#he'd be like why the hell are you telling me this

[yshoons]

ᶻz﹒─ ͏͏͏͏͏͏IT'S YOU THAT I WANT

SYN ── when you try setting them up with someone else, but it's you that they want; "if not you, then who?", enha x fmr, headcannons, ot7

HEESEUNG (희승)

stunned silence, and then rejection

annoyed and flustered that you just can't seem to figure out his feelings for you

"how'd you feel if i set you up with someone?"

there's a long pause that follows as soon as you state your offer, heeseung blinking at you. however, loud rejection falls from his mouth in a matter of seconds and he frantically scrambles for a reason. any reason.

"aww c'mon heeseung!" you groan, "you never go out with anyone, and one of my friends thinks you're really cute,"

"what about you?" he asks.

"what?"

"i said," he mumbles, "what about you?"

you tilt your head at him, confusion obvious on your face. heeseung flushes red, burying his head into his arms.

"dammit, i'm asking you what you think of me,"

JAY (제이)

has to take a breather

resentment, anger, shame (towards you for being dense)

"what are you playing at yn?"

"nothing!" you exclaim, "someone i know think's you're cute, and you're single so i'm just being the messenger here,"

"that's not what i mean," jay groans, "are you really serious or are you just playing with me?"

"playing with you?" you echo, frowning, "you're confusing me jay," you're only met with a laugh from him, and you watch as he runs his hands through his hair and his jaw tightens.

without warning, he grabs your hand placing it onto his chest.

"do you feel this?" he asks, "don't play with my heart, especially when only you can make it do this,"

JAKE (제이크)

in a daze, and ends up agreeing

ends up sputtering about you the whole entire time

you burst through the door to the cafe, easily finding jake, who's left alone at a table.

"jake!" you exclaim, running towards him, "what happened? ahra suddenly called me, saying she left, and that the date was horrible, and that you were horrible, but i was like how would jake be like-"

jake grabs your arm, cutting you off.

". . .she got sick of me talking,"

"she what?" you ask.

"she got sick of me talking about you the whole time," jake mutters sheepishly. he looks up at you, his flushed cheeks and eyes wide.

"i'll apologize to her later," jake starts.

"but it's you that i want to go on a date with,"

SUNGHOON (성훈)

gets angry that you're so dense

rejects right away

"what?" sunghoon asks, a scalding looking on his face.

"hey what's your problem?" you groan, " i'm just trying to help you out man,"

"man?" he grimaces, "seriously yn?"

"what?" you ask.

"be honest, do you even see me as one?"

"as a man?" you repeat.

sunghoon huffs, stepping closer to you, his eyes intense. you can feel the heat radiating from his body and he's practically on you.

"because i know for sure i see you as a woman,"

SUNOO (선우)

sick and tired of you

this is his final straw, ends up confessing

"i said no already, why do you keep pushing?" sunoo asks, annoyance clear.

"you never do stuff like this sunoo, this is an opportunity!" you exclaim, grabbing his hands, "for me?? please? plus haewon is super nice, you'll totally get along with her"

sunoo scoffs, pulling you in closer to him.

"well i don't want any opportunities unless it's one with you, i like you, not anyone else,"

JUNGWON (정원)

confused as hell

goes quiet because he quite literally is crashing out on the inside

ends up confessing

"jungwon?" you call, "are you listening?"

"huh? sorry what'd you say again?" you sigh, eyeing the boy in front of you. he wasn't one to zone out, and ever since you mentioned the possible date he'd gone silent.

"do you not want to go?" you ask, "it's fine i'll tell her you can't. you want to focus on school anyways right? it's always better to-"

jungwon slams his drink onto the table, coughing.

"i'd much rather focus on us," he says.

"us?" you tilt your head, "what about us?"

"god," jungwon laughs, "i like you got it?"

NI-KI (니키)

"yeah no" + nasty side eye

also ends up confessing to you

"yeah absolutely not,"

"oh come on," you groan, "what is your deal? sunoo told me that you complain about this stuff,"

riki furrows his brows at this, but he quickly realizes what sunoo's trying to do.

