#has not known a moment of peace on or off screen

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

We talk about Emily Prentiss trauma a lot, but Paget Brewster has been THROUGH it the past few months. Her dad died, that orange fascist in a bad toupé was elected, her state is on FIRE, and now she’s broken her elbow. Like damn girl, someone give this woman a hug. And she’s still so positive! I hope she’s okay 😭🙏

*she needs a cigarette.

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok:

[honeytae]

the right choice - jk

pairing: college student! jk x college student! oc

genre: fluff, friends to lovers/mutual pining

summary: for as long as you’ve known jungkook, you would think that you’ve witnessed all sides of him. but when you notice the way he’s looking at you right now, you think you may be wrong about that.

warnings: loosely based off the song yes or no, mutual pining but they’re both so clueless, IT’S SO OBVIOUS, it’s finals season so OC is stressed tf out, this jk is such a boy but he’s so sweet, he calls her pookie, OC is affectionately fed up with him but oh well, there’s a santa hat appearance, the tats and lip piercings are here to stay, vulnerability grosses the OC out, hand holding is the norm, SUSPENSE, kissing, teeny tiny bit of making out at the end

word count: 4.6k

the air in your dorm room is uncharacteristically quiet. you can almost feel that the peace won’t last long in your bones, especially with your best friend jungkook sitting a mere foot from you.

jungkook was known as the most extroverted introvert on campus. quiet at first, but once you made it into his inner circle, you were in for endless spur-of-the-moment spontaneity and long nights full of utter chaos. for now, though, you enjoy the comfortable, delightful silence in the otherwise overstimulation of your brain.

unsurprisingly, the silent scrolling of your thumb along your phone screen is soon interrupted by an oversalted pretzel smacking you on the knuckle, sadly falling to your bedspread.

“ew, jungkook!” you whine, retrieving it from your duvet cover and swiping the salt grains off the previously clean fabric. you shoot a warning look at the man sitting opposite you on your bed when he dares to snicker while watching you clean his mess.

“are you twelve?” you ask while popping the pretzel into your mouth, jungkook smirking as he leans forward to rest on his elbows

“you love it,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows to get you to crack a smile.

“yeah, whatever,” you relent, sliding your phone into your hoodie pocket.

it’s almost like any other tuesday you two spent in your dorm. the only difference is that you have nothing but time since classes are canceled with the impending blizzard outside. there is a uniquely calming air with no assignments forcing you to sit at your desk and keep you there the rest of the night.

you set your chin in your hand as you gaze out the window, the sound of jungkook’s foot repetitively tapping on your bed frame fading into the background as you watch the flurrying snow catapulting down to whichever surface it finds first. it’s funny, you think. you used to love the snow as a kid, count down the days until the next snowstorm struck. but then you got old, you suppose; it became a stressor for you, another thing you had to deal with rather than indulge in.

“hey, what’s up with you today?”

you blink a few times after registering jungkook’s voice closing in on you, finally breaking eye contact with the window and glancing over at your inquisitive friend.

you barely suppress a snort when you realize he has a Santa hat on his head, when the fuck did he acquire that?

but as usual, it’s a ploy to get you to break a smile, and it works.

“am i acting weird?” you wonder, shifting forward so you can smack the fur ball at the end of his hat, the impact making it lay over his other shoulder. you barely stifle a laugh at the abruptness of the action, jungkook overdramatically cocking an eyebrow at you as you pet it down the right way again.

“you’re just,” he waves his hands around, gesturing wildly in an attempt to convey what he can’t verbally, “distant, i guess,” he settles on.

you suppress a smile at his struggle to express himself, an oddly charming trait you’d gotten to appreciate over the time you’d known him.

“sorry koo. i’m just a little out of it, i guess. i haven’t had much of an attention span since finals started,” you sigh, jungkook humming to himself before curling his lips up to touch his nose. it was a quirk of his you’d noticed years ago, one that meant he was thinking. it had you equally excited and terrified at the same time, because jungkook’s ideas were never… simple.

you raise your eyebrows as you watch him stand up from his seat on the end of your bed, making his way across the room and collecting his coat and yours from the hooks on your door.

“what are you doing?”

jungkook doesn’t answer you with words, instead, he just drops your coat beside you and quickly starts digging in your closet to toss you a hat.

“if you make a mess in that closet, you’re cleaning it,” you remind him, rolling your eyes at the immediate clatter noise punctuating your words.

“oops,” he mumbles, standing up and waving you off before you can say anything else. “it’s fine, i put everything back!”

you don’t fully believe him, but you know he has more respect for you than to leave your closet a complete disaster, so you hope for the best.

“if you say so,” your voice ends on a higher note, giving away your skepticism as you roll the hat on over your head.

“to answer your question, we are getting out of here for a while,” he finally explains the sudden transition from your lazy day, “you’ve been studying way too hard. you’re literally smarter than most of the class, you have no reason to stress out as much as you do about this stuff,” he shrugs, and you try to ignore the way his words make your chest warm. it’s nice to hear it once in a while, you suppose.

“should we even be going out there? there’s an advisory out for like, the whole area,” you gesture out the window where the snow billows on, staring at jungkook as he holds out your jacket for you to put your arms into.

you do, hesitantly. he does the same, stating “we’ll make it quick, don’t worry,” leading you to the door where you both step into your boots.

your lazy afternoon is evident by both of your sluggish movements. despite the heaviness of your limbs, you feel a certain buzz whenever jungkook hatches an idea. you always, always have fun with him, no matter what’s on the agenda.

today is a rare day where school and work aren’t interfering with your respective schedules, the first one in about a month. you feel a little guilty about that, to be honest.

admittedly, you sometimes get so in your own head that it becomes easy to forget about calling or texting. luckily for you, jungkook is pretty good about staying in touch. he almost always stops by on his way home from class to give you snacks to get you through your night lecture, he sends you stupid memes at all hours of the night to remind you of your synched sense of humor, and makes a habit of facetiming you whenever he witnesses something so cool you just had to see it too.

spying him out of the corner of your eye, the fondness melts right off your face when you realize he’s still adorning that dumb santa hat. his hand extends to the door handle, and your eyes widen in panic as you say his name.

“hold on,” you said, reaching out for the door, “i am not stepping out with you in this hat,” you gesture to the red monstrosity covering jungkook's head.

“what? no way, the hat is staying,” he reaches for the door again, unbothered and ready to step out before you slap your hand against the door.

“jungkook, please,” you begged, staring into his twinkling eyes as he laid his hand over yours on the door handle, an impromptu staring contest starting between you two.

ah, yes. another thing that bonded you and jungkook was your stubbornness. neither one of you settled without a good fight.

“i am not leaving here until you take that hat off. also you need to promise me we aren’t doing anything illegal,” you extend your pinky with a determined knit of your eyebrows.

“i pinky promise,” he grins as he lazily bends his pinky around yours, “but the hat stays on, pookie.”

“okay then,” you act as if you are about to kick off your shoes as you walk back to your bed, grinning when you feel him wrap his arms around your waist to pull you back to him with a whiny “nuh uh!”

“yeah, huh! we are not walking around like santa and mrs. clause right now,” you huff, eyeing the way the hat sat on his head closer as you leaned back on his chest. you hate that he actually makes the hat work for him, but it doesn’t surprise you at all. on anyone else, it would look plain stupid. jungkook has the magic touch, though; every new style, hobby, and passion he tries looks good on him.

“fine, scrooge!” he relents, “but i get to walk you to the rest of your finals looking like this,” he poses, melting into a grin when you sigh in defeat.

“see! i can compromise,” he practically sings as he tosses the hat over to your desk, holding the door open for you and following you out into the hallway with a toothy grin that voices his triumph.

you shake your head in mock disappointment, unable to stop from grinning as you pat down your coat pocket to make sure you have your key with you before pulling the door shut.

“yeah, yeah. just don’t embarrass me in public today, you doofus.”

and he hasn’t, surprisingly. but by the time you get to your destination, which jungkook deemed top secret information, you are presented with another issue. the sun is now setting and the winds are starting to pick up at a brutal pace.

“this better be worth it,” you shiver, and you swear jungkook’s teeth are chattering beside you, but you honestly can’t tell with his puffer hood so far over his face and the pelting ice coming at you from all directions.

jungkook may respond but you don’t hear it, not when he grabs your hand and hisses at the nipping breeze, making the executive decision to lead you across the crosswalk to get into the parking lot.

when you finally look up from the ground, you squeeze his hand in excitement, spying a sign on the door with ‘Bakery & Cafe’ at the forefront.

jungkook eyes you when you uncharacteristically squeal, chortling to himself when you whisper an awe-struck, “heaven.”

“enjoy it, this is the only heaven you’ll get int- okay, okay!” he bellows out a belly laugh when you rip your hand from his and recoil it to your chest, letting him reclaim it with a huff.

“you know, sometimes i think you need a clamp on that mouth,” you purse your lips at your friend, who merely hums in response as he opens the door for you to step into the warm air of the cafe.

you both sigh at the contrast in temperature, shuffling further into the establishment to eye the menu.

“find a spot and i’ll order us some good shit,” he delegates, rolling his neck to look at you when you laugh through your nose.

“some good shit? i swear to god, you better not order the whole menu again. i got way too sick to even function last time we went out!” you remind him, jungkook grinning at the memory from last semester.

“hey, all that mattered was that you enjoyed it! trust me though, i wouldn’t do that to either of us again,” he says, your confused gaze softening as he lets his bottom lip protrude in a perfect pout. goddamn your best friend and his insane duality.

it was one of the things that intrigued you the most about him. your first impression of jungkook was that he looked scary, to be honest. the only color he ever wore back when you first met was black, he had a lip ring hooked over his bottom lip, and what looked like a skeletal hand tattooed on his forearm.

however, all of your expectations were proven wrong when you got paired to work with him on a project halfway through your first semester. he was softspoken and relatively reserved at first, but once you cracked his initial shyness, he laughed a lot…and in reality, he was insanely dorky.

“i was the one with the stomachache, koo,” you remind him, leaning against his arm as you waited for the person in front of you to finish ordering.

“yeah, but i had to go to class for a week without you! professor jung almost ate me alive,” he shuddered at the memory. you roll your eyes at his dramatics, directing them sideways to look at the man.

“anyways, i was just gonna order some hotteok,” he proposes nonchalantly, but it’s obviously feigned as he knows it’s one of your favorite snacks from childhood.

he smirks when you gasp and grip his arm, immediately bobbing your head in excitement.

“okay,” he grins, “i’m serious, go pick a spot. i’m paying tonight,” he wiggles his eyebrows, taking out a stack of cash from his latest weekend gig.

“wait, seriously? no way,” your brows knit together, taking a step back to eye him skeptically when he nods. “we always go halfsies. what did you do?”

he merely squints his eyes and shoves his shoulder into yours, instinctively reaching his arm around you when you sway with the force.

“i didn’t do anything. it’s christmas, stop questioning my kindness,” he sasses, pursing his lips as he crosses his arms stubbornly.

“oh!” you gasp, placing your hand over your heart, “in the spirit of christmas!” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your words, and jungkook can’t help the grin on his face from spreading wider by the second.

still, he rolls his eyes. “whatever dude, you suck,” he says, but his actions contradict his words when he reaches over to pick a stray string off of your hat that was annoyingly hanging over your nose.

with that, he moves forward to take his place in line, with you scooting off to find a window booth across the cafe.

when you’ve sat down and taken your bulky winter coat off, your gaze wanders out to the blistering snow again. you notice it’s coming down harder, and you can’t help but let your mind wander to your exams tomorrow, wondering if those would end up being canceled as well. it would be nice to get another day off with jungkook, you think.

you sit there for another few minutes before you are broken out of your finals trance once again when a mug is set down in front of you, sweet chocolate immediately filling your senses as you inhale the steam coming off the liquid inside of it.

“cocoa, too?” you smile, lifting the mug to observe the whipped cream melting further down into the cup.

“duh! now eat up,” he gestures to the steaming plate of hotteok in his hands, transferring it to the table as he takes a seat next to you.

you snort at the way he immediately digs into the sugary pancakes, eyes closing in satisfaction as his head bobs from side to side in approval at the taste. you love the way his nostrils flare and he almost looks angry when he thoroughly enjoys food.

“damn, these are good,” he voices his thoughts, both of you humming in unison when you take your first bite at the same time he takes his second one.

“no shit, i literally need this recipe,” you murmur, savoring the sweet spice of the cinnamon swirled through the pancake dough.

“you distract them and i’ll steal it,” jungkook responds through a mouthful of food, round cheeks lifting when you nod your head along to his plan.

“it looks like it’s getting worse out there,” he notes after a moment of silence. he notices your plate is empty and serves you another portion onto your side platter.

“okay, grandpa,” you tease, the man pulling a look of mocked offense as you continue, “if you recall, someone just had to pick today of all days to go on an adventure off campus,” you quipped, raising your eyebrows at the man as he smirked down at his own hot chocolate resting in his palms.

“and someone has to get you back safely too. so i’d appreciate if you enjoy what you can here and we can bring the rest back whenever you’re ready,” he purses his lips stubbornly, corners of his mouth turning upward when you roll your eyes despite taking another big bite of your snack.

when all is said and done and you are both slipping back into your winter gear, there is a noticeably significant amount of snow that has accumulated on the ground since you were last out.

“shit,” you say at the same time as you step outside the warm cafe, doom looming over you in the form of gray clouds unleashing a mix of snow and hail. you loop your arm through jungkook’s when you lose your footing on the slick pavement beneath you, cursing out of shock.

“aish!” he hisses at the vision of you nearly going down, gripping you tighter when you regain your balance. he struggles to hold onto the box of leftover hotteok for a moment, but ends up rebalancing it in his palm before anything disastrous can happen. and it’s for his own good. if anything happened to that hotteok, you wouldn’t be able to let it go for days.

“you good?” he checks, reaching to pull your hat further over your ears from where it had slipped up in your near fall.

“good,” you respond, “it’s definitely time to get home, though.”

somehow, you both navigate the rest of the parking lot without another fall. clinging onto each other, you make it to the cement which has luckily been treated already to be less slick.

other than the occasional curse at the wind and snow blowing into your faces, it’s quiet. the serenity and comfort you’ve been dreaming of the past few weeks.

you feel guilty for neglecting jungkook for this section of the semester, especially knowing he probably doesn’t even hold any resentment against you for it.

“hey, thanks for getting me out today,” you murmur, jungkook’s hum nearly silent with the pitch of the wind.

“thanks for letting me,” he responds quietly, “i know it wasn’t on your agenda for today.”

you shrug your shoulder against him, “you know how i get at this time of the year. worried about making the right choices.”

he nods, having witnessed the many dilemmas you’d had over your major with the difficulty of your classes.

“but i’m pretty much always up for anything you have planned,” you grin, knocking your shoulder into his playfully. you whine as he wraps an arm around your neck, bringing you in closer to him with a deep laugh.

shuffling along the sidewalk, the gravitational pull between you is so natural that you don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten. his arm is a comforting weight over your shoulders, his head dipped low to brace against the wind.

“i like it when you get spontaneous on me.”

you hear but don’t see the smile in his words, gripping onto him tighter when the wind whips at you again.

his cheek turns to the left and bumps against your own, and you both chuckle at the clumsy action.

you lift your eyes from the ground and over to him, your breath catching in your throat when you realize your noses are touching.

you’re closer than you’ve ever been before, and you realize you quite like this view of jungkook. you can see all of his tiny moles decorating his face, and you get a close-up of the scar along his cheek from when he and his brother got into a fight when they were kids.

for as long as you’ve known jungkook, you would think that you’ve witnessed all sides of him. but when you notice the way he’s looking at you right now, you think you may be wrong about that.

he’s looking at you like you put the moon in the sky, and all of a sudden you’re leaning into each other further. your eyes break contact when they flick down to his lips, something you’d only ever done in what you thought was your darkest dreams. you feel like you should do more logical reasoning in this moment, but your thoughts instantly slow down when his hand tentatively rests under your jaw, tilting your chin up and tilting his head to the side.

time seems to stop, and all of a sudden his lips press against yours and all the breath gets knocked out of your chest, gripping the rough material of his jacket to stabilize your spinning head.

and even though you’re certain it’s cold enough to get hypothermia and frostbite, you find yourself feeling a warmth spread from your chest to your fingers and toes.

kissing jungkook feels so right, which feels so morally wrong. he’s your best friend, your favorite person. you’ve promised yourself to not do anything to jeopardize what you two have, and yet everything is telling you to keep going. what is happening right now?

but then he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip and you open your mouth against him, and you swear your brain short circuits when his tongue meets yours. he tastes sweet from your treats back at the bakery, pulling you in for more. you wrap your arms around his neck and hear him let out a quiet hum, a sound that makes you tighten your grip on him.

he kisses you like he has nothing to lose. like someone who’s not only ready to risk it all on a bet but someone who is doubling down.

you eventually pull away to breathe, immediately regretting doing so when you’re met with ice pelting your face. jungkook winces when he sees the way you cringe, taking his gloved hand to rest it on your skin in an effort to protect it.

when you open your eyes again, there’s a look you’ve never seen in jungkook’s big brown orbs. they have a softness to them, which you soon realize is vulnerability. he’s always so calm, cool, and collected that you almost can’t believe you’re seeing him in another state.

his lips are still wet from your kiss, proof and evidence of what you two had just done.

“oh my god,” you murmur, taking a piece of his hair and removing it from its current spot draping over his eye.

and oh my god is right, because his brown eyes are sparkling at you right now and you swear he holds the entire galaxy of stars within them.

“would you cringe if i said that i’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he asks, grinning when you fake a gag.

“me too, or whatever,” you timidly admit after a moment, warmth instantly flooding to your cheeks when his face lights up in response, wrapping both arms around you with excitement.

“you like meee,” he sings, and his voice is so loud that you know a few people are turning their heads to look at the two of you.

your cheeks continue to burn up involuntarily, the impact of his words making you feel even more flustered.

“oh my god, be quiet!” you laugh, jungkook watching with amusement when you turn around to continue the brief walk up the path to your building. nevertheless, you slip your hand into his waiting palm, giving it a soft squeeze that he reciprocates.

you both quicken your pace when you see that someone is holding the door open for you, grateful you don’t have to dig in your pockets with your numb fingers for your key into the building.

one would think that an event such as kissing your best friend would make things tense. jungkook, however, seems to be in his normal state, singing a song you’re unfamiliar with as he escorts you through the threshold of your building.

walking through your dorm, nothing feels weird. surprisingly, you feel relief, like a huge burden has been lifted off your shoulders. you don’t know if it was the hotteok, or the man currently leading you back to your room that changed your demeanor today. but you had a feeling it was the latter.

the immature part of you dreads the moment you step into your dorm and have to talk about what happened and what it means for your relationship. you know your therapist would scold you, but you can’t help but feel like your first instinct is to tame the fire that kiss brought within you.

you’ve never known jungkook to be casual with anyone. he has a big heart, with a lot of love to share. still, you know you can’t expect any more than that spur-of-the-moment kiss from him. it just wouldn’t be fair to either of you.

before you can get any further inside your head, you’re brought down to earth by a squeeze of your hand and a soft call of your name. you realize you’re now in front of your door, jungkook leaning against the wall and looking at you fondly.

you stare back at him, realizing for the first time that he was just as deeply in his own head as you were. he wears his heart on his sleeve, and you can practically feel his insecurity radiating off of him in this moment. you hate it.

you press your thumb to smooth over the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows, the action inciting a sigh to escape his mouth.

