stoma that's somehow fine and talking perfectly, and B. Another old man missing his ENTIRE digestive tract for years and is still up and walking around somehow with no G-tube or colostomy bag to be seen, so I think by the power of God and Anime, Touya could probably survive his injuries and it would be within the realm of believability for the show. In fact, it's LESS believable that he stayed alive through all that by spite alone and then when he finally gets offered love and acceptance, that determination and tenacity to stay alive suddenly goes out the window. If anything, it should've made him MORE determined to live.

Sorry I got carried away with that one. But there. Everyone is saved and the core themes are intact.

Now we just have...

The Overall Actions and Reactions Post-War

Gonna sum this up really quickly:

-The cameras never turned off. They're built for Quirk resistance because they're a fucking newscast in a Hero society if their technology broke every time there were heavy Quirk exchanges there would never be any fucking news. Making them conveniently lose footage so none of the civs can see the Villains humanity is just rubbing salt in the wound and serves no narrative purpose in line with pre-established themes. Everyone saw what was recorded, and it helped the Villains' cases for rehabilitation.

-We do not censor out this battle in future history books. Everyone is very familiar with the final fight and the events and circumstances leading up to it. It is not erased from public memory as soon as possible. In fact, it's frequently studied and referenced when making new policies to avoid making the same mistakes. Hori. Wtf.

-We do not reinstate the Hero Rankings in any way shape or form, and Shouto is the biggest voice in dismantling this system. Voila, this is now actually the story of how they all became the greatest Heroes, because they aren't ranked. They're all literally the greatest Heroes, and so will everyone after them.

-This IS actually portrayed in the epilogue, but yes, let's be LESS reliant on Heroes and police and MORE invested in the community!!!!!!! Even more so than what's portrayed!!!!! Take another bit from Spider-Man: Anyone can wear the mask!!!!!! Let's make a world where Heroes have too much time on their hands and not just make more of them, right????????? Remember that????????

-WE DO NOT REINSTATE THE COMMISSION. WE GOT RID OF THEM CORRUPT HOES FOR A REASON!!!!!! NO A CHANGE OF THE GUARD IS NOT ENOUGH TO FIX IT WE'RE NOT 7YRS OLD!!!!! HORI. WTF. The only thing I want them to be in charge of is licensing Heroes. I want these fuckers to be the DMV of the Hero world and that's IT!!!!!!!

Which brings us to...

Hawks' Fate

I don't even fuck with this man like that, but he did not deserve to become CEO of the organization that groomed and abused him since he was a child when all he wanted to do was chase tail and fuck off to a beach somewhere. Considering the fact that he also, like, killed people he shouldn't have, let him retire like Endeavor, please. We're done giving the old guard power and privilege, especially when they explicitly did not and do not want it (and when they did have it, they misused it). The only thing I want this man involved with is Toga's recovery alongside Uraraka. Specifically, I want him paying for it and anything else she might need. Fuck it, you know what, make HIM Endeavor's personal aide instead of Rei!!!! He gets to be a little simp and Endeavor gets a replacement son to fill Natsu's spot. Everyone wins.

(He does deserve that hairline tho. I ain't fixin that.)

So that leaves...

Spinner's Fate

I'm not changing much here, besides the fact that now Shiggy is alive and I think they should be ✨Roommates✨ eventually (and obviously he's gonna be much less riddled with survivor's guilt). I still think he should write that book, but I also think that with his multiple Quirks, he should team up with scientists to understand how Quirks work in the body (and maybe get some of them removed from his).

And next...

Chisaki's Fate

I just think this guy needs to be in the same place as the other Villains, at least for a fraction of the time. Why is he just...out. He was also in that daycare and could definitely use some help before we just let him loose in the streets because he said sorry (Can the League just say sorry then??????????).

I do think afterwards he should get involved with something chemistry related tho, cause those bullets of his came in clutch.

And on that note...

The Todorokis' Fates

And by Todorokis I mean two of them, specifically Rei lol

Yeah, she's not gonna be Endeavor's nurse for the rest of her life lol. That man has more money than God, he can hire an aide like everybody else. In fact, they're not even living together. Do you remember how earlier in the series, he gave them a new house? So they could live away from him and he would be in the old house by himself? I liked that plan. Let's go back to that plan. I'm not gonna go as far as to make them divorce, if they're together they're together, but I think separation is a necessary must at this point because if they MUST stay together, they should at least try dating for once???????? Girl was actually bought like maybe they figure out if they even still like each other at all, or ever did.

(Also, I have to laugh as a motorized wheelchair user that Hori drew her pushing Endeavor all happy and blissfully. Motorized wheelchairs are not meant to be pushed like that lol. They have push features for emergencies and small around-the-house distances of course, but uh, mine's 350 pounds without me in it. It's not usually anyone's first choice.)

But there is one more Todoroki I have a lot to talk about, so that finally brings us to...

What Do We Do With The Villains + Kurogiri Now That They're Alive???????????

We take everything from comic books except what would actually makes sense with the story lol

Surprise!!!!!! We're doing Arkham!!!!!! This is another low-hanging fruit thing that I'm almost a little offended that it wasn't implemented. Obviously Arkham has its problems in the Batman canon that we're gonna try to avoid, but I honestly think Batman villains and the core MHA Villains are pretty similar in their execution in that they are primarily mentally ill victims of society who have done very terrible things, but the audience (and Batman himself) is actively rooting for them to get better over just rotting in jail or being killed. Two-Faced has killed sooooo many people and has relapsed a ton, but I ultimately still want to see him get better because he was Batman's best friend once and a good man, and what happened to him was a tragedy. I think all the Villains deserve a space where they can humanely heal from their issues and gain support, while also being safely separated from society while they're still dangerous to themselves and others.

Oh, but Batman and his endless money bought Arkham. Who do we know who has access to trust fund money, an investment in the mentally ill, and the bonus of a medical background that could fund such a thing?

Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for...

Natsuo Todoroki!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My mans graduates from college and immediately uses his money as a doctor and his inheritance to open up Rindou Sanctuary, in honor of his mother Rei and named after her favorite flower (I don't think he'd want to give Enji the satisfaction of his last name attached to his greatest achievement). He's head doctor on site and the board, and visits Touya every shift once he's healed enough to be transferred to the facility. He is very invested in his brother's treatment and refuses to lose him again--at least not until they're proper old men.

It is publicly funded by donors and taxes alike, and Enji, naturally, is always the highest donor. Call it reparations.

And there you have it! That's how to fix the epilogue. It took longer to type than think about. I could care less about canon shipping, so y'all can keep that (or not). I'm just here to fix the structural problems that have no reason to be here at this point. As I said, once I redrew lines Hori already set up and just abandoned, it pretty much fixed itself.

Hope you enjoyed it and I hope it eases the grief a little!!!!! They're alive look I fixed it!!!!!! <3

(also feel free to use anything I said in here in your own fix-it fics!!!! Just tag me so I can read them 👀)

[eunivrse]

ASMR (VI) deal with the devil

# multi. aot characters / reader

─ you’d think crossing paths with the person who owns the voice you fuck yourself to almost every night would nearly be impossible, but then again, life is full of surprises.

chapter summary: everything you've done led up to this confontration. and now you're reaping the consequences.

content warning: nsfw (tbh just pure smut, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, dirty talk, squirting), manipulation, complicated situationships, talks of porn and nsfw asmr

word count: 8.5k

quick note: hii hi i posted this on here for consistency purposes but the edited version of the previous chapters is only available on ao3 @ eunivrse

series m.list | next chapter

“Well, fuck.”

You aren’t sure if you cursed out loud, but the man in front of you seemed to have heard it as he clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue, a way of poking fun at you for being so startled.

“Um- where’s Eren?” Trying to cover your surprised expression, you coughed to clear your throat.

“He’s in class. Too bad he left his phone though.” The blonde feigns a pout, swinging Eren’s phone in between his fingers to show you that he’s the one that messaged you before he placed it back on top of his friend’s desk.

“What do you want from me?” You decided to be frank instead of prancing around the topic in hand. He wanted to finish the interrupted conversation he had with you back at the party, you were aware of that. At the time, you were glad Eren stepped in before things took too far, but this time Armin calculated his steps to ensure confrontation will occur.

You’ve already lost.

He chuckles, taking a few steps closer to you until you are about a foot apart. “Why so tense, love?”

“Because- you scare me.” Probably not the best to be upfront by telling him that he’s scary to his face, but if he’s going to approach you as such, you’re going to make sure you have the upper hand.

He walks past you without a word and down the little entryway that leads to his shared dorm with Eren.

You were dumb to not even realize that the other side of the room was his. Being so infatuated with Eren, your mind has been clear of Armin and Euphoria for the past few days now. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but the idea of it somehow didn’t cross your mind.

Your feet were moving on its own, to the bigger space where you were boned by Eren just a few days ago. Armin took a seat on his desk chair and patted the space next to him, his bed, as a gesture for you to sit.

For some reason, you followed. Your stomach was churning, swearing you could feel your anxious levels bubbling up inside of you, but still; you still did as you were told like a trained puppy.

It’s the small part of you saying that it’s the Euphoria calling you over even though it’s possible that Armin will ruin your image for knowing something you shouldn’t have.

Reputation isn’t something you value all that much, but having a horrible one amongst your circle wouldn’t be pleasant either.

You looked down on your lap as you explained before Armin had the chance to start his berating, “Armin- I know me knowing that you’re Euphoria might cause you some issues, but-“ turning your gaze to the man in front of you, you noticed how he stared at you with sincerity.

It was strange, no, Armin Arlert is strange. One moment he terrifies you then the next would be him giving you the most reassuring gestures.

It’s as if he’s toying with you.

“But- I won’t do anything with that information. I promise.” Your voice trails off in a whisper, trying to convince yourself that you aren’t scared by any means, but your body language is saying otherwise.

“I know you won’t.” His tone was slightly demeaning, a small smile forming on his face as he elaborated. “Everyone has their secrets. You reveal mine and I’ll reveal yours. An eye for an eye, right?”

“My secret?”

He beamed in amusement, “Word going out that you filmed and posted a sex tape with Eren is enough to ruin you, yeah?” Armin is enjoying every second of this, it was obvious in the way he spoke, his facial expressions gleaming with fascination.

You scoffed, an attempt of trying to hide the way you’re trembling in fear, “H-how-“

Armin interrupts. “How do I know? We’re best friends, honey.” The word ‘honey’ rolling past his tongue almost made it seem like he was looking down on you. You didn’t know an endearing word like that could come off so… condescending.

“Why… why are you doing all this?” This was all so complicated. Honestly, you just wanted sex, the last thing you wished for was to be knotted with someone who seems like has unhinged tendencies. Someone who’s willing to throw his best friend under the bus just to satiate his craving of getting what he wants.

“For fun. We don’t need to be philosophical about porn, darling.” It seemed genuine enough, his friendly shrug gave you enough of a hint that there was nothing deeper than just him having… fun. Even if that meant blackmailing you to keep himself entertained.

Continuing with his statement after it was silent for a split second, he went on. “Can I be honest? I like the thrill of being known as someone completely different online. But you know, I get upset when nosy people get in the way.” Obviously referring to you, you stay quiet, not sure what to reply with.

“Tell me, you listen to Euphoria don’t you?” It was humorous how immediate your nod was.

“Yes… I subscribe to your patreon too.” What you are trying to achieve by unraveling that information to him is beyond you. This was starting to pique your interest, just like how Armin wished to.

He jests, chuckling quietly, almost diabolically. A laugh that lasted too long as you just sat with your hands warming in between your thighs. “Hah… no wonder you figured it out so fast.” He paused then glanced at you, meeting your eyes.

It all happened so suddenly, he practically trampled onto you, his frame over yours, arms on each side of you as your back landed on his mattress.

Putting your veil of confidence back on, you asked, despite the awkward position you were placed in. “Hey, can I ask why you called me over in the first place if you knew I wasn’t gonna say anything?”

“You’re interesting. Connie… now Eren. ‘Just want to see what the hype is about. Aren’t you curious about what Euphoria can offer too?” He grinned and all you could do was nod as you stared at his pretty blue eyes.

Armin was more arrogant than you thought. Of course he is, there’s millions of people online fawning over his voice. And the man himself is right above you, face just millimeters from yours. You’re living the scenario his fans can only ever dream of while they touch themselves to the thought of this.

“And Annie?” You were pushing it with this one. While you trust Annie, it was obvious that she was keeping something from you. Not like it’s any of your business, but your curiosity got you to where you are, so you might as well ask.

But as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

His eyelashes flutter as he blinks twice, then he hangs his head down, quipping while he stays in position, “Annie? She blurted out that she needed fast cash. I gave her the opportunity to record a few audios with me, so she can get a portion of the revenue we make from those audios. I think we both know that she’ll never speak of it to anyone else.”

’Just decided to stay professional.’

It sparked a memory in you, when Annie herself said the same thing back then, but what’s giving you the chills is the sharp contrast between how they both spoke of each other. Annie obviously had affection for him one way or the other, but Armin speaks of her as if they were mere co-workers.

As if sleeping with her was just a job to him. So much for his way of charity, you joke to yourself.

It’s a little terrifying but in a good-way. He’s definitely your type in that case. Someone who wouldn’t get their personal feelings in the way.

You aren't sure if Armin is the one moving way too slow, or your mind is diluted into slime that everything was going on slow motion for you, but his lips were mellowed and sweet, you can taste the familiar cherry chapstick flavor as his tongue made it in between your lips and into your mouth. Your half-lidded eyes were now fully closed, arms around his neck and his knee in between your legs.

Heart was starting to race, thumps so intense that you wouldn’t be surprised if Armin could hear it himself. Bodies pressed up on each other chest-to-chest, his hands now cupped on your cheeks— it felt warm. Armin’s kiss felt like a fluffy blanket draped over you on a cool winter night, all your doubts and worries about him didn’t matter anymore, you just wanted him now.

You already knew his voice alone could drive you in a state of euphoria, but this is way better than you could ever imagine. He was more gentle than you assumed based on the audios and the backhanded threats, it’s as if he gave you a drug to relieve your brain from thinking too much of it.

All this from a mere lip-to-lip action.

He pulled off shortly after, your eyes opening gradually, the sun from outside blazing through the window. It was obviously noon, the daylight out and about, but you were already so horny, pupils glazed with lust.

Armin pushed his thumb down on your bottom lip, swiping across it, then watched it bounce back up as soon as he released his hold. “You looked pretty in the video.” He whispers.

“You watched it?” Being aware that someone who knows who you are has actually seen it led you to realize how embarrassing you were acting in the tape. How vulnerable you let yourself be under Eren’s command.

And more so now that the man behind the microphone is talking about it.

He smiles with a sense of warmth. “You’re a natural, I admit. My favorite part was when you begged Eren to cum inside you. Would you let me do that if it were me?” If anyone else had asked you this, it’d be an immediate slap to the face, but this is him talking to you in that voice.

The voice you spent months fucking yourself to.

And he knew that.

It was such an eager nod, if you weren’t trapped right now you’d probably strip yourself naked. “Yes… I’d let you.”

Armin grins, the pads of his fingers right on your clothed crotch. “Really? You wouldn’t mind if I cum inside that pretty pussy?” His words were pure obscene, your panties definitely damp at this point.

“No.” You felt your breathing hitch, Armin’s fingers circling on the layers of fabric covering your clit. It was obvious how keen you are, your hips pushing itself towards him to feel more friction. He didn’t care to take off your underwear, he slid his hand under the garment and flicked your clit with the tip of his finger, feeding off on your hums of approval.

Your heart was thumping against your rib cage, you’ve never been this visibly antsy before. His crystal blue eyes scanning your clothed body, lips curved up into a smirk while he slips a finger in between your plush folds. The way your walls would clench around his finger, your hands sneaking and traveling around his back, your whimpers were sensual, alluring.

He leans down, face buried on your collarbones, his teeth already nipping on your skin. Noticing the faint marks littered on your neck, he kisses each one, as if he was the one that planted them on you. “Did you have a good time with Eren the other day?”

You were caught off-guard, answering with a breathy ‘yes’ as he teases his finger in you with a slight curl, even though you were praising him, not answering his question.

“Really? Hm… I bet I can do better though.” It felt like just yesterday when you were intoxicated, ear right up against your bedroom wall, wishing you were the one Euphoria was cursing, praising, cumming to. Words that might feel needles against other’s skin felt like heaven to you only because it’s Euphoria.

He kneeled on the floor, pulling your ankles apart and sliding your bottoms down, underwear leaking with arousal. It tickled each time he kissed your thigh, lips trailing up to your most intimate parts. You pulled your underwear to your inner thigh for him and he blew on your clit, glistened with slick. Licking a long stripe up your folds, you gasped, hands grasping onto his hair.

Euphoria knew what you wanted and he dished it out on you on a silver platter. He chuckled against the heat of your cunt, swearing you could feel his fucking smirk on you, then his tongue sticking out and flicking your walls. His voice was low and gruff while he groaned into you, saliva pooling and dripping all over your pussy and down your ass.

He pauses and taps your clit with his fingers, your teeth gritting in hopes of suppressing your moans. He eggs on, “Your pussy looks so much better in real life. I’m a big fan of you, you know.”

“Big fan?” You faintly ask, your attention gathered.

“Yeah,” He kisses your inner thigh. “I’ve even imagined that it was me instead of Eren in the video. Pretty pathetic of me, huh?” Judging by his tone, the lines between his intentions are blurred.

Is he mocking or praising you?

“That’s a ballsy thing to say at our first proper meeting.” You laugh, head thrown back when he flicked the tip of his tongue on your clit.

“First?” He raises an eyebrow.

You couldn’t ask any further even if you wanted to, he latched his fingers on the nook of your inner thighs, pushing you apart and nibbled on your cunt like he hadn’t had breakfast this morning. Your stomach felt tight, eyes seeing blank.

It’s been your biggest wet dream to have this man in between your legs. Although you didn’t expect him to be someone like Armin Arlert. He’s just too… poise and put together. Who would’ve thought someone as perfect as him also had skeletons in his closet?

You wreck out a cracked sob, hands searching for something to grip on. Legs dripping with his saliva and your juices, he spits on your cunt, then uses two fingers to split your folds apart. He takes a moment to stare at the clear sheen of arousal coating your pussy before sighing as a sign of approval.

With his eyes glued to the orb of saliva threatening to drip down his ivory sheets, he puckers his lips and blows towards your clit, amused by your reaction which consists of a curse and a twitch, of which he found quite cute. He teases, “well aren’t you a dirty girl?”

You play along, “I learned from the best,” implying that he’s just as filthy as you are.

Armin slowly slips a finger in between your folds and down your hole once again, relishing in the warmth of your walls compressing him so tightly. His thumb worked circles on your clit while he pushed his index in as deep as he could. All you could do was breathe out whines, too stimulated to protest for him to go faster.