"oh my god," riki mutters. he glances at you, your eyes wide and innocent. "you're really really really stupid,"

"seriously what is your problem dude?" you grumble.

"my problem is that you can't seem to see that what i want isn't some other girl, but you,"

© YSHOONS 2024

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: The appearance of a stranger in Jackson has your world turning upside down as Joel tries to keep you grounded.

Warnings: Violence, torture with a knife, guns, SA, mentions of gang rape (Neither are depicted in detail) Language, death.

Word Count: 2.9k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Alright, strap in folks, here we go.

May 2024

It happens in the blink of an eye, Ellie's voice yells his name, and all of a sudden you're no longer standing. Instead, you've straddled the newcomer and well for lack of a better word, attacked him.

"Woah, wait!"

Joel hands his gun off to someone he can't quite remember the name of before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you off the man you've dubbed Adam.

You're kicking and screaming, cursing out both him and the stranger and Joel looks back at the man. Angry red streaks from your nails run down his face, close to his eyes, and in the dim light, Joel can see the finest streaks of blood.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

Your loud voice bounces off the surrounding buildings as he holds you back. Joel tells you to calm down but it doesn't do much good as you thrash. His eyes fall to Adam again and Joel can't help but wonder, who was this man?

"Take 'em to the stables." Joel nods to Louis who forces the man to his feet and motions for another man to carry the woman, "In an empty stall, tie 'em up."

As soon as Adam fades from view, Joel releases you. You deliver a hard shove to his chest and he stumbles back a step.

"You mind tellin' me what the hell is going on?" Joel huffs, his arms burning from holding you back.

"No." You seethe, your eyes remain fixed on the stable doors.

The next day, early morning...

Ellie watches the slow rise and fall of your chest. Joel had put you to bed last night on their couch. Ellie wasn't sure what was wrong with you. Just a day ago you'd been composed, laughing with her about Gladiator and now you were pulling apart at the seams.

She could tell you knew that man, Adam. Whoever he was, you clearly hated him. Ellie hadn't been able to get a good look but she was pretty sure you'd done a good number on his face.

"She up?" Joel asks quietly as he descends the stairs.

"No," Ellie sighs, "She looks exhausted though."

Joel nods as he peers over the back of the couch to get a better look.

"Why don't you get a move on. School's starting in," He glances at the clock, "Twenty minutes."

"It's a five-minute walk." Ellie points out, not eager to leave so soon.

"Just get going. Maybe that Dina girl will be early like you. Y'can talk to her while you wait." Joel says

Ellie groans but stands up anyway, hoping Joel can't see the way her face has gotten a bit red at the mention of Dina. How embarrassing he was!

The door slams shut five minutes later and Joel glances at the couch again.

"You can stop fakin'. She's gone."

You shift a bit under the blankets, you remind Joel of a big burrito. Last night, he'd tucked you under what had to have been at least 7 blankets. Your eyes had been glassy with fear and he'd sat by your side until you dozed off.

Joel sits down on the couch cushion your feet are closest to, he pats your calf through the blankets, "Gonna tell me what's wrong now?"

Another shift of the blankets and Joel hears a small sniffle before you sit up. Your hair is a mess as you push it from your eyes and look over at him. Your usually bright eyes are dull, stained red with tears while your nose is irritated from wiping it too many times as you sniffle again.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Joel softly asks again

He hadn't expected to see tears. You were worrying him, first your erratic behavior last night and now you were crying the world's biggest stain into his couch.

It's quiet for a moment, so quiet Joel can hear the birds singing outside. Another moment passes before you look over at him, anger brimming in your eyes.

"We have to kill him."

Approximately 9 hours ago...

Joel watches as Ellie and Brett take you back to his house. He sighs and runs a hand down your weary face. You're in good hands, Brett, even if he's an idiot, won't hurt you. As for Ellie, well, at this point Joel would probably let her shave his whole head if it was necessary. He trusted her to take care of you until he could get back.

The stables reek. Even though they had just been mucked out before dinner, they still stunk. Shimmer lets out a snort as Joel passes.