“is this the part where you tell me to go home and fuck off, pookie?” he bites his lip and quirks an eyebrow, and you can’t help the way your eyes follow his mouth’s movement. his lip rings glisten in the fluorescent lighting of the hallway, and you smile, but give another roll of your eyes as you pull out your key card to your room.

you hear him snicker quietly beside you, the soft noise fueling the feelings you’re so accustomed to with jungkook. he always has loved the way he can make your eyes roll so easily, the little shit. you would never say it out loud, but secretly, you love it too.

his question still hangs in the air between you, but you love the art of suspense. plus, the way his bottom lip is trapped under his teeth right now is so attractive you wish you could frame it.

the high-pitched beep of your door followed by the unlatching of the lock is all the permission you need to end his misery. you pull him closer to you by the bottom of his jacket, guiding him back into your room and basking in the surprise evident across his features.

in that moment, you toss all your worries out the window and realize what you want in an instant. jungkook, who never fails to make you feel included. who takes care of you when you’re ill, who drives miles for you just to get that soft serve ice cream you crave on random winter nights.

you don’t know why you’ve tiptoed around this for so long.

but when your hands settle on the base of his neck once more, and you briefly feel his breath wash over you as he dips down to meet your lips for the second time, you know you’ve made the right choice.

butterflies erupt in your stomach when his hand goes to support the back of your head, and the kiss grows from one of a tender nature into a higher intensity that makes you cling to him. your head goes dizzy and your knees grow weak, his soft lips opening against you as his fingers massage needed relaxation into your head.

swallowing each other's breaths and noises when the kiss gets heated, you’re not even phased when jungkook clumsily drops the box of hotteok on your floor.

pulling back to admire the man, you smile when you realize he’s doing the same. his eyes bounce over your features, pressing his forehead to yours as you catch your breath to finally answer his question.

“quite the opposite, actually.”

[pandoras-box-27]

kiss it when you're done pt 1

max verstappen x reader x charles leclerc

wc: 1445

summary: In 2014, friends max verstappen and charles leclerc watch a race led by y/n l/n, a rising star in the racing world, with whom max and charles become infatuated.

warnings: boners? nothing beyond that yet

a/n: the first bit of my lestappen challengers au! hope it's worth the wait.

“Maxie,” Charles teasingly calls for him. Max stops, rolling his eyes as he watches the boy run to catch up with him. “Can you not demolish me tomorrow?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Max scoffs, sipping water from his blindingly bright red bottle.

“No, look, I’m at peace with the fact that you’re going to win-”

“It’s still the air, it’s not a fact,” Max interrupted, Charles was known to be rather self-destructive and Max wasn’t known for tolerating it.

They’d known each other's quirks since they were just children, battling their disagreements out on the karting track. They’d grown closer as friends but continued playing rivals once they got in the car. They were both prodigies for their age. Max just seemed more confident in his skills, constantly pushing himself to the limits, and it was abundantly clear when he was put against Charles. A smug, charming young boy, who got praise, win or lose. Was Max jealous of Charles’ familial situation and unconditional support? Not that he’d ever say out loud. However, Charles was equally jealous of Max’s genuine skill. It fueled their fighting on and off the track, though it was more like sibing rivalry.

“But, statistically, it’s much more likely,” Charles rambled. Max laughed, practically spitting his water out. Charles scoffed before continuing. “I’m just saying, like… throw me a bone? Let me lead for a moment?”

Max stopped in front of him, turning to face him. “If it matters to you so much, I can just give it to you.”

Charles paused, in shock. “Wow. Okay. Thank you.”

“I’m kidding,” Charles rolled his eyes, which made him smirk. He continued down the path, already knowing Charles was still behind him. “Do you have money on this or something?”

“My mum’s coming.”

——

Max and Charles situated themselves in between the packed bodies in the paddock. They stood unbothered, suddenly thankful they still weren’t famous enough to be recognized, just the occasional local throwing themselves at Charles’ pretty feet. Max just watched, jaw slack, his eyes as he watched each of them have to dust themselves off after being rejected. 

“You don’t want any of them? The last one was pretty hot.” Max guffawed, shamelessly ogling the ass of the last girl as she stomped away.

He scolded the other man, playfully, “Too desperate, it makes me, by proxy, seem desperate.” 

Max nodded along, as if he understood what he was saying. If it had been Max he would’ve ‘disappeared’ to the nearest broom closet with the first girl. Charles was devishly handsome, and was annoyingly aware of it. He knew he had every girl at his feet. Max was charming as well, though. He just wasn’t as confident in them, not as much as he was in his skill. 

Max was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by the cheers from a nearby garage. His head tilted back up at the screen in front of him. He watches the replay of the moment. 

“What an amazing overtake, once again, by the Y/N L/N!” 

“Wow, in that car? That’s impressive.” Charles remarked, 

“Did you know she already has gotten the team multiple sponsors? Just cause she’s driving it.” Max stated like he had her fact sheet already memorized.

Charles’s eyes flipped back and forth between the screen and Max, his mouth agape. “What? How?” 

“She’s probably going pro in like, a month. I watched her at the last race as well. She could win the real thing tomorrow.” 

Charles and Max stared at the screen with wide eyes and a lethal dose of curiosity. To say that Y/N is smoking the competition would be an understatement. In a car most wouldn’t bet on, she’s making them look like less than karting champions. As Max and Charles watch, both of them steadily. 

Charles glanced down at his crotch after a particularly incredible point. As swiftly as he realized what was happening, he picked up his popcorn from the table next to him and held it over his prevalent bulge. 

Barely a moment later, Max looks down, blushing as he sees his own boner, before doing exactly the same thing. They both looked straight ahead at the race, trying to look as casual as possible, neither of them realizing that the other was in exactly the same boat.

—

“The L/N Foundation,” Charles read slowly from the pamphlet sitting on the table, “Inspiring young women in motorsports.”

“Wow, a foundation in her second year Formula racing?” Max asked, his eyes tracked on her as she glided through the crowds like they were the Red Sea.

“It’s her family’s,” Charles explained, flipping through the pages, “Her mother was in motorsports but it wasn’t as acceptable in the 70s. Her father raced in her honor but it wasn’t the same-”

Charles looked up and noticed Max had drifted away to a table further up, closer to the dance floor. He swiftly came up to the empty space next to him. 

“Did you know she's from a small town just outside France?” Charles pretended to read the small printed text, “It’s near where I grew up.”

Max looked over at him, curiously smirking, “Yeah?”

“Born and raised, she doesn’t know much English,” Max slowly nodded along, his eyes rising back to her. 

“You should read the pamphlet,” Charles teased the blond, poking his side. Max shook his head, not being able to take his eyes off her. The music suddenly changed from something slow and soft to one of the big American ‘club’ songs with lyrics their mothers wouldn’t approve of.

Max’s lips curled into a wide smirk and Charles’ eyes went wide as they watched Y/N's hips sway to the rhythm of the song playing in the background. Her dress was tight around her chest, accentuating her perfect tits, and flowed out over a layer of petticoat that moved dramatically with every swish of her hips. She was the perfect mix of alluring and elegant, just as she had been on the track, which left both of their heads spinning. 

“I’d let her fuck me with that trophy of hers,” Max whispered into Charles’ ear, only making him blush harder as his imagination went wild.

“Oh my god,” Charles muttered softly under his breath. He couldn’t believe it, he’d never seen anyone so perfect. He watched her whisper-shout something to her friends before slowly exiting the dance floor.

“Oy,” Max slapped Charles’ arm, before running over to the couch she was heading towards. Charles followed suit (once he realized what was happening)

Just as she reached the sofa area, they were on her tail. She turned around in shock. Max raced to start and, easily slipping into the little French he knew, spoke first.

“Bonjour, madame, je m'appelle-”

“I’m Charles Leclerc, it’s nice to meet you,” Charles interrupted, smiling widely and eagerly.

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N bit back a smile, shaking Charles’ hand, a firm handshake as his hand lingered just a second too long. She pulled back after a moment, reaching for Max’s as she started to speak again, “Uhm, enchante. I, uh-”

“Don’t speak French,” Max sighed, mentally cursing himself for his stupidity. Charles wasn’t necessarily lying, Y/N was born and raised from a small town just outside France, and it was near Monaco. It was just in Italy. His mistake was immediately apparent. The thick accent laid on her tongue and rang like choir bells in their ears.

“Well, yes, not well. But, I was going to say, ‘I already knew who you two are.’” Y/N shrugged, laughing a little to herself. She plopped herself down on the couch behind her, staring up at the two men. “You’re Formula’s next big thing, my father doesn't shut up about you.

You’re racing in Formula 3 next year, yes?” Charles swears he’s never seen Max’s head move faster. 

“You’re not signing to -”

“Yeah. How did you -- ?”

“Me too.” Y/N says, leaving silence among the group. 

 “What?” Charles exclaimed, excitedly.

“I just accepted the offer, and they mentioned you,” she smiled brightly, they couldn’t tell if she was more happy for Charles or herself. Her head whipped around at the sound of someone calling her name. She sat up off the sofa. “Nice to meet you two,” She stared at Max, and with her best (terrible) French accent, “Au revoir.”

Charles held back a laugh as he watched her leave. Max punched him in the gut, not hard, more playfully, but it still hurt. Charles bent over, holding his stomach simultaneously for the large belly laugh he was letting out and the pain.

“I can’t believe you believed me,”

“You little shit.”

taglist

@ananyasr1bughead @akkklys @meglouise00

[falciesystemessays]

I honestly think that Dizzy's entrance to Guilty Gear Strive should be as much of A Moment for plural systems as Bridget's was for trans women. The character's not out yet, but every bit of promotional material for the character points in a very promising direction. So for people who don't go here, or who have only played Strive, allow me to tell you why a character trailer for a three-year-old game put me on the verge of tears.

For some quick context, plurality in a person is essentially the state of having multiple entities in one's head. The most commonly known form of this comes from having dissociative identity disorder, formerly known as multiple personalities. But plenty within the plural community (including me) have a broader umbrella for the term. The main terminology you'll want to know for this is that a "system" is a group of entities within one body (I for example am part of the Fal'cie System), and "aspects" are entities that aren't quite separable from the host, because they're the manifestation of specific parts of them. For the record I am very aware of how buckwild this sounds to an outsider, and I frequently get existential about it. A lot of characters in anime and games are incidentally plural due to their layers of fantasy nonsense. Some examples of this in action are Yami and Yugi from Yu-Gi-Oh, Sora gaining Ventus's heart in Kingdom Hearts, and the explicit dissociative identity of the Storyteller System in Ace Attorney.

Now then! To sum up Dizzy's backstory real quick, Dizzy is a Gear, basically a living weapon, and the daughter of original antagonist Justice. Most of her character up until this point has been desperately trying to cover that and live among humans, to... mixed avail. In the series' story mode she manages to start a family with the human deuteragonist Ky Kiske, who loves her a lot despite formerly being one of the best Gear-slayers. Ky is such a wonderful character, because throughout the series we see him go from hating Gears to tolerating a few of them to having a kid with one and actually becoming a little bit Gear himself. But this essay isn't about Ky Kiske.

In actual gameplay, as in the 1v1 fighting game battles, the main thing stopping her from relative normalcy is her two wings, Necro and Undine. The reason I say this character is a plural dub is because these wings are actually aspects of Dizzy, Necro being her rage and Undine her compassion. A lot of Dizzy's attack animations in Guilty Gear XX (the one where I've played Dizzy a lot) actually have Necro doing violent things while Dizzy herself is either distracted or afraid. This continued in Guilty Gear Xrd, where her instant kill move (every character gets one) has Necro unleashing a fuckoff gamma ray while Dizzy begs him to stop. Worth noting also that gamma rays are one of the moves her mother Justice used. Dizzy and Necro have clearly not been getting along, and while it's fun as a fighting game character bit, there is a certain level of sadness to it.

But in Strive? Oh my god, she looks so happy now! So at peace with herself and with her system. Lemme just rattle stuff off right now.

-Dizzy's attack animations all put her in control. Necro and Undine do a lot of fighting still, but never without Dizzy's control. They are fighting in tandem.

-Dizzy's victory animation has her hold out two hands. Undine naturally puts her whole hand onto one, and Necro finally puts a single finger on the other with a smile.

-Their super move, Gamma Ray, starts out with Necro and Undine firing a beam, and Dizzy getting scared. But after glancing at them and realizing it's okay, she joins in on the beam attack.

-She has a new move now, Michael Sword (Pronounced Mik-hai-ull), a full-screen slash that Justice used to have, indicating that she's come to terms with her origins and wants to use them for good.

-God, her opening animation and taunt where she communes with the animals like a Disney princess. Her new beautiful design. Her new theme song! She has never been this happy in her life!

The thing is, right, I can imagine people saying that this character growth isn't remotely the same kind of moment as Bridget's, because Dizzy's whole thing is based in sci-fantasy that could never be real in the same way that like, dissociative identity is real. Plenty more would deny that plurality exists at all outside some deluded roleplayers. And, I mean, was series director Daisuke Ishiwatari really thinking about people like me when choosing to take the character this way? I don't know, honestly. But I do know that Dizzy's character arc is authentic, to me. If there's one thing Guilty Gear Strive's story is really good at, it's giving long-suffering characters some well-earned peace. And if this is how Strive Season 4 is starting, I can't wait to see what they do next.

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt3

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife

2009, Hungaroring

There was at least 2 weeks before Formula 1 went back to racing. It means that there was 2 weeks for Y/N to hide herself and that embarrassing situation she was in. 2 weeks to prepare herself how to pretend on how to act if she sees Sebastian.

'As long as Sebastian does not bring it up then I will pretend that nothing happened' she told herself.

She tried not to think about the incident by allowing herself to be buried with answering emails and looking into other things needed pre-race.

"Did you eat already?"

A sudden orange appeared in between her and the computer screen. Y/N didn't have to look up to see which driver handed the orange because there was only one driver who would always give her an orange.

"I haven't got the chance yet"Y/N replied to Sebastian

"You should probably eat. It's not good that you aren't eating" Sebastian insisted "Can't Mark do these things?"

"I'm his personal assistant remember, I'm paid to do these"

"But is it really necessary to finish it at the moment?"

It was pointless to argue with Sebastian so Y/N took the orange and closed her laptop.

"Happy?"she asked

"Very much"

The two of them started eating the oranges brought by Sebastian. It was a habit that the two have, Sebastian calls it a pre-race ritual. He actually believes he performs better when they share oranges. So here they are sitting and enjoying the oranges.

In the back of their minds, they are both thinking about that night at the hotel but there is a certain peace between the them. They don't want to ruin things by saying something stupid.

"You heard what happened with Massa right?"Y/N tried to establish a new topic just to get things off her overthinking.

"Absolutely felt bad for him. It's a good thing that he seems to be in a stable condition"Sebastian said.

The qualifying incident yesterday has been terrifying to watch. Y/N didn't want that happening to either Sebastian or Mark or even any other driver. Her heart dropped when she saw Massa being wheeled out unconscious to the hospital.

"Do you sometimes think that you'll ever stop racing?"Y/N wondered "You have been racing since you were like young and now you are stil racing"

"I honestly don't know, racing is all I have ever known" Sebastian admitted.

"I know, you were born gripping on a steering gear I bet" Y/N joked which made Sebastian laugh too.

"But seriously, if you ever want to retire of racing. Don't retire and go out because you got badly injured. Retire because you want to"Y/N added

It was her way of saying that she is extremely cared about him. Maybe its something that she cannot put into words but maybe Sebastian can figure it all out, he is a smart man in Y/N's opinion.

With a comforting smile, Y/N was assured that he got the message.

2009, Spa-Francorchamps

"Did you try texting Mark?"

Christian Horner and Sebastian Vettel are both in a meeting room about to discuss some things with the team strategists. They were supposed to meet up 10 minutes ago but they can't go on with the meeting since Mark is not around.

It was highly unusual for Mark to be late. He is never late as far as Sebastian knows. He considers giving Y/N a text when the door burst open.

"I'm gonna punch Button in the face when I see him"Mark Webber was fuming when he entered late at the conference room.

"Hold on, what did Jenson do?"

"Punk tried to ask my sister out"Mark huffed.

"He did what?" Christian butted in the conversation "I thought Sebastian was dating Y/N"

"HOLD ON WHAT?" "EXCUSE ME?"

The two red bull drivers were on their feet. Mark seems to be ready to hit Sebastian while Sebastian was debating which exit is much more safer. Frankly, Sebastian was never afraid of Mark but with the way he is shooting daggers with his eyes- If looks could kill, Sebastian was 4 feet under ground now.

"I just thought Sebastian was dating Y/N, they are always together when she isn't following you around Mark" Christian explained.

"My sister and Sebastian?" Mark repeated

Sebastian wanted to explain himself to Mark but he is internally panicking. If Christian, their team principal, can notice then there is a big chance that his feelings might be obvious to other people in the paddock.

At the same time, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach upon realizing that Jenson Button asked out Y/N. Jenson had the courage to ask her out and Sebastian couldn't even talk to Y/N about what happened weeks ago.

Christian seems to sense the tension that he brought to the two red bull drivers

"Maybe its just me and my understanding, right seb?" Christian apologized

"Huh yeah, mmhh nothing going on" Sebastian lied

There was a sharp gaze from Mark "I'm watching you"

"Let's talk about Jenson"Christian redirected the topic "maybe he is just trying to get a rise off you. We're slowly closing on him for the championship"

"If I hit that boy with a car this Sunday, I won't regret it" Mark swears.

"Don't bring your personal life on the car" Christian reminded.

Sebastian seems to take it as a mental note for himself as well. He was actually debating that if Mark wasn't successful in punting Jenson then he would.

"Besides Y/N has to date, she is in that age of dating" Christian added

Sebastian knew that Mark has been the kind of sibling that is overly protective. Given that Y/N has been the youngest one and the one that has been following Mark around, Mark has a special worry about her. It was very understandable why he acts like this.

"As much as I could, I will not let my sister date drivers." Mark says with finality.