It’s insane how many varying feelings you’ve gone through for the past 20 minutes. At one minute your reputation is being threatened, the next minute, the man you’ve unknowingly been fucking yourself to has his head in between your legs.

He wraps one of his arms around your groin, palm squeezing on your inner thigh to keep you spread apart. Sighing, he curls his finger inside you before pulling it out and slipping it back in, this time along with his middle finger. Armin muses, “I wanna see you cum this time, okay love?”

Hearing him talk like this live, let alone to you directly— you honestly couldn’t ask for anymore. The natural husk of his voice only intensified the knot in your tummy. He hadn’t had his finger inside you for more than 2 minutes and yet you already wanted to cum.

You aren’t too fond of Armin and his borderline demonic tendencies, but you can never resist that sultry, angelic voice of Euphoria’s. Unable to form a cohesive response from the tightness in your stomach, you stutter, “Y-yes— ah—!” He flicks his thumb up and down on your clit as he pressed light kisses down your inner thigh, his lips making their way to your pussy.

Replacing his thumb with the tip of his tongue, he jerked the wet muscle on your clit, which evoked a gasp from you. “So sweet,” he praises, kissing your clit before sucking on it. His fingers gradually increased in speed, curling them deeper with each thrust, eventually reaching the spot that provoked a pornographic moan past your lips.

“God…” You groan, your hands reaching up to massage your boobs for more stimulation. The slick sound of his fingers plunging in you was enough to push you over the edge, until—

Click!

No fucking way.

Someone’s using a key to open the door, which could only mean one thing.

Eren.

You were still for what felt like minutes, Armin quickly helping you up. Getting back to your senses, you pull your shorts back up, nearly sprinting to sit on Eren’s bed as opposed to where you just were. There’s no use of hiding, it’ll just make the situation more suspicious.

You watch Armin wipe the sheen off his chin with the back of his hands, your legs still trembling from the tingle and the denial of a release as you compose yourself. Eren unlocked the door and each of his step felt like it was in slow motion. Even you being here seems a little… off. And it’s even weirder that it was dead silent when he came in.

“Hey… guys. What’s up?” He seemed ecstatic that you were here, although confused since he didn’t invite you or anything. And he knows that Armin wasn’t too happy about you.

Before you could even juggle for an answer, Armin stepped in. “She called and since you left your phone, I answered and said she could stay here until you come back.” The fact that he was so quick to make up such a blatant lie doesn’t even surprise you anymore. He’s been able to hide his other identity so well, now you have a deeper understanding of why he probably hates your guts.

You’re like a small crack in his life that will eventually spread to break him.

Eren fell for it, responding with a nod as he walked over to cup your cheeks, leaning down for a quick, yet sincere kiss. You smile against his lips, although slight guilt was looming over you as Armin just watched. He then grabbed his phone, patting Armin on the back, and whispering something against his ear before speaking to you again. “I’m sure you both know each other by now, no need for introductions, correct?”

You weren’t sure if he’s referring to the thick tension or the fact that you two are mutual friends, but nevertheless the suspense was starting to eat you from the inside.

“Yeah… We’ve all hung out before.” You shrug, honestly starting to feel awkward that no one is discussing the elephant in the room even though that’ll probably make things worse.

Armin sat back down on his bed and pretended to go on his laptop, Eren sitting next to you on his mattress. “So what did you call me for?” He asks, his palm rubbing your thigh. Armin side-glaring at you from a few meters away, practically telling you to not speak a single word about what just happened was enough to provoke a lie out of you.

“I just wanted to see you…” Your lips perk up into a feign smile.

Eren gleams, “Really? I was actually about to ask you if you wanted to go out with me this weekend.”

His beamed expression is something that you honestly couldn’t reject. And a date doesn’t mean a relationship right? You’ve only gotten to know him for a couple of weeks anyways.

And Eren definitely isn’t the type to be serious about relationships.

“A date?” You shoot a quick glance at Armin at which he just smiled and stared at you, watching you like a hawk.

“Doesn’t have to be, though I’d prefer it if it was,” Eren’s nonchalant attitude tells you he’d probably never asked anyone out for a genuine, wholesome date. He had just said it doesn’t have to be a date, and you kinda owe him anyway for helping you get back up on your feet even if he wasn’t aware, so why not?

“Okay. You’re paying for everything though.” You stick your tongue out, at which Eren scoffed at. Your agreement to this ‘date’ is also partly to take a jab at Armin. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, his fingers click-clacking on his keyboard without a care about your conversation. But you knew he was all ears.

You looked at the time on your phone and realized you have class in half an hour. “I have to go. I’ll see you Saturday then?” You stand up, Eren grabbing your hand as he followed.

“Yeah. I’ll text you.” He kisses your cheek before letting you go. You wave to Armin before twisting the knob to leave the room. The last thing you heard before closing the door was a “see you” from Armin.

Something tells you that you will see him again before that meet-up with Eren.

---

Classes are over and you were laying on your bed, bored since everyone is busy and you’ve done everything you had to do for your classes, surprisingly.

For some reason, you were looking forward to hanging out with Eren. You didn’t really mind considering it as a date, you kinda miss the giddy feeling of getting ready and looking nice for someone.

During your moment of slight excitement, your phone dinged.

The number is unknown, but you knew who it was.

‘are we gonna finish what we started earlier?

Euphoria.

You gulped, yes, but you were wishing for this in the back of your head. There was nothing more you wanted than to have that man inside of you. Even if he’s a little crazy.

Typing, you respond, ’i’m free rn and annie isn’t here.’

That typing bubble felt as if it lasted way too long even though his response was just a mere, ‘what time will she be back?’

’not until a few days. she went home for the weekend’

The odds were in your favor, Annie took an early weekend and left a few hours ago to spend time with family.

He replied with a thumbs up, and you closed your phone, chest rising and falling, eyes glued on the ceiling.

---

The sun has set, the bright spring sky switching to its dark, gloomy counterpart. There were no stars, except for a few of which you can assume are just helicopters. It’s been a good 10 minutes since Armin had texted and as soon as it turned 9:00pm, you heard a knock on the door. You were quick on your feet to welcome him into your apartment.

Clad with an oversized shirt and his cargo pants, he walked in from the dark hallway to your humble abode, where you can clearly see that he’s wearing a pair of innocent looking glasses.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with this place,” you say sarcastically, Armin ignoring you and sitting straight at the dining table. You follow, pulling the chair from under the table and sitting across from him.

“So what do you want?” You might as well lay all your cards out if he’s threatening you.

He pushes the bridge of his glasses up to his nose. “A deal.”

Feeling a sense of deja vu, you repeat his words. “A deal?”

“Yes. Make content with me.”

You weren’t planning on retaliating, this has practically been what you’ve been fantasizing about since day one, however you weren’t going to let Armin get whatever he wants that easily.

“What’s in it for me?” You raise an eyebrow. Armin leans in closer, both elbows propped on the wooden surface with his fingers laced together.

“Half of what I get from each audio goes straight to your pocket. Isn’t that more than enough? But of course—“ His plump lips curve up into a smirk.

“I know the sex is something you’d enjoy as well.” The perverted words coming out from his mouth is a clear juxtaposition mixed in with his boyish appearance.

The silence was getting too thick, and Armin proceeded to explain, “As you know, Annie quit. I never planned on having a partner in my audios, however, ever since her appearance, my patreon subscribers have nearly doubled. Do you understand now?”

As much as the deal will benefit you tremendously, you couldn’t help but bring up the obvious. “What if Annie finds out about this?”

“If you’re feeling guilty, then you should know that she’s the one that broke it off with me. And it’s part of your job to be discreet about this. Tell one person, even Eren, and the deal’s off-“ He seemed as if he was going to say something else, however he kept his mouth shut.

“You’re acting like I would ever mention you to Eren. I’ve been sleeping with the guy for fuck’s sake. And plus, you aren’t really that special, Armin.” Your lip perked up into a small smirk, a little part of you hoping that your harsh words are jabbing his ego.

“Good. Keep it that way.” For some reason, his responses kept pissing you off.

You stand up and slam your palms down on the table. “Okay, I will! God, you’re insufferable.” Your face was heating up from built up wrath, Armin’s lack of response only making you want to flip the table over. The reason why you’re so angry is something you fail to answer yourself.

He stands up from his chair after a few seconds. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, you’re getting on my goddamn nerves.” You turn your face away from him.

That’s too bad…” Walking towards you, he grabs your chin to look him in the eye. His grip was tight, any longer and your face would bruise. You could see your vulnerable state through the reflection of his specs, his sapphire irises showed nothing but purity, yet his words were bordering evil.

“Fucking deal with it then.” He scoffed tauntingly before clashing his lips against yours. You clawed on his t-shirt as he transferred his bruising grip onto your waist, ultimately pushing you against the ledge of the table. The cold coffee mug that Annie left on top of the wooden slab rattled, but that didn’t stop you from pulling Armin by the collar and shoving him, the both of you switching positions. He whimpered against your mouth from the slight ache of his lower back, giving you an opportunity to slip your tongue inside, your teeth ramming into his bottom lip.

You pull out for a moment to get a breath of fresh air, panting in between soft kisses, “Let’s go to my room.”

Armin huffs, “Can I record?”

You roll your eyes, slowly inching away from him while having your hand twisted on his collar. “What else would you want to do this for?” It would’ve been easier to just say yes, but that just isn’t you.

By holding his wrist, you led him to your bedroom. When you get in, you turn around and he shows you his phone with a voice memo app on and recording.

Of course, your curious self also wants to know the specifics of his content. “Don’t you use a mic?”

He shrugs, and walks past you to place his phone face down on your nightstand. “Only when I’m alone, easier to manage and all.” He strolls towards you, cupping your face gently and using his thumb to caress your cheekbones.

Your cheeks were bunched up in his hand, lips forced into a pucker as he whispers, “Just pretend like the phone isn’t even there, okay?” With that, he locked his lips with yours tenderly, an clear opposition to his prior behavior. One of his hands is already under your shirt while the other is on your shoulder, slowly easing you into your mattress.

As you trail kisses from the corner of his lips down to his neck, you mumble, “I wanna suck you off…”, pausing him of his attempt on laying you on the bed.

He showed no sign of retaliation, urging you to unbutton his pants to pull it down. You kneeled on the carpet ground as his trousers reached his ankles, the rough surface prickling your kneecaps already. You notice a bump poking out of his boxers, the view of it all from just his toned thighs and the sneak view of his pelvis already got you gulping.

Curling your fingers on the garter of his underwear, you pull it down, his cock popping out in all its glory.

The description you’ve been picturing in your head about what this would look like is way better than what your imagination could fathom. His tip is flushed pink, just oozing with beads of white, and it’s long enough that it curves up, perfect for hitting that sweet spot of yours. There’s also a vein that protrudes through the middle of the shaft to the tip, your pupils dilating at the sight.

You’ve had your fair share of dicks, this one might be the prettiest one.

You shimmy a little closer to grab his cock for the first time and holy shit, it feels surreal. Palm wrapped around him, you start moving your hand up and down as your lips get closer to his tip. There were no reactions from him, you looked up and he just stared with a dull expression, arms crossed as if he was bored.

Well, that was the case until your lips made contact with the slit seeping with precum, licking it up and sticking your tongue out to show him what you’ve done. That whimper was a sign that you found his sensitive spot.

Well, that was fast.

You glanced up at him as you took his cock in between your lips. He grips his fingers on the back of your head and pushes you until his tip slammed the back of your throat. Squealing, he proceeded on using your throat as his personal flesh light, saliva frothing and dribbling down your chin.

“Oh- yeah, keep suckin’ it just like that, ah–” He chuckles, his cock nearly stretching your throat, swollen lips pressing up against his balls. You latched your nails onto his thick thighs for leverage, head bobbing up and down as your tongue swirled all around his lengthy cock. Tears brimmed your waterline, mascara staining your cheeks.

You were taking it like a champ, you barely made any gurgling noises that implied that you were gagging despite the minimal allowance he allowed you to breathe. He thought it was quite impressive.

Caving your cheeks in, you groaned from the pang of your jaw, the vibrations causing him to squirm. “Oh yeah… ah fuck yeah…” The series of whimpers and curses echoing around your room sent chills down your pussy, it really is so much better live.

You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself, amused at his change of tone just from a pair of lips on his cock.

The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to put the pieces on the puzzle. Armin does��have a really distinct undertone of a British accent in his speech.

It’s not too noticeable to people who don’t pay attention, but in your case, you’ve heard hours worth of just his voice. When he’s under the facade of Euphoria, his deep, husked voice has that similar British accent, voice gradually becoming higher pitched as he reaches his high.

“Fuck baby, hah- you— don’t stop.” He mewls, voice strained, your chin soaked with saliva. You pulled off with a gasp, a strand of spit connecting your lips and his tip. Smirking, you palm his cock and jerk him off, blinking up at him with innocent eyes. He couldn’t protest even if he wanted to, only being able to moan until his throat went dry.

Clearing your throat, you taunt, “You’re so cute, can’t wait to cum in my mouth don’t you?” You hadn’t expected Armin to heed to you, he just nodded in desperation, his cock twitching the more you slid your hand along him.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh fuckkkk— hah—!” He stiffens, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as he lets it all spill out. It didn’t take long until you felt the strings of warm, ivory cum spurting all over your lips as he moaned out loud, nearly choking on his own saliva. You stood up, knees weak and wobbly, licking your lips to collect his seed in your tongue while you pulled him by the collar in for an eager kiss, forcing him to taste himself.

Parting from him, you grin, “You taste amazing.” self-confidence off the roof from making him cum as hard as his voice has made you these past months.

He laughs faintly, “It’s your turn, baby.”

The phone recording every sound you make had already slipped your mind by this point, as Euphoria would’ve preferred. You grab the bottom hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up and over his chest, which Armin was willing to do the honors of discarding it completely, letting it plop on the floor.

All you could think about was that Armin is fucking gorgeous. You just assumed he was cute and adorable because of his boyish complexion, but he’s built like a Greek statue under the sweaters and cargos he’s often clad in. His skin was smooth, arms toned, chest chiseled perfectly with his subtle abs, and a perfect v-line connecting to the sole thing you’ve been looking forward to feeling inside you.

Likewise, you cross your arms to take your top off to toss it somewhere in your room. Your lack of bra, nipples stiff and perked had Armin’s lips pursed into what you assume is anticipation. Maybe you were moving way too slow for his liking, methodically slipping your skimpy shorts off along with your panties, because Armin didn’t even wait for you to kick the garments off to the side before spinning you around, your back against the near ledge of your plush mattress.

Your brain could barely register what just happened, it took seconds before you realized that your legs are being pried apart with his head in between.

Armin muses, taking off the shorts and panty that hung off your ankle to throw it across the room. “You’re going to have to move much faster next time, yeah? I don’t like waiting.” The sternness in his voice only caused you to leak more than you already have been, bare pussy gleaming with your arousal. You could only nod and hum a compliant ‘mhm’, the cool breeze of the centralized AC wafting past your wet cunt, heightening your sensitivity.

The warm contact between your clit and the apex of his tongue evoked a curse slip past your lips. Teasing you, he proceeded in kitten licking the same spot til it was swollen and raw, already leaving your desperate cunt leaking all over the sheets beneath you. It was shocking honestly, how quickly you released, little spurts of squirt seeping down your ass while Armin teased. You squirmed, the back of your head digging against the plush mattress as you reach your brief high.

He chuckles, “So soon? I just started, love.” He rolled his thumb back and forth on your throbbing clit, while using two fingers to split your folds apart, eyeing the round orbs of slick rolling down to the sheets.

Trembling from overstimulation despite barely being touched, you weep, “Need more… I need you so bad,” Armin poked his tongue in between your folds, tapping at your wet hole without giving his thumb a break. Your hands latched onto his locks, pushing him down the heat of your cunt.

The warmth of his saliva pooling in between his mouth and your pussy dripped down his chin, the mixed noises of slurping and moans echoing in your room. Your thighs were shaking, threatening to clamp onto Armin’s head, however he didn’t let you— gripping onto the plump of your thighs and forcing them wide apart, letting the cold air hit your pussy.

Your legs were spread on the bed, allowing you to really feel how good Armin’s tongue feels inside of you. His licks were tight and precise as it grazed your throbbing hole, his nose buried just right under your clit.

He takes a breather, blowing on the heat of your cunt as he plugged two fingers deep past your hole, feeling your walls clench around the ridges of his knuckles. “You’re gonna have to hold it this time, love.” The request is nearly impossible when he’s curling his fingers in, making you whimper in resistance.

The occasional giggles he would have matched with his lewd sucking were more than enough to draw another orgasm out of you. His voice was truly mesmerizing, any word that rolls off his tongue can get you soaked.

Waiting for your response was none of Armin’s concern, he plunged his fingers with ease, eyes glimmered with nothing but awe at the sticky mess he’s creating in between your legs. The ache of his balls was starting to get unbearable, tingling with his filthiest urges. As much as he wanted to punish and ruin you for reasons he couldn’t clearly answer himself, there’s nothing more he wants than to pound you into the bed.

Armin lowers his head, lips reaching to nip at your clit, his fingers reaching the spot that emitted a sharp gasp from you, crimson lips from biting them so much turning into an ‘o’. Your pussy down to the base of your ass is coated with a sheen of your slick, Armin pushing the plump of your left inner thigh on the mattress to prevent closing your legs.

He reveres, “Been waiting for this since you left earlier… ‘never seen such a pretty pussy,” He was rambling, but he wasn’t far off from the truth.

“Hahhhh— yeah, fuck, that’s it—!” Your groan nearly reached the pit of your stomach, tears brimming your eyes before panting sporadically, just waiting for that sweet voice of affirmation to give you permission.

He cleared his throat before chuckling, “Show me how it’s done, doll.” You were a mess to say the least. Hands pressed up on your chest to push your breasts together, letting a clear stream of fluid projectile on Armin’s lips as soon as he pulled his fingers out while you struggled to breathe.

Small spurts kept spraying out of your needy little hole, Armin tapping on your clit with the tips of his fingers, a little force inflicted in his touch which provoked a frail moan out of you.

He stands upright, knees sore from digging them in the ground. Hunching over your frame, his shadow cowering over your body, he sees you in all your glory, drowsy and fucked out. He’s not even done with you and you’ve already given out.

He mutters, face leaning closer to yours, lips just barely against your ear, “Are you sure you don’t want more?” Every fiber of your being is telling you to sleep, but your mind is telling you to let him use you like you’re nothing but a mere doll.

“I do… ‘need you inside me…” your pathetic pleas is something Armin couldn’t resist, the twitch of his cock from your dulcet tone mixed in with your disgusting words almost made him impatient. Chuckling, he stands back up and you watch while he preps himself, fucking his fat cock into his fist, his thumb smearing off the leaking bead of precum.