Louis and another man, his name might be Matt stand at the doors to the last stall, their guns pointed at the strangers.

"Alright, let's try this again," Joel says looking down at the man, "Names."

"Adam." The redhead spits out, refusing to look up at Joel

So you were right. Just who was this Adam and what had he done.

"And her?" Joel nods to the woman, still unconscious.

"Lana."

"Why is Lana unconscious, Adam? One of the scouts said she was already out when they'd picked you up down by the dam." Joel says, remembering what Brett had said before walking off with you tucked into his side

"I don't fucking know. Can we please just get some food and water?" Adam scoffs

Joel shakes his head, what an ego this one had.

"You're not calling the shots here. I want answers. Then we'll think about getting you food."

The man lets out a small whimper. How pathetic.

"She passed out maybe an hour before your crew found us. I don't know what's wrong with her." Adam says looking down at the woman

Joel looks at Lana. She's deathly pale and looks more bone than flesh even in Louis' dim flashlight.

"Matt, I want you to take her to the clinic. Have the doc take a look at her but keep her tied to the bed."

Matt nods and gathers her up in his arms with ease before slowly walking off.

"Matt!" Joel calls to the younger man, "Keep her away from Maria."

"Will do, Joel."

Joel turns back to Adam whose hands are still bound to a post behind him.

"Now, where are you comin' from, Adam?"

June 2017, two weeks before the escape...

A warm washcloth roams your back. Weeks of dirt, blood, and grime stain the once-clean water. You focus on your fingernails, they're cracked and the cuticles are dry.

"Need to keep these clean."

A big hand traces the edge of a fresh wound and you shiver at the pain it causes.

"I know."

Your voice is barely a whisper as you try not to cry. This happened often, swallowing your tears. He hated it so much, the tears and the snot that came with them.

Adam liked smiles and pleases and thank you's, so that's what you did. You nodded and smiled when he asked you things, you asked him questions and tried to memorize things about him. Adam liked the color red, he didn't like flannels or the winter. He preferred deer over rabbit, he hated the taste of dog but didn't mind duck.

The house they'd holed up in wasn't big. A small ranch but it was good enough to wait out the horrible storm that had lasted through the night. Tomorrow they'd drag you back out on the road and leave you tied to a tree for the night. This home was a luxury you hadn't felt in a long time.

Adam had boiled water for you to bathe. In any other circumstance, it would've been considered thoughtful, romantic even. But it just made your skin crawl, the way his eyes roamed your body as you sat there, knees tucked to your chest while he cleaned you.

"Louder. I don't like mumbling." Adam says

"Sorry." You say, louder this time.

He nods and pushes your knees into the water. The rag runs across your chest as he gropes you a smirk lining his features when you shiver.

"You fucking slut."

Your head snaps to look at him. What had you done wrong now? You thought he liked it when you were responsive to his touches, grant it you'd been shivering in fear but he didn't need to know that.

"Three of us fucked you an hour ago and you're still lusting for more." He laughs

"N-No I-"

"No?" He scoffs, his face dropping the smile that'd been on his face just a second ago

You raise your hands up, bracing them against his forearms, "I didn't mean it like that I-"

His arms, which are so much stronger than yours after weeks of being tied, slam into you. Your feet kick in the water as he slams you down, your head hitting the floor of the tub. Dirty water fills your lungs as you grapple against the hand that has wrapped itself around your neck.

A muffled voice reaches your ears as your broken nails dig into rough flesh. Your gasp fills the air as he heaves you back up, your hair dripping water into your eyes.

"You don't get to say no to me."

Back to the Present...

Joel feels hot rage burn through him. He doesn't know if he's ever been this angry. You're scurrying after him, yelling his name as you pull a normal shirt on, Ellie had changed you into pajamas last night.

The door to the stables slams open, and horses snort and whinny in protest to his sudden entrance. Joel stalks toward the last stall where the guard, Kent has fallen asleep, his gun discarded on the floor.

Adam is in a daze of sleep when Joel cuts him from the post and hauls him to his feet.