It felt like it wasn't just a statement meant for Jenson but it was also something meant for Sebastian. Great, now Sebastian feels like everything is more complicated than it was before.

2009, Interlagos

It wasn't Y/N's brightest idea that she went on a date with Jenson Button. She figured after weeks of being constantly asked by Jenson, she should give him a chance. She thought it could also help lessen her feelings for Sebastian.

It's a pretty bad idea now that she thinks about it.

But there was no going back because here she is sitting with Jenson at a small restaurant somewhere in Brazil.

Don't get her wrong but Jenson is charming and he knows how to make people comfortable. He is a gentleman, he picked her up with roses, asked her for her favorite dish, and was kind enough to lend his jacket when she is feeling a bit cold.

But there is something missing about Jenson.

"You know, I really enjoy spending time with you tonight"Jenson started "But are you enjoying yourself?"

"I'm sorry its just that its my first time going out for dates, I'm not good with this sort of thing" Y/N replied

"That's okay, I'm glad to be the first one to take you out"

Y/N felt the guilt of lying eating her up so she quickly wanted to clear out the air "Jenson, you are a really nice guy but you know I really think its better if we become friends instead?"

There was a small smile from the British driver. It seems like he has also felt that he was about to be friendzoned tonight.

"It's perfectly fine Y/N, I just really enjoy your company"

The dinner continued on more smoothly and they were able to share some personal details about their life. It felt like an air of relief for the two of them to clear out things that this will not be a failed date but rather a new friendship.

The media on the other hand has seen a different story.

Jenson Button winning on and off track against Red Bull?

In case you missed it, the newly declared Formula 1 champion, Jenson Button, has been seen in a restaurant in Brazil having dinner with a very special lady. Who is this mystery lady? It's Mark Webber's sister and personal assistant, Y/N.

The pairing is a shocker for everyone since Red Bull is the main competitor of Button this season. It seems like the two are a star crossed lovers in the making. People who have been in the restaurant has noted how the pair were giggling and close to one another.

We can't wait what Mark will have to say about this pairing.

2009, Yas Marina Circuit

"Sebastian please just slow down"Y/n begged.

It was really petty for Sebastian to be angry and ignore Y/N but he felt really confused on how to act around her. Ever since he read that stupid article, its all that he could think about. So while he couldn't deal with his emotions then he thinks its best to avoid her like the plague.

"I'm busy" Sebastian's curt reply

"Oh c'mon, you are not busy. You are ignoring me" Y/N was still hot in trail "This is so childish and stupid"

"Me? Stupid?" Sebastian stopped and turned to face her.

"You are calling me stupid when you are the one out there having dinner with the enemy"Sebastian wasn't thinking at this point.

"The enemy? Do you think I'm giving out secrets to Jenson?" she asked in shock

"Yes, Jenson is our enemy. You should have not gone on a dinner date with him, don't you have any sense of loyalty to the team?"

Sebastian could see the tears starting to form in her eyes. He knows that he said the wrong things and its not something that he can take back. Everything was just so heated.

"You believe those tabloids than me?"

"I don't know what to believe. You two looked pretty cozy on that front page" Sebastian really wanted to shut himself by now but jealousy is a sick sick disease that cannot be stopped.

"That's real mature of you Seb, you disappoint me" she sounds so defeated "Out of everyone, you were one of the people who I thought would believe me rather than what was painted by the media"

"Y/N you can't fault me on that, you were close"

"We were just friends and besides I-" she caught herself to stop.

There was a confession at the other end of Y/N. She almost confessed how she cannot see herself with Jenson because all she can see is how he is not Sebastian and all she wants to love is Sebastian. It was a good thing she caught herself before she slipped again.

"Besides what?" Sebastian wondered.

"Never mind. Talk to me when you mature"

"Yeah that's real mature, run away when you don't wanna face the consequences of your actions" Sebastian chastised.

Y/N felt that her tears are falling so she could only turn away and run the other direction. Sebastian, on the other hand, felt like hitting himself. It was the type of conversation he wanted to avoid because he could not contain his emotions. He bitterly regrets how this was their last conversation for 2009.

[nathaslosthershit]

Unremarkable (LN4)

(Part 2 of the Blind Items series)

Summary: Blind Items returns again to ruin yet another happy couple's peace. This time, Lando Norris and his ‘unremarkable’ girlfriend.

“Lando, have you seen this?” his girlfriend asked, showing him the tweets. When they had soft launched, she got a small dose of what it would be like to be the WAG of Lando Norris. But even when they hadn’t known anything about her, some people still had been so mean. Now that they knew she had a ‘commoner’ job, they had started tearing her to shreds. ‘How could someone so rich and famous go for such a plain girl’ was what so many people had said. 

“Oscar showed it to me today. I am so sorry, honey, I was hoping that you wouldn’t have seen it. Those people are absolute asses, love.” He probably should have said something earlier but he knew how hard she would take it. While she had joked in the past about the differences in their jobs, especially the pay, he knew she felt insecure about it at times. 

“The thing is, I didn’t see it. Not at first. I only saw it when I heard one of my students talking about it in class today. Can you even imagine how humiliating that was for me? Hearing my own students who I have done nothing but be kind and understanding to, trying to get them to love learning, talk about how awful it is their favorite driver is dating someone as boring as a teacher.” She couldn’t stop the tears as she went on about the situation. He wouldn’t understand, he couldn’t. She knew Lando had his moments of insecurity but nothing like this. At the end of the day, he still had hundreds upon thousands of fans who loved him immensely. 

Even if he couldn’t fully understand, it still broke his heart seeing how much it hurt her. Sure, he hadn’t ever thought he would date a school teacher either, but that was mostly due to his previous lack of appreciation for school. But being with her has changed that. His girlfriend could always make things interesting. She loved to spout history facts on vacation and it always made him so deliriously happy to see how giddy she was to learn new things. 

Seeing her now though, so visibly upset made him realize this wasn’t something that could slide easily. His PR team might not love it but he wasn’t going to just sit there and let her feel terrible about herself.

“I’ll fix this, I promise.” He said quickly as he left. He shouldn’t have left her alone and crying, but he was fuming and decided he needed that anger to let his message out. 

landonorris

Liked by oscarpiastri and 153,137 others

landonorris I don’t know who this gossip page thinks they are but the last thing I will tolerate is someone hiding behind a screen telling the entire world that my girlfriend, who I love more than life itself, is ‘dull’ and ‘unremarkable’ because of her job. This is a woman who is smarter than 99% of the people I have ever interacted with, someone who spends so much of their time trying, and succeeding, to get kids to love learning. Even as someone who didn’t appreciate school as much as they should have, I would never have once thought school teachers were any of the negative things you have said. Luckily, here I am, happy with my amazing girlfriend who deserves the entire world, and I know I will spend the rest of my life trying to give it to her. 

Comments have been disabled

A few minutes later she came into the room, tears still staining her cheeks.

“Thank you Lando” she said as he motioned for her to sit on his lap. 

“I can say more if you want? I definitely think I could have cursed them out mor-” He was cut off with a kiss. The sheer force of it caused them to bump heads a little, which then caused them to break apart giggling. “I’m serious about what I said. I don’t know what I did to get someone as wonderful as you but I am not going to let some assholes on the internet make you upset over something so incredible. You should be proud of what you do and I will forever work to remind you of how amazing you are.”

“I love you, Lando” was all she replied.

“I love you more”

“Please can we not play this game you know I love-”

“Nope, la-la-la-la I can’t hear you over the sound of me loving you soooo much” He said as he covered his ears.

Such a dork, she thought.

[finelinevogue]

he’s just harry

summary - a couple of fan interactions with harry on the streets of london

word count: +1.1k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

Even though the media make it out that Harry hates being out in public on his days off, you know it is actually one of his favourite things to do.

Especially with you.

Harry is known for being a private man, but he can’t help what fans secretly record and post on the internet. He would do the same for Stevie Nicks and you would do the same for Taylor Swift, so neither of you are opposed to reporting anyone for secretly filming. 

A favourite pastime of yours and Harry’s is to actually watch back story-time videos of fans, from when they have met you and Harry. Which is what you were both currently doing, after having your dinner. 

Harry is laying on the bed in your shared hotel room. You lay against his back and are held tight to him by his arm wrapped around your waist. 

He leans down to look at you every few minutes and leaves a kiss on your forehead, just because he can. His fingers around your waist snake under your Pleasing sweatshirt - the one that is actually his - and stroke tiny circles on the skin of your tummy.

With some light jazz music playing in the background, you and Harry can’t feel anything but peace. 

He has your phone in his hand whilst he scrolls through the latest videos on TikTok with the tag # harrystyles.

The next video he scrolls to after and edit of himself on stage is from a meeting of a fan in London.

“I just met Harry Styles.” The girl screams from the inside of her car. The video pans around and her boyfriend is sat there with a grin, no doubt because his girlfriend is so happy.

“I get to say that every day.” You comment, making Harry pinch the skin at your waist. You laugh and carry on.

“Can I just say, first of all, I have been waiting for this moment for years. Always in my mysterious girl era, just in case. And the one day I am wearing slouchy clothes I stumble upon him on a random back road in London. Life clearly hates me.” She begins her story.

“She looked great, I thought.” You said and Harry made no comment. Most likely because he never paid attention to looking at anyone with interest anymore - not since he had found you.

“And Y/N. Oh my God! She’s fucking stunning. Like, I understand why Harry snatched her up.”

“I did find a pretty good egg.” Harry agreed.

“I am not an egg.” 

“Whatever you say, baby.”

“But they were both so lovely. Harry was really kind and thanked me for supporting him. I asked for a photo but they politely declined, which is a little frustrating, but maybe it was for the best since I looked so bad today!” The girl continues her story.

“Fuck sake.” Harry mumbles out and you pause the video, already knowing what thoughts were relaying through his mind. 

You turned your head so you could see his whole face before speaking to him.

“You’re not a bad person for not taking a photo with them. You shouldn’t make yourself feel bad either. You’re a person, just as they are. People are allowed to close off their privacy for the day if they want. Okay?” 

“Thank you.” Is all Harry responds with. Well, that and a minutes worth of kisses. 

You move onto another video, so not to upset Harry any more with the previous one. You couldn’t know whether she might say something else bad and you weren’t prepared to make Harry sad, so the next video it was.

This came from a girl in London airport.

“Oh fuck.” Harry instantly says when he sees the girl on the screen.

“What?” You asked, confused. You hadn’t even been aware this interaction had taken place and you were with him in the airport. Now you were just curious as to what had gone down.

“This is going to be so embarrassing for me.” He wines and tries to bury his face in your neck. You kiss the tip of his nose and push him away.

The video starts by the girl looking really nervous, before Harry pans into view on the other side of the screen. It was only their chins in the view, but it was still a very lovely view of your boyfriend.

“Hi.” The girl fumbles over her words.

“Hello.” He says, removing his sunglasses from his face since he had been found.

“I just saw you from over there and had to come and say hello. I know this is probably really annoying for you and I’m going to leave so as to not be a burden to you, but I really love your music and you are an amazing human being.” The girl rambles, but that might be the nicest of things you have heard a fan say to Harry.

Before the girl can leave, Harry asks that all important question.

“Thank you so much. Would you maybe like a photo?” He asks. 

“Aw Harry.” You pout and he pinches your waist again. “Quit that, will you?” You hit elbow him in his ribs gently.

“Yes please. Wow, thank you.” The video then tilts so Harry and this girl come onto the screen. Harry smiles a small smile and holds up his fingers in a peace sign. He looks very cute.

“Have a safe flight.” Harry says and goes to hold his hand out for the fan to shake, but instead knocks her phone out of her hand and it drops to the floor. 

“Harry!” You gasp and sit up a little more attentively.

“I know.” He cringes.

Luckily the phone was alright, but Harry had to prolong the conversation with the fan and even offered her a new one. She turned that down and thankfully he didn’t have to owe anything to anyone. You can tell at the end of the video he is embarrassed though.

“You dickhead.” You laugh at him. 

He puts the phone down and joins his other hand under your sweatshirt so they are both enjoying tracing over your skin. You hum in delight and breathe in the air that is scented by him.

“I’m tired.” He says, knocking his head against yours to rest.  It had been a long day of rehearsals and meetings for him today, but he didn’t mind because he knew that it would be worth it to spend an evening of peace with you. 

“I know, baby.”  You say, reaching a hand up behind your head to stroke over his curls. “We can go to bed now, if you want?” 

“Okay.”

You and Harry end up spending the next twenty minutes getting ready for bed and cuddle before you are both fast asleep, awaiting the first, last, ‘Love On Tour’ show tomorrow. 

[mysteria157]

Happy Birthday, Lu (@cmdrfupa)

Your soul and humor brightens even the darkest corners, your understanding reaches depths that I cannot ever fathom, and your writing...your writing carries a rare magic and versatility that makes readers feel both seen and transformed. You create stories that show us another side to the characters we love.

This fic is my gift to you--a small offering to someone who gives so much of herself to others through her words and presence. A little piece of you and Toji. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend and a fantastic person.

Thank you for being you--perfectly imperfect.

Enjoy!

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader (Lu)

Rating/CW: Mature audiences. Domestic fluff, established romance, mentions of dark past, light angst with a happy ending.

WC: ~7.1K

Summary: What begins as a string of disappointments, turns into a day molded by a love that speaks loudest through perfectly imperfect gestures.

Divider: @saradika-graphics @plum98

You should have known from the way the morning sun hit your eyelids. Like a reluctant apology, casting half-formed shadows across the bedroom walls as you slowly opened your eyes, you can tell from the subtle shift in the air, from the stillness of the world around you, that today is not going to go how you want.

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand—another blaring sign of misfortune because why on earth are you getting messages this early on a Friday? It’s an affront to your plans, an intrusion into what should have been a gentle awakening on your birthday.

Your only steady rock against the rising waters of your mind? The thick arm wrapped around your waist, slightly golden from the sun, scars long healed and milky white, thick and calloused fingers digging into the meat of your stomach. He means to keep you next to him, even in sleep, but the second buzz of your phone pulls you reluctantly from his promising warmth.

The emergency meeting notification glows accusingly on your screen, the blue light harsher than usual. 7 AM, it demands, the entire office, non-negotiable. As if birthdays are mere suggestions that can be overwritten by corporate necessity. Some would think so, but this is your time, your peace, and you deserve to spend it how you want. Despite the fact that you took today off for a chance to relax, the blaring note at the end of the email: “All employees on PTO are required to attend if they are in the area,” should be a crime.

You allow yourself one moment of childish behavior, one second to curl your lip between your teeth and mourn the lazy morning you’d imagined—breakfast in bed (prepared by the man still sleeping soundly next to you), a gentle workout at the gym, the farmers market for ingredients to a lemon tart you’ve been thinking about, dinner, and a satisfying romp between the sheets vigorous enough to have you KO'd by 1030 pm.

Toji’s warmth calls to you as you sit up, the soft sheets pooling around your waist like reluctant waves. You sigh softly, placing your phone back on your nightstand and looking down at him. In sleep, his face has none of its usual hardness, the sharp angles of his jaw softening just enough to remind you of the man beneath the carefully maintained exterior. It took you a long time to get past those walls, to simply rest against them and not press, to reassure him that your love would be steadfast as long as he wanted it. And now, a year into this relationship that feels like forever, he’s in your bones. Just as you are in his.

You press down the urge to trace his jaw, to coax him awake with gentle touches that he usually groans into every morning. But you don’t. You’ve learned to read his different kinds of sleep—the light doze on the couch on a rare day off, the cautious rest when Megumi is sick and he needs to be vigilant, and the rare deep slumber like this one. One too many long shifts at his butcher shop have worn him weary this month. And these peaceful moments are too precious to interrupt.

Despite your good intentions, as soon as you slide your leg from the sheets, pressing your toes to the cold hardwood floor, Toji shifts, mumbling something that might be your name, fingers tightening on your waist. Your heart clenches with a love so fierce it borders on pain—how strange that those around you see him as harsh and unforgiving. When he’s the softest thing you have ever known.

“I have a meeting,” you whisper, brushing the midnight locks from his face. He leans into your touch, his sharp eyebrows dipping in frustration—whether from being denied your warmth or the fact that you are forced into work, you’ll never know.

“You called off,” he grumbles, eyes still closed but fingers loosening from your stomach.

“I won’t be long,” you try to reassure, scratching his scalp. “Go back to sleep.”

He makes a sound—something between acknowledgment and protest—before succumbing to sleep once more. You watch him for one more selfish second, your frustration with corporate life growing quickly as you memorize the way the early light catches on his dark hair, how his hand slides up to rest in the warm hollow you leave behind when you stand.

Time moves unforgivingly slow as you dress, each minute bringing you closer to the unpleasant reality of what this birthday has become. You brush your fingers through your hair—an afro that you still can't decide whether to cut again or let grow out—and sigh. Toji is on you if you're wearing a paper bag, so his opinion hardly helps. Megumi always says, "You look beautiful with whatever you decide, Mom,” so he’s even less helpful.

Outside, the city is barely awake; its usual commotion subdued to a drowsy murmur, its occupants getting the most out of their Friday morning. You think about your birthday plans again, the quiet celebration you’d hoped for. Toji isn’t one for grand gestures, and you’ve never needed them, his love through action is always more than enough.

Your phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. The world, it seems, has other plans for you today.

3 PM.

Three o’clock in the afternoon is what flashes on your phone when you finally park in the bustling lot of your local farmers market. What should have been an email turned into a meeting, which turned into a team-building exercise, which turned into helping Sheila with her work because ‘you’re the only one who does it right.’

And now…after a missed call from your grandmother in Honduras, which is already difficult to maintain, the lack of Megumi to make you smile, and a simple text from Toji informing you that his supply truck came in early and he would be working late—you’re at your breaking point.

“It’s fine,” you whisper to yourself, grabbing your empty bag from the passenger seat. “You made it to the farmers market. Let’s make this count.”

As it turns out, the farmers market, your safe haven of culturally diverse booths and food trucks, now sprawls before you like a broken promise, too bright and too loud for your already frayed nerves. The afternoon sun beats down mercilessly, the southern heat sticking to the back of your neck and suctioning your blazer to your skin. The usually charming outdoor space now feels hostile and the usual press of Toji’s hand to your lower back to guide you is now blisteringly absent.

You understand his change in plans, of course you do. The butcher shop is his pride, built from nothing but calloused hands and the remnants of a harsh life he willingly shed. But understanding doesn’t stop the hollow ache in your stomach, nor does it ease the weight of expectations crumbling like sand between your fingers.

The crowd moves around you with aggressive indifference—elbows sharp, shoulders rude and unyielding. Someone’s wicker basket catches your hip, their lips devoid of the necessary apology, and you bite back a curse. You’re not shy from letting someone know when they are in the wrong, but that usual fight you have has waned considerably since this morning.