You stare at the ceiling, mouth agape when he placed his cock in between your folds, savoring the snug feeling of your wet pussy as he slid himself up and down, tip knocking on your clit. Your reflexes kicked in and you lifted your ass up a bit, rolling your hips to match his pace. Your little whimpers, body shaking from having to hold your weight on your elbows, Armin couldn’t help but place his hands all over you, thumb pressed on your lip while the other played with your pert nipple.

His hand was locked on your jaw while you nipped on his thumb, forcing your eyes on him. It’s hard to say that he isn’t absolutely gorgeous when he’s under that innocent facade that he likes to pull.

Golden strands of hair were stuck on his forehead, collarbones and his abs sheened with sweat. He chuckles when he notices the drool seeping out of your lips and on his thumb. “Are you ready?” Still rocking his cock back and forth slowly, you nod to give him the green light. Letting your jaw go, your head falls back on the bed as he positions one of your legs against his chest while you gently wrap your fingers around his cock, pointing his tip right on your hole.

Armin grins at your eagerness, rutting his hips to let his cock nudge into your pussy, walls sucking him in, welcoming him inside you so kindly. You couldn’t help but moan, neck stretched to throw your head further into the mattress. He presses on your tummy with his palm, squeezing on the plump of your skin as he taunts you by keeping stationary, dick barely halfway through.

He hacks out a laugh, while he stares in adoration at the way you’re bouncing your hips, desperate for the need for stimulation. The sticky, wet noise of your pussy rubbing around his cock just tells him how much you’ve wanted this. Just how pathetic you’d get for some dick.

In your defense, him being halfway through was enough to get yourself off, his girth was enough to stretch you apart. Hell, just hearing his voice can make you cum with just a finger.

His hands grabbed ahold of your waist, nimble fingers squeezing on the pudge of your skin. His lips were curved into a smile, “You have to wait for me, pretty. Is that okay, hm?” His hum sprung into a high pitched tone as opposed to the rest of his sentence. Of course you listened, you were in heat and you’ve been touching yourself to that exact same tone more often than not.

Armin kneaded on your waist with the pads of his thumbs while meticulously sheathing himself inside you. He stopped when he had filled you up to the hilt, quickly glancing at your gorgeous face one more time before pulling out and slamming his hips against yours. You shiver, a little whimper drifting past your lips, followed with a huff to catch your breath again.

However, he stays cruel with his treatment, vehemently fucking into you in a pace that caught air stuck in your throat. You struggled to find the correct words to egg him on, but what you didn’t know was that your moans and your presence itself was more than enough to make his balls twinge.

Propping your elbows onto the duvet of your mattress, you tuck your chin in to look at the work being done on your cunt. His cock was splitting you in half, his base coated with your arousal mixed in with his pre. Your abdomen was tight while he pushed your lifted leg closer to your body. Flexibility isn’t exactly your forte, but you had him to thank for drilling into you in this angle.

His cock might not be as girthy as Eren’s, but he knew how to give a good fuck. After all, Eren is an exception. No one can compare with him in terms of size.

So it’s hard to admit that he makes Eren seem like an amateur in everything else.

Expected from Euphoria, but surprising for Armin.

He swung your leg to the side, lifting it off the bed and leaving one of your ass cheeks on the bed, letting the rest of your body move sideways. His swift movement left you dumbfounded, you were babbling nonsense as he plunged into your seeping cunt, thighs slathered with your arousal. Armin coos as he panted, “Fuck, yeah. Love it. ‘Love your wet pussy milking me so well.” His string of whimpers and curses dominated yours, you’ve never met another man this vocal in bed.

Your grip on his cock had left his head blank, he was practically acting on instinct by the way he’s digging into you, the sheets rustling with each thrust. Saliva bubbles on the corner of your lips, dribbling down the mattress in uneven shapes. You cry, “Please, baby. ‘Need you to cum inside…” Almost every inch of your body was aching— yet you yearned for it. One of your forearms was pressed onto the linen sheets and the more he moved, the more it burned from friction.

Armin groans, hips still stagnant in speed, “Hm? Want me to fill you full of cum? Such a dirty slut…” Your cunt was so welcoming to him, sucking him in like there’s no tomorrow. The sight of your titties bouncing in sync with his pounding had made him eager to strike it with the heat of his palm, igniting a sharp, quick gasp from you. You turn your head, shooting a glance at him, mildly surprised at what he just did. His once sapphire eyes were hooded with pure animalistic lust and your lack of retaliation only provoked him to do it again, watching as your boob jiggled against the other, soaking up on the whines you’d make in response.

He amped up the speed of his cock, balls grazing your inner thigh. In accordance, his moans were being drawn out in higher pitches, those sweet familiar tunes that you sleep to every night. “Hah— shit, I watched you get fucked by him the other day, yet I don’t remember you being like this.” He didn’t need to elaborate on who he’s talking about. You knew.

And he expects you to answer. He couldn’t care less about the recording. In fact, this could even be good material for his content.

“I- ah— he wasn’t—“ you’re mumbling, distracted by the sheer length of Armin’s cock filling you to the brim, battering onto the same squishy spot that got you yelping.

“He wasn’t what?” He wants to hear it although the answer is quite clear already.

You glare at him with half lidded eyes, stammering, “Shut— the fu-fuck up and make me cum already damn—“ Him bringing up someone else while destroying your insides was pissing you off, it was giving insecurity. Although it did cross your mind that it might be because he wants to milk you for content; figuratively and literally.

Armin hisses as his hips staggered in speed, now clapping his hips in slow, deep strokes. “Hahh, you’re so ambitious— ngh—” His sentences likewise weren’t coherent, his release basically sitting at the entrance of his tip, ready to stuff you full.

The change between his quick, powerful thrusts versus the sensual strokes had left your mouth hanging, nearly shrieking. “Please… I wanna— ah—!” Armin dropped your cramping leg back down, putting all his weight on the bed as he lodged his cock into you at a faltering pace, fists practically embedded onto the mattress.

He’s so painstakingly close, using up the last of his strength to plow into you one more time, stuffing you full of cum. The cute little twitch his cock made after emptying into you was what drew you to your high. Armin’s head flew back as you both went silent for a quick second before simultaneously groaning at the feeling of release flowing throughout your spine and the rest of your body.

Armin’s breathing stuttered as he managed to jest, “So much fucking cum…” keeping himself plugged into you as you felt viscous, milky consitency seep out of your hole and down your ass. The pit of your stomach felt warm and full as you pressed onto it with your frail hand to check if this is actually happening to you right now.

If you were really just fucked stupid by the man of your wet dreams.

He slouches down to capture your lips once more, feeling regenerated while you nibble on his bottom lip. You both open your eyes, bringing your hand up to brush his cheek with your warm palm. You manage to perk your lips into a small smile before he leans in to give you another peck. For a moment, it felt real. The kiss felt so genuine and you’ve found what people in love call connection.

But this isn’t love. This is just two people practicing their lustful desires onto each other.

You don’t even know him.

Pulling out, his limp cock twitched at the cool air, glazed with pure, translucent white. You sigh at the hollow feeling, thick ropes of cum oozing onto the soft sheets.

Armin stands up and picks up the clothes that splayed onto the ground, handing yours back to you as he starts to dress himself. He asks as he takes his phone to stop the recording, “Everything good?” His smile was innocent and it still catches you off guard.

You nod, composing yourself by getting a tissue from the nightstand to wipe the mess in between your legs “yeah… thanks.” Not caring enough to put shorts back on as no one else was home anyways, you led Armin to your front door with nothing but a fresh tee and your underwear on.

“I had a good time. Thank you, Armin.” If you were going to be working with him, being on good terms wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. Being friendly towards him is your best course of action.

“Me too. You were amazing.” was all he said. Your cell phone dinged from your hand and you held it up, unaware that Armin saw it as well.

It was a text from Eren.

’Can we talk?’

You closed your phone quickly, not being able to do anything but sigh at the complications of your, relation— well— situationships.

“Well, good night. Have fun on your date.” Armin caresses your cheekbone with his thumb before you bid him farewell, your heart pitter pattering with each second as you watch him disappear into the shadow of the hallway.

Something about Eren’s text doesn’t feel… casual.

You’re not in a relationship whatsoever, so why?

Why does it feel like you’re being disloyal?

[f14fun]

pages and podiums (!author x op81) - chapter 1

synopsis: in which case y/n, an author hosts a signing and a read-out-loud of the final installment of her book series in new york city. oscar, lost in the big city, stumbles by the bookstore and is immediately intrigued by her (and her books).

prose (3.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | next ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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There was nothing I liked to do more than write stories.

Well, reading them came in a close second, but being able to tell a heartfelt tale coming from the inner depths of my heart, and sharing that emotion with an audience really, is the best thing that could ever happen to me.

That's how I found myself newly graduated from New York University, sitting in a relatively popular bookstore, sat in the corner of the shop with my books surrounding me. The bookstore was a quaint little gem nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, its walls lined with shelves brimming with literary treasures.

The warm, inviting atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling city outside. My table, adorned with a modest sign displaying my name and the title of my latest book, was strategically placed near the large bay windows, allowing the soft afternoon sunlight to spill in and create a cozy nook.

As I arranged my books, carefully stacking them in neat piles, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and anticipation. This bookstore had been a frequent haunt during my university years, a place where I sought refuge and inspiration amidst the chaos of assignments and deadlines. Now, returning as an author, it felt like a full-circle moment—a dream realized in the most poetic of settings.

I was hosting a book-signing and read-out-loud for the last installment of my book series.

It was quite early in the afternoon, but never too early in the Big Apple. As it neared one o'clock, I was lost in the tranquility of it all. The shop had quieted to a dull lull.

It was lunch hour, and people were busy munching away on salads, sipping their lattes and iced-coffees, and eating finger-held pastries.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain plates created a rhythmic background hum, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or murmur of conversation. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of pastries, creating an intoxicating blend that seemed to energize the entire space. Some patrons sat alone, engrossed in their books or typing away on laptops, while others gathered in small groups, their animated discussions adding to the lively ambiance.

The bookstore café, with its rustic wooden tables and vintage chairs, was a popular spot for locals and tourists alike, a perfect retreat from the frenetic pace of the city outside. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the faces of the patrons and illuminating the colorful spines of the books on display. It was a picture of serene contentment, a snapshot of everyday life unfolding in the heart of the city.

It was a sleepy time too, everyone tired from the consumption of their lunches. It was a relaxing time, and I was glad to have the time to myself, which contrasted the terribly-busy morning I had. Signing books and talking to fans nonstop from eight to twelve.

But I was eternally grateful for them.

Without them, I would quite literally be homeless on the scary streets of New York City. Their compassion and appreciation for my work kept me writing.

I was interrupted from my moment of solitude when I heard the bookstore door suddenly swing open. It was quite an ordeal as well, as the rusty, copper door hinges squeaked loudly when opened, disrupting the ambiance of the shop. Heads turned briefly toward the entrance, curiosity piqued by the unexpected noise. A gust of cool air rushed in, carrying with it the faint scent of rain from the gathering clouds outside.

From where I was sitting, adjacent to the door, I spotted the new customer. Or at least, he was an unsuspecting customer.

Standing awkwardly with his two feet pointing in opposite directions and his nervous hands fiddling with each other, I could tell that he looked inexplicably lost. With a bewildered look on his face, he looked like the opposite of a native New Yorker.

He stood in the doorway for what felt like a minute, inquisitively grappling with his new surroundings. His eyes darted from shelf to shelf, taking in the rows of books with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

He wore a slightly rumpled graphic t-shirt and shorts, his brown, mousy, tousled hair suggesting a hurried departure from wherever he had come. The contrast between his uneasy demeanor and the bookstore's cozy, relaxed atmosphere was almost palpable.

As he lingered by the entrance, other patrons glanced up briefly before returning to their books and conversations. The young man seemed to be in his own world, oblivious to the mild interest he was generating.

His fingers tapped nervously against his leg, and I noticed he kept glancing at a slip of paper he held, as if seeking reassurance from whatever was written there.

The longer he stood there, the more out of place he seemed, like a character from a different story who had wandered into the wrong book.

Finally, he took a tentative step forward, then another, moving slowly into the bookstore’s warm embrace. His eyes continued to scan the room, perhaps searching for a familiar face or a sign that would guide him to his destination.

There was something almost endearing about his uncertainty, a raw vulnerability that made him stand out in this city of confident strides and determined gazes.

From my vantage point, I watched him with a blend of amusement and empathy. I remembered the feeling of being out of place, the hesitance before taking a plunge into the unknown.

It was a moment of silent kinship, two strangers connected by the shared experience of navigating the unpredictable terrain of life in the city.

He was sort of cute, in an awkward way. His tousled hair gave him a boyish charm, as if he had just rolled out of bed and rushed to get here. He had some sort of a crooked smile, one side of his lip lifting higher than the other. He was tall, with a lanky frame that made his awkwardness even more pronounced. His long legs seemed to have a mind of their own, fidgeting and shifting as he stood in the doorway, adding to his endearing clumsiness.

The way he towered over the small tables and chairs made him look slightly out of place, like a gentle giant in a world built for smaller people. Despite his height, there was nothing intimidating about him. Instead, his gangly limbs and hesitant movements gave him an almost childlike innocence.

His eyes, bright and inquisitive, roamed the room with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. There was a spark of intelligence in them, hinting at a thoughtful mind behind the awkward exterior.

He was different, a moment of slowness. Different from the fast, bustling energy and the fast-paced life the city offered. As I continued to observe him, our eyes met. It was a fleeting moment, but there was something in his gaze that beckoned him to cross the room to meet me.

With a deep breath, he finally took a step forward, his tall frame weaving through the tables and chairs with cautious determination. As he drew closer, his awkwardness seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet confidence.

“Hi,” he said, his voice carrying a rich, unmistakable Australian accent. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a bit lost.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the accent and the admission. “Lost? In a bookstore or New York City?” I asked with a playful smile. “Because either way, that’s quite the adventure for an Australian.”

Oscar chuckled, his crooked smile widening. “Both, actually. My phone’s dead, and I’ve been wandering around for a while." Oscar’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking slightly embarrassed." I’m just visiting for work, and I think I’ve wandered a bit too far.”

“Well, welcome to the Big Apple, Oscar. I’m Y/N,” I said, extending my hand.

He took it with a firm shake, his eyes brightening as he glanced around the bookstore. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. So, any tips for a lost Aussie in the city?”

I enjoyed the nice handshake, noticing how his hand seemed to slot perfectly with mine, the warmth of his palm against mine sending a faint shiver up my arm. I blushed slightly, a feeling of unexpected warmth spreading through me as I glanced down at the table where a loose slip of paper lay forgotten.

Gathering my bearings, I leaned in with mock seriousness. “Well, first tip—don’t trust the pigeons. They might look innocent, but they’re secretly plotting world domination.”

Oscar laughed, a genuine sound that filled the space between us. “Noted. And here I thought they were just after my lunch.”

“You’ve got to watch out for those New York pigeons,” I continued with a grin. “They’re a sneaky bunch.”

Oscar leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Do they have a vendetta against Australians too?”

I chuckled, remembering a particularly humorous incident. “Well, let’s just say they’re equal opportunity offenders. Once, on my way to NYU, one of them decided my freshly washed hair was the perfect target.”

Oscar burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the bookstore and drawing curious glances from nearby patrons. “That’s terrible! But I have to admit, I can’t help but laugh imagining that.”

“It was a memorable day, to say the least,” I replied, joining in his laughter. “I learned a valuable lesson about looking up in the city.”

“Well, consider me warned,” Oscar said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “I’ll keep an eye out for those feathered troublemakers.”

I grinned mischievously. “If you see them starting to organize, run. Or carry a loaf of bread as a peace offering.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind. But if I end up covered in bird droppings, I’ll know who to blame.”

“You’re setting me up for failure,” he added with a playful glint in his eye. “They’ll definitely target me now.”

I couldn’t help but give him a sly grin. “Consider it a rite of passage in New York City. Once you’ve dodged a pigeon or two, you’re officially a local.”

Oscar chuckled at my remark, his eyes lingering on mine with a warmth that made my cheeks flush. “So, Y/N,” Oscar began, his tone suddenly more serious, “since my phone’s dead and all, do you mind if I stick around and keep you company? You seem like you know your way around here.”

I raised an eyebrow playfully. “Are you asking for a tour guide or just trying to charm your way into free coffee?”

He flashed a sheepish grin. “Can’t it be both?”

I chuckled, enjoying his easygoing nature. “Alright, Aussie. You’ve got yourself a deal. But fair warning—I give terrible directions.”

“Good thing I’m not in a hurry,” he replied with a wink, his attempt at flirting more endearing than smooth.

I smiled warmly at his playful remark, enjoying the easy flow of our conversation. "You're welcome to stay," I said, gesturing to the empty chair beside me.

Oscar nodded gratefully and smoothly slid over a chair, positioning himself directly in front of me. As he settled in, I couldn't help but notice how his earlier awkwardness seemed to melt away, replaced by a relaxed confidence that was inviting yet unassuming.

Sitting face to face with Oscar, making direct eye contact, I suddenly felt a shift in our interaction. It wasn't just a casual meeting anymore; it felt like a moment frozen in time, a bookstore date where we were the main characters in a story unfolding between the shelves of books.

His brown eyes met mine, and in that instant, I felt a sense of peace and comfort wash over me, as if I had found a familiar place where I belonged. We continued to hold each other’s gaze, sharing unspoken sentiments that seemed to weave between us like a silent conversation.

Unexpectedly, Oscar's smile turned cheeky, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as if he was having an internal dialogue with himself. He was the first to break eye contact, his cheeks tinted with a soft blush that crept up from his neck.

Despite his attempt to maintain composure, his bashfulness was endearing, adding a charming vulnerability to his confident demeanor. I couldn't help but find it incredibly endearing.

I watched as he glanced down briefly, a small smile playing on his lips as he collected himself. His gaze returned to mine, now tinged with a mixture of amusement and newfound self-awareness. It was a moment of mutual recognition, a subtle acknowledgment of the connection that had begun to blossom between us.

I smiled softly, realizing that despite the bustling surroundings, I felt completely at ease with Oscar beside me. It was as if we had stumbled upon a quiet sanctuary amidst the chaos of the city, where our shared laughter and exchanged stories were the only things that mattered in that moment.

Oscar leaned in slightly, his smile still playful. "You know, Y/N," he began, his voice carrying a hint of flirtation, "there's something about this bookstore that feels like it's hiding a secret or two. What do you think?"

I chuckled softly, intrigued by his observation. "Maybe it's where all the lost plot twists end up," I replied, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in my eye. "Or perhaps it's a portal to a parallel universe of unfinished stories."

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "A bookstore as a gateway to alternate dimensions? Now that's a plot twist I can get behind."

"Who knows," I mused, leaning back slightly in my chair. "Maybe we're characters in someone else's story right now, and they're wondering how our plotline will unfold."