"Wha-"

He doesn't get a word out before Joel's fist slams into his jaw. Adam howls in pain and falls to the ground. Joel feels his hand throb in protest as he gets another hit. Joel wants him to really feel it, he wants him to feel every ounce of pain he ever caused you and then some more. One more punch to his face lands when Adam tries to stand back up, this time it's for your cat and what this smug fucker helped to do to it.

"Wait! Stop!"

Adam is sputtering on the ground, his tied-up hands lifted to cradle his jaw.

Joel looms over the man, "Bet that's what she said to you when you hurt her, you fucking bastard."

"Who are you talking about, man? Lana? I never hurt her!"

Blood as red as his hair is streaming from Adam's nose as Joel sneers at him, "I think you know who I'm talking about."

Your name forms on Adam's lips, Joel can see the way his mouth quivers a bit as he gets the first letter out. Joel cuts him off with a kick to the face, he's not fit to say your name ever again.

Joel looks at Kent who is still out cold. A knife is tucked into his boot and Joel scoops it up.

He's going to make this hurt.

"Joel!"

You rip the stable doors open to see what looks like a horror scene. Joel stands over Adam while blood pours from the latters face like a faucet.

You rush over to Joel, keeping your eyes on Adam who just stares at you though a rapidly forming black eye. Joel looks down at you as you approach him. His free hand gently cups your cheek and his thumb runs across the skin.

"Go home, sweetheart, I'll take care of him."

You shake your head, you want to be here for it, for his ending.

"I want to watch."

A pained whimper leaves Adam's lips, "You fucking bitch."

A thump sounds and Adam's form crumples to the floor. Joel has kicked him unconscious. He glances behind himself at the sleeping guard you're pretty sure is Kent.

"Can't do it here. He'll scream too much."

Sneaking out of Jackson is easy. You and Joel ride right out of the gates, Adam's body wrapped in a large tarp, slung across Joel's horse. The guards on the wall are barely awake, not interested in you and Joel as you leave.

Joel leads you what must be at least five miles out from Jackson. The trees are denser here and when you reach a small clearing, Joel stops.

You tie your horses off as Joel pushes Adam's tarp-covered body to the ground and drags him a few hundred feet to your right. Your shaky hands run through Turnip's mane. She snorts at you as you offer her an apple. Pepper nudges you from the left, she wants a snack as well.

You watch as Joel unveils the man who has tormented you for years. You shiver as you think of your time with him. It had only been a few weeks but it felt like ages. Even in your dreams, you had been haunted by him.

"He's not dead right?" You breathe, Adam looks so still and Joel had kicked him so hard

"He's not," Joel says, reaching for his canteen.

Cold water trickles out of the spout and onto Adam's bruised face. He gasps and puts a hand up, commanding Joel to stop. Joel puts the lid back on his canteen, muttering something about not wanting to waste water.

Adam's eyes fall on Joel before they look at you. His eyes roam your figure for the first time in years and you want to jump behind Joel.

"How the fuck are you alive?" Adam asks, standing up, his hands tied in front of him. Clearly, he doesn't like the idea of you being taller than him.

You scoff, of course, that's his first question.

"I'm not as helpless as you think I am." You say

He scoffs in a way that makes you think he doesn't believe you.

Adam shakes his head, "If you're not helpless then you'll do it. I heard what you said at the stables. You want to watch. You want to watch him kill me. If you're so fucking independent then you'll do it yourself."

He's baiting you. Even now in his starved state he still had a good fifteen pounds on you. All he'd need to do is knock you down and wrap those hands around your throat.

"No." You look at him, "I don't ever want to touch you again."

Adam snorts out a laugh, fresh blood oozes from his nose as he does. Joel shoots you a look, he's ready when you are.

"You coward. You always were afraid of me." Adam takes a step towards you and Joel pushes him back,

"Don't fucking move." Joel's deep voice fills the clearing.

"I'm a part of you. I always will be." Adam looks back at you, his feet still, his eyes meet yours as a coy smile remains on his face.

"No, you're not." You clench your jaw, and Joel stares at you, waiting for the sign to start.