And to make matters worse? The market now mocks you with its abundance. Everywhere you look, there are couples sharing samples of fresh fruit, friends laughing over coffee, families debating dinner plans. All the simple joys you imagined for today, slipping away hour by hour.

Maria’s flower stand, your usual stop, stands robbed of the lilies you’d hoped to bring home.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” she apologizes, her mouse-like voice gentle along your skin, genuine regret on her weathered face. “A wedding planner bought them all this morning.”

You can only hum in reply, the ability to speak lodged in your suddenly tight throat. There’s a burn on the sides of your eyelids, an emotion that you refused to indulge in today creeping to the surface like a bad omen. But you wave it away, offering Maria a wobbly smile as you wipe the sweat from your neck.

“But, because I know today is your birthday.” She offers you sunflowers instead, beautiful dark green stems with golden yellow petals and deep brown eyes in the middle. They’re beautiful, truly. And the fact that Maria remembered this day soothes the burn in your eyes just a little.

You tuck the flowers into your bag, opening the ingredient list on your phone in a last-ditch effort to salvage the dwindling hour you have before the market closes. With a steady breath, you straighten your shoulders, lift your chin slightly to no one in particular, and make your way through the bustling crowd.

But.

No fresh cabbage for the curtido you had in mind, the organic plantains were either too green or too ripe, the fresh lemons that you will only buy here had skin that was too dull for the first time in forever. Even the queso fresco from your favorite Honduran vendor that lingers at the front of the market had sold out within the first hour while you were at work. The universe, it seems, is determined to remind you that some days just aren’t for everyone, birthday or not.

You find yourself at the edge of the market, away from the press of bodies, the heat of a nearby food truck humming along your blazer, trying to gather the scattered vestiges of your composure. A child’s laughter cuts through your inner despair, and you suddenly think of Megumi—how he usually wrinkles his nose at the crowd in that silent disdain he always carries but still helps you carry bags, how he’s grown into the role of son with the same quiet intensity as his father.

Your fingers brush the sweaty skin of your collarbone, the absence of metal lamentably reminding you of the necklace you forgot to put on this morning. A pendant that your grandmother gifted you, one that Toji promised to duplicate so you would have one from him as well. You think of Toji in his shop now, probably elbow-deep in inventory, his own plans for the day disrupted by still chugging forward with that unchanging strength he always has.

A soft breeze carries across your face, the lingering scent of fresh bread and coffee reminding you that not everything is ruined. There’s still the evening ahead, still the possibility of salvaging something. You have a home to return to, a family that has chosen you as firmly as you’ve chosen them.

You take a deep breath, adjusting your bag that only holds the gifted sunflowers, and make your way to your car.

By the time you slide into the seat, your phone is buzzing again, and distantly, you vow that if it’s your job, you’ll quit as soon as you answer. But the caller ID that displays is one that immediately makes your chest fill with untethered love. Megumi Fushiguro, a serene expression on his face as his picture reflects at you, his father’s sharp emerald eyes softened with youth.

“Happy birthday,” he calls softly when you accept the call, his face slightly pixelated but still beaming. It’s a small victory—you are given those bright toothy smiles, his father is given pursed expressions, the corners of his lips fighting to show emotion. Warmth blooms in your chest—this boy who became yours not by birth, but by choice, who shares his father’s lack of words but uses his silence to speak more than enough.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “How’s your day going?”

He shifts, something uncertain crossing his features, shame and reluctance coloring emerald irises that flicker away from the camera. “Actually…Yuji asked if I could come over. It’s Friday, and he got the new Street Fighter game—and I won’t see him next week, but—” he pauses, stopping himself. The blush on his cheeks is a deep cherry red, his eyes still downcast as he fights the urge to never disappoint you. “But I don’t have to—I shouldn’t have—”

“Go,” you hear yourself say, surprising both of you. “It’s fine.”

And it is. For as much as you would love for Megumi to spend the evening with you, his bond with Yuji is a strong one, especially for a boy who rarely engages with others. And to be honest, the day has already taken its toll. A nice warm bath, a glass of wine, and a good movie sound like the only thing you can tolerate right now.

“But it’s your birthday,” he fights with a fleeting flicker of relief in his eyes. “And Dad’s working late…”

“Baby, I promise. Spend your Friday with Yuji, and you can help me make breakfast this weekend. Today hasn’t been the best.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” There’s a strength to his words, and when he looks back into the camera, you can see that unwavering protection that reflects in Toji’s eyes on any given day. It took less time for this little boy to come around, and when he did, he stuck to you like glue.

But your bad day is not something a child should be aware of, at least not like this, and you refuse to let Megumi feel anything related to guilt. So you shake your head, offering a weak smile. Something passes across his face—a shadow of knowing that reminds you quickly he’s more perceptive than his age might suggest. He opens his mouth as if to speak, something important if the furrow in his eyebrows is anything to go by, but then someone calls his name off-screen.

“One second!” he yells, turning to you apologetically. “Are you sure you don’t wanna—”

“Go, baby,” you say again, softer this time. “Have fun. Be safe. Text me when you make it there.”

Megumi nods, that sort of half smile touching his lips. “Love you.” But before you can respond, another call of his name has him ending the call with a quick goodbye. It’s abrupt, your phone’s background now replacing your son’s face, and you send him a quick ‘I love you too’ text.

You throw your phone on the cushion of the passenger seat, press your head against the headrest to look out the window. And sigh.

The market is practically empty, the dying light painting everything in shades of orange and purple. Vendors are calling out their final orders, their voices carrying across the nearly empty square. Faintly, the vendor who sells your queso fresco plays old music on a radio that drifts down to your car like perfume, making everything feel slightly melancholy.

No text from Toji. No ingredients for dinner. So you sit.

And sit.

And sit.

You sit until the sun dips lower, until the sky morphs into darker colors—purple that flickers with a dark green that reminds you of the way Toji looks at you sometimes when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

By the time the last sliver of sunset orange has disappeared behind the horizon, the clock on your dashboard ticks half past six, and your stomach growls with a deep unabated hunger. You sigh once more, starting your car and pulling out of the lot.

Toji’s truck is in the driveway when you finally pull up to your shared house. That’s not alarming, he normally carpools with Gojo to the shop, and that thought alone is enough to make your mood sour further. He’s probably still gone and—

No.

You’re not going to keep wallowing. You have a bottle of wine—albeit bought from the convenience store on your way home, and the only thing you want is a hot bath.

The lock clicks open with a defeated sort of sound, matching your mood as you nudge your door open with your shoulder. Maria’s sunflowers hang limp in your basket, the wine sloshing at the bottom of the bag from your jutted movements. But before you can fully step into the cool air of your home, strong hands slide over your eyes.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up—muscle memory from self-defense classes Toji taught has your elbow already rising, ready to strike whoever dared to set foot in your home. But then his voice rumbles against your back, low and amused and achingly familiar.

“Hang on now, girl. It’s just me.”

The tension, your weariness, the disappointment that’s lingered in your bones since you woke up this morning, bleeds from your shoulders immediately, replaced by a different kind of awareness. The warmth of Toji’s chest, solid and strong press against your spine. His calloused palms against your face still concealing you in darkness. He smells like spices and the comfort of home, but there’s the undercurrent of clean clothes and soap—a ritual he has to partake in as soon as he gets off work. The smell of it all makes your heart leap.

“I thought you were working late,” you manage to say, blinking against the darkness of his cupped hands.

“Walk with me. And keep those eyes closed.”

He doesn’t give you much of a choice, guiding you slowly down the hallway of your modest home. The air changes as you move—the air conditioning becomes warmer, your skin prickling with humidity different from the sun you spent most of the afternoon in. There’s the scent of food, something you can’t put your finger on, but it’s overshadowed by the scents of lavender and vanilla from what could be a candle.

“Alright,” he says finally, close enough to your ear that you feel the word down to your stomach.

When his hands fall away, it takes a moment for your eyes to take in what’s in front of you. You blink away against the fading spots and try your best to hold in a gasp. The bathroom glows golden in the light of what must be a dozen candles, their flames dancing across the white tiles like muted stars. The claw foot tub—the one amenity you cherish in this house—is full, steam rising in lazy wisps, rose petals floating across the surface.

“Toji,” you breathe, exhaling disbelief in his name that carries the weight of today, all the disappointment that’s slowly transforming into something else entirely. He helps you undress—something you don’t need but silently welcome—slipping off your blazer, pressing a steady hand to the base of your spine while you slip off your heels, setting your farmers market bag on the counter.

“Long day,” he muses, not a question at all because he knows you.

He knows what you really want to say in those long stretches of silence and knows how you really feel when you plaster a smile on your face around those who make you uncomfortable. So you don’t give him a proper answer as he guides you into the water, sighing softly as the heat embraces you. It’s hot enough to tint your skin a little darker from the rush of blood, but not too hot to burn.

As the rose petals shift from the disruption of the water, you spot the subtle pools of oil against them, hydrophobic but permeating the scent of lavender you keep meaning to replace. Somehow, there’s a new bottle on the ledge of the tub. Of course, he noticed you were out. Of course, he remembered.

Toji collects your clothes and throws them in the hamper, and when he reaches for your market bag, the sunflowers spill out like captured sunshine.

“Want me to put these in water?” he asks, those keen green eyes catching yours in the candlelight. But you can see the other question beneath it, one he’s usually not afraid to ask but lingers today because of your mood: Want me to stay?

Any other time you’d say yes. You’d smirk in that playful way he loves and invite him to slide into the hot water behind you. Or even bask in his quiet presence, the way he’d sit on the floor beside the tub, maybe run his fingers down your arm, or just exist in companionable silence. But today has been a collection of other people’s needs and expectations. Even love, even Toji’s special brand of steady devotion, feels like it might be too much right now.

“I just need…” you start, not quite sure how to voice your want without sounding like rejection for a loving teddy bear like him.

“Some space,” he finishes for you, completely understanding. He collects the sunflowers, throws you an eyebrow lift of ‘really?’ as he looks at the cheap wine you bought, and bends down to press a kiss to your temple. “Don’t fall asleep in there.”

You laugh softly, the sound echoing against the walls. “No promises.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you sink deeper into the hot water, letting it lap at your collarbones like absolution. Through the door, you can hear him moving in the kitchen—the clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of something else. He’s a great cook, a pinnacle of the domesticated man, so whatever he makes is going to be amazing. One less thing for you to think about, and that thought slides a level of stress off your shoulders, your chest a little lighter as you sink further into the water.

Half an hour later, you emerge from the bathroom lathered in shea butter and your favorite silk robe caressing your brown skin. Your mood is already considerably lifted and despite the pain of this morning, the growing noise in your stomach reminds you that a nice dinner will make this night a lot better than what you thought.

When you round the corner of your hallway, the open space breaking into the living room and the kitchen, you stop short. Finally able to take in what your eyes were denied when you first walked in, the space has transformed. The kitchen glows like a beacon of memory and love, the sink free of dishes, the refrigerator covered in schedules and Megumi’s drawings. But it’s the island countertop that makes your throat clench.

A perfect spread: baleadas arranged like an offering, the thick stuffed tortillas still steaming, the peek of avocado and melted cheese oozing from the closed seam of the traditional breakfast food. Tajadas con pollo beckoning you silently, the plantains that you couldn’t find at the market are now on your kitchen counter, caramelized to the exact shade of amber that you taught Toji how to achieve. The curtido, bright and fresh, looks absolutely delicious, your tongue tingling with the promise of its acidity.

It’s everything you wanted to make today, everything you couldn’t find the ingredients for, prepared by this man who observes more than others give him credit for. Your throat is tight, your heart hammering in your chest with a level of alarm you can’t be bothered to care about right now.

Before you can find the words for the emotion rising in your throat, the doorbell rings. Toji’s eyes meet yours across the kitchen, wiping his hands idly on a rag as he snorts to himself and makes his way to the door.

Your eyes are still locked on the food, a symbol of who you are cultivated into dishes that mean so much. It isn’t until Toji returns that multiple shuffles of feet follow close by. When you look his way, the sight that greets you breaks whatever composure the bath had restored. Megumi and Yuji stand shoulder to shoulder, Yuji's grin no match for Megumi’s gentle smile, holding up a bouquet of lilies—the very ones that had been sold out at Maria’s stand. Their white petals twinkle at you, streaks of purple and magenta coloring the insides and edges, their fragrance wafting up your nose immediately.

Behind them stands Nanami, his usual stoic expression softened at the edges as he takes in your reaction. Both of his hands rest on his adoptive son’s shoulders. His presence adds another layer to this conspiracy of care—three families woven together through choice, circumstance, and love.

“Happy Birthday, Mom,” Megumi says softly; the term of endearment is not rare for him, but it still strikes a chord in your chest as if it’s always the first time. You can see now why he’d been so distracted during that call, how he couldn’t meet your eyes in an effort to guard whatever this was.

Yuji bounces on his toes beside him, a constant ball of energy, barely containing his excitement at being part of the surprise.

“We were the first ones at the market this morning!” Yuji blurts out, earning an elbow from Megumi. The hit bounces off his soft stomach, his glee no match for Megumi’s constant solemn energy. “Dad had to get involved before the wedding planner snatched them all.”

You step up to the boys, taking the flowers gingerly in your hands and bringing the petals to your nose. You blink the tears back before they can really come, hot and sweet and barely unstoppable. But you do stop them, leveling a quirked eyebrow to the strong blonde man in front of you.

“You threatening people, Kento?”

He sighs that characteristic, weary yet loving sigh, pressing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I simply asked for two bouquets that would not affect the quantity that the wedding planner was asking for.”

“He stared at the guy so hard he almost pooped his pants!” Yuji translates, bright and giggling as Megumi elbows him again. “Mr. Fushiguro was busy buying bananas.”

“Plantains,” Toji corrects, a proud smirk on his face as he folds his arms across his chest.

“Dad’s been cooking since you left this morning,” Megumi adds, stepping closer to hug your waist. He peers happily up at you with those eyes, catching yours with a hint of mischief. “The supply truck was just an excuse.”

The pieces click into place: the almost cosmic stroke of bad luck that you couldn’t find any plantains, the slow-cooked beans that require hours of patience and definitely not the birthday girl lingering about, the way the entire house smells like your grandmother’s kitchen. Toji had been here the entire time, creating this piece of your heritage with those capable hands of his, probably on the phone with your grandmother to make sure every detail was flawless.

“You absolute liar,” you breathe, almost giddy with the realization, but there’s nothing but love in the accusation.

Toji’s smirk deepens, unrepentant, as he kisses your temple for a second time. “Had to keep you out of the house somehow,” he insists. “You’ll sniff me out otherwise.”

Nanami clears his throat. “He called at six thirty this morning to coordinate.”

“But…I could have left work early?”

“Did Sheila ask you about a quarterly budget that had to get done because ‘only you know how to do it?’

“I—”

You blink in surprise at your own loss for words, the misery of your day quickly being smothered by uninhibited happiness at the turn of events.

“Now,” Toji speaks, cutting off any other attempts of conversation as he guides you to the counter. “I need to know how I did, so let’s eat.”

It’s delicious. All of it. The baleadas are soft when you bite into them, and the refried beans are cooked to perfection. The tajadas con pollo explodes with flavor in your mouth—fried green plantains, shredded cabbage, fried chicken and tomato sauce, chismol and pickled vegetables. The curtido packs the level of acidity that you anticipated, and you can tell from the sharp taste that it was the first thing Toji made this morning.

Toji eats firsts, then seconds, then thirds. As does his son and his son’s best friend. Only you and Nanami can handle a second helping. Yuji's appreciation of each dish earns an eyeroll from Megumi, Nanami’s compliments of the baleadas earns a teasing remark that Nanami ignores, and you eat in silence, still in awe of it all. Because it’s Toji you can’t stop watching.

His eyes track your every reaction, chewing softly as he watches you take that first bite, preening with pulled back shoulders when you groan in approval. You picture him vividly standing in the kitchen all day, testing and adjusting with that deep set in his dark eyebrows, sleeves rolled up to expose muscular and scarred forearms, another hand writing down the recipe that your grandmother probably had to keep repeating.

Conversation flows as easily as the expensive wine Nanami brought (much better than your toilet wine from the convenience store). Yuji regales everyone with his morning, chirping corrected words that his father sprinkles in, his animated gestures making Megumi duck occasionally to avoid being hit.

Just as the dinner plates are being cleared, Toji disappears into the kitchen again. You hear the soft click of the refrigerator but don’t turn around to watch. When he crosses into your field of vision, he’s carrying it. A lemon tart, the exact lemon tart you planned on making from scratch. The surface is glossy and smooth, decorated with thin citrus slices that are arranged like sunburst. A single candle flickers in the center.

Megumi’s eyes light up—he knows this is something you love, has watched you order it at every cafe that offers it. But this one is different. This one is made by his father’s hands, hands that are big enough to snap a neck but delicate enough to raise a child and love a woman.

“Make a wish, Mom,” Megumi urges softly, and even Yuji manages to contain himself for this moment.

The candlelight paints everyone in gentle amber—Toji’s sharp features softened, Megumi’s eyes gleaming with childlike wonder, Yuji practically vibrating with joy, Nanami’s serene gaze warmed by the glow. You close your eyes, though you can hardly think of anything to wish for. You have everything you’ve ever wanted and are working toward the other things you dream about. What you really want is here, around this table, like a constellation of love.

When you blow out the candle and take the first bite of the tart—citrus, and butter with a crust delicate and crisp, you can taste the care in it. The hours that Toji probably spent trying to get it right.

“Dad practiced three times,” Megumi admits, earning a mock stern look from his father that doesn’t quite hurt his pride. “The first one was…” he trails off.

“A disaster,” Toji finishes, unashamed but relaxing with every bite you take. “But I got there."

“My compliments to the chef,” you tease, winking at him across the table.

When the boys prepare to leave, your heart feels full enough to burst. Megumi hugs you tight, that level of tight that mothers always revel in as their children get older. He whispers another ‘Happy Birthday, Mom’ against your shoulder. He’s getting so tall now, his late mother’s beautifully messy locks almost tickling your chin without having to bend over.

Nanami offers you his own happy birthday and presses a kiss to your cheek before ducking out the door with the two boys, casting your home into silence. There’s a different kind of intimacy now, just two people who’ve shared so much, now together without interference. But he pulls you to the couch silently, wraps your favorite fluffy throw blanket around your shoulders, and pours you another glass of wine before he puts a movie on.

You recognize it almost immediately—the grainy resolution of the late 90s, the garden maze and elaborate water fountain, the cluster of men and women that listen to Emma Watson recite poetry.

“Much Ado About Nothing?” you question, rolling your eyes playfully. It’s one of your favorites, but you know Toji will be asleep in the first ten minutes. “You hate Shakespeare,” you accuse softly, even as you curl into his side with your wine glass.