Oscar nodded thoughtfully. "You know, as much as I enjoy pondering these ideas, sometimes it leads me down a path of existential dread. The vastness of the universe and our place in it—it can be daunting."

I nodded in understanding, recognizing the weight of his words. "It's a lot to wrap your head around, especially when you start thinking about multiverses and infinite possibilities."

"Yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I try not to dwell on it too much. That's why I appreciate stories—they provide a narrative structure that helps make sense of it all, even if it's just for a moment."

"That's true," I agreed, feeling a deeper connection as our conversation touched on deeper themes. "Stories give us a way to explore those big questions in a way that feels manageable, contained within their own worlds."

Oscar smiled gratefully. "Exactly. They offer us glimpses into different perspectives and allow us to navigate through complex ideas in a way that's both enlightening and comforting."

I leaned forward slightly, intrigued by his introspective nature. "Do you ever wonder who you'd be in a parallel universe? What job you'd have?"

He chuckled softly. "Sometimes. It's a fun thought experiment, imagining different versions of myself in alternate realities."

Curious, I asked, "So, what do you do in this universe?"

He leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Guess."

I considered for a moment, trying to match his playful demeanor. "Acupuncturist?"

"Nope," he replied, shaking his head with a smirk. "Is that the best that you can come up with?" He said, teasing me.

"Quantum physicist?" I guessed, trying to make each guess more outlandish than the previous one.

"Not quite," he chuckled. "Do I really seem like the type to be in that job?" he asked.

"To be honest..." I trailed off, "Not really, no," I said quietly. Laughing at my honest response, he gestured with his hands, prompting me to guess again.

"Funeral director?" I ventured, this was literally a shot in the dark. If such a happy man was in such a depressing career I would immediately be so disappointed and sad.

"Getting warmer, but no," he teased. "Again, do you really peg me to be the type of person who would be a funeral director?" He asked again.

"No! I'm just guessing the most outlandish and random jobs," I held up my hands in mock frustration, pretending to surrender.

"Yeah I can tell, some of these jobs are quite random," he smirked. "But to be fair, my actual job is way more random than what you think it is, I genuinely bet you could not guess it," He provoked me again.

"Please do not tell me you work at a car dealership," I sighed in exasperation. Those people were the worst types of people to deal with as they keep pressuring innocent customers. God, I hoped Oscar wasn't that.

Oscar's face suddenly lit up. Shit, if that was his actual job...

"Close but no," Oscar's smile widened.

"What do you mean close but no?!" I got louder, the competitive spirit in me arising, "That's so vague"

"Okay, to give you a hint, it has something to do with cars," he said calmly. Ahh, that was much better, I see what he meant.

"Are you a tire technician?" I asked.

"Nope," he replied, popping the p.

"An auto-instructor?"

"Wrong, again."

"A diesel technician?"

"Loud, incorrect buzzer."

"That one guy that tests the car for quality issues... the quality control engineer!"

"Not it!"

"You're joking... right. I've guessed all that I know, and I really do not know much about cars in general, just tell me what it is, I give up," I said, finally exasperated as I went through all possible options of what Oscar did for a living.

Oscar leaned forward again, his smile widening. "I drive for McLaren Formula One."

My eyes widened in surprise, momentarily stunned by his revelation. "Seriously? Formula One? I would never have guessed that!"

He laughed at me, momentarily erupting into a guffaw at my blatant shock. "That is literally the most random job relating to cars, and it's motorsport, not just cars. I would have never guessed that, really!" I continued, still surprised.

"That's not fair, you shouldn't have made me guess. I didn't know you were famous," I said, teasing him lightly.

He grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. "I guess I don't fit the typical stereotype, do I?"

I shook my head, still processing the unexpected twist in our conversation. "Definitely not. That's amazing, though. How did you get into that?"

Oscar leaned back, folding his arms with a playful air. "Well, it all started with a love for speed and a bit of luck. I've been racing since I was a kid, and somehow, it led me here."

"Impressive," I replied with a smile. "You must have some incredible stories from the track."

He nodded, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Plenty. It's a world of its own, filled with highs and lows, victories and near misses."

"I can imagine," I said, genuinely intrigued. "It sounds like a thrilling life."

"It has its moments," he agreed, his tone turning thoughtful. "But enough about me. I want to hear more about you. What's your story, Y/N?"

And so, as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the bookstore windows, we continued to share stories and laughter, each revelation deepening our connection. Eventually, as the conversation naturally drifted to an end, Oscar leaned forward with a gentle smile.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice warm and sincere, "I've had a great time getting to know you today. Would you like to grab dinner with me later? Earlier I saw this dinner place on Google Maps that had splendid reviews."

Surprised yet pleasantly flustered by his invitation, I couldn't help but smile. "I'd love to," I replied, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of continuing our conversation beyond the cozy confines of the bookstore.

And with that simple agreement, like a chapter in a novel, our first chapter closed, leaving us both eager to see where our story would lead next.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note:

ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

(part TWO coming soon, comment if you want to be added to the taglist <3)

[essjujutsu]

CHAPTER SEVEN : VEGETABLE PASTA

prev , next , masterlist wc ⭑ 1k

you put your phone on your bed, checking your alarm clock.

shit, megumi would be here any minute now and you were nowhere near ready. you weren't even sure what the two of you were going to do. you really didn't want to be awkward.

you thought about what nobara said and took a deep breath, rushing downstairs to make sure everything was neat enough. normally, you wouldnt care about how presentable your house looked, but after seeing megumi's over the top perfect house—you didn't want to embrass yourself.

a few moments later, you heard a knock on your door. you quickly fixed up your hair and rushed over to the front door. you opened it, and saw megumi standing there, hands in his sweatshirt pockets. he looked effortlessly relaxed, a subtle sense of calmness about him that made you feel both at ease and a bit nervous at the same time.

"hey."

he entered with a polite greeting, his eyes drifting curiously around the house. you smiled calmly as you responded.

"hi, sorry i know the kitchens a mess...yuji asked if i could cook dinner tonight."

you replied, stepping into the kitchen and trying to move the ingredients yuji left out before he left. a wave of stress washed over you at the thought of cooking dinner; culinary skills weren’t your strong suit. your brother had always taken charge in the kitchen, and with him out late and sukuna working the night shift—the responsibility had fallen to you.

megumi approached quietly behind you, his presence calming as he spoke in a gentle tone.

"its fine, do you need some help?"

"you know how to cook?"

you asked, a bit taken aback. he seemed like the type to have private chefs or something. it surprised you even more that he was offering to help you out.

"yeah, my older sister taught me. what were you planning on making?"

“I’m not really sure.” you admitted. "yuji just set out a bunch of ingerdits we had so i woulnd't have to go to the store, but honestly it just made me more confused."

"well, you've got pasta—and vegetables. so we could make that."

he replied, grabbing the pasta and holding it up to you.

"good idea, that sounds easy enough."

"i'll do the pasta, can you chop vegetables?" he replied, tilting his head to you.

"of course i can, i'm not that bad in the kitchen."

he snorted as you opended up spotify on your phone.

"any song recommendations, chef?"

you asked, teasingly—a tone that rarely graced your lips.

"have you ever listened to weezer?"

he replied, his gaze fixed on the pot as the water boiled, steam swirling like a cool breeze in the air.

"wow, didn't take you as the type of guy to listen to weezer. you seem like the type who says they 'don't listen to music'"

"i'm actually full of suprises, y/n."

he spoke, the playfull banter lighting up the room as island in the sun played low in background.

you chopped tomatos and zucchini, words were absent, but the silence wrapped around you like a warm hug, more comforting than awkward.

"so, you exicted for this party next week?"

just as you tipped the vegetables into the pot of pasta, megumi’s voice rose above the gentle bubbling of the bowl.

"not really—you know im not a fan of partys. being around a bunch of drunk teenagers yelling at each other isn't really my idea of an amazing weekend."

he nodded, a sign of his agreement with you.

after the food was ready, the two of you sat at the small circle dining table that was tucked in the corner of the living room. megumi shared a couple funny storys of his dad satoru and his family. you told him about the time when you convinced yuji that megan thee stallion had died for a tiktok.

however, a sudden noise from outside interrupted your conversation.

as you heard the lock twist through the front door, you silently panicked. was sukuna home from work early? he wouldn't mind that megumi was over—but it would defiantly be awkward.

but the probably worse option was it being yuji, you had accidentally lied to him the night prior about who was coming over, and if he came in to see you and megumi hanging out together—

"y/n, you in here?"

the sound of your brother's voice sent a jolt of panic through you. You had to think fast, make up any excuse.

"y-yeah! just—"

"hey—wait, why's megumi here?"

"he, he came over today and we made dinner."

"i thought nobara was coming over?"

yuji looked confused, and you couldn't fully read his expression. was he mad, upset, or did he not care?

"uh, y/n?"

megumi spoke up, his brow furrowed in confusion, though he didn’t seem angry.

"i think maybe you should go home megumi, i kinda need to talk to yuji— i'm sorry."

he nodded and made his way to the door as yuji still stood in the archway to the living room looking confused.

after the front door shut, your brothers voice spoke once agian.

"why didn't you say megumi was coming over? i’m not mad, i just didn’t realize you two were hanging out like this"

"yuji! it's not like that!"

"well, sorry but it kind of looks that way."

you rolled your eyes at him, the scene reminiscent of your many childhood fights. you two were always close, but that didn’t mean you didn’t argue from time to time—this was just the first argument in a while.

you decided not to say anything more to him and headed upstairs. what didn't he understand? you hoped megumi wasn't upset, you made a mental reminder to explain to him at some point.

the night went on, and even in the small house, you succesuly didn't run into yuji for the rest of the night. each creak of the floorboards you heard in the home served as a reminder of his presence, yet you found solace in your bedroom.

as you went to sleep, you promised yourself that you would talk to him in the morning, once the both of you had a chance to cool off.

A/N : aigtphs is finally back!! sorry that it's been so long guys </3 and just a quick apology if this chap isnt very good, i wasn't really sure how i wanted to write yuji & y/ns fight but i think i got the point across! anyways thank u for reading and i hope u enjoyed :3 (not proofread)

TAGLIST : ( ask/comment to be added ) @1ndee @4ngelfries @jammofsammichflip @notveevee @qtnfer @love-me-satoru @satoryaa @loriisheart @starrnai @madison777x @madison777x @mdmraz @saltypuffin1040 @ichorstainedskin @1l-ynn @linalinabobina @yunho-leeknow @zoaqttz @1l-ynn @k4ss11333 @gumims @milolovesmilly @sad-darksoul @sftsohee @exclusiverinaa @beepbopzlorp @iluv-ace @anngelllla @stillnotherapy @reezerdotcom @ghost-buddies @mikko-mikko @tyigerz @aegsland @starsryi @m1ndfulsorrows if it doesn't work, fix ur settings pls!

[colettebronte]

She Rings Like a Bell Through the Night: Chapter 5

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Bridgerton Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Anthony Bridgerton x Witch!fem Reader

Summary: The Protector offers a way for The Witch to get what she desires most and shares his past with her

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+ for the overall fic. Specific to this chapter: not much aside from an Anthony Bridgerton-appropriate angsty back story, shaky vampire lore, and brief, non-graphic discussions of blood drinking

Minors DNI. I will put this up on Ao3 so please do not repost my work elsewhere

Author’s Note: So the time has come to reveal The Protector’s backstory. Please do enjoy! Thank you as always to @fayes-fics for betaing 🫶❤️

The Wee Small Hours of the Morning, Somewhere in Rural England, 1695

“What I truly desire is to have more time.”

For a long moment, your words hang between you as Anthony goes still, your hands still held gently in his. However, he looks away, avoiding your gaze.

“I won’t turn you,” he whispers, emphatic, his eyes firmly on the sheets under you. “It’s one thing to be born a vampire, but I refuse to subject you to the agonizing process of making you into one of us.”

You release his hands and reach over to tip his face up until his eyes once again meet yours. When you have his full attention you say, “It’s all right, truly. I know what I desire is not possible. You merely asked me what I wanted most and that is my honest answer. In truth, I don’t think I have the fortitude to be a vampire.”

Anthony huffs a quiet laugh. “You are far stronger than you think.” He reaches out and tenderly touches your pendant and again, you feel a jolt as his magic mixes with yours. He stares at the pendant for a moment and then he looks back up at you, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “There is a way for me to give you what you desire most, without having to turn you, although you may find it unpleasant.”

You sit back against the pillows and take one of his warm hands in yours. “Unpleasant how, exactly?”

Anthony moves to sit beside you. “I can extend your life, but you would need to take some of my essence,” he adds, “You will need to drink my blood.”

You stare at him wide-eyed, feeling both horrified and despite yourself,  intrigued. “How . . . how much of your blood would I need to consume?”

Anthony reaches out to rub his fingers over your pulse point, “Now that you’ve allowed me to drink from you and magnified my power, it shouldn’t take more than a few sips to extend your life,” Anthony pauses to run soothing circles over your wrist before answering the questions swirling in your mind, “No, you won’t crave blood. You will still have to consume food as usual. Yes, you can go out in daylight; the sun shall have no effect on you.” He reaches up to cup your cheek and you can’t help pressing a kiss into his palm as he finishes, “As for exactly how many years your life will be extended, well, once infused with my blood, your lifespan will be nearly infinite.”

You pull back from him in surprise. “Nearly infinite?”

Anthony nods. “Though you’ll be set free from disease and the ravages of time, your life is still precious. Accidents can happen.” He turns away from you to murmur, “And things that are not accidents.”

Something cold settles in your stomach as you process this and his earlier words. Anthony was born a vampire and he once lived in the village with his family. The cottage, while small, has an array of furniture, far more than what one person needs. In addition, you had noted many shut doors when you descended the stairs to enter Anthony’s room. 

You take another moment to recall the history of the village. Lord Edmund Bridgerton, the founder, had a large family. Eight sons and daughters in addition to his wife. How did it take you this long to figure out that Anthony isn’t merely his descendant but rather, one of his sons? 

You reach out to take his hand but he flinches away before slowly reaching back to take it. You gently tug on his hand until he turns back to look at you. When you have his full attention you say, “The Elders tell a story about how one day a fire swept through the village and Lord Edmund saved many lives before it ultimately took his.”

Anthony huffs a bitter laugh. “That story is a very neat little tale, but it leaves out most of the truth.” He swallows thickly and you give his hand an encouraging squeeze as he continues, “By nature, my kind are wanderers, never staying in one place for any extended period of time, for reasons I’m sure you can understand. My father was the very best of men and he and my mother wanted a place to call home so he founded the village. I was just a child then, but soon after, they decided to expand our family. Others came to the village and it grew and prospered. We were happy for many years. But my kind ages slowly and one day strangers came to stay in the village and grew suspicious. One night, they attacked my father, which started a fire that set the whole village ablaze. My father ordered me to get my family out and not come back for him,” he breaks off with a choked sob. You pull him into your arms as his body shakes.

Knowing this man as you do, you surmise, “You went back for him though, didn’t you?”

You feel Anthony nod against your shoulder. “After I got my siblings and my mother, who was heavy with child, settled in here, I did go back the next night. The fire was out but the village was still smoking, with the remaining villagers encamped by the lake. I found the bodies of the ones who attacked my father consumed by the fire along with him. Though still young myself, I  cast a spell around the village, protecting it from the outside world and its hateful influence. Those left behind didn’t know what truly happened, so I spun a story that over time, turned into the one you’ve been told, alongside the tale of The Protector.

You don’t want to tell him that the village has become hateful all on its own and that outside influence would be a vast improvement. You shake off your bitterness and tend to the man in your arms, asking, “And what of the rest of your family?”

Anthony sits back to look at you, “We stayed here together until my mother gave birth to my youngest sister. We then decided it was for the best that we separated into small groups. My mother went with the baby and my youngest brother, still just a child himself. My three other sisters left together as did my two remaining brothers. I chose to stay behind to keep up the protective barrier around the village.”

You brush away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Anthony, I am so sorry for all you’ve endured.”

He heaves a deep breath and forces a bitter smile. “Thank you, My Heart. At least I am comforted by the knowledge that the rest of my family is safe, far away from here.”

He stands up and pulls a robe out of the wardrobe and then goes to the trousseau in the corner and after rummaging around, takes one out for you. Though the style is old, it’s soft and smells vaguely of wildflowers as you put it on. Anthony ties the sash around his waist and then rejoins you on the bed. 

Anthony brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Thank you for listening, my sweet, clever witch. I’ve never discussed this with anyone before now.”

A warm feeling cracks in your chest. “Thank you for trusting me,” you murmur. You glance down at your pendant and silently vow to rewrite the entry in your Book of Shadows about vampires. Taking a steadying breath, you look back at Anthony. “I’m ready,” you tell him. He merely raises an eyebrow when you add, “I want to have some of your essence.” When he continues to stare at you, you grasp your pendant and reiterate your point, “I’m ready to drink your blood.”

taglist: @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @faye-tale @cosmiclove330 @abridgerton @fiction-is-life @kmc1989 @alexandrainlove @ietss @multi-fandom-lover7667 @turtle-cant-communicate @liliac-dreamer @hottytoddyhistory @laniec03 @sky0401 @queenofmean14 @jtheteenagewitch

[justalildumpling]

chapter 26: my soulmate

wc: 0.6k

If Jeno was going to be completely honest, he had no fucking clue what he was doing — partially due to acting upon his fight or flight response when you had mentioned the whole girlfriend ordeal. 

It wasn’t like he had never thought about making the two of you official (who was he kidding, he thought about it almost every day). But as a certified simp and part-time samoyed puppy, he wanted everything to be perfect, and if perfect meant standing on an empty beach digging up a pretty pathway and scattering rose petals for the past three hours, he would do it.

It had been around half an hour since he had texted you to come to this very specific beach — which he spent every minute anxiously fiddling with the bouquet of roses in one hand and fixing his wind-swept locks in the other. However, when he spotted your car pull up next to the boardwalk, he realised that he was not prepared for this moment, especially seeing the way your eyes sparkled as you met his gaze.

There was a little cute skip in your step as you hurriedly down the steps and to his position on the beach, your white cocktail dress dancing in the wind and the corners of your lips gradually rising as you got closer. 

Jeno could almost see the wedding arches and bells in the background, almost dropping the bouquet on the sandy surface as his hands instinctively reached out to hold you in some way.

“Jeno, what’s with all this?” You squealed, receiving the roses from his shaky grasp.

It was tranquil in that moment for the boy, with the girl of his dreams inhabiting the most beautiful smile and sharing the sweetest gaze with his little self, like all anxieties had washed away with his eyes crinkling into crescent moons and the words of “Will you accept to be my soulmate Y/N?” tumbling out of his lips without a second thought.

Your mouth parted for a split second, eyes hammering with a sense of shock and delight before a soft look adorned your face, “You finally accepted the soulmate request huh?” 

Jeno rolled his eyes, “Who says we can’t be both twin flames and soulmates?” 

You smiled, placing the bouquet on the sand before enclosing your arms around his neck, “Maybe we can test that theory,” you leaned closer into his ear, whispering the next few words, “I heard that if you kiss me and the world doesn’t blow up, we were made for each other.” 

Jeno could only chuckle, shaking his head, “You’re always full of surprises aren't you?” 

“Well, clearly you liked the suspense so now we’re here aren't we?” 

You scrunched your nose in glee, your giggles tickling his lips before he closed the gap. It almost felt like a scene out of a movie, with the waves crashing into the sand not too far into the distance and the rose petals once scattered neatly onto the path circling their figures from the wind and most importantly you, the way your laughs sounded so melodic in his ears, your perfect smile glistening in the golden sunlight and how he could finally call you his. 

Jeno didn’t vibe with chaos and unpredictability. But weirdly enough, the suspense and wrecking ball of events you had brought into his boring old life he found himself compelled to. And for the first time, he found himself agreeing with Chenle and his weird beliefs of the universe because a part of him began thinking that he had indeed found his soulmate, his other half, his twin flame.

masterlist || previous | next 

pairing: jeno x fem! reader

synopsis: chenle was convinced that his two introverted friends were destined for each other, so what does he do? bribe them to text each other of course ⎯ or alternatively, when jeno started to fall for an anonymous mutual friend of chenle's

genre: social media au, strangers to lovers, college au, FLUFF, crack

warnings: swearing

note: sorry for the delayed and short updateKAEBFOWWGBW ive been sick for the past week and been stuck in the worst writers block ever😭 but GUYSSSS the finale's next week can u believe it????

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[logansargeantsbabymom]

A Love Worth Fighting For

Bodyguard!Lando Norris x Fem!Actress!Reader

CHAPTERS 3, 4 & 5

Genre: Forbidden Bodyguard to Lover

Warnings: Smut (Not yet), This is (MY VERSION of) a Slow Burn story!

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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Chapter 3: Lando

From the moment I was assigned to protect Y/N L/N, I knew this job would be different. She wasn't just any client. She was one of the most famous actresses in the world, a superstar known for her roles in the Avengers movies and her solo Marvel films. But beyond the glitz and glamour, she was also a target. There had been multiple kidnapping attempts, and it was my job to ensure her safety at all times.

When I first met her, I was struck by her beauty and poise. She was everything I expected and more. But as the days turned into weeks, I began to see the real Y/N – the woman behind the fame. She was kind, compassionate, and surprisingly down-to-earth. And despite the walls she had built around herself, I could see glimpses of vulnerability that made me want to protect her even more.

But no matter how strong my feelings grew, I had to remind myself of my duty. My job was to keep her safe, not to get involved. And as long as I was her bodyguard, I had to maintain a professional distance, no matter how difficult it became.

Chapter 4: Lando

Y/N had a close-knit circle of friends, and one of her best friends was Daniel Ricciardo, a driver for Red Bull Racing. When she told me she wanted to attend one of his races, I knew it would be a logistical nightmare. But I also knew how important it was to her, so I did everything in my power to make it happen.

The day of the race was hectic, to say the least. Security was tight, and the crowds were massive. But Y/N was in her element, cheering for Daniel and mingling with other celebrities. I stayed close, my eyes constantly scanning the crowd for any potential threats.

As the race ended and we made our way back to the car, I couldn't help but notice the sparkle in her eyes. She was genuinely happy, and it was a sight that warmed my heart. But as we drove back to the mansion, I couldn't shake the feeling that this happiness was fleeting. The dangers that came with her fame were never far away, and it was my job to ensure she stayed safe.

That evening, as we were leaving things took a turn for the worse. A group of men, clearly intoxicated, approached us with aggressive intentions. They recognized Y/N and started hurling insults, their behavior quickly escalating.

I stepped in front of her, my body tense and ready to defend her at any cost. "Stay behind me," I instructed, my voice firm.

The men continued to advance, their intentions clear. But I wasn't about to let them get any closer. With a few swift moves, I managed to subdue them, ensuring Y/N's safety.

As the police arrived and took the men away, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger. This was exactly why I needed to be by her side at all times. The world was full of dangers, and I couldn't let anything happen to her.

Chapter 5: Y/N

The next few days passed in a blur of interviews, photo ops, and public appearances. Lando was always by my side, his presence a comforting constant. Despite the hectic schedule, my mind kept drifting back to the confrontation at the race track. Lando's bravery, his unwavering dedication to my safety – it all made me see him in a new light.

We were back in my mansion, preparing for a quiet evening. I had invited Blake Lively, Ryan Reynolds, and Taylor Swift over for dinner. They were my closest friends, my support system, and I needed their company now more than ever.

As we sat around the dining table, laughing and sharing stories, I noticed Lando standing discreetly in the corner, his eyes never leaving me. It was like he was always on high alert, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.

Taylor leaned over, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, Y/N, how's it going with your dashing bodyguard?"

I blushed, glancing at Lando. "It's...fine. He's very professional."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "Professional, huh? Is that code for 'I have a crush on him'?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "No, it's not like that. He's just...different."

Ryan chimed in, a grin on his face. "Different how? Come on, spill the beans."

I sighed, feeling the weight of their curiosity. "He's always there, you know? Always looking out for me. It's...reassuring."

Blake's expression softened. "It sounds like he cares about you."

I glanced at Lando again, my heart skipping a beat. "Maybe. But he's made it clear that he's just doing his job."

Taylor placed a hand on my arm, her voice gentle. "Just be careful, Y/N. It's easy to confuse gratitude with something more."

I nodded, appreciating her concern, but deep down, I knew that my feelings for Lando were growing stronger with each passing day.

After my friends left, I found myself alone with Lando in the dimly lit living room. He was standing by the window, staring out into the night. I walked over, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Lando," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to thank you for what you did at the race track. You saved me."

He turned to look at me, his eyes softening. "It's my job, Y/N. I would do it again in a heartbeat."

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. "But it's more than that, isn't it? I mean, you could have been hurt."

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

I stepped closer, my eyes searching his. "Why?"

For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. "Because I care about you, Y/N. More than I should."

My breath caught in my throat. This was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment when he finally acknowledged what I had been feeling all along.

"Lando, I..." I began, but he held up a hand, stopping me.

"We can't," he said, his voice firm. "It would compromise my contract. And more importantly, it would put you in danger. My job is to protect you, not to be with you."

I felt a pang of disappointment, but I understood. He was right. Our relationship was complicated, and there were too many risks involved.

But as I looked into his eyes, I couldn't help but hope that one day, things might be different.

And with that thought lingering in my mind, I knew that this was just the beginning of a long, complicated journey. A journey that would test our resolve, our feelings, and ultimately, our fate.

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

Feedback and Suggestions are ALWAYS welcomed.

Taglist:

[drewharrisonwriter]

Donor | Part 1.5 | Not Dad Enough

Part 1 | Part 1.5 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Oh, no. I made a drabble... I think. LOL

Pairings: Bestie Henry Cavill x OFC

This was supposed to be just a short drabble for my fic Donor. But I guess this is too long, lol so this happened between chapters 1 and 2 and shows Henry and reader going through the first round of IUI.

I’m AO3, too as MoonDjarin ^_^

Part 1 | Part 1.5 | Part 2 | Part 3

During the week of your first IUI procedure, Henry had flown back over the weekend before, having taken a break from filming his latest project for the year. The process leading up to the insemination wasn't too time-consuming; they just needed his sample, and the whole procedure could be completed within a few hours. So, you were quite surprised when he mentioned that he had taken off for the next two weeks.

"Why? Do you have plans with your family?" you asked, racking your brain to recall any upcoming birthdays or events.

He shook his head, his expression earnest. "No, not at all. I just... I want to make sure you're alright," he replied, his eyes holding a mixture of concern and determination.

You let out a small, surprised chuckle. "You really don't have to do that, you know. Besides, what could possibly go wrong after the procedure?" you teased, though a warmth spread through you at his thoughtfulness.

He chuckled softly in response. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. I just want to be here, at least until you have to take the first test."

His words touched your heart, and you couldn't help but smile at his earnestness. It was in these small moments that you realized just how you lucked out on having Henry as your best friend and your future child's father.  ---

As the procedure was completed, you found yourself lying on the examination table, legs up in the air as instructed, for the next 15 minutes. Henry stood by your side, holding your hand gently, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

"Feeling okay?" he asked softly, concern etching his features as he looked down at you.

You gave him a reassuring smile, your fingers tightening around his. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just a little nervous, I guess."

Henry's grip on your hand tightened slightly, and he leaned in closer. "You don't have to be nervous. You got this," he said, his voice full of encouragement.

You nodded, grateful for his presence. "I know, it's just... What if it doesn't work? What if this whole process ends up being for nothing? I feel like I have wasted your time and...sperm." You grimaced at the last part and Henry laughed.

He sighed softly, his gaze never leaving yours. "Hey, there will always be another time for a next round. We can keep trying until it works, alright? But for now, let's just focus on this moment."

Your heart swelled at his words. Despite his playful demeanor, Henry's sincerity always managed to shine through, comforting you when you needed it the most. You gave him a small smile. "You're right. Thanks for being here with me, Hank... and you know, for allowing me to drag you into this."

His answering smile was soft and reassuring. "Always, Y/N."

---

After the procedure, you both returned home.

Henry suggested watching a movie to help you relax, and you settled on "Night Hunter." Despite Henry's eye roll at your choice, he acquiesced, knowing that you were set on it and not in the mood for any debates.

The film had its share of tense moments, interspersed with lighter ones that brought occasional snickers from you. 

One particular scene caught your attention—Walter Marshall, the character played by Henry, was sitting on the kitchen floor with his on-screen daughter, attempting to have a heartfelt moment. 

You couldn't help but chuckle dryly, cringing at the dialogue and the lack of genuine paternal energy emanating from Henry's portrayal.

"Wow," you commented, your voice laced with amusement, your gaze locked on the screen.

Henry glanced at you, his brows furrowing. "What's so amusing?"

"Come on," you chuckled, nudging him playfully. "If you're trying to show off your potential co-parenting skills, this movie isn't exactly boosting your case."

"Hey!" He gave you a playful mock-glare. "You're making fun of my acting skills. How dare you?"

"Just a little," you admitted, giving him another playful nudge. 

“So mean,” he muttered, his hand moving theatrically to his chest, as if nursing a wounded heart. Sooo dramatic. You laughed. 

Your gaze remained fixed on the screen. "I mean, it's just that I'm not quite getting the 'dad vibes' from you in this scene."

Henry laughed, a genuine sound that filled the room. "Fair enough. Guess I have some work to do if I want to impress as a movie dad."

You grinned, nodding in agreement. "Definitely a bit of room for improvement."

He leaned back on the couch, arm casually draped across the backrest, his eyes still on the movie. "Well, I'll consider this valuable feedback."

"I'm glad I could contribute to your acting growth," you quipped, a playful twinkle in your eye.

"Always striving for improvement," Henry replied, a hint of laughter lingering in his voice. "But in my defense, being a movie dad is a whole different ball game."

You raised an eyebrow, your tone teasing. "Oh, I see. So, you're saying real-life co-parenting would be a breeze for you?"

Henry's lips curled into a playful smile. "Well, I'd like to think I'd have a better grasp of it, but I guess there's only one way to find out."

The two of you exchanged amused glances, the easy banter between you a testament to the comfort of your friendship. As the movie continued to play, you leaned back against the couch, feeling the warmth of Henry's presence beside you.

"I guess we'll have to wait and see," you mused softly, your voice holding a touch of anticipation.

"Indeed," he agreed, his gaze briefly meeting yours before returning to the screen. And as the movie scenes unfolded, you felt yourself growing more at ease, the laughter and companionship settling any lingering nerves from the day's events.

Eventually, the familiarity of your shared space and the comfort of Henry's company began to take its toll, and you found yourself succumbing to drowsiness. Your head rested against his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping you as you closed your eyes.

He glanced down at you, a soft smile forming as he watched your peaceful expression in sleep. His heart swelled with a mix of fondness and a growing sense of longing. He carefully adjusted his position, allowing you to rest comfortably against him, his arm holding you close. As the movie continued to play in the background, he couldn't help but contemplate the possibility of a deeper connection with you, one that extended beyond the realm of co-parenting.

Part 1 | Part 1.5 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Tag list:

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[bellarkeselection]

2 - Interesting Conversations

Part 3

The Venus Muse

Not as long of a chapter as I'd like but here it is 😊 if you have any suggestions send them to my ask box

He extended his hand up to me and I smiled, placing my smaller hand in his larger one. “I accept so long as I know which Bridgerton are you?”

“Benedict, Benedict Bridgerton.” He replied, leading me out and onto the dance floor with the entire room having their eyes focused on the two of us.

I shifted my gaze up to his since he was taller than I was even with me wearing the slightly high shoes I was wearing. The others in the grand room began grabbing their own dance partner and the floor was filled with dancing suits and dresses moving about. “You’ll surely be the talk of the town after this night, lord bridgerton.”

“I don’t care much if I am. It is not my responsibility to carry the weight of my family's house on my shoulders.” The bachelor responded. 

His brother Anthony had found a wife last season, his sister Daphnie before that and now this year it was rumored that Colin was the next bachelorette according to the talk of the town. Holding my hand up away from his we slowly danced around in a circle where I chuckled. “So second siblings get to have more fun you say.” 

“Indeed they can. Would you not say the same for yourself?” Benedict asked, twirling me away from his chest throwing my hair all around and my dress twirled with such grace. 

I spun back into his embrace where our noses touched one another and the music began dying down meaning our time may have been limited so I quickly thought on my feet. “My lord, may I be so bold and ask to speak with you somewhere more privately?” 

“I’d love nothing more, princess.” He whispered, taking me by the hand and together we made our way through the crowd. We reached the outside of the ballroom but I figured we would be found if we stayed out there. 

So I squeezed his hand in mine taking the lead to the nearest horse stables that were just outside the nearest door. Benedict allowed himself to be dragged along by the princess in front of him. The fresh air finally hit my face when I busted through the large door. I sighed in relief. “Ah that’s much better. I must admit the castle walls can make me feel a little restricting.” 

“If I’m being honest with you. I don’t care for these seasons as much as others. Though it does give me inspiration for my drawings on occasions.” Benedict stands behind me. 

Spinning around on my feet I grinned hearing the excitement in his voice when he spoke the word of drawing. “You enjoy drawing, Mr. Bridgerton.” 

“I would like to just be Benedict to you, princess.” He nodded his head down to me. 

I chuckled moving across the stables yard until I found a bench to sit on and he joined me. “My father told my mother to just call him George the day she tried to climb over a garden wall so she didn’t have to marry him.” 

“I don’t think I've ever heard of this story. Care to share more details with me.” He scooted closer to me on the bench. 

Shifting my head up towards the sky I clicked my tongue thinking for a moment. My mother had told me how they fell in love despite the conditions my father has on his mind. “It’s a rather long story. I don’t wish to bother you with the full details of it. Surely you have other women you wish to spend your time with.” 

“Don’t let it be the fact that you are the princess and I am just a Bridgerton stop you from telling me the story you wish to tell.” Benedict pressed on touching my hand that was closest to his. 

I met his baby blue eyes asking the question I wanted him to answer. “Are we not expected to follow the rules of society that we have been born into?” 

“In my opinion I don’t wish to follow the traditional rules of society. Society leaves very little room for us to explore different passions. Whether it be through art, clothing, music or making our own beliefs.” Benedict moved his hands around as he declared about having some desire outside of just finding a wife or husband. 

Tucking hair behind my ear I felt the heavy weight of the crown on my head begin to disappear. “You make it sound so easy.” 

“Should it not be for you?” He asked me so calmly. 

I snorted shrugging my shoulders, explaining my situation to the lord sitting beside me. I wished the things that he was saying could be true, but I was far beyond ever seeing such freedom. “I may be a princess but it doesn’t mean I get to explore the world like I hoped.”

“What if I helped give you that chance.” Benedict asked me with that cheeky smile on his face. 

“How so?” I tilted my head to the side, very curious to what he was planning in his head only having met me a few minutes ago. 

He spoke up with passion. I almost believed it could work. “We could go strolling through the shops together, I could show you my art in the house we are staying near here or even just keep meeting in secret to have these conversations like this if it's what you truly desire.” 

“Benedict, that all sounds wonderful. But what if we get caught?” I was still uncertain of the bad consequences. 

A different woman's voice enters our conversation causing me and Benedict to turn our heads in the opposite direction seeing a girl with dark black hair wearing a light colored dress. “Live out of society's expectations please I beg of you.”

“Princess Y/n, I’d like you to meet my sister Eloise Bridgerton.” Benedict raised his hand out gesturing to the girl standing a few steps away from us. Her mouth hung open at the same time as mine, both in utter shock of meeting the other in this type of situation. For my mothers enjoyment I must say this season looks to be an interesting one from my current perspective. 

Comments really appreciated ❤️ Tag list - just ask to be added @abq654 @your-musicguru @imgondeletedis @eruannaaa-blog @cherrylovers-world @benedictbridgertonss @callmedarlingsstuff @carrotcaratsworld @sillynilly27 @emmampl-blog2 @bright-molina @erynel1zasworld @ynbutbetter @stranger-chan @blckbarbiedoll @sanaar3006 @urmoom12345 @ritz-hell-hotel @ritz-hell-hotel

[durrtydawg]

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 8 | 'Gonna school me on this?'

masterlist ✨

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

A few days have passed since Umm ar-Rasas. Everyone's a bit tense.

Word count: 6k-ish x

Breakfast. Reportedly the most important meal of the day, despite the fact that the only person actually eating anything substantial is Scott.

The three of them are up early, an outdoor café a few minutes away from the grotty hotel buffet a seemingly better option after an eventful few days. It’s a scene that should feel calm, indulgent, even, but there’s a weird tension making it, quite frankly, shit.

Sam doesn’t like it.

He takes a slow sip of his espresso, balancing the peel of his recently finished orange in a neat stack beside the saucer. The sharp bitterness hits him instantly. He swirls the cup, licking his lip, watching the crema circle the rim, then lets the warmth spread as he swallows.

Back in prison, coffee had been a different story. Hell - ‘coffee’ was a stretch. Instant crap that tasted like burnt dirt if he was lucky, handed out sparingly by guards who got a kick out of reminding you what little you had.

Sam had made do, though. Always did.

He’d scrounge for sugar if he could, boil water over makeshift kindling made from whatever junk he could swipe together. He turned a battered plastic bottle that had definitely been gnawed at by a mouse or three into a makeshift percolator, and ground the powder finer with the lid of an old tin cup.

The result was bitter sludge, yes, but it was his sludge.