“Hate’s a strong word,” he counters, arm settling behind you over the back of the couch, his fingers tracing idly along your shoulder. "Nonny Nonny."

You can’t help the shriek of laughter you let out, pulling back to look up at his smirking face. “What do you know about Nonny Nonny?"

“You were giggling about it last week with your online friends.”

Your heart flutters from his words, at the thought of him watching you from his side of the bed as you giggled and typed while the movie played on your computer screen. You sink back into his embrace and as the movie plays, as Beatrice and Benedick's verbal sparring begins, their wit as sharp as ever, Toji stays awake. He asks questions at the right pauses so he doesn’t miss anything, he continues the stroke of his fingers on your shoulder as if he needs your touch to stay sane, and you can feel the day’s tensions melting away like sugar in water.

When the credits finally roll across the screen, casting blue light across Toji’s face as he shifts beneath you, there’s something in the way he moves—a contained energy that speaks of anticipation rather than restlessness. That hand that was tracing absent patterns stills before he nudges you to sit up.

“Got something else for you,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but notice that he’s a little shy, eyes shifty as he clears his throat and leans over the couch to pull something from underneath it.

The box he produces is small, wrapped in brown paper that offers no frills or questionable designs. Just like Toji himself, the beauty lies in the authenticity of the gesture rather than any external flourish.

“Toji, you didn’t have to,” you try to say, pulse fluttering on the side of your neck as you look down at the gift.

He simply shakes his head, pressing the package further into your hands, bearing no room for argument. “Open it,” he urges softly, and when you look up at him, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now, a rare catch behind those carefully maintained walls you are allowed to peek over.

The paper falls away under your hands to reveal a long velvet box, midnight blue and worn soft at the edges like it’s been brushed against something for a while, waiting for the right moment. This moment. Inside, resting against shining silk, lies a necklace that makes you clench your jaw.

It’s not delicate nor dainty—nothing that fragile would suit either of you. Instead, a pendant brushed silver hangs from a sturdy chain, the surface marked with intentional imperfections that catch the low artificial light like battle scars transformed into art. Two pieces appear broken but fit together perfectly, their edges meeting in a union of strength and vulnerability. But it’s the stone that makes you gasp—turquoise, raw and unpolished, its matrix of deeper blue veins creating a galaxy of color against the silver. The stone sits nestled in the joint where the two pieces meet, as if it’s the force holding them together.

“Like us,” Toji says quietly, pulling you out of your musings. The raw honesty in his voice brings that sting back to your eyes like a raging storm, your vision swimming. “Not perfect. Not unmarked. But better together. Now you have something from your grandmother...and something from me."

You trace the pendant’s surface with trembling fingers, blinking away your tears so you can see it better. This is Toji’s love made tangible—strong, enduring, unafraid of showing its scars. Like him, it doesn’t hide its history (at least not anymore) but wears it proudly, morphed into something magnificent and beautiful precisely because of its journey.

He fastens it around your neck, his fingers sliding along the chain to rest over the pendant right above your sternum. The touch settles you both as he draws a breath—it seems heavier than usual, weighed down with something he can only tolerate in small doses.

“You know I’m not good at this,” he starts, low and rough like stones tumbling in deep water. “It’s not an excuse it’s just—words aren’t…they’ve never been my strength.”

“I know,” you offer him softly, covering the hand that rests on your chest.

“But you deserve to hear it. All the time—but especially today.”

That hand beneath yours slides up to cup your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheekbone with a tenderness you lean into.

“You already know about my past. Love was another word for weakness. Something to avoid because every time I tried to let it in, it only left scars.” He presses, swallowing hard, those eyes green as polished jade. “But you…loved me like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like the broken parts of me were worth keeping.”

You ignore the urge at the back of your throat to protest. You’ve never thought of Toji as broken. Scarred and been through a level of trauma no child should ever have to endure, but never broken. In the early days of your relationship, your strength and reassurance for what he deserved was often met with stony silence and deflections, a playful smirk that never met his eyes. And now, a year later, it’s rare to see. But wounds still leave scars, that pain abated and dull, but still there.

But you can tell from the weight of his hand on your cheek, from the storminess in his eyes, that now isn’t the time. Your heart is already beating fast enough for three people.

“You taught Megumi how to smile again. You brought warmth into spaces I didn’t even know were cold.” His voice drops lower, intimate as the shared space between you. “And every morning, I wake up thinking the same thing—that I’ll spend the rest of my damn life trying to love you the way you deserve. The way you’ve loved me. Without condition or fear.”

He presses his forehead to yours, not giving you a moment to think, to breathe, to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“You’re it for me, baby. Always have been, always will be.”

You feel many things, shock, awe, a level of surprise that makes you lightheaded. But beneath it all, there’s something fierce—that familiar fire that drew you to him in the first place, that makes you match his intensity with your own.

“You better be,” you tell him, voice wet as you curl your fingers into his soft shirt, pulling him closer with that boldness he loves from you. “If you leave me and make baleadas for another woman, I will hunt you down, Fushiguro.”

His laugh rumbles through you both, that open-mouth laugh that makes your belly churn with delight.

“I’m not goin' anywhere, I promise. Plus, I’m sure your grandmother would hunt me down herself if I ever thought about leaving.”

You can’t help but giggle, joining in with his laughter. The pride in his voice makes the flame in your chest burn brighter. Because that’s who you are—not just the soft heart that loves what he thinks are broken pieces, but the flame that refuses to let him retreat back into the shadows. The warmth that taught Megumi to smile, yes, but also the spark that taught Toji it was okay to laugh. To love.

The pendant rests against your skin like a promise, a constant reminder of the man who crafted beauty from imperfection, who looked at your fire and, instead of trying to tame it, offered himself as fuel. Who took your heritage and learned to cook it with his own hands, who filled your home with the scents of your childhood. It’s an odd thing, to have a love like this. To have someone in your corner, just as stubborn as you, but would burn the world down to make sure you are happy.

“Happy Birthday, Ma,” he whispers against your lips, and when you kiss him, it tastes like every promise he wishes to keep, like every morning you’ve woken up to find him still there, like every moment he’s chosen to stay and build this life with you. “You relax. I’ll do the dishes real quick.”

It’s far too abrupt, knocking you back. He makes to get up, but you grab his thick wrist, afraid of the intimacy between you both being shattered. “You don’t have to. We can tackle them in the morning. Besides, my birthday isn’t over just yet.”

He leans forward, brushing his lips along your jaw, licking that fire back to life in your stomach as you hitch a stuttered breath from your lungs. “Let me clean up first,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough that your skin prickles with anticipation. “Then we can watch some Fraser reruns in bed.” His thumb brushes your bottom lip, the calloused tip catching slightly. “After we find other ways to celebrate your birthday.”

The suggestion is loud as hell, electric, and charged with possibility. But for you, it’s the mention of everything else—cleaning up the kitchen, making sure your shared home is acceptable, watching your favorite comfort show after he rocks you ten ways to Sunday. That’s what love looks like to Toji—a blend of passion and understanding, heat and comfort.

“Mm, dishes and Fraser?” You press closer, the silk of your robe falling off one shoulder. His eyes catch the movement, green dilated into a thin ring immediately. “Now you’re speaking my language, Fushiguro.”

“You’re skipping over the best part,” he rambles, absentminded as he watches the thin fabric fall further down your skin.

You shrug, as if it’s of no consequence. “A big man doing domestic work always revs my engine. Maybe you can let me watch you spray the countertops? Roll your hips a little while you wipe and—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. He snatches you up, a strong arm beneath your knees as he carries you bridal style down the hallway.

“Dishes can wait,” he decides, and the heat in his voice promises you’ll be out like a light by 1030 PM.

Your squeal of delight turns into laughter as he picks up his pace, jogging to the bedroom, his own deep chuckle vibrating against where you’re pressed to his chest.

Your pendant jumps against your collarbone, catching in the hallway light, the turquoise gleaming like a captured piece of the ocean against your skin.

Before he kicks the bedroom door shut, he throws you a wicked smile, rare and beautiful and just for you.

Happy Birthday, dearest Lu!!!

For others reading, I added a few notes for the types of dishes (Lu please put me in a headlock if I get any of these incorrect):

Baleadas: A thick tortilla, often slathered in refried beans and other toppings like crumbled queso, eggs, avocado, and hot sauce.

Tajadas con Pollo: A popular Honduran street food often layered with plantains, fried chicken, shredded cabbage, tomato sauce, chismol, and pickled vegetables.

Curtido: A type of slaw (cabbage, onion, carrot, jalapeno, oregano, and vinegar). The longer you let it sit, the more acidic (and yummy) it is!

[sunnie-angel]

Part 10: The Choice

part 9 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: jason settles into your new fwb relationship with ease, but stirring unrest in gotham prompts him to a course of action he'd never consider otherwise

tags: implied sexual content, off screen violence, discussion of murder victims

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 1.6k

a/n: this is a bit shorter than my usual updates for this fic but i'm trying to be nice to myself about it (got kinktober running and been working on two new series but i still wanted to update this fic)

Jason Todd has always known that he’s a selfish man. Now he knows that he’s a coward too. It was selfish of him to crumble in your arms, to take what you were offering with greedy, clutching hands. Falling into your bed again is easy, so easy. You’d offered him the most thinly veiled opportunity and the promise not to talk about it and all of his grand resolve had folded. The careful distance he had kept between you for those long, torturous weeks melting away at the offer for more, more than just the cold friendship he’d been willing to settle for. You, with your sweet cheeks and winter bright eyes, were a weakness he’d never learned to guard against.

He wakes up in your bed beside you and thinks that this is the closest to something holy he’s ever seen. Your soft huffing breaths as you sleep, brows soft and lashes fluttering. The weight of your body pressed along his, your heat searing through his skin. Your lips part just slightly as you exhale. There’s something innocent about you as you sleep, no worries to have your body humming with energy, no performance for an audience. Just you. Soft and sleep soaked, trusting him with your soft belly and unguarded throat, allowing him into your bed again after the colossal fuck up of the first time. Propping his head on his hand, he looks down at your relaxed features and promises to do better.

Jason will respect your rules, even if he can’t follow his own. Touching you? He crossed that line so long ago it’s laughable to think about when he’s just had you split open around him. Staying at the threshold of your home? Hell he’d practically invited himself inside. He doesn’t know how but you’ve started to see the truth of him, filled in the gaps of silence with the words he couldn’t say but felt, brushed against all his raw edges and still not flinched. Jason doesn’t know how you’ve managed it, but he lives in the fear of when the person you see stops being the friend you rely on. So his last rule, his last rule he will keep. Can keep the love he feels trapped in his throat burning like acid so long as you will keep looking at him like you did last night. Won’t break your rules and do anything so terrible as to utter the words out loud. Jason has kept so many secrets, what’s one more?

You mumble something in your sleep, turn and reach for him with a blind hand. This time, Jason is there. He is there for you to snuggle closer to, soft murmurs melting into peaceful relief at the solidness of him. Jason is there. He is there and he cannot understand how he ever had the cruelty to leave before. To give this up. Jason Todd knows that he is a coward. He knew he was a coward since the first time he left, and every moment after where he did not afford you the honesty of his yearning gaze. When he swallowed down your promises that nothing had to change, nothing had to be spoken aloud, too eager for the sweetness that you offered, he knew he was a coward. Down to his bones he knows that he has always been a coward when it comes to you. That he will continue to be a coward as long as it ends with him here, your vulnerable form seeking protection from the scarred shell of his body.

It is shockingly easy to go back to existing in your orbit now that he is allowed to have this much more of you. Gazes no longer fraught with tension, a loose limbed ease to invading your space. There is a comfort for him in knowing how to handle your body, to know what is allowed under the terms of your agreement. He can throw an arm around your shoulder and no longer do you freeze, instead sinking into him. Can linger as he hands over your lunch, your coffee, your little treat and not have to pretend he doesn’t feel the burn of your skin. Figures out how to trace the nape of your neck with his eyes alone until you are shivering under the weight of his attention. Satisfaction thrums through his veins at being able to pull such reactions from you, a gift he has been granted by the benevolent god that lets him haunt her bed.

He walks you home most days, even when he isn’t meant to be on campus. Offers no excuses, not that he thinks he needs any, simply shows up outside your lecture hall of internship office at the right time and slings your bag over his shoulder. You smile wryly up at him, smack him on the shoulder and let him know how perfectly capable you are of carrying your own things. He just smiles back until you run out of steam, rummaging through your pockets until you’ve found his reward for the day. Apples pressed into the palm of his hand, trail mix dotted with dark chocolate, dried fruit strips you mumble embarrassedly about making at home. Feeding you, watching your eyes light up over a new dish, it’s a feeling Jason doesn’t think will ever get old. Letting you feed him, in your own way, nearly rivals that gooey self-satisfied feeling. Understands intimately the desire to trade equally, to repay a kindness with kindness in turn. Can accepts these gifts from you without guilt now that the air between you is no longer bitter with self-flagellation.

It’s not every day that he follows you into your apartment and into your arms but enough that the two of you have made a routine of it. Has a hook behind the front door just for his jacket and a box of condoms in his size on your bedstand. But you don’t mention it and he doesn’t bring it up. No, Jason fills the silence with the little noises he can draw from your slack-jawed mouth. Learns to love the sound of his name dripping from your mouth. Still writhes with guilt at how badly he’d hurt you with it, the way you’d cried when it had slipped out. He gives it to you as a gift, the nickname, only to be whispered between the sheets with your eyes drawn wide. Every chant of Jay, Jay, please Jay lances the wound of it, drains the festering rot of memories as you replace them one by one.

Selfishly he hoards every smile, every expression twisted up with pleasure. It’s what you were made for, your whole body lighting up joy. For Jason it’s a contact high, like if he could hold you close enough, make you happy enough, maybe he could approach something like happiness too. That’s why when your face falls, when your lips tremble and your hands shake when another dead girl is found, he makes the decision that he does. There should never be such raw fear on someone as precious as you. It’s unacceptable.

Jason goes digging. Rips through the networks of informants he’s worked so hard to build, sent out henchmen with feelers, rampages through the city himself. Scours every corner, calls in every favour owed by whichever Rogues he’s got his hooks into. No one knows anything. No one’s saying anything. Two girls, both the spitting image of you murdered, and no one knows a fucking thing about it. None of the Rogues will claim it as their own doing and the ones with the taste for fear and flesh are all still locked up in Arkham. It’s not until one of the street kids he’s tried so damn hard to protect tells a story about a working girl killed four weeks ago in exchange for a place to stay that Jason finds out anything nearing useful.

It’s not hard to hack into the GCPD database. What’s hard is to find one Jane Doe in a stack of unsolved Jane Doe cases. Makes his heart hurt and his conscience prick at so many young women whose absences have gone unremarked by the world. Jason refuses to let you become one of them. When he finds the case he’s looking for, the coffee mug shatters in his hand. A working girl, dead four weeks just like he’d been told. She looks more like you than any of the others. Even dead on a slab, the resemblance has his teeth grinding. This thing, whatever it is, isn’t the result of increased muggings in the area. No, this is some sicko with a fetish and judging at the way his brutality has increased with each murdered girl, he’s building up to something.

There’s nothing on any of the bodies that tells him what it is though. No faint clue left for him to decipher, just the remnants of cruelty that make him feel sick to think on. He tells you not to worry, that he’s handling it, but he can tell you don’t quite believe him. You lean into him more often for comfort, lines carving themselves into the delicate hollows of your under eyes. Your lips are always chapped these days from biting at them, nailbeds raw from picking at them. And Jason, Jason hates to see you like this. Fearful. Afraid. A ghost of your vibrant self, so twisted up with the not knowing, the nebulous fear of being next. It’s unacceptable.

So he does something that he swore he’d never do, not after the last disastrous outcome. Jason picks up the phone and calls his family.

link to part 11

[spencerwayne-todd]

Keeping up with the Waynes

Stephanie, to camera: Today, we journey into the jungle of the living room, where a creature known as a Wayne has been spotted. This particular breed, known as a Dick Grayson, is a very athletic species, and is primarily known for its loving nature and love of obnoxiously bright colors.

*bad camera footage zooms in closer as Stephanie continues*

Stephanie: This particular Dick-

*snickers erupt from behind the camera*

Stephanie, somehow keeping a straight face: -Shut up. This Dick seems to be enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet, and, as we can see, is asleep.

*Stephanie looks off-camera*

Stephanie: We now switch to an aerial view to get a better look at this rare and exotic creature.

*ground camera zooms up to reveal Damian, with a camera, suspended from the ceiling, over the couch where Dick is napping, by a rope-and-pulley system. Jason, hiding in the shadows in a far corner, holds the other end of the rope*

Stephanie: Great, great, that looks great. Can we get a zoom?

*Jason, only holding the rope with one hand, easily lowers Damian a foot or so closer to Dick*

Stephanie, back to camera: As you can see, this Dick-

*More snickers off-camera*

Stephanie, unfazed: -is completely unaware or our presence. This is a phenomenon scientists have labelled a "food-coma", which is a state of complete unconsciousness brought on by the over-ingestion of food.

Stephanie, to someone off-camera: Can we get a close-up of the face? Yeah. No, the face. The face. Yeah.

*Cass raises a tiny walkie-talkie to her mouth and speaks into it, looking across the room at Jason, who appears to be dozing off while leaning against the wall, still holding the rope suspending Damian mid-air*

Cass: Can't reach. Brother asleep.

Stephanie: There is no problem too big for the Wild Batts. Spencer?

*Spencer pulls out her phone and taps a few times before clicking it off and placing it in her pocket, fixing Jason's silhouette with a victorious smile. Across the room, Jason lifts his head and retrieves his phone from his pocket. His face is lit up by the screen as a picture opens. Jason's jaw drops and so does the rope he is holding.*

Damian, flying through the air: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

*Damian lands on top of Dick, startling him awake*

Dick, still half asleep: WASH? WASH HAPPEN?

*Everybody freezes*

Stephanie, monotone, beginning to sway side-to-side: You are asleep. You are dreaming. You have a teddy bear. You are sleeping on giant marshmallows.

*Dick's eyes flutter shut and Damian slowly begins to roll off his brother. Before he can make it, however, Dick grabs him and squeezes him tightly*

Stephanie, after a second: We now see that the Dick-

*Snickers*

Stephanie: -has captured one of the cameramen.

Damian, whisper-shouting: BROWN! HE'S SMOTHERING ME!

Stephanie: I'm sorry. The show must go on.

Damian: I cannot breathe.

Stephanie: Thank you for volunteering.

Damian: I did NOT volunteer to be smothered!

Stephanie: Your noble sacrifice will be remembered.

Damian: BROWN!