Brewing coffee in that absolute ass-crack of an institution was a long, long lesson in timing, in patience, in knowing how to turn nothing into something. It wasn’t just about the caffeine. It was about taking control. About reading the room - when to brew, when to share, when to keep it to himself. That knack for reading situations, reading people, had carried him through then, and it carried him through now.

Even this morning, it’s not just the caffeine he’s after - it’s a moment to centre himself, to assess the situation.

Over the past two days, he and Scott have been grinding away at their search for leads: visiting lesser-known heritage sites, poking around in places tourists and looters alike had overlooked, and hedging their bets at the University of Jordan’s impressive library. Scott’s been all over his phone, trying to lock in an appointment to visit their archive.

Meanwhile, she’d been holed up in her room. They hadn’t been in the same room together since the night at Umm ar-Rasas when she’d collapsed in the crypt. She’d been shaken and pale after waking, enough to give Sam something to be afraid of.

He and Scott had agreed that she needed time to recover, though Sam had been the more vocal proponent of her staying back.

She hadn’t taken it well.

Now, watching her fidget with the edge of her napkin, chewing her thumbnail like it owes her money, Sam wonders if maybe they’d been wrong.

He sets the cup down, his thumb tapping lightly against the handle as his eyes drift to her. She’s twisting her nail between her two front teeth - a nervous habit he hasn’t seen in a while. It’s the same thing she did during their first proper call after she’d saved his ass, back when she was bullshitting him about being an archivist, when really she was working full-time in a pub deciding whether or not to pursue a masters degree.

He’d clocked her then - unsteady voice, fidgeting hands, eyes darting to the corner of the screen like she was trying to read notes. She wasn’t good at lying, and he was good at seeing through it.

There was something endearing about that side of her.

Usually.

But this? This isn’t just a lie. Nor is it endearing. It’s something else.

“So,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair. “I take it we all had a god-awful sleep last night?”

Scott looks up, halfway through a mouthful of eggs. “Sam shown you what we found yet?” He nudges the flatbread basket warily toward her, like he’s testing the waters.

What I found, Sam thinks, biting down the instinct to correct him. His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, but he manages a tight smile anyway, setting his espresso down as she shakes her head at the basket.

“Nope.”

Her eyes flick towards him, expectant but distant, like she’s only half here. Sam reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out the old deck of cards they’d uncovered last night, the box crumpled, faded and delicate, but intact.

“Behold. Our big score.” He flips open the top, fanning out the faded cards across the table. “Not exactly the Holy Grail, but hey, they’ll look great in…I don’t know, resin coasters, or somethin’.”

Scott snorts, but Sam’s attention is on her.

Her eyes snap to the cards, her focus sharpening for the first time all morning. She drops her hand from between her teeth, resting her thumb on her bottom lip instead, her brows knitting together in that way he’s seen them do when she’s putting something together.

It’s subtle, but Sam catches it. The spark of intrigue. It’s enough to make him grin - quick, self-satisfied - but the moment doesn’t last.

Her eyes shift back to her torn flatbread, and the spark dims, replaced by that same guarded distance she’s been carrying since the other night.

“They’re cool,” she says finally, her voice measured, the faintest edge of sarcasm creeping in. “Nice of you to share them now.”

Sam huffs a laugh, leaning forward. “Didn’t think they’d make much of an impression. Hardly an ‘X marks the spot’ state of affairs.”

“Well,” she says, too quickly. She shrugs, her tone brushing off the comment. “Just didn’t expect you to hold out on me for two days.”

There’s a sharpness to her tone, and the tired half-smile she shoots him only makes it sting more. Sam narrows his eyes.

Yeah. Something’s definitely off. Quiet, snappy when she does speak, distant otherwise. The complete opposite of the enthusiastic chatterbox who had been driving them forward a few days ago with theories, questions, and connections that put the rest of them to shame.

He files it away for later. He’ll pull her aside, figure out what’s eating at her, but for now, he lets it go. No need to make things even more frosty.

Scott shifts in his seat, his eyes sliding to her, too, then back to Sam. He’s no fool, either. He watches her closely, a faint glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, waiting for a moment as if she’s about to say something else. Some expert finding… but after a second, he shrugs, as if accepting that she’s not going to give him what he wants.

Sam takes another sip of his coffee, the lukewarm bitterness somehow matching the sudden tightness in his chest.

He’s about to change the subject when someone catches his eye over her shoulder.

Sam stiffens, his pulse ticking up as he watches the man order a drink, movements casual, but presence growing increasingly irksome. The balcony at the hotel, the monastery at Petra, now this cafe out of the dozens littered along this street.

“Either of you want a refill?” Sam asks, keeping his voice light.

Scott shakes his head, stabbing his fork back into his breakfast. She hums something that alludes to a ‘no thank you’, reaching out for the deck of cards as she exchanges her nail for the withering straw of her orange juice.

“Alright. Be right back,” Sam mutters, standing and pushing his chair back. His boots crunch softly against the gravel as he heads toward the bar, his eyes locked on the man.

He’s not sure why this guy’s been bothering him, but something’s off. Maybe he’s just being paranoid - there’s no reason for it. Probably nothing, he tells himself, but the gnawing feeling in his gut won’t go away. Not until he knows for sure.

The itch at the back of his brain has ramped up, but he forces himself to relax, to approach this like any other conversation. No need to spook the guy. Yet.

The man is hunched slightly, leaning on the counter with one elbow as he fiddles with the menu. Up close, Sam notes he’s shorter than expected, maybe by half a head, but there’s something about him that’s wiry. Compact. Like he’d be quicker than he looks if he needed to be.

“Nice morning, huh?” Sam says, sliding in next to him and signalling for another espresso.

The man glances up, startled for just a fraction of a second before smoothing his expression into something more neutral.

“Sure is.” His accent is unmistakably American, Midwest, maybe. Polite? Yes. Cautious? Perhaps. “Came for the views, stayed for the coffee.”

Sam raises his cup slightly in a mock toast, downing the last drop left at the bottom. “Seconded.” He swallows, “You hit the monastery yet? It’s worth the hike.”

For a second, the man freezes. It’s subtle - his fingers hesitate around the menu in his hands, the tiniest hitch in his breath.

“Nah,” he says after a beat too long, the quick glance over his shoulder only aiding Sam's suspicion. “Didn’t make it that far.”

Liar.

Sam doesn’t let the doubt show on his face, but internally, a thread pulls taut.

He’d seen the guy the other day - antsy, overly observational. ‘Didn’t make it that far’ My ass.

“Fair enough,” Sam says, forcing a grin and nodding in thanks to the bartender as he slides over a fresh espresso. “It’s a hell of a hike.” He watches the guy’s face for a flicker, a tell, but he gets nothing but that same tight, polite smile and a slight impatient tapping of his thumb against the counter.

Sam turns momentarily, squinting into the sun as he clocks Scott looking at the two of them, fork twiddling between his fingers. He furrows his brows at Sam as if to say ‘you good?’. Sam nods imperceptibly, winking before turning back.

“Gotta have the lungs for it, I suppose.”

The man’s smile twitches, like he’s debating whether that’s a joke or a subtle dig. Then his lips tighten as he sighs, turning from Sam as if this conversation is the last thing he's interested in being involved in.

Sam's somewhat glad he's getting under his skin. A small victory. He’s cataloguing everything inside the organised chaos that is his mind palace - the guy’s rigid posture, the way his eyes don't linger too long on anything, the slight hesitation in his words. He's antsy, uncomfortable, and it goes beyond your regular social anxiety.

Sam sips his coffee, but his grip tightens just slightly around his cup, burning his fingertips slightly.

The bartender breaks the moment, sliding a smoothie across the counter toward the man. He takes it with a nod and swivels off of the bar stool, but when he speaks again, his tone is lighter, almost casual, bar his rushed movements. “Well, enjoy. Place like this, bit of a once in a lifetime type’a trip.”

It’s an innocuous line, but something about the way he says it makes Sam’s skin prickle. His grin makes the sentence feel… deliberate.

“Same t’you,” Sam replies, matching the tone. He straightens, giving the guy a nod as he trots back onto the main road.

Sam slides some Dinars onto the counter, thanking the bartender again before turning back toward the table.

He’s already running the possibilities through his mind - tourist, wanderer, someone who caught the wrong vibe. Or something along more sinister lines.

Hmm.

Sam drops into his chair with a sigh, swirling his cup in the palm of his hand.

His thoughts are spinning. The guy’s lie about the monastery. That weird tension in his smile. And that parting line - so casual it could’ve been innocent, but wasn’t. Sam glances toward her again, watching the way her fingers absently shuffle the cards. One more thing to add to the list.

Sam slides back into his chair, his fingers drumming once on the edge of the table before settling. She’s still staring at the cards like they might rearrange themselves into something meaningful if she looks hard enough.

Meanwhile, Scott’s hunched over his phone, thumbs darting across the screen, his mouth pressed into a line. Concentrating? Maybe. Irritated? Definitely possible. Either way, neither of them notice him sitting back down at first.

“Well,” Sam drawls, resting an elbow on the table and flicking a glance between them. “Don’t let me interrupt this lively exchange of ideas.”

Scott doesn’t look up, just mutters, “One sec,” while his fingers keep flying. The faint glow of the phone reflects in his sunglasses, but not enough to soften the scowl tightening his face. “Everything alright?” He asks, though his interest is half-assed, with whatever he’s furiously tapping away at on his phone being infinitely more interesting.

“Mhm.”

She finally glances up, blinking like she’s shaking herself loose from her thoughts.

“Right, I have just confirmed our spot at the uni’s archive,” he says, his voice clipped. “The guy finally got back to me. Two-hour slot from noon. See if there are any complexities we can iron out, yada yada.”

“Solid,” Sam says, keeping his tone neutral.

Scott leans forward, his hands clasping in front of him as he places his phone face down. “So, who’s coming with me?” He asks, lingering on Sam. “I figure two heads are better than one. You in?”

She sighs. It’s attention seeking and Sam finds himself biting his tongue to prevent him from tutting.

His eyes lock on hers for just a second before shifting to Scott.

“Actually,” he says lightly, “I was thinking you and I could check out the market by the hotel this afternoon. Might dig up something interesting - local stories, relics, you know, the stuff you can’t find in archives.”

Her brows knit together. “The market?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, leaning forward just a little as he plucks a cigarette out of the box in his pocket. “Figure it’d be good to shake things up. You can finesse some more facts from locals, since you've got such a knack for it.” he adds, fishing out his lighter from his pocket.

Scott looks like he’s about to question him, but Sam waves a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us caught up on anything you find at the archives. Debrief over dinner?” He puffs at the newly-lit smoke, “You can lord it up all you like in front of some baba ganoush.”

Scott scoffs, narrowing his eyes as he shakes his head, mouth twisted into a lopsided grin.

That gets a small titter out of her, and Sam counts it as a win. She still looks tired, though, and it needles at him a little. He’s convinced she’s not entirely okay - maybe it’s a concussion after the other night, maybe something else - but he needs to figure it out without setting off alarms.

“All right,” she says finally, setting the cards down and giving him a half-smile. “Market it is.”

Scott shrugs, leaning back in his chair in an exaggerated state of nonchalance. “Works f’me.”

Sam nods.

//

He doesn’t miss the glance Scott throws her way before picking up his phone again, or the way her fingers drift back toward the box. Sam leans back, taking a sip of his fresh espresso, certain he’s now amped up with enough caffeine to make up for her missing enthusiasm. One problem at a time, Samuel.

You sit cross-legged on the hotel bed, the book open in your lap, your notebook resting beside you as you frown down at it. The ink from your green pen has stained your hand a little - a side effect from near-rabid scrawling for the past hour.

The ledger is heavier than it looks. Or maybe it just feels that way because you’re feeling… ropey.

As you scribble a few disjointed thoughts in the margins, the words continue to become more messy and impatient.

• Game records – poker? Dice? Bets escalate toward the end. > Poker. Sam found cards y’day.

• No clear indication of Inheritance yet.

You tap the pen against your lips, staring at the rows of names and numbers written in faded ink. English on the left, Arabic on the right.

While you were still uncertain on why there were two languages, you had established that it was some kind of betting log. You’re hardly a keen gambler, but those cards that Sam had revealed this morning set your head spinning… a satisfied hum pulsing up through the nape of your neck all the way round to your brow bone. A temporary recess in your headache that had been pestering you all on and off since the crypt. Just like when you’d found the book two days ago. Or, were you lured to it?

That thought had been playing on repeat in your mind.

It continues to wander, unbidden, back to the room underground. The way the air seemed… thin down there, oppressive, somewhat. You’d felt like you’d been tethered to the floor for a moment, like… a presence of sorts had you pinned in place. The aftershock of which has clung to your brain since.

You rub your temple absently, eyes flicking over the faded ink in the ledger. The headache had come back, right at the moment Sam and Scott returned to the car at Umm ar-Rasas, albeit nowhere near as bad as whatever had struck you while you were underground.

More of a dull, insistent throb at first, barely noticeable over the chatter and dust as Sam drove back, constantly looking at you through the rear view mirror, poorly attempting to hide his concern. But it lingered, refusing to let go, right up until breakfast this morning.

Scott had been sitting beside you, chewing and slurping and just plain… being there, and - lo and behold, there was the headache again. Sam’s fidgety clicking of his lighter was winding you up, too.

You spent the morning digging crescents into your palms to fight off your incessant irritability. Safe to say you sat with a face like a slapped arse. Poor form, really.

Maybe it’s the heat. Or the lack of sleep. Or the constant strain of chasing a legacy that might not even exist. You huff. Perhaps you should’ve eaten breakfast.

You shake your head sharply. Get on with it. Ten minutes til you’re meeting Sam in the lobby. Find something worth noting in this book, then go back to the two of them with newfound vim and a new, solid lead. Whatever happened in the crypt is over. What matters now is here, in this ledger.

Your pen moves again, your now rather doctor-like handwriting scribbling across the page.

• Emaan's betting records - self-written. Was he a gambler?

• Names: International. All men (tracks), hardly repeated. One of social events? Connection? Debt built?

The point about names is something you're looking to expand on. There's a lot of them. Rarely repeated, and if so, several months apart. You’ve noted them down, seemingly for no reason in particular.

If he was a gambler, is there any chance he could've... gambled the inheritance away? Bit of a stretch, especially given that you're still yet to understand exactly what's in the inheritance.

You continue reading, chewing the end of your pen, trying to ignore the soft thrum-thrum-fucking-thrum persisting in your head.

And then there's a name that appears twice on one page: William Campbell.

Odd. Checking the dates, there's only a few weeks between them. Cash bets. Like the others.

You jot his name down alongside the small list of others that have also been repeated.

Flipping a page, you stop cold. There it is again: William Campbell. Written neatly at first, like all the other names in the ledger, but something changes as you turn to the last few entries.

His name repeats again.

First, twice on a page.

Then thrice.

Then over and over again, written larger and more erratically with each appearance.

The bets grow larger, too - figures that would have been unfathomable at the start of the ledger. Plots of land. Even property, at one point.

Your pulse quickens as you write:

• William Campbell: only name repeated often. Appears exclusively at the end.

• Why does handwriting change? Emaan upset? Losing badly? Connection to inheritance? Did he bet it away?

• Late entries shift amounts - losses? Emotional decline?

The name stares back at you, daring you to say it aloud. Your fingertip traces over the scratchy ink of one particularly scraggled 'W', over tiny tears in the parchment most likely brought on from a fountain pen being pressed down too harshly for the material. Your lips move before you can stop yourself. “Who on earth is William Cam-”

The instant you speak his name, pain spikes in your head, so sudden and fierce that it rips a startled, strangled cry from your throat. The notebook tumbles from your lap, pen clattering to the floor as you clutch your temple and the duvet simultaneously.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, blinking rapidly as the pain intensifies, scrunching yourself into fetal position. 

You kick the book away, coiling back into yourself as it lands on the floor with a dull thud.

Without it in your immediate vicinity, the pain begins to ebb, leaving you trembling, eyes watering, and your breaths shallow and uneven.

You’re not new to headaches, but this… this was - is different. And it’s not just in your head. It hurts your entire body.

Just like the other night - like something was seeping through you; cracking, scraping, prying everything apart to make room for itself.

“What the hell,” you grit, staring at the ledger like it might come alive. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head sharply as though you can dislodge the thought. Don’t spiral. Not now. Your reflection stares back at you from the dark TV screen across the room, hideously grey and wide-eyed.

It’s the same sensation you’d felt in the crypt: disoriented, unmoored, like you’ve lost control of yourself - like something’s prizing its way into your head.

A rhythmic knock at the door startles you back into some sense of normalcy. Normalcy being a relatively loose term, given how frazzled you’re feeling.

Your pulse spikes, head snapping towards it. For a moment, you consider ignoring it, glancing down to the ledger like it’s something rancid.

You’re half tempted to pick it up again - to read the name and confirm whether you’re well and truly insane, or if something is genuinely really fucking odd.

But the knock comes again, so you force the thought to the backburner.

"Don't make me bust this door down. We've already outstayed our welcome at this joint."

It’s Sam - his muffled voice laced with mock irritation. You frown, settling your hair and tapping your face with your palms to try and dust yourself off.

"Sorry -” You call back, clearing your throat as soon as you realise how mousy you sound. “Thought I was meeting you in ten."

“Yeah, well… early bird, worm, an’ all that.”

"I just need to put my shoes on…” You say, opening the door. He instantly peers down at you with narrowed eyes. “Wanna… come in?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." He grins down at you as he practically barges his way in, swinging the door into you before you can protest.

This provokes you to scowl, but you don’t argue, instead moving to grab your trusty 530s, unlacing them before perching on the end of your bed.

"So," he says, leaning casually against the wall, teeth smacking on a wad of gum. "Market's off."

"What?" You glance up sharply.

"Well, not off, per se.” He clarifies, rolling a hand, “Just - we're not going."

"We’re not going- why not? I was looking forward to it!"

He raises an eyebrow, corners of his mouth twitching into a teasing smile. "Wanna try tellin' your face? You look like hell."

You simply gawk at him, shoe dangling loosely from your hand. "If this is because you think I still need to 'recover', you're sorely mistaken-"

"No, no, not that." He waves a dismissive hand as he moves to sit beside you, leaning back on his elbows. “Well, not just that.” His dark green Hawaiian shirt flops sideways, and your eyes momentarily dart to the more form-fitting black vest clinging to his torso.

"So what?" You swallow.

“Wanted to see what’s up with you,” he starts, tone lighter but definitely probing. It makes you clench your teeth together. “You’ve been off. This morning - the past few days, even.”

Oh. You stiffen, fingers tightening on the lace, channelling your irritation into the stubborn knot between your thumbs and forefingers. “I’m okay.”

He snorts, sitting up straighter. “Sure, because ‘okay’ is exactly what comes to mind when someone’s been holed up, sitting on their hands for two days, looking like they haven’t slept in a week.”

In all fairness, his digs at your appearance aren’t entirely untrue, if your earlier reflection in the TV screen is anything to go by.

You stand, tossing your shoe aside with a huff. Jaw tightening, you cross your arms, glaring at him. “Maybe if you and Scott hadn’t benched me, I wouldn’t feel the need to ‘hole up.’”

“Benched you?” He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “We didn’t ‘bench’ you. We told you to rest. Big difference.”

“I don’t need rest,” you snap. “I’m not a child. I was fine the other night.”

“Fine?” His voice rises slightly as he stands up, his frustration bleeding through his tone. “You passed out, remember? Or are we just pretending that didn’t happen?”

“That wasn’t-” You stop yourself, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “That was a fluke. I don’t need babysitting.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, for the love of - No one’s babysitting you. That line’s gettin’ old.”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what it feels like.”

Sam’s lips press into a thin line, and his gaze flicks away - until it lands on something beneath the bed.

“What’s that?”

Your stomach drops as he crouches down, swiping the ledger up from the floor.

“Sam-”

Too late. He flips it open, his expression shifting from confusion to something darker as his eyes scan the pages. You rub your hands over your face, anxiety beginning to spike. If he didn’t want you gone before, he definitely will now.

Oh, here it comes. That delightful, ‘I’m-about-to-vomit’ feeling. First, your mouth goes dry for no reason - like your tongue’s on strike and tripled in size, and you're suddenly aware of every single tooth in your mouth-

“It’s nothing-”

“Nothing?” he repeats, stepping closer. His brows knit together as he flips through the pages, his jaw tightening. “This doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’ Where did you get this?”

You try to swallow, but it’s like your throat’s gone on holiday. Your lips press together, unwilling to answer.

Sam looks up at you, incredulity flashing across his face. “Wait - you found this the other night, didn’t you? You’ve been sittin’ on this for two days?”

“No, I-”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” he snaps, slamming the ledger shut. “You didn’t think to mention you’d found something this important?”

You cross your arms, your jaw tightening. “I didn’t want to waste your t-”

“Waste my time?” He shouts, shaking his head. “You think this is a waste of time?” He waggles the ledger, his grip tightening on its spine. “This is the first physical ‘something’ we’ve had, and you’ve been hiding it under your damn pillow!” His mouth hangs open, then closes, like he’s weighing his next words carefully.

“You’ve had this for two days, keepin’ it to yourself, while Scott and I have been busting our asses to find somethin’ to go off of?”

“And whose fault is that?” you snap, gesturing out with your arms. “Hey? You told me to stay here. To ‘rest’. Like I’m some fragile fucking-”

“Because you passed out!” Sam cuts you off, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch. “You scared the hell outta me down there, alright? Him too. And you think I’m just supposed to let you keep pushing yourself without saying anything?”

“I was fine!” you bite back, your voice cracking.

“Were you?” His tone drops, quieter but no less intense. “Because you didn’t look fine to me. You looked awful-”

“So you keep saying. Wow, thank you, Sam.”

“Yeah, you’re so welcome. And now-” He jabs the ledger with his finger. “Now you’re hiding stuff like this, when you’re usually first to blurt out something worth lookin’ into. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Huh?”

Your throat tightens, anger and guilt swirling together in your chest. “You’re supposed to think I can handle myself. Let me do things,” you fire back.

“Really?” He steps closer, his broad frame towering over you, his eyes darting all over your face, narrowed in what you presume is frustration. “Because hiding things like this sure as hell makes it seem like you don’t trust-” 

“It’s not about trust!” you shout, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. “It’s about the fact that you’ve spent the last two days treating me like a bloody liability!”

Sam freezes, the words hanging in the air like a physical blow.

You press on, your voice trembling but fierce. Oh, it’s exhilarating. “You and Scott, out there chasing leads, making plans, doing everything except asking me to help, when you know deep down I am far more capable than either of you are giving me credit for.”

You’re closer to him now, an accusatory finger mere inches away from jabbing at his chest. “And you think I didn’t notice? That I didn’t hear you both whispering about whether I should even be here after the crypt? I thought we were over that - that I’d earned my place!”

Sam’s jaw tightens, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His lips part like he’s about to argue, but nothing comes out.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders heaving. “You wanna know why I didn’t tell you about the ledger?” you ask, your voice quieter but no less raw. “Because I didn’t want to give you another reason to think I’m just slowing you down. I wanted to figure it out first. To come to you with something solid. Something I could be proud of.”

The words tumble out faster than you mean them to, and by the time you finish, your chest is heaving, your eyes stinging with tears that you’re trying very hard not to let fall.

Sam stares at you, his expression shifting. He swallows, like he’s taking a moment to mull over your outburst.

“You think you’re a liability?” he finally says, his voice rough from shouting, an almost concerning quiver present. 

“I think you’re treating me like one.”

“Lia- Jesus,” He exhales a sharp, mirthless laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“You’ve been carryin’ us so far. Half the places we’ve gone to? You. Half the leads we’ve followed? You. And now, this! You’ve been two steps ahead of me and Scott since day one, and it’s…” He shakes his head, “It’s really startin’ to… piss me off.”

The words hit you harder than you expect - both that and the painfully awkward self-deprecating huff of laughter knock the wind out of your frustration. You blink at him, unsure whether to feel insulted or… something else entirely.

The silence that follows stretches uncomfortably. 

He shrugs, his eyes skittering away from yours. “I thought I was doin’ the right thing. You know, making sure you didn’t burn out.”

The room falls quiet again. His eyes drift back to yours, lingering just a second too long. You can smell the gum he’s got resting between his molars, the space between you all of a sudden feeling a little too minimal.

And you’re not remotely sure how to take it.

It’s suffocating how close he feels, and yet whatever distance is left feels - ha - excruciating. God, there is a copious amount of adrenaline surging through you. His hand twitches at his side, fingers flexing, like he’s debating something. For a fleeting, reckless second, you think he might - what? Close the gap? Pull you in? Say something that’ll make you completely forget how much he’s pissed you off?

For fuck’s sake.

You shove the thought away so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. You’re angry at him, furious even. He’s a hypocrite. And overbearing. And arrogant as hell - so why the hell do you feel so-

It doesn’t matter. Because all he does is clear his throat, stepping back and breaking the spell as abruptly as it was cast. He looks down at the book in his hands, his movements stiff, almost nervous. The leather spine taps rhythmically against his palm as he averts his eyes from you.

“Well,” he mutters, his voice softer now. Honestly, you’d rather he was yelling again. At least it gave you less space to feel guilty. “You gonna school me on this, or what, huh?”

“What?” you reply, your voice quieter than you intend. The tonal shift is jarring to say the least.

“C’mon,” he says, extending the book out to you. “Got a few hours ‘til Scott gets back, and, uh,” He gives you a lopsided grin that makes you feel a little wobbly - you swallow thickly as you affix your stare down to the ledger, taking it from him. “I don’t have the patience for Prince Charming to one-up me t’day.”

As you sit down on the bed, flipping the ledger open to the start, your heart is still pounding.

It takes everything in you to push the thoughts aside, to focus on the words on the page instead of the strange fluttering in your chest and tightness in your throat. But, hey, at least your headache hasn’t come back.

“Do you have those cards on you?”

Sam pulls the cards from his shirt pocket, handing them over without a word as he settles beside you on the bed.

His presence is warm, oddly pleasant despite your argument, and all-in-all, entirely too close for comfort.

You busy yourself by shaking the box, the soft sound of paper-on-paper filling the silence.

“So,” you begin, flipping open the ledger, “this is Emaan Sadir’s. No doubt about it.”

Sam tilts his head, his eyes flicking between you and the book. “You sure?”

“Positive.” You tap a page lightly with your fingertip, the Arabic script written in an elegant hand that contrasts sharply with the chaotic scrawls further along. “It’s his handwriting - matches everything we’ve seen on the letters from London. Plus, the dates line up with the height of his career in Amman’s high court. He was meticulous at first.”

“At first,” Sam repeats, his brows furrowing as he leans in to get a better look.

“Yeah.” You flip to a later page, pointing to the messy, erratic entries. “But something changed. The bets started escalating - more cash at first, then property, land. Big stakes. Too big.”

Sam whistles low, sitting back. “So, what, he started losin’ it?”

“Maybe,” you murmur, the weight of the book pressing into your lap. “Or maybe he was forced to up the ante. We don’t know for sure, but…” You trail off, your eyes drifting to the final pages.

Sam follows your eye line, his expression darkening. “But what?”

You hesitate, chewing your lip. “There’s one name that keeps cropping up toward the end.”

His eyes narrow. “You think it means something?”

“It has to,” you say, your voice faltering slightly as your thumb brushes over the spine of the ledger. “It’s the only name that repeats. Over and over. Like it’s mocking him.”

The memory of the sharp, searing pain you felt when you spoke the name aloud bubbles to the surface, and you suppress a shudder. You don’t dare say it again - not after what happened earlier.

“What name?” Sam asks, his tone sharpening with curiosity.

You swallow hard, gripping the edge of the book. “I… I’m not sure how to explain it, but it feels off. Wrong.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “Feels wrong how?”

“It’s just a gut feeling,” you lie, flipping the page with a steadying breath. “Look, see for yourself.” You gesture to the entries, careful not to meet his eyes.

He leans closer, studying the looping, jagged letters. “William Campbell,” he reads aloud, and your stomach twists.

It’s fine. You didn’t say it. It’s fine.

Your head doesn’t throb, but there’s a faint buzzing in your ears, a low hum that makes you shift uncomfortably. You press your lips together, willing the sensation away.

Sam doesn’t notice - thank God - and keeps reading.

“So this guy was Emaan’s big opponent? What, he cleaned him out?”

“Maybe,” you say, forcing your voice steady. “Or maybe it’s more complicated than that. We don’t know what Emaan was gambling for.”

Sam nods, his gaze flicking between the cards in his lap and the pages of the ledger. “And you think this Campbell guy has something to do with the inheritance?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility.” you admit. “But we still don’t even know what the inheritance is.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but it’s not uncomfortable. Sam’s eyes linger on the ledger, his thumb absently tapping against the cards as his mind works through the puzzle.

You glance at him, taking in the faint crease in his brow, the way his jaw tightens when he’s focused.

Despite everything, there’s something oddly reassuring about having him here - like the weight of the mystery isn’t entirely on your shoulders anymore.

The hum in your ears fades, replaced by a warmth that makes your eyelids feel heavier. You lean back against the headboard, the ledger resting in your lap, and let out a slow breath.

“Alright,” Sam mutters, setting the cards aside. “This is… this is good.”

You fall into a steady - if not somewhat rigid - post argument rhythm, your voices low as you work through the hefty ledger. Though, as the minutes pass, and much to your relief, the weight of earlier argument fades into the background, replaced by the sharp scratch of pen on paper, the clattering of Sam’s clunky laptop keys, and the occasional rustle of pages.

The notes pile up between you - disjointed thoughts, fragments of theories - but it feels like progress. Sam points out connections you hadn’t considered, his observations sharp and unexpectedly insightful.

You actually catch yourself watching him work more than once, the way his brow furrows in thought, the faint line of concentration etched at the corner of his mouth. The little scrunch at the bridge of his nose.

The hum of unease that’s hovered above you over the past few days is fading. But, annoyingly, you feel it being replaced by a warm thudding somewhere closer to the sternum region. Great.

He glances at you suddenly, catching you mid-stare. “What?” he asks, one eyebrow quirking up.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, dropping your eyes back to the ledger.

Sam huffs a faint laugh but doesn’t push, turning his attention back to his laptop. The sound of his fingers flying over the keyboard fills the space again, grounding and oddly comforting.

Minutes stretch into an hour, maybe two. The room grows quieter as the both of you slow, the pace of your work giving way to the inevitable pull of exhaustion.

At some point, you barely notice yourself leaning into him, your shoulder brushing his.

He doesn’t move away.

Your pen slips from your fingers, landing softly on the notebook as your eyes drift shut. Sam shifts beside you, his warmth solid and reassuring as his arm settles loosely against yours.

It’s not clear who gives in first - whether it’s his head tipping slightly toward yours or your own tilting against his - but the end result is the same. The two of you, slumped together in a knackered truce, the chaos of the ledger momentarily forgotten.

By the time Scott knocks on the door, you’ve both fallen asleep, your breathing soft and even, tangled in a quiet that feels fragile and oddly intimate. A small reprieve in the midst of everything.

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 2

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, check out the story tag for more chapters) Word count: 1.9k Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but the story will eventually be NSFW - hopefully in the next chapter. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader. A/N: Little more plot-building before we get to the spice. Hope yall enjoy!! Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You read and re-read the bonus words written into your book until they flowed through your head like a real conversation. An unknown voice whispered in your ear, adding commentary, a few snide remarks and snarky responses, poignant questions, and narrative asides that you couldn’t get enough of. 

The mystery of your anonymous reading buddy sat with you. It was calm and inviting. You weren’t consumed with a desire to dig inside and pull out the truth, but to let the mystery be. To let it exist like this. Yes, you did want to know whose thoughts and memories you were reading, but it wasn’t a dire need. And more than that, you wanted to keep this secret. A shared secret.

Staring at the next chapter you needed to read, the novelty plummeted as you raised a pen. It felt heavy in your hand, weighed by an awkward feeling. The back of your neck prickled, as if someone was already reading your thoughts. You felt stifled by the odd sense of visibility. Unable to connect your desire to give the story your full attention with wanting to share the book with another reader, you tried to flip those feelings and see if they would fit another way.

It was like a game of leapfrog. You read the annotations added after yours, then jumped into the next chapter you hadn’t read yet and filled in the gaps left in the margins, and, finally, you landed in a new chapter. The puzzle pieces connected as you fell entirely into the story.

Traveling with the cloaked figure, Grey, on his journey, your musings were scribed each step of the way. Phrases and words circled, emotive faces drawn near touching moments, and your own personal tidbits littered the pages. The chapter ended with Grey winning over the sullen rock golem who had been living alone as an outcast. The golem accepted Grey’s invitation to join him on a journey to save the royal family.

A few days later, Buggy was surprised to see the book peeking out of its protective hidey-hole like a mollusk. He noted its disappearance and didn’t expect such a rapid reappearance. Although it wasn’t a long novel, completing the entire journey would have taken a sleepless night or two. A small voice questioned whether the owner was upset at the additional vandalism (even if they started it) and decided to abandon the book entirely. 

Filled with unease, Buggy ignored the book and went about his duties. The poisonous voice stayed quiet as the captain threw himself into work, wondering if he might avoid confronting the question and the book. A lifetime of rejection created a wide boundary of protection that the little voice hid behind, hissing unfounded fears.

The sour feelings were chased away with a mouthful of liquor later that night. While heading back to his quarters, Buggy retrieved the book and walked fast to outpace his own negativity. Although it was only the second time he had the novel, reading was easily incorporated into his evening routine. It felt familiar to him. 

Growing up, Buggy was a voracious reader. Sometimes, he wondered if that’s why he needed glasses now. Maybe his eyes were rebelling against all the words he forced them to absorb - short stories, long epics, newspapers, essays, letters, tiny print, large fonts, hand-written, transcribed. Anything he could get his hands on was devoured in his spare time. Sentences were crammed into the few seconds between duties, chapters read by dim moonlight, and pages became speckled with food as he pored over the books while eating.

Over time, Buggy read less and less. People poked fun at the bookworm. They said he should be careful always having his nose in a book, it might get caught in the pages. Even lighthearted remarks about how much he read began to sting. And as he grew up, Buggy had other things to occupy his time with.

Eventually, guilt took hold in his chest. Roots grew whenever he had time that could be filled by a book, his empty hands missed the feel of pages threading through the fingers, or when he looked at the forlorn stories waiting on his bookshelf. He tried to push through the ache by buying new books that remain untouched. He even bought glasses to try and turn a chore back into a hobby, but nothing relit the spark. It all turned into dirt and manure for his remorse to grow. 

The pirate never expected the pain of turning his back on something that brought comfort would be eased by a silly fantasy novel. Despite being a grown man with hair on his chest and alcohol on his breath, Buggy felt like a kid again as he sank under the covers with a good book. Instead of waiting for a tension headache, Buggy pulled out his glasses, swiped the lenses with a small cloth, and put them on. The first thing he read was a note tucked alongside his bookmark.

“Good notes! Although I disagree that the writer is a ‘self-indulgent asshat who sees the world through rose-colored glasses.’ I read ahead through the next chapter and left space for you. Please do the same and put this back in the ‘secret’ spot. I want to see if you change your mind.”

Buggy chuckled to himself. Of course you wouldn’t agree with him, you picked the book in the first place. Maybe if he pointed out more of the author’s blatant self-insert characters used to tout their poorly thought out ideals, you’d reconsider. He took a sip of alcohol and twirled a pen in his fingers. 

Towards the end of the newest chapter, two things caught Buggy’s attention. First, the fucking corner of the page was folded again. Second, was a comment about the golem and “found family.” You wrote about how nice it is to find a place you belong and people you feel at home with. You felt like the golem character when you joined this pirate crew. The rock golem, named Daisy Lee, had sprouted a flower when Grey extended his hand and companionship. The little heart next to that sentence was a punch to the gut.

Buggy the Clown knew first-hand how it felt to find someplace you belonged. In fact, he’s heard that from his crew countless times. After fights, successful raids, parties brimming with alcohol, any situation full of emotions were bound to be followed with freaks professing appreciation for their captain. But this was different. You didn’t know who was reading these words. You didn’t intend to share them with the captain himself. These weren’t words of performative devotion, honeyed sentiments, or feelings brought forth by adrenaline, but inner-thoughts shared during your own personal time.

It was late and his body was tired, which meant his emotions were delicate. That’s why tears collected in the corners of his eyes before slipping down his heated cheeks. Exhaustion and alcohol. Fingers attempted to fit under his glasses to wipe away the saltwater, but the legs tugged on his ears and the frames dug into his forehead. Buggy dabbed away what he could in the confined space and rubbed the back of his hands on his wet cheeks to dry them. With a face redder than it was moments ago, he swallowed the rest of the sober emotion with the alcohol in his glass.

---

The next time you found the book, there was another note for you. A short sentiment and a gift.

“Stop folding the goddamn pages. I don’t care if this is your book, I won’t give it back. Use the bookmark.”

The bookmark guarding the edge of your reading area wasn’t anything special. It was just a bit of paper that could have come from anywhere, but the edges were carefully torn into a long rectangle. The scrap used to mark the other reader’s progress was ripped haphazardly and shaped like a squashed kidney. Rolling your eyes, you folded the corner of your new gift. You’d use it, but on your terms.

You followed the same pattern as last time, reading the new notes, the next chapter, then a new chapter. And your reading partner followed suit. Bookmarks jumped over each other, like checkers. Stories were swapped, emotions unlocked, betrayals occurred (the first of which was you creasing the bookmark, which was acknowledged with a little angry face), foes defeated, heroes injured, feelings exposed, and so much more. You wrote about leaving your family and village behind, like some of the adventurers. The other person wrote about not really knowing their family. Not in a story, but as a passing comment to what you scribbled. Unsure how to respond, you simply wrote that you were glad their journey brought them here.