Stephanie, to camera: We now move deeper into the jungle, where another Wayne has been spotted.

*Camera switches to library, where Bruce is fast asleep, slumped over his desk*

[seraphicloves]

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

❀ summary: Hyunjin never expected falling in love to be so…peaceful. Like a feather blown in the breeze, slowly and gently settling to the ground. He expected it to be harsh, dramatic, and loud. He expected one day for a brick to plummet in his heart with a You're in love! written in big bold letters.

❀ warnings: long ass story, physical descriptors being used but no name, they could be ooc i am not a skz expert, mentions of other kpop bands & people i have no clue about, almost 5k words 💀

❀ notes: i took multiple months to write this and i might have to separate it into multiple parts bc it is annoyingly long. I dunno if its super good but I wrote it for my bestie who loves hyunjin 😁

Hyunjin never expected falling in love to be so…peaceful. Like a feather blown in the breeze, slowly and gently settling to the ground. He expected it to be harsh, dramatic, and loud. He expected one day for a brick to plummet in his heart with a You're in love! written in big bold letters.

But watching her, with her fluffy purple hair and glittering dark eyes, he couldn't help but picture falling in love like cozying up against a fireplace after a long day playing in the snow. Falling in love with her felt easy. It felt like something he'd known all his life without fully realizing.

It was unfortunate that they seemed to be in entirely different realms. She was an American streamer with funny jokes and a big smile. He was a Korean idol who could barely utter a word lest the public eye shun him. Sure, it had gotten better since JYP had passed his entertainment industry to his much more progressive daughter, but still.

His fingers idly curl around his pencil, light strokes against the thick pad of his sketchbook as he watches her most current stream. She was with her friends, having a simple talk with her fans. It reminded him of the lives he did for his own fans, although he was sure her videos were not as filtered.

“Oh my favorite music? I have really liked K-pop since I was in middle school.” she says, her lips curving into that grin that never failed to send butterflies to his stomach. Of course, this led comments to flood all of them asking about her favorites.

“My favorite when I was in high school was Stray Kids,” She explained, making Hyunjin’s heart lurch in his chest. He set his drawing supplies down, fully turning to look at her as if studying the pixels of the screen might help him understand the real her better.

He caught a glance at the comments, asking who her bias was (something he has shamefully been tempted to do) and sat silently hoping she'd answer the question.

The heavens must have been looking out for him because she said, her voice like a melody made by Apollo, “My bias is Hyunjin though I love them all.”

Was he dreaming? Should he get Felix to pinch him? He shook off his thoughts, trying to clear his mind to make sure he heard you right. You kept talking about how you liked Stray Kids as a teenager, how they helped you through difficult times. Hyunjin struggled to understand the way his heart beat in his chest, the swell of pride in his stomach.

He took a glance at his unfinished sketch, yet another futile attempt at capturing the beauty of you. He could never feel like he got it quite right. He needed it to be perfect. One crafted by the gods must be worshiped, not tolerated.

Hyunjin continued to watch your stream until it ended, although his mind was still focused on that moment. It repeated in his head like a broken record, one that he was grateful had broken. If he was to be stuck in one moment eternally, he would choose that one easily.

As though he had been summoned, Felix bounced into Hyunjin's room. He wore a big smile, ready to poke and prod Hyunjin as if they were blood related brothers. However, the older boy was on a mission, and it could not be interrupted.

“Have you heard of this streamer..?” Hyunjin asked, her name slipping past his lips easily. Felix, as chronically online as he is, nodded that he had. Settling the nerves in his stomach, Hyunjin knew he ought to explain.

And so he did. Multiple times, actually, because Felix decided to involve the entirety of the band. Hyunjin couldn't even be that upset. They were a close-knit family. And he knew they would help him.

….

He was fairly certain that everybody around him was fully and clinically insane but he couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest bit. Somehow, he had managed to get an entire event hosted by JYP, which invited all sorts of streamers….namely her.

Although Hyunjin couldn't guarantee she would show up, he was certainly hoping against all odds. So was the rest of the Stray Kids.

“Hyunjin’s got a crush~” Bangchan teased, wrapping his arm around Hyunjin's neck and bringing him closer so he could ruffle his hair. Hyunjin laughed while he tried to wriggle out of the older boy's hold.

Finally, he got out of his hold, just as Hwa-Young entered. She was dressed as formally as ever, a crisp suit and perfectly styled hair.

“Please treat all our guests with respect and understand that the reason they are here is to advertise JYP Entertainment and the music festival at the end of the weekend.” She explained, letting her eyes travel across the people here. All bands under her company had been gathered to discuss this, making for quite the large display.

Hyunjin listened carefully, knowing that part of the reason was so she would come to South Korea. All expenses paid trip in exchange for her to advertise and spread publicity for JYP. He hoped she would spend time with Stray Kids the most.

After she had finished discussing basic ground rules for having a bunch of American social media influencers all around for two entire weeks, she gave a smile and said they would be arriving later that afternoon. It would be a lot, but it would be good for getting international fans for some of the lesser known bands.

All Hyunjin could do was pour all his emotions into the dance rehearsal while he waited to meet her for the first time. Each step helped make him stop overthinking, terribly anxious thoughts plaguing his head.

He just kept moving, making his blood flow through his body. He focused on each step of the dance until it was etched into his bones. Eventually, he had to succumb to the natural progression of exhaustion all humans must deal with. It was conveniently timed because the influencers were starting to arrive.

He wiped off some of his sweat with his shirt and took a swig of his water. Then he walked with the rest of the band with the hopes he didn't look gross.

…..

His eyes immediately darted to her as the crowd emerged, her arm wrapped around her friends’. She was even more breathtaking in person, the red of her shirt complimenting her skin. She wore black cargo pants with a metal chain wrapped around her belt loops, with red combat boots, and a red off the shoulder, slightly oversized top. Hyunjin tried to suppress his smile, happy that she was even fashionable just like him.

Bangchan hurried over to them before he had a chance, after he was the leader and the most sociable of the group. Without thinking much of it, Hyunjin followed closely behind with the rest of the Stray Kids.

“Hi!” Bangchan said, greeting both women with a hug. They accepted it with warmth, both being enveloped by Chan. Hyunjin watched from his spot, trying to stop him from running away screaming. She was rather intimidating!

I really need to go say hi. I don't want to seem unfriendly. He frowned a bit, trying to get his feet to move. With a small burst of relief, he felt himself move closer.

He was standing in front of her, in all her gorgeous glory. She was shorter than him, her head tilting up so she could see his face. Hyunjin wanted to paint her and capture her beauty forever. He wanted to study every feature and examine every inch of her. He wanted to worship her.

Hyunjin’s face flushed when she waved at him, suddenly making him realize where his train of thoughts had been going. He couldn't possibly expect to memorize her body if she didn't even know what he's like beyond a stage presence. (He wondered if they had ever met before, if she had gone to a concert long ago.)

“Hi.” He finally said, pushing the words off of his tongue and into the world. It sounded awkward and shy, like he sometimes felt when placed in front of a camera. Hyunjin wished he could be the painter instead of the muse sometimes.

She smiled brightly, her cheeks curving to allow such a beautiful expression. He was sure he had died and gone to heaven. Why else would an angel look at him so beautifully? He tried to ignore the blood rushing in his ears and hoped that it wasn't obvious he was warming up feverishly. (Would she mind if he kissed her? Just a small one, just to get a taste.)

“It's nice to meet you, Hyunjin.” She said, still looking up at him, “I've been a big fan for years.”

Maybe this was all a very big dream. Maybe the Sandman had decided to give Hyunjin something to enjoy, and he gave him…her. If this was a dream, Hyunjin didn't want to wake up. If the only way he could be in the presence of this woman was through his fantasies, so be it.

Oh, I still have to reply.

Bangchan glanced at Hyunjin expectantly, probably wondering why he was forgetting to speak. His brain was so full of thoughts that he couldn't help the way he got sidetracked.

“Well I am a big fan of you too.” He said with a smile, “I like your streams.” Was that too honest? Would she feel uncomfortable by his confession? He'll repent if she needs him to wash his hands with holy water and pray his awkwardness goes away.

She looked a bit shocked, her warm brown eyes widening ever so slightly. But then she warmed up again, like chocolate melting on his tongue. She was comforting without even realizing it.

“Who would've thought we'd be fans of each other?” she said with a shrug and a laugh before eventually moving on to greet the rest of the people. He wished he could make her stay, say something so stunning she can't help but feel transfixed by him.

Instead, he watched her walk away, trying to ignore the way his heart deflated. It made sense that she needed to walk away and do what she needed to do. It was understandable.

…..

The first day of advertisement was pretty boring. Hyunjin doesn't like to complain much, but he barely got the chance to hang out with her, and he was stuck going over plans. There were a lot of conference meetings, with stale cookies and uncomfortable seating. (He wondered if that was what it's like to work an office job - he's suddenly glad to be an idol.)

“Can we go home soon?” Han whined, already flopping on top of a displeased I.N. Hyunjin couldn't help but understand Han's frustration. They had been holed up for hours doing nothing.

Hwa-Young nodded in sympathy and said, “One more thing to discuss, then you can return to your dorms.”

Hyunjin perked up a bit at this, happy that today was almost over. He had been hoping to spend more time with his love, but she had been placed with the also influencers on the other side of the conference room. His eyes flickered to her as if he were a moth drawn to a flame.

She was listening intently to Hwa-Young, her arms crossed across her chest. She looked more relaxed, maybe even a bit sleepy, based on the way her eyes started to flutter shut. She was so pretty, and Hyunjin would be happy to die if it meant he could look at her forever.

“We have hotels for everybody. Listen carefully to your name so you can retrieve your housing information.” Hwa-Young explained before she started to talk about everybody. Soon, all the streamers left, all of them except for her and her friend.

Hwa-Young blinked in surprise, reading over her list once more before she flushed. Hyunjin watched with a bit of confusion, wondering what happened.

“I am terribly sorry, miss.” Hwa-Young said, hurrying over to whisper in the woman's ear. They talked quietly before Hwa-Young turned to face the bands.

“Will anybody volunteer to house these lovely ladies?” Hwa-Young announced, making Hyunjin’s heart fail. Maybe he was going into cardiac arrest because what the fuck?

Before Hyunjin could even begin to process Changbin stood up, with Bangchan giving an encouraging smile. Oh no, oh no no no.

“Hyunjin can take them in, as long as they are comfortable with it.” Changbin said, giving a charming smile to the foreigners. He was annoyingly friendly, like a gym bro teddy bear or something.

It didn't take long to convince her and her friend, Changbin was very good at charming people. She smiled and said, “Oh if he offers I would enjoy that very much. But I don't want to intrude.”

Hyunjin forced himself to speak, opening his mouth and saying, “It's not intruding. You can stay with me and Changbin.”

He didn't want to do this. He needed to escape her even for a moment. What if his heart gives out from racing so much? Hyunjin did not want her to stay with him, to leave him without any way to stay calm. But he would be kind (mostly because Changbin forced his hand.)

“Thank you, that's very nice.” Her friend also added, still standing beside her. Hyunjin noticed his love’s friend seemed to be rather awkward, looking anywhere but at the group of people before them. He supposed he could understand, but he hoped Changbin might get along with her. Hyunjin would be housing his favorite person in the whole wide world.

Maybe that's a bit aggressive to say though, she may bias Hyunjin but that doesn't mean she likes him all that much. So Hyunjin kept his thoughts locked up tight, not wanting a single one to slip through the cracks.

“Well, now that it's all settled we can head home.” Hwa-Young said with a smile and a clap of her hands. She stood up along with the other idols, all heading to their various dorms.

“Well, I guess we'll be off.” Bangchan said with a sly grin, having the other members follow behind him like ducklings following their mother. It was just Hyunjin and her, well and her friend and Changbin. But they were basically alone!

“Do you want to head to the dorm now?” Hyunjin finally asked, hoping his expression was calm and collected. Basically, it's the opposite of how he was feeling.

She nodded and allowed Changbin to lead the way with her friend following close behind. She walked side by side with Hyunjin, her hand brushing against his.

Surely he would explode, his heart would inhale until it was bursting with excitement. Hyunjin was totally going to die over this weekend. But maybe it wouldn't be that bad.

…..

He did not get a single wink of sleep that night. All he could think about was the fact she was sleeping outside his room, on the couch. She was so close to him, how could he possibly be expected to sleep?

Hyunjin got dressed the next morning, not being sure what to expect. What sort of videos might they film today? Who would he be filming them with?

With a yawn, he exited his room and noticed that she was not there. She must have gone already.

Changbin was waking up around the same time, stretching his muscular arms. His black hair was a bit messy and curled, since it was without the products he puts his hair in.

“Are we heading to the studio today?” Hyunjin asked the older man, tilting his head slightly. Maybe they would be showing the influencers new dances or something. Or maybe they would be writing songs and collaborating. There were many things they might do.

“Yeah, and we're late so c'mon.” Changbin said, walking towards the door and wrapping his arm around Hyunjin's neck. He dragged the younger boy with him, despite Hyunjin's attempts at getting free.

Hyunjin groaned, but allowed Changbin to ruffle his hair and do all the things he usually does. He is like a strange older brother, with the way he likes to tease and is awfully goofy. But Hyunjin likes it.

They walked quickly to the studio, remembering that the boys often left clothes there. So they would be able to change once they were there.

Once they arrived, Hyunjin felt incredibly underdressed compared to her. She was wearing a lavender chunky sweater with a black mini skirt and black tights. She was so elegant and pretty, he couldn't help but feel awkward still dressed in his lounge wear.

She smiled upon seeing Hyunjin, making his heart swell with a strange sort of fuzzy feeling he was unused to. Sure, he always felt warm and safe with the other members of Stray Kids. But this was a sort of feeling that made him want to wrap it around himself like a blanket. It was so lovely.

“What are we doing today?” He asked, momentarily forgetting he should probably apologize for being late or maybe he should get ready instead of staring at her with a look of amazement. He was certain his eyes had glazed over and he had his lips parted, staring as if she had just descended from heaven.

“Oh we are going to be doing some Tik Tok dances together then later we are going to do a kitchen stream,” She explained, her voice confident and self assured. Hyunjin wasn't completely inept when it comes to social media but this still wasn't his speciality. She was in her realm and bringing him in, despite his confusion.

“Oh,” He nodded, only half understanding what she meant. But he didn't want to look dumb in front of her- he wanted her to be impressed. A stream about kitchens? How strange, but if it worked for her Hyunjin would do it without complaint.

“While you get changed, I'll set up the camera.” She said with her lips curved up with a delightful grin. How was he expected to function when she looked at him like that? Like she saw him as more than an idol. Perhaps he was as deluded as his fans, but he wondered if there was a chance she liked him as he liked her.

Hyunjin nodded and moved away, wanting to get dressed as quickly as possible so he could spend time with her. She was calmer in real life, or maybe that's because she needs to be professional. (He wants to uncover each facet of her personality, to peel away the layers until he is greeted with her, the whole and true of her soul.)

…..

“I regret doing dances with professional dancers,” She grumbled, taking a swig of water. Hyunjin watched her from behind, trying his best to not let his eyes stay on her for too long.

“You're doing great,” he said, with an attempt at an encouraging smile. She definitely wasn't a dancer like he was, but she was trying her best. And he was sure fans would find her attempts at doing the Beabadoobee dance to be amusing.

“Well, it's okay since we are going to do the cooking video now.” She explained, turning to look at Hyunjin. Her brown eyes were shimmering delightfully, reminding him of dark glittering jewels. He could stare at her for hours and never get bored, memorizing every line of her face would be the best of tasks.

“What are we going to make?” Hyunjin asked, following her to the kitchen. The other members of Stray Kids were working with other streamers and influencers, doing a variety of activities from singing to doing the hear me out trend.

“Empanadas.” She hummed in reply, pulling Hyunjin’s thoughts back to her. He was like a moth to a flame, helplessly attracted to her. He was weak against her attacks, her ability to reel him in constantly impressive.

She pulled out ingredients while Hyunjin turned on the camera, flickering it onto a stream. A steady flow of viewers came in, making the count get higher and higher. He wished his English was better so he could better read the constant stream of comments in the corner of the screen.

“Hi everybody! Welcome or welcome back depending on if you're new here.” she said, glancing at Hyunjin, “Today's stream is extra special because I have a guest with me! Hwang Hyunjin from the band Stray Kids!”

The chat spammed with excitement, using a lot of smiling emojis and capital letters. He smiled at the camera, trying not to get suddenly shy. He was used to being in the public eye- just not used to it with his crush right next to him.

They got started, with her giving Hyunjin instructions and working carefully on the empanadas. He did as he was told, trying to focus on making food while also appearing entertaining. (How did she do this on a daily basis? At least Hyunjin has his other members to lean on whenever he gets tired. She works alone and works constantly.)

“Guys, stop.” She scolded suddenly, causing him to turn around so he can read what's happening in the chat. He read a few of the comments, a flush rising in his cheeks. Were.they teasing her for having a crush on him? He was so bewildered he didn't realize he had been staring blankly at the screen until she made a noise.

She said to Hyunjin, “Okay, I will admit I had a crush on you back when I was in highschool. Hopefully that will appease chat enough for them to stop bothering us.”

She sent a playfully stern look at the camera, unaware of the way Hyunjin felt like he was going to explode. She had a crush on him when she was in highschool. Which meant she used to have feelings for him. Holy shit.

The rest of the day went by extraordinarily quickly, but perhaps that's just how it felt since he was still distracted by the revelation. Did she still have feelings for him? How deep of a crush did she have back then? Had she talked about it before and how had he not noticed if she had? He watched her videos almost religiously, he couldn't possibly have missed a video of her talking about him. He would have remembered surely!

He couldn't get to sleep for the second night in a row. He was busy thinking about what he learned, how she used to have a crush on him. Maybe he was just overthinking, maybe it didn't matter that she had a crush on him in highschool.

But he couldn't let it go no matter how hard he tried. There was a strange feeling in the smallest part of his heart that told him she still felt the same.

…..

“Hyunjin,” Han said suddenly, snapping his fingers to get his friend's attention. Hyunjin turned around, flustered that he was very likely caught staring at her. It didn't help that she was working with TWICE so close by. He could probably feel the warmth of her skin, smell her perfume. Hyunjin was trying his very best to not get distracted.

“What do you need?” Hyunjin asked, stretching his arms. They were doing some sort of challenge where they needed to run and sing at the same time. It sounded complicated but it could be helpful for when they would go on for a concert.

“You should tell her how you feel.” Han replied, looking up with a rather serious look. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping his foot against the wooden floors. Hyunjin’s eyes widened, his lips parting a bit with shock.

Was Han serious? Did he actually expect me to bare my soul to the girl of my dreams so casually?