Weeks passed as the book exchanged hands. One night found you hunched over in bed, following your reading buddy as you raced through the final chapter. The sea was as restless as your beating heart, each wave and thump growing erratic through the climax.

Worn down and weary, Grey and his companions approached the castle. Moss and vines decorated the worn stone structure. An abnormal breeze carried the sweet stench of decay. The rustle of leathery wings and tell-tale stomping emitted from the courtyard ahead. Grey turned to Daisy Lee and Jack, readying himself to go ahead on his own. To his surprise, Jack clapped a hand on the man’s cloaked shoulder and nodded to their stone friend, who marched forwards, toward the dragon.

You silently cheered with each blow the heroes dealt and gasped with every set-back they sustained. The fight raged on in your white-knuckled grip, with Daisy Lee crumbling into a smaller version of themself, and Jack throwing himself in front of Grey, only to be knocked out.

Grey shouted in anguish and charged forwards. Landing a mighty blow on the dragon, the fierce beast collapsed with a pitiful roar. Smoke poured from it’s mouth and nostrils, filling the courtyard. Through the fog, Grey could just barely see the large shadow shrink. As the smoke cleared, a naked figure lay on the ground - the victim of a curse. It was Prince Shaia. Grey’s brother.

The rest of the story was wrapped up in two pages. There was a whirlwind of activity when Grey rescued the rest of the royal family, revealed his lineage to his companions who readily accepted the information, Grey’s rapid ascension to the throne, and the multitude of changes he immediately put into place across the kingdom to end every single plight, hardship, and minor inconvenience he encountered. The story ended with the sun setting on a utopia, with no mention of issues implementing new rules and systems or discourse about the kingdom changing hands to a previously unknown individual.

You sat silently for a moment, mulling over the ending. It was an enjoyable story full of adventure and whimsy, but the conclusion was rushed. Very rushed. The last paragraph had a bracket drawn on the side and an arrow pointing to a little face sticking it's tongue out and a note:

“I haven't changed my mind. This wouldn’t happen so easily, it’s so unbelievable-”

Frowning, you scribbled a retort before finishing the rest of the note. “It’s a fantasy book. Of course it’s not believable.”

“-I have a book we can read next. I guarantee it’ll be better than this.”

A buzzing filled your head and reverberated down to your chest. You kept reading the message, studying each individual letter constructing the words that warmed your body. The beating of your heart stopped using adrenaline as fuel and channeled the rushing endorphins instead. You hoped that this secret relationship would continue, and to see that feeling reciprocated filled you with so many fluttery feelings that you couldn’t tease them apart.

“Okay, I’m trusting you.”

[nerdraging4point0]

The Scorpion and the Scales //Chapter One// Poly-AU

Header photo by @ladyveronikawrites

Tropes and Tags: MF, MFM, MFMM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed musicians, polyverse, friends to lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only MDNI, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), threesomes, light BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, partner sharing, jealousy, angst.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Active taglist: @ladyveronikawrites @tearfallpixie @beaker1636 @circle-with-me @synthetic-wasp-570 @itsjustemily @thesazzb @vinyardmauro @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @letmeadoreyoux @starsomens @artificialbreezy @lma1986 @iknownothingpeople @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken @missduffsblog @jessicafg03 @thatchickwiththecamera @mysticdoodlez @chels3a-smile @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @roley-poley-foley @ravieisunhinged @dethronetheveil @to-be-written @somewhere-diamond @somebodyels3 @sacredthefran

My ears are still ringing from the concert, a lingering reminder of the band's raucous performance that seemed to rattle the very walls. But as I stand outside the venue waiting, the cool Colorado night wraps around me, calming my ringing ears. I take a deep breath, letting the crisp mountain air soothe my senses. Looking up at the starry sky, I can't help but smile, the adrenaline from the show still coursing through my veins. My body may be tired, but my spirit feels alive. This is exactly where I want to be.

I scroll through the photos and videos on my phone, reliving each moment - the crush of the crowd, the first electrifying guitar riff, the encore chant that shook the rafters. I smile as I post clips to Snapchat, the glowing screen casting a soft light on my face. These are memories frozen in time now.

I glance down at my outfit, suddenly self-conscious - dark shorts with fishnets, my favorite Adidas shoes, a cropped long sleeve tee to show off my wrist tattoo. My dark curls bouncing around my shoulders, framing the natural makeup look I had spent so long perfecting. My heart pounds at the thought of meeting the band looking like this.

I can hardly contain my excitement. Getting a photo with the band tonight will be the perfect addition to my prized collection of memories! My scrapbook is absolutely full of photos with bands and celebrities - it's my most prized possession. But the photos themselves are nothing compared to the actual experiences behind them. I smile to myself remembering all the crazy adventures over the years - the VIP access, celebrity run-ins, wild nights out in Vegas and LA. I live for these thrilling moments and have to document every single one. This show tonight will give me yet another trophy photo for my scrapbook of fame.

I can feel the crowd stirring, a buzz of anticipation in the air. Around me, fans jostle for position near the stage door while security guards confer, ready to guide the band through. I'm so tempted to rush the door with some of the other die-hard fans, but I know that's crazy - I'd probably just get trampled. So, I stay put, heart racing, barely able to contain my excitement. 

The crowd roars as Folio and Jolly emerge from backstage, basking in the post-show glow. Folio's got on his favorite tour tee, that vintage New York cap perched just so atop his mop of curls. And Jolly - man, that dude looks like a rockstar with his hoodie and beanie combo, those long brown locks flowing free. They pause to snap a few pics with fans, gracious as ever, before huddling up to recap the epic show.

When I see Noah, my heart stops. His towering, muscular frame moves with a feline grace and his soft brown locks fall perfectly over his chiseled features. This triple-threat talent radiated magnetism, his lethal attractiveness gripping me in its thrall. I was helpless, I was his, utterly and completely.

I see Jolly and Folio sitting off to the side of the fans. They aren't too far away, but I feel the nerves build in my chest, and I gather my courage to call them over.

"Jolly!" I shout, my voice cracking with excitement. He turns, and I start flapping my arms like a madwoman, desperate to catch his eye. This is it. My chance to meet one of my idols in the flesh. I scurry over, my legs jittery and unsteady beneath me. "Can I get a picture with you guys?" I blurt out in a rush, the words tumbling over themselves. I'm practically vibrating now, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Just breathe, I tell myself. Play it cool. But my fangirl glee cannot be contained.

He saunters over, hands in his pockets, with Folio trotting behind him. I fumble a bit with my phone, trying to find a good angle for a selfie.

"Mind if I help?" he asks, reaching out his hand. I hand him the thin device with a shaky hand. Extending his arm, phone in hand, facing the three of us so we were all framed up perfectly. I flash my best smile, leaning on the fence post for support. He snaps a few shots to make sure they came out clear, then hands my phone back.

"Thank you so much!" I squeal excitedly.

"Not a problem at all," he replies with a gentle smile, his accent coming through each word.

Folio turns to me, but he doesn't sound too thrilled - more like he's feigning the enthusiasm. "So, did you have fun?"

"Fun? Are you kidding me? That was amazing!" I gush. "Has anyone actually ever said no?" I quip playfully.

Folio chuckles and Jolly just laughs, making me feel good - at least they get my sense of humor! "I suppose it depends on who you ask," Folio says, chuckling again.

Nick shows up out of nowhere, trying to join our conversation. But his voice is drowned out by the shrieks from Noah's fans at the door. I sneak a peek and see Noah's tall figure in the center of the chaos - signing autographs, snapping selfies. I whip back around to Nick.

"What did you say?" he asks again.

I have to yell over the noise. "We were wondering if anyone's ever told you they didn't like your show!"

He lets out the most dramatic sigh. "No one's ever asked if I enjoy doing the show." I roll my eyes hard.

I roll my eyes as he pouts dramatically. "You're literally the star of the show," I point out, barely holding back my sarcasm.

He shrugs, unaffected. "Still, no one's cared to ask little ol' me about my feelings." He places a hand on his chest, channeling a wounded Victorian damsel.

I have to resist the urge to mimic gagging. "Alright, Your Highness," I say, my voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. "Do you enjoy being on the show or not?"

He taps his chin, pondering with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Hmm...maybe I don't. Have you considered that?"

"Wow, so brooding and mysterious," I deadpan.

I whip out my phone with a grin, waving it teasingly in front of Nick. "Mind snapping a quick pic for me?" I ask. He's happy to play along. I shuffle as close to him as I can with that barricade wedged between us, and he snaps off a couple shots before handing my phone back.

"Looks like you just need one with Noah now," Nick says, glancing over his shoulder. Noah's still surrounded by screaming fans begging for his attention. I give Nick an appreciative look - he's so chill and down-to-earth.

I sigh, my voice trailing off. "He seems a bit busy." I glance around at the mob of people crowded around Noah. I'm not sure I'll get that photo with him after all.

"Just hang out, we'll make sure he stops by," Jolly says, flashing me a reassuring smile. That makes me feel a little better.

"You local?" Nick asks me, clearly trying to keep the conversation flowing to avoid an awkward silence. I nod, "Yeah, born and raised here."

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hold onto the warmth from the crowd. The breeze starts cutting through my shirt.

Nick, Jolly, Folio and I are still chatting away while everyone else heads home. Folio's glued to his phone, only half listening. Then security starts shooing people away, saying Noah only has time for a couple more photos. The last of the fans rush to the front for their chance.

When Noah finally makes his escape to the tour bus, Nick isn't having it. He waves Noah over, pleading, "One more, bro. I promise." Noah chuckles and ambles over, his long legs crossing the parking lot in just a few strides. Up close, he's even taller than I thought!

"Hello." His smile makes my heart flutter.

"Hi," I squeak out, unable to summon any other words. Just getting that single syllable out feels like a triumph.

"This is..." Nick hesitates, looking adorably flustered. "You know, with everything we've talked about, I never even asked your name."

"Eve," I manage, though my voice comes out high-pitched and timid. I cringe internally. I should know my own name, at least! But something about him makes me tongue-tied in a way I've never experienced before. Eve. It's not a complicated name. But looking into his eyes, I can barely remember such a simple word.

"Nick mentions something about a picture?" his voice is so low, I almost forget it's me he's talking to. We move against the barricade standing close to one another as Nick takes my phone from my hand to take the picture for us.

When the camera flashes, I blink hard, almost hoping the picture will turn out blurry. Just so we can try again.

"What cha think?" Nick asks, turning my phone screen to show me the photo. I mean, it's cute and all, but mostly I'm hyperaware of how close Noah still is to me.

"Hmm, could be better," Noah's voice is suddenly right by my ear, making chills run down my spine as he hovers behind me.

"Here," he says, stepping back and reaching for my hand. "Step over."

The moment our hands touch, my heart flutters as if a flock of butterflies has just been released inside my chest. I can't take my eyes off him, his warm smile making my knees weak. As I climb over the barricade, my movements awkward and clumsy in my nervous excitement, security rushes over. Noah holds both my hands in his, turning to look over his shoulder at the security guards rushing our way.

"It's cool, I got this," he says, his voice gentle and soothing.

My attention snaps back to him, those kind eyes telling me everything will be okay. I trust him completely. Once on the other side, I straighten my shirt, run my fingers through my hair, hoping I look presentable for this boy who has stolen my heart. Being near him is intoxicating, sparking a giddiness I've never known before. I want this moment to last forever.

His eyes lock onto mine, sending a jolt of excitement through my body. "Nick," he says, gaze never leaving mine. He reaches out his hand to his friend, "Phone."

Nick places it in his open palm, as Noah passes him the energy drink he'd been holding.

As Noah reaches out to me, my heart flutters. His arm finds its way around my waist, pulling me close. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and chills tingle down my spine at his touch. But I face the camera with him, tossing my dark curls over my shoulder and flashing a peace sign. Noah's smile lights up his whole face. I can't help but mirror it with my own grin. We take a few silly selfies together, giggling and making faces. With his arm wrapped around me, I never want this moment to end. Being this close to Noah makes my pulse race and my stomach fill with butterflies. I am absolutely smitten.

I am so excited that Noah has taken such a nice photo for me. "That should do it!" He jokes as he hands my phone back. "Much better than the others."

Suddenly Nick suggests, "Group photo!" Before I can even reach for my phone, Noah snatches it back and turns to the security guards by the door.

Jolly, Folio, Nick and I all gather together. Nick wraps his arm around my waist and I put mine around his shoulders. Then Noah comes over to fill the space on my other side, putting his arm around me too. I reach around and put my hand on his lower back, laughing.

The security guard takes our photo. I smile big - this will be the main one for my book! A memory I'll never forget. Two quick flashes and we're done.

When Noah helps me over the barricade, I feel a spark as our hands touch. His strong grip lifts me effortlessly over the metal rail, setting me gently on the ground. I turn back, not wanting our moment to end, and see him give me a little wave goodbye before he disappears into the tour bus. My heart flutters as I watch him go.

When I finally get to my car, I slide into the driver's seat with a sigh of relief. As the heater starts blasting warmth into the cold cabin, I pick up my phone and scroll through my photos until I find that selfie of Noah and me. I know I don't look my absolute best in that pic, but none of that matters - it's a photo of the two of us together and that's what's important. I set it as my new screensaver and just gaze at it for a moment, my heart fluttering. Then I open my playlist, queue up some music, and pull out of the parking lot to head home. All I can think about on the drive is how dreamy Noah looks in that photo, and how lucky I was to have met someone so wonderful. I can't wait to get home, crawl under the covers and relive every magical moment we shared today before drifting off to sleep with a smile on my face.

[artisticxlly]

Some (actually a lot) of my thoughts on Kagehina; the theme of soulmates

Disclaimer: I am still somewhat new to posting in this fandom. Someone might've posted these same exact takes already (I'm not well-versed in Kagehina analyses). This is just my pure brainrot (also unfiltered, so this doesn't have a ton of structure, just a collection of thoughts)!

As I'm getting more into this ship, there are a lot of things that make me emotional about them.

A thing some people point out when it comes to these two is that Kageyama's backstory is shown extremely late in the manga as a 'protagonist' (or at the least a very essential character). You can argue whether or not it's done well, but for me this is perfect to demonstrate a full-circle moment, as not only did Kageyama find this person that Kazuyo promised would find him, you as the reader only get to realise that now as well.

And adding onto that, in my opinion it also contrasts nicely with Hinata, as his backstory is shown from day one, it is one of the first things explored in the manga. It starts and ends with them, so to say.

About their backstories: As someone who is very much invested in Kageyama's whole arc of 'king of the court', here is a speculation of how he actually got to that point.

Maybe this is a bit obvious, but losing someone like Kazuyo is devastating. And at the time, Kageyama would struggle with making new friends. He always stands out in those flashback panels as someone who carries a passion for volleyball like no one else (at least for his childhood) e.g., he gets made fun of for not owning any video games.

At its core, that intense interest in volleyball is what connected him and his grandfather so deeply.

It makes sense for Kageyama to desperately dig his nails into that remainder of Kazuyo, to train more and more, chasing that feeling of connection to someone he was actively grieving.

And another point would be this famous panel:

"If you get really good". And Kageyama takes his word for it, because really, his grandfather would be one of the people he trusts more than anything. And he practices until exhaustion, until he can't, because he wants to have a relationship (no matter the nature) like that again, wants a deep connection that he gains through his passion for the sport. He wants someome to find him.

I think Kageyama would reach a point where the amount of time he invests into training would be both physically and mentally unhealthy.

And perhaps, that's what also leads to him having no compassion for the people who don't share the same fire as him on the court (which is honestly a bit of a common theme for Haikyuu and its characters). He'd probably doubt a person who is like what Kazuyo described exists.

And then Kageyama and Hinata meet for the first time one the court.

The first time you read the chapter, without knowing Kageyama's backstory, it's moreso framed that he is insensitive, a bit of a jerk too. You could even go as far as to interpret the line as "what have you been doing until now?!" as Kageyama thinking that Hinata should've just practised harder, especially when he later goes on to say that Hinata should get "better" if he truly wants to stay on the court for as long as possible.

When you reread the chapter after going through the whole manga though, these lines make a lot more sense, and - depending on your perspective - are a peek into just how taken Kageyama is when faced with someone who has an equal drive as him on the court.

"what have you been doing until now?!" turns into "why havent I met you sooner?" and "get better" turns into "get better (than me), so we can find each other again" (As Kazuyo promised Kageyama).

And actually, Kazuyo's promise doesn't become fully realised until they're both on the court again, now in different teams.

That's why the flashback to that line is used then, not when Hinata and Kageyama first bond together in Karasuno. Not when they make it to nationals. No, when they're in different teams, after you see Hinata go through a whole lot of development away from Kageyama, then the promise is finally fullfilled. You could argue back and forth which one of them ended up being "someone better" but the point is that they found each other again because of it. Doesn't even really matter that they're on different sides of the court.

That's their arc, at least if you focus on Kageyama's backstory.

In general though, they are characters that continue to parallel each other, over and over. The amount of which is honestly almost absurd.

One of the biggest ones is just how much time they invest into practicing. The manga makes it a point with both of them that the people around them don't have the same energy as them and get tired out while those two continue (like maniacs /hj).

I mean, they even like the gym for the same reason, they're fond of the smell (which makes me mushy I won't lie, these goddamn weirdos /aff).

Another one is that they both want to play as long as possible. During the first chapter of the manga, this whole theme drags through the whole chapter, as they both talk about competing to get to stay on the court longer than anyone else.

A last one, that I just find funny, is that their numbers are ALWAYS one apart and sometimes even the same as in previous teams, EXCEPT for their third year in high school.

Junior high 3rd year: 2 and 1

High school 1st year: 9 and 10

High school 3rd year: 2 and 5

Adlers/Msby: 20 and 21

National team (2021): 9 and 10

Ali Roma/Asas São Paulo: 20 and 21

Like it's not funny, how much these two share even before knowing each other. And yet, despite all the similarities, they don't immediately get along in the way you'd think. There is this weird tension where they meet, they immediately get into an argument, too. But there is nuance to it. Izumi points it out actually, that Kageyama took Hinata seriously. The rest of the people there didn't think much of Hinata and his team, and yet Kageyama seemed to have this 'innate' sense that Hinata wasn't someone you should underestimate.

And they fight again, when trying to get into Karasuno, when they're in Karasuno, etc. etc. But it's never them genuinely disliking each other, it's just bickering at most. And as you read along you grow very fond of that aspect of them.

Maybe it is an overused word, but I don't think you could make it any clearer that those two are written to be soulmates.

Anyways, those are my thoughts! I'm obviously not normal about them, but I hope someone else can agree with these takes ^^