“Why? She probably doesn't like me back.” Hyunjin dismissed with a wave of his hand, looking away as though he couldn't fathom admitting this while making eye contact. Feelings are so troublesome it seems.

Han laughed and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, still staring so intently at him. “You can't be serious, Jinnie. She has fallen for you, almost as hard as you have for her.”

He turned away to look at her. She was busy with Momo, helping the girl do some sort of silly TikTok. However, what Hyunjin noticed when he also turned was the fact she was looking at them.

Her mouth broke into a smile and she paused enough to wave at Hyunjin, acting so casual despite the fact she was setting his heart on fire. Did she really feel the same way? Could she possibly want Hyunjin the way he wants her?

Hyunjin looked back at Han, and grumbled in a low tone, “How would I confess to her anyway?”

Han grinned at that, clapping his hands together. The shorter boy said, “Do what feels right to you, Hyunjin. What's a good way to confess?”

Then he walked away, returning to the influencer they were working with currently. Hyunjin stood in place, feeling almost as if there was cement in his bones keeping him still.

How would he confess? Should he write a letter to her? Maybe he should march over there and demand they go on a date! Okay..maybe that's a bad idea. But still, how should he confess?

She will only be around for the concert tomorrow and then she'll be returning to America. Suddenly he faltered, his heart racing with excitement.

What if…? Hyunjin could barely contain his sudden happiness, wanting to already put his plan into action.

…..

“This was a bad idea.” Hyunjin said, attempting to wrangle himself out of Changbin's strong grip so he could avoid getting on stage. It was a futile attempt, with the older man wrapping his arms around Hyunjin's shoulders.

“Nope, you're doing this.” Changbin said, shoving Hyunjin even closer to the stage. There was no getting out of this- he was going to confess to her.

“Fine, fine.” Hyunjin relented, pushing Changbin away with a half hearted glare. Then he shook his hands, trying to be rid of the nerves rattling around his chest.

He walks onto stage, ignoring the way his heart was pounding against his ribs. Looking up, he immediately found her. She was as beautiful as always, staring up at him with awe. He needed to do this - he needed to confess properly.

He said her name like one might a god, worshipping the shape of the vowels on his tongue. “I love you, so very much. I wish to be with you forever, and so I sing this for you.”

Then Hyunjin did what he does best: sing. He chose to sing Ice Cream, knowing it was one of her favorite songs after he had done his research. He put his soul into the lyrics, every ounce of his love into the silky tones of his voice.

…..

After the concert, he was greeted by her. She was a vision, something he wished to see in his mind's eye every time he goes to sleep. He might dream of her forever, use her as solace from the grim realities of the world. If he had her, he might be able to survive anything.

“You love me?” She asked, reaching out to grab his hands. Sparks shot through his fingertips, warm rushing through him wherever she touched.

Hyunjin nodded and said, “Yes, I do. I have loved you for a long time.”

She took a moment to process his words, squeezing his hands. She kept touching him, even the slightest brush of skin sending shockwaves directly to his heart. She was so lovely and she was holding his hands, was she trying to give him a heart attack?

“I love you too, Hyunjin.” She whispered, looking up at him. Her brown eyes glistened with an intense emotion, and something he is finally realizing is love. She stared up at him with a sense of adoration he had only dreamed of previously.

He leaned down, feeling her breath warning his cheek. He wanted to stay like this forever, holding her hands and keeping his face close to hers. With a small dose of courage, potentially regrettable or not, he leaned in close enough to kiss her.

He brushed his lips over hers, savoring the taste of her chapstick. He removed his hands from hers to hold her hips, pulling her flush against him.

She kissed him back, her hands pressing into his chest. She was so perfect, and she was his now, his to love and his to care for.

He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, letting his eyes flutter shut. This was everything he had ever wanted and more. If this wasn't heaven, he wasn't sure what was.

“Will you give me the honor of being your boyfriend?” He asked softly, still holding her close. If he could put her inside his heart, he could.

“As long as you'll let me be your girlfriend.” She replied, curling her fingers into his hair. Hyunjin could barely think, barely do anything except get her closer and closer. He wanted her, and now he had her. He was the luckiest man in the world.

Hyunjin didn't expect to ever fall in love the way he did. It was a gentle and slow descent, like ice cream melting on a summer's day. He was melting for her, his cold heart thawing to recieve her love. Having her in his arms was like coming home. He might nog have expected to fall in love like this, but he was incapable of regretting it. It was lovely, just like her.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Plan 66

There were plenty of disadvantages to being experimental commandos, Hunter remarked to himself as the squad staggered towards their barracks, but there were upsides here and there. For instance, after a typically torturous day of training, testing, and reg torment, they were making their way towards their own private room- far from the prying eyes and muttered comments of regs and kaminoans alike. Granted, they were returning to said barracks in various states of exhaustion, many hours after late-meal, because maybe those disadvantages were just a bit more substantial. 

The door to the barracks slid open and the 99s swiftly scattered to various corners of the room. Hunter paused for a moment in the doorway, savouring the feeling of safety. His squad was here, together, and for now he could keep them all in his sight and away from danger. 

Hunter sat on his bunk and began readjusting his senses to the Kamino rain outside and the permanently unfortunate smell of the 99s’ barracks. His brothers were doing similar activities to declare to the world that they were done for the day- Wrecker began rummaging through the plentiful supply of snacks they absolutely weren’t supposed to keep in their room, Tech left his datapad on his rack and beelined it for the refresher before anyone else could claim the first sonic, and Crosshair collapsed face-first on his bunk and buried his head under a pillow without even pausing to remove his training armour. 

A few minutes passed in blessed peace. Wrecker began hoisting heavy objects over his head, Hunter began sorting through command training assignments he was expected to have done several months ago, and Tech emerged from the sonic and reclaimed his data pad. Hunter absentmindedly watched his brother coast through unknown reaches of the holonet that gave Tech his infinite wisdom. As he watched, Tech’s darting eyes stopped flitting behind their goggles and he sat down suddenly. “This is… not ideal.” He said, voice shaking very slightly. “Hunter? I-“

Crosshair’s voice emanated from his bunk, “I swear, if those bastards spring another of their ‘surprise assessments’ on us, Kamino will burn.”

“No, it is not-“ Tech cut himself off with a harsh exhale and simply turned his datapad around, the illuminated screen casting eerie light across the floor. Hunter edged forewarned and read off the screen: OFFICIAL G.A.R. REPORT FROM UMBARAN FRONT- FRIENDLY FIRE CASUALTY NUMBERS RISING

Hunter would have read more, but Tech turned the screen back around and pressed the datapad to his chest. “I read it,” Tech said, “it is a disturbing incident that merits immediate discussion.”

Hunter called over their other two brothers and they waited in tense silence for Tech to explain. “I have compiled an explanation from various official and unofficial sources,” Tech began. “From my understanding, the 501st and 212th legions suffered significant losses in a friendly fire incident arranged by their Jedi general.

“A Jedi did this?!” Wrecker gasped, “I thought they were in our side!”

“Indeed,” Tech said, “a Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell, who seemingly planned to leave the Jedi order and offer his services to the Separatists. 

The regs apprehended him, losing more men in the effort. He was executed on Umbara.”

“Who did it?” Hunter asked in morbid fascination. “Wouldn’t killing a Jedi be a death sentence for a clone? Did the 501st lose their commander? Was it… Cody?”

 “It would seem he was killed by CT-6922, otherwise known as Dogma. I have been unable to locate Dogma in any subsequent reports or communications. Furthermore, his number has been deleted from the Kaminoan database.”

“He killed a traitor,” Cosshair muttered, glaring at nothing, “and they made him disappear.”

 “So it would appear.” Tech put aside his datapad and levelled a serious stare at his brothers. Hunter felt Tech’s eyes catch his and hold his gaze. “I am reluctant to accept that all the Jedi will turn on their soldiers so easily. However, it is now a proven possibility. As such, it seems prudent to be prepared in case we are ever in the presence of a Jedi who wishes us harm.”

The squad exchanged glances. Wrecker was the first to break the silence. “But… will we even be working with Jedi? The regs have generals, but we’ll be on our own once we graduate, won’t we? We only really report to Cody.”

Hunter sighed. Time to be the sergent, he supposed. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared, I guess. Cody’s got a Jedi. We can’t avoid them completely.”

Tech nodded once and set his datapad on his lap, hands poised to type. “Precisely. As such, we need a plan. Just in case.”

They nodded along grimly and echoed him, “just in case.”

___________________

The discussion took hours. Jedi, it turns out, were not very easy to kill. But the Bad Batch weren’t the Bad Batch for nothing. As such, many scrapped ideas, shouting matches, and some very unhappy consciences later, they had a plan. It wasn’t perfect and it certainly wasn’t pretty, but it was enough. Eventually, Tech finished typing. “Well,” he sighed, “I suppose that is that. Now it needs a name. The next available numerical designation is fifty-t-“ 

“Sixty-Six,” Crosshair interrupted unexpectedly. Throughout the entire discussion, he had been very quiet, providing ideas when required, but largely just observing as the plan came together. Yet every time they flagged, every time Hunter threw his hands up in despair and declared it was futile, he was there. He’d set a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and meet his gaze with a look that said far better than Crosshair himself ever could that he needed to stay strong for the sake of the squad.

That look was no where to be seen, now. In its place was an oddly dark, thousand-yard stare that put his brother uncomfortably in mind of a corpse. “It’s got to be Plan Sixty-Six.”

Tech, puzzled, tried to argue that “It does not makes sense to skip the preceding numbers for this one in particular,” but then Wrecker spoke up:

“No, he’s right. It’s gotta be that. It just feels… right”

Hunter found himself nodding along. For some reason, as soon as Crosshair said it, there was no alternative. Even Tech conceded the point, muttering some rationalization involving multiples of eleven.

In the dark, mind still spinning with the news of Umbara and the newly minted “plan 66”, Hunter was struck by the creeping feeling that they had just taken once step closer to something terrible. Something inescapable. 

Something horribly, world-shakingly, inevitable.

[serenelystrange]

Check Yes or No

In which Eddie finds peace, enjoys a sugary sweet treat, and gets his man!

T, 1243 Words. Short and sweet and absolutely no hurt!

Eddie shrugs and turns to the side just long enough to lob the balled-up paper cup into the trashcan a few feet away, whooping with delight as it sinks in. “I’m not worried about it,” he says, giving Buck a red-stained grin. “I like knowing you can find me.”

Up at A03, or under the cut.

Chris has been home for nearly six months by the time Eddie finally feels like he can breathe again. His relationship with his son isn’t perfect, but it’s good. Work has been without any major disasters, a thought he avoids acknowledging too hard just in case Buck’s superstitions prove to be true one of these days. The sun is warm on his face as he jogs around the park, the temperature not yet at the oppressive heat that August will bring. Eddie spots a colorful food cart as he winds down his jog, and he’s heading toward it without conscious thought.

The overly sweet cherry flavor of the snow-cone is a shock to his system, but a pleasant one, cooling his parched throat as he settles down on a nearby bench. Disregarding the long plastic spoon shoved inside the cup, Eddie grips the flimsy paper cup in one hand and devours the shaved ice directly, scrolling through his TikTok feed mindlessly with the other hand.  By the time he gets to the end of the treat, he’s four parts into a five-part saga of some woman’s evil in-laws, and he curses as he refreshes her page and sees the final part isn’t uploaded yet.

“Hey.”

Eddie startles at the voice, looking up with a confused but pleased expression as Buck settles down onto the bench beside him. He’s wearing loose jogging shorts and a baggy blue t-shirt, along with his running shoes, but Eddie can’t help but notice he hasn’t broken even the hint of a sweat.

“How did you even find me?” Eddie laughs, smirking when Buck freezes, caught. Eddie clicks his screen dark and pockets his phone.

“Find My Friends,” Buck huffs after a moment. “You never disable it, man. You should really remember that more often.”

Eddie shrugs and turns to the side just long enough to lob the balled-up paper cup into the trashcan a few feet away, whooping with delight as it sinks in.

“I’m not worried about it,” he says, giving Buck a red-stained grin. “I like knowing you can find me.”

“Good to know, Count Dracula,” Buck laughs softly, eyeing Eddie’s cherry-smeared lips for just a moment too long.

“My mouth stained?” Eddie asks, noticing a remaining line of cherry sugar water dripping down his thumb.

Buck just nods, watching intently as Eddie brings his hand up to his mouth and licks the sweetness clean, licking his own lips unconsciously.

“Why’d you track me down?” Eddie asks innocently as he returns his hand to his lap. “You could have just called.”

“Was bored,” Buck says, shrugging. “Cleaned the loft, did all my laundry, I even folded and hung it all up after.”

“Impressive,” Eddie says, earnestly. “Folding it is the worst part.”

“Maybe I’ll get one of those folding robots,” Buck muses. “They can do it so much faster than me.”  

“Yeah, until it gets bored and decides to fold you to death instead,” Eddie snorts derisively.

“They’re only like this big,” Buck laughs, gesturing with his hands. “I think I can manage to fend off a microwave sized robot even if it was evil.”

“Hmm,” Eddie says, unconvinced.

“You’re ridiculous,” Buck says, fondly.

“And you’re stupidly gorgeous,” Eddie huffs, “we all have our crosses to bear.”

He realizes what he’s said a moment too late, as he watches Buck’s face flit through every known emotion in the human spectrum, and maybe a few exclusive to those shrimp who see all the colors.

“Any chance you want to pretend I didn’t say that out loud?” Eddie asks, blaming the sugar rush for the words, and for the blush that no doubt matches his reddened lips.

Buck is silent, which in itself is alarming, and Eddie gulps apprehensively as Buck’s eyes narrow and his head tilts in thought.

“So, you usually only call me gorgeous in your head?” Buck asks, righting his own head so he can stare right into Eddie’s wide eyes.

“No,” Eddie denies, far too quickly if the smirk on Buck’s face is any indication. “Shut up, you’re hideous, actually.”

“Oh my god,” Buck says, breaking into a wide grin. “You like me!”

“You’re my best friend, asshole,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. “Obviously I like you.”

“No, you like like me!” Buck says with a hum. “You wanna pass me a note in Math class and have me check yes or no!”

“I wouldn’t pass notes in class,” Eddie says, relaxing slightly as he realizes Buck isn’t running away. “I went to catholic school; they’d smack us with rulers if they caught us.”

“Jesus,” Buck breathes.

“Allegedly,” Eddie agrees, sardonic.

Buck laughs at the almost-joke; funny in that distant way childhood scars form, ragged and pink and forever just a little bit tender to the touch.

“We aren’t in middle school,” Buck says after a moment, gaze softening impossibly, “even if you do have kool-aid mouth.”

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, rubbing the back of his hand against his stained mouth uselessly. “It was good.”

“You should’ve shared,” Buck pouts dramatically. “Rude.”

“I didn’t know you were coming!” Eddie defends, reaching up and cupping Buck’s face, rubbing his thumb across one flushed cheekbone. “I’ll buy you a snow-cone, whatever flavor you want.”

“Cherry looks good,” Buck says, eyes firmly on Eddie’s full lips.

“Hmm,” Eddie says, tilting Buck’s head up until he can see his eyes again. “Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

Eddie smiles, a quietly pleased little thing, as his thumb stops moving.

“Do you like me? Check yes or no.”

“Duh,” Buck says, leaning into Eddie’s hand and fluttering his eyes closed for a moment.

“What was that?” Eddie teases, thinking back to Buck and clipboards and the most confusing erections of his life.

Buck snorts a laugh, not attractive in the least, but catches on, pressing a kiss against Eddie’s palm before looking at him again.

“Check.”

He grabs Eddie’s free hand in between his own and traces a checkmark onto his skin, laughing again even as Eddie moves the hand on his face to thread through his hair instead. Eddie kisses the laugh from his lips, catching the surprised gasp with his own.

Eddie tastes like ice and sugar, almost overwhelmingly so, but Buck chases the sweetness eagerly, melting back against the bench as Eddie twists and leans around him. He grips the back of the bench behind Buck’s shoulder as they kiss and kiss and kiss, holding tight with the hand not in Buck’s hair. Eddie damn near whimpers when Buck finally gently nudges them apart to take a breather.

“We cannot get arrested for public indecency,” Buck rasps, licking the transferred sweetness from his own lips. “Athena would never let us live it down.”

“It was just a kiss,” Eddie argues, pointedly not looking down at their matching tented shorts.

“That wasn’t just anything,” Buck says.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, the very picture of the cat with the cream.

“I parked in the garage a few blocks down,” Buck offers once they’ve calmed down and Eddie has reluctantly removed his hand from Buck’s hair.

“The dark and covered garage?” Eddie asks mischievously.

“Way in the back corner,” Buck nods, watching raptly as Eddie reaches down to his own lap and gives himself just one discreet squeeze.

“Good,” Eddie says, hopping up and offering Buck his hand. “Then what are you waiting for?”

And Buck? Buck can’t think of even one little thing. He grins widely and takes Eddie’s hand.

The End

[carminecherry]

RAIN STAINED CRIMSON | mikey sano

this is part five of the series kill the lights

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!biker!mikey sano x fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after moving by yourself to tokyo, you black out at a party and wake up with a new friend. as she sweeps you up in her fast-paced city life, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper for her mysterious brother. but something dark is brewing in the city. as his past threatens to resurface, mikey must fight not only physical enemies but the mental battle of his feelings for you. he can't resist you , but could he ever forgive himself if something happened to you? he'll love you selfishly and protect you savagely.

⇝ PART FIVE LENGTH: 3.6k words

⇝ PART FIVE WARNINGS: violence, injury, blood, distress (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. you meet up with emma for another coffee date and get the debrief. however, on the way back to your apartment, the comfortable life that you've known will be stained in darkness. there is a world of suffering that has never touched your life until now... something is set into motion and nothing will be the same.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: this one was pretty heavy to write. happy spooky month but please take care of yourself! more chapters coming soon! keep an eye on the tags and stay safe! <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

You woke to rain. The droplets tapping on your window, drawing you out of sleep. The sound is barely louder than the hum of your AC. It was peaceful. The darkness the thick clouds provided left you dozing in and out for a few more minutes. The sky was churning shades of black and gray, thick like torn wool. The gentle patter of the droplets didn’t match the scene.

You finally rise, starting your routine. Your phone is your companion this morning, as your TV screen sits, black. There was still a gnawing feeling after the news stories yesterday. Two violent attacks in one day are highly irregular, at least here in the city. You knew your mental health would suffer more if you shuttered yourself inside for a second day. Seeing Emma would be good. Surely, her sunshiny personality would wash away some of the anxiety prodding you for attention.  

You leave, locking the door behind you. The rainy weather provided some relief to the heat of the previous week. It came in gentle waves, washing over you and your umbrella. The commute to the café was uneventful. You had a dutifulness that kept you from burying your nose in your phone like you would normally do. You watched the world pass by out of the train window, thin streams of water chasing each other. With each droplet the stream acquired, it grew fatter and heavier, rushing across the pane. You entertained yourself with this as you approached your stop, placing bets on which stream would win.

Emma was waiting for you near the ticket gate. She lit up when she saw you and you already started to feel better, your shoulders relaxing. You tap your train card to exit and the moment you’re through the gate her arms are around you. You’re starting to acclimate to Emma’s physical affection. “It’s so good to see you!” she says, swaying with you. “You too! I’m glad to see you’re in one piece” Releasing you, she whines, “I thought I was gonna die yesterday!”

You begin the short walk to the café. “I thought you were gonna die two nights ago. How come it hit you so hard anyways. I thought you were some crazy party girl, shouldn’t you know your limits by now” You tease. At that, she taps her umbrella into yours, the droplets shaking off. “You see, it’s because I’m a ‘party girl’ that I willingly surpass those limits, my friend. Often.” With that, the two of you arrive at the café.

It's quaint, tucked under the train tracks. The old brick is covered in thick ivy that hangs heavy with rain water. You push open the door, greeted with cool air and the smell of freshly ground coffee. The grinder hummed pleasantly, the sound of soft music mingling with the ambient noise. Your eye is caught by the source of the music; a vintage record player. There is natural wood throughout and dark, warm accents.

It was cozy and small with only a few other people seated at the counter. One typing away at their laptop, another lost in the pages of a fat novel. You tried to peek at the cover to no avail as you approached the counter and ordered. There are two worn leather sofas near the front window, the ivy from outside giving some natural privacy. The two of you sit there, sinking into the seats. You chat, waiting for your drinks. You feel at peace

***

“I can’t believe I did that!” She said, burying her face in her hands. “It’s all good, I think Mikey and Draken took care of it.” You say, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “On my LIFE, I’m swearing off liquor!” You look at her incredulously. She flicks some of the condensation water from her glass at you. “At least until next weekend.” She compromises. “Speaking of, there’s an event at a club I promote at. I get plus three if you want on the list.” 

This grabs your attention, “Really? That sounds like a lot of fun! I’d totally be down. What’s the vibe?” “It’s a hip-hop place, they want more cute girls in there to drum up drink sales. Basically, we just go, shake ass, and get free drinks from guys that pay the event markup. The club makes a fat stack and we party for free.” She says devilishly.

You could get on board with that. It’d been ages since you’d gone clubbing. You used to be a bit of a club rat in your university years. You imagine that clubbing in the city would be more fun than at the grungy college clubs you used to frequent. A question popped into your head, “You said plus three, are you going to invite anyone else?” “Yeah, Senju already said yes. I wish I could’ve introduced you at the party. I know you guys are gonna get along great. I also invited Yuzuha. She’s gonna try to make it work with her schedule.” Emma says thoughtfully pulling out her phone. You nod, the prospect of making more female friends is exciting.

Emma turns her screen to you, displaying a pretty girl with short, fluffy, white-bleached hair. She’s pixie-like with small defined features. “This is Senju” Emma says, swiping through a few pictures on her social media page. “And this is Yuzuha.” Emma turns her phone back to you. Yuzuha is more mature in appearance, sensual. She has long, silky, coppery hair that falls over her shoulders. “They’re so pretty.” You say, awestruck, unable to look away from the pictures as she scrolled through Yuzuha’s feed. “Wait till you see them in person.” She winks.

“I’ll make a group chat later so we can coordinate and you can add them.” She says, placing her phone on the table. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “So, you and Mikey?” She says, a glint in her eye. Catching you mid-sip and off guard. You choke on your drink, some of it going down the wrong way. As you cough you manage, “What do you mean?” 

She laughs, a twinkling sound that cuts through the buttery air of the moody café. “You’re too easy to read. How charming~” The compliment adds to the redness in your face as you get your coughing fit under control. “No, I’m not.” You counter, doing your best to pull a stoic expression. She laughs in your face again. “You’re blushing ! Too cute, trying to be serious.” She gushes, your face growing hotter. 

“I mean, he gave me a ride home if that’s what you mean.” Turning to your drink for a distraction. “Boo~ you’re so boring. I’m talking about at the party. Gimme the goss.”  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You half mean it. You didn’t want to tell Emma about your dark fantasies about her brother . “Don’t be like that~'' She teased, the look in her eye told you she had something in mind. “Why? Did you hear something?” “You. Mikey. Sofa.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I mean we talked.” She hummed incredulously. “No, really. We just talked about bikes and stuff.” “Boooooring.” She huffs, thudding into the leather of the sofa as she reclines. “I thought it was gonna be something juicy. I heard you had him wrapped around your finger.” Your mind raced to replay the evening. In what way shape or form had you had that man “wrapped around your finger”. 

“You should check your source. I think they might’ve mixed us up with the couple on the sofa before us.” You pictured the pair again, their hot and heavy conversation. “He was practically inside of her before Mikey showed up.” Now this piqued Emma’s interest as she sat up from the sofa, leaning across the table to you, a conspiratorial look in her eye.

What had his name been? “Yeah, it was some guy Mikey knew, his name was like Hakk- something.” “Hakkai?!” Emma supplied excitedly. You shot her a finger gun, “That’s it! Blue hair, mouth scar.” You dragged your finger across your lips tracing the phantom scar the blue-haired man sported. “And she was GORGEOUS. Long brown hair, big,” You gesture to your chest, mimicking the woman’s endowment. “She was like on top of him. A houseplant might not have been the only thing Yuuki would be replacing if you catch my drift” The thought of cleaning velvet makes you cringe. “Once she saw Mikey she switched it up pretty quick though.” Remembering the way she had fawned under his gaze.

Emma made a face and snatched up her phone, “No. Way. Is this her?” Emma showed you a picture of the woman from the sofa, but in this picture she was in the arms of a different tattooed man. Another solid 10. “Yeah, that’s her!” You confirm. Emma makes a noise, fingers flying across her screen as she types a message to someone. 

“That’s Sera. Not to not be a girl's girl, but she’s a total wannabe and a homie-hopper. Hakkai should know better than that. I miss when he couldn’t even look at women.” You nod, soaking in the tea. Picturing a little Hakkai freezing up when a girl tried to talk to him was an endearing image. One in stark contrast to what you’d seen on Friday. “She’s been trying to get with Mikey for ages and she won’t take no for an answer. I guess fucking all of his friends is her plan B.”

You hum. You’d met your fair share of fuck boys and girls in university. After hooking up with a couple of them you decided that you preferred to stay out of the drama. “I guess that explains some things. They cleared out after he saw Mikey.” You sip thoughtfully, nearing the end of your drink. Remembering how Mikey hadn’t acknowledged the pretty brunette’s presence. It was starting to make more sense now. “That tracks” Emma replied, her phone buzzing but she makes no move to check it.

She finishes her drink, the ice settling as she returns the glass to its coaster. She runs her fingers up and down the side, tracing a pattern in the condensation. “Well, whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened with you and Mikey, let me know. He’s been acting weird all weekend” She said in a teasing tone. “Nothing. Happened.” You impress upon her. Tucking that crumb of information she tacked on at the end in your pocket. 

“Whatever you say~” She shrugs, finally checking her phone. She smiles rising from the sofa. “Mikey usually doesn’t let anyone on the back of his precious bike. So do with it what you will.” Two crumbs in your pocket. Your blush returns. You try to turn from Emma but it’s too late. She snickers.

“Let’s do this again, next Sunday. We can have ‘Sundates’.” She proposes. “I’d like that.” You smile moving to exit. “I’ve got some errands to run out here so I’ll split after we get to the station.” You nod. The two of you call back a ‘thank you’ to the barista as the bell above the door jingles.

You say your goodbyes at the station and board the train. The rain falls harder now, in heavy sheets that pelt the windows of your train car. The train lurches to a stop one station before your home station. The doors open to the platform and an announcement plays, “Due to extreme weather conditions, the service on this train line will be temporarily suspended. We apologize for any inconvenience.” The message plays on a loop and you curse how close you were to getting home. 

You weigh your options. Truthfully, it wasn’t a far walk. Maybe 15 minutes. The platform grew more crowded as people retreated from the rain. The growing crowd made you nervous and you decided a 15 minute walk is preferable to elbowing your way onto a packed muggy train when it does start running again. You ready your umbrella and venture out into the storm. Thunder clapped loud enough to shake the trees, a sprinkle of extra water added to the downpour you were battling. It was amazing how loud just the rain was.

Your visibility was poor and you were having second thoughts about this adventure. You were about halfway at this point, too late to turn back. Over the sound of the rain you heard something. A voice. You stop dead in your tracks, frantically looking for the source. Again, a voice cried out. The pain in the voice sliced through the deafening rain. Your body was moving before you could think. If you had, you probably would’ve frozen. You round a corner, carelessly splashing through the puddles in the sidewalk. You’re met with an alley, tucked between two large buildings, the space somewhat sheltered from the rain.

It was then you saw a figure crumpled on the ground and a larger one standing over them. The larger figure, a man, loomed over them. His dark hoodie drenched in rain. Your eyes scanned down his back and landed on the knife in their gloved hand. The blade reflected back a sickening red. Your body starts to shake. You want to run, to disappear. The body on the ground curled into the fetal position and cried out again. 

“Help! Someone. Please.” Their voice cracking. The gurgle in their words made your stomach twist. The hooded figure stomped them once, then again. The wounded cried out with each impact. “ Oi oi- .” The attacker punctuated each blow. “It’s no fun if you don’t fight back~” His tone was saccharin and sing-songy. It makes your skin crawl. “I swear I didn’t-” The attacker kicked them hard in the stomach. The sound of retching pushing you over your fear threshold. “ If you’re gonna FUCK around you better be ready to find OUT! ” The hooded man’s deep voice echoes off the walls.

Now was the time to act. You could slip away unnoticed, pretend none of this ever happened, or better yet, call the police and have them sort it out. But in your heart you knew that if something didn’t happen now, that person was going to die. Thunder crashed again and you took a deep breath, forcing your body to move. Your eyes land on a pile of trash, tied up for pick up. Next to the bags you see a rusted pipe. You wrap your fingers around it, wet and grimy. You test its weight in your hand, dropping your umbrella, breaking into a sprint. The hooded figure stooped, coming to kneel over the smaller who tried to crawl away. He raised the knife.

CRACK! It was a sick, wet sound as you brought the pipe down on the man’s head. His body went limp on top of the figure below. You kick the knife hard and far into a pile of trash bags before grabbing the wet material of his hoodie and heaving him off and away from the other. You step, splashing a puddle that stains the hem of your pants red. You rush over, kneeling next to the injured figure, their body shaking harder than yours. You let the pipe drop. The figure crawls to you, hugging your legs with little strength. You see now he’s just a boy. No older than 18. His lip trembles, tears pouring from his eyes. He looks so scared.

You move to cradle him, your body blocking the rain. “T-thank you.” He cries weakly. You nod, the lump in your throat prevents you from responding. You look him up and down, your vision blurring through the tears. You count 2 stab wounds to his chest and stomach. The red is spreading through the material of his T-shirt faster than you care for. You manage, “I’m going to call for an ambulance. Can you press on the wound?” You wiggle to free your phone from your pocket, fighting the water on your screen to dial the emergency number. “Which one?” He tries to chuckle before wincing. He still has a sense of humor, that’s a good sign. You hit the speakerphone button as the line starts ringing.

It quickly connects and you steady your voice, telling the operator, “Hello! Please, I need help. There’s been a stabbing, um..” You look around, realizing you don’t actually know where you are, “Are you at the location now?” the operator asks, she has a soothing voice. “Yes!” You say ardently. “Alright, I have your location on my screen now, we have emergency service vehicles on their way to you, but it’s going to be a few minutes. Are you with the victim now?” “Yes, I’m here, he’s here. He, uh, he has at least two stab wounds to the torso.” You tell her frantically. The words feel strange and clinical.

“Okay miss, we’re going to apply pressure to the wound. I want you to look for something you can use, like a towel or blanket.” You look around the dirty alley. “Nothing, there’s nothing.” You say, a sob escaping. “That’s alright, so what we’re going to do is, I want you to use your hands to apply pressure.” “I-I am. I’m doing that.” “Good, you’re doing great. EMS is almost at your location.”

The stab wound in his chest seems to open further as the red seeps between your fingers. You quickly adjust your hands to apply more pressure to the wound, wiping your tears on your sleeve. “Please tell them to hurry.” You say pathetically, more tears streaking down your face. He starts to fade, his eyes fluttering “No. Stay with me.” You say firmly. 

He’s fighting. He locks eyes with you, “I don’t want to die.” He whispers, voice cracking. “Please, please, please.” You mutter, each a prayer that EMS will arrive. “I’m scared.” He says with a strangled voice. “I’m here with you. I’m here.” You cry. “ Mom .” He begs. You hear from your phone, “We’re going to do this together. EMS is a minute away. Hang in there” You hear a groan as the hooded figure reanimates. The boy sobs out, his limp body unable to move.  “Please, please, please.” You pray. The hooded figure groans again, bringing a hand to his head.

“Miss, I need you to talk to me, what’s going on?” You hear the operator ask. “Police! We need the police. The man, he’s waking up.” You squeak, your veins feeling electric. Then you hear them. Sirens in the distance. “Police are on their way, miss. They’re almost there. You’re doing so well.” The operator encourages. 

The hooded figure pushes himself up feeling around. He sees the two of you, his masked face streaked with blood. His or the boys you couldn’t be sure, “ You bitch. ” He says venomously, his golden eyes searing into you. The sirens are so close. “Please.” You beg the universe. He looks around once more, seeming to hesitate before he takes off; staggering out of the alley. Your eyes follow after him, sure you'll see him reappear. 

The body in your arms slackens. “No!” You cry, jostling the boy. “No, please.” You move again to adjust the pressure. You see them from the other end of the alley, the flashing lights of the ambulance.

What happens after is all a blur. You lean back on the wall of the alley, watching them work. You can’t look at your hands but you feel the warm liquid growing cold and sticky. He has a pulse, you gather from the paramedics. He lost so much blood, too much blood. They load him into the back of the ambulance and they are gone. 

You don’t remember when, but the police must have arrived. You feel a blanket being wrapped around your shoulders as you're led to a police car. “Yes. No.” Those are the only words that remain in your vocabulary. “Miss, are you injured?” “No.” "We're going to have the paramedics check you, okay?" "Yes." “We're going to take you to the station the station to help us file the report, are you able to do that?” “Yes.” “Is there anyone we can call for you?” “No.”

You don’t know how long you were at the station. How many questions you answered. You hear word that the boy was in serious condition at the hospital but doctors were hopeful. They said you saved him but it hardly felt like it. There was a familiar hole in your chest. How long has it been since this old friend visited you? You let the world move around you, there was a child-like comfort in releasing control to someone else. That a parent knows best and will act in your favor.

A police woman, perhaps a decade your senior, takes you to another room. She has kind eyes and her touch is soft. She helps you change out of your clothes. She told you they would be evidence. She uses warm, wet rags to clean you. You sit there and let her gently wipe between your fingers. She is attentive and steady. She moves slowly, like you're something fragile. Right now, you are. The minutes tick away before she is dressing you in a light, baggy shirt and sweatpants that are a bit too big. You let yourself be led to a police car. The edges of the sky taking on that luminous blue that previews sunrise.

You ride in silence. It’s not long before you are home. The engine is turned off and the officer exits the car, opening the door for you. He offers you an arm and you take it. “If you need anything. Please call or message me. Any time.” He hands you a crisp, white business card. You pocket it, quietly thanking him. He walks you to your door and makes sure you get in safely. You stand in your entryway, back against your door until you hear the car pull away. You slide down the wall and sit there. The smell of the cheap, plastic shoes from the police station is unpleasant. Still, you sit.

[scorpionstar2021]

I may be the only one, but the dysfunctional family dynamics of Sengoku, Rosinante, Drake, and Law live in my head rent free.

All four of them are undeniably tied to one single night on Minion Island, and that one event changed all their lives.

I want more of them and their interactions, but if Oda doesn’t provide, I’ll make it up myself. (See below)

Sengoku - Rosinante: this dynamic is pretty fleshed out; it’s clear Rosinante respected Sengoku (while sticking to his morals) and it’s clear Sengoku loved Rosinante like a son; we even get a moment of Sengoku grieving Rosinante, plus his decision to let Law escape in Dressrosa was purely out of respect to Rosinante

Rosinante - Law: this is the most fleshed-out dynamic, very clearly father/son; Law gets a whole revenge arc, and Rosinante gets a tear-jerking send off; their entire dynamic is right there on the page/screen

Rosinante - Drake: if they met, it was for a very brief time while Rosinante was beating up Diez Barrels; however, this dynamic is all about the shadow Rosinante left that Drake must live in, trying to be the best Marine not only because of his father but because of the example Rosinante set and Sengoku expects; Drake (perhaps intentionally or even just subconsciously) even follows Rosinante into a life of Marine spy work and into dangerous situations; it’s a dynamic of ghosts and silent shadows and how living among them influenced Drake and his relationships with those who knew Rosinante in full life

Sengoku - Drake: there’s literally nothing about them except the fact that Sengoku adopted Drake, that’s it; this lack of interaction could indicate a strained relationship; Sengoku most likely only took Drake in because he assumed he was the boy Rosinante had been trying to save (and the revelation that that wasn’t true must have been earth-shattering); Sengoku seems content to let Drake do his own thing and is largely uninvolved (he has no contact with Drake or SWORD, though he was directly overseeing Rosinante’s mission); it seems Drake was an impulse adoption and then a forgotten, second son who, despite mirroring the first son, doesn’t measure up to the first in Sengoku’s mind

Law - Sengoku: Sengoku believes that anyone relating to pirates or piracy should face justice (look at what he did Ace just because of his parentage), but he did let Law go, only because of Rosinante; Law seems unconcerned or just ambivalent to the fact his adoptive grandfather used to be the fleet admiral; they’re interacted once and parted in peace, so they would probably get along but prefer not to associate with one another

Law - Drake: the second Law used his Devil Fruit, Drake would have known who he was; maybe they’ve talked about it, maybe they’ve just sort of tangentially acknowledged the connection and nothing more (they are familiar with each other when they’re introduced in the main story, but it’s not clear how well they know each other); they probably had some run-ins in the North Blue when Law was getting started as a pirate, back when Drake was a public Marine; they probably also had some run-ins when Drake ‘defected’ (although Law seems to clock this is a false defection pretty fast); they’re not exactly antagonistic toward one another, but they don’t seem particularly interested in getting along or working together (which might change if they actually talked about Minion Island); regardless, Drake did let Law escape in Wano, so there is some drive between them to not just let the other suffer