"We're one now, you and I..." Adam nods to Joel, "You can run off, spread your legs like a whore for this one here-"

Whatever was going to come out next never does, Joel moves faster than you've ever seen him move and slams the knife he was holding into Adam's leg.

A howl of pain leaves Adam's mouth as he tumbles to the ground, surrounded by pine needles and patches of clovers.

"Not another fucking word." Joel's gruff voice says

You stumble backward and sit down on a rock where Joel's saddle bag sits. Joel twists the knife free and blood pours out. Adams's screams begin to blend together as Joel runs the knife along his sensitive flesh. Long cuts begin to appear on his once smooth skin, they bear a remarkable resemblance to the ones that hide under your clothes.

How poetic this all is.

Joel reminds you of an artist as he works. Blood stains the once-perfect forest floor as Adam begins to beg.

"Please, Please, let me go! I'll never come back! Please!"

Joel grunts and shakes his head, "I'm not calling the shots here. Have to ask her."

You look over at Joel who holds the knife still.

"Go on, ask her." Joel's voice is strong yet quiet at the same time, "Ask her if you can live."

Adam turns to you and for a second you think he might be too proud to do it, that his ego will prevent him from pleading. A moment later, you're proven wrong,

"Please...." He gasps as his hand puts pressure on his leg, "Let me live, you'll never see me again!"

Your jaw tightens as your hands begin to shake.

"I-I'm sorry. F-For everything."

Joel lets out a scoff, "For everything? Actin' like you came into her home and broke a lamp."

Another shallow cut appears on Adam's skin, this time on his cheek.

Adam begins to sob and the stench of urine hits your nose, a wet patch has begun to form on his pants.

"I'm sorry!" He cries wet tears mixing with the blood on his face, "I raped you, and I-I'm sorry! Please, let me go!"

You swallow your spit, has your mouth always been this dry. You're a bit dizzy as you stand up.

"Say the word, sweetheart," Joel says, the knife at Adam's throat.

Your gun, the one you never leave Jackson without is tucked into the back of your pants. It's a simple thing really, a Colt Python that you had found two years ago stashed under the floorboards of an abandoned home.

Now, the gun is in your hands as you try to get them to stop shaking. Joel has stepped off to the side, his knife still in his hands.

"Please..." Adam begs again looking up at you from the ground in a puddle of his own urine and blood.

You shake your head, he's not leaving this clearing ever again. You cock your gun and Adam begins to sob in earnest.

"No!"

A crow caws loudly into the air. Somehow its eerie song gives you strength as your hands finally go still. You stare at him from the other end of the gun, and your lips move as a memory of a bathtub somewhere comes to mind.

"You don't get to say no to me."

The shot that rings out is deafening.

Next Part

Now, *cracks knuckles* we can focus in on the romance.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you from me. My gift? Adam's death. Let's throw a party and dance on his grave.

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly  @orcasoul  @snowlycanroc  @freythecrazyfae

@person-005 @greenwitchfromthewoods

@elli3williams @yawnzzzzzzzz @am-3-thyst @concrete-jungleeee

@cherrypieyourface @kanyewestest @bambisweethearts

[icarusredwings]

This only fits into my idea that Wolvie is demi. Sure he knows someones hot when he sees them but he dosn't really... feel anything.

He's been alive so long that people doing stuff to him just feels... kind of annoying at this point? Like yeah, okay, in Logan the drunk wife girl flashed her tits at him and he snorted, and rolled his eyes all embaressed but I don't think this counts as "hot and bothered." I think this counts as "omg lady calm down lol im just the driver lol" he did think it was a nice gesture but its an empty gesture and thats why it dosn't really do anything for him.

I think this is why he and Kurt get along so well (HERE ME OUT) Because one of kurts biggest "flaws" is that he is extremely touchy, and while the other x men cant touch logan much or lean on him, sit on him, etc, Kurt can full pearch on him and Logan dosn't care. Actually he does care. He's glad. He's happy that Kurt feels this safe with him. Happy that he feels comfortable enough to be around "the angry guy with claws". Happy that Kurt openly gives him affection without there being this weird "okay now we have to fuck" silent agreement. Logan is so tired of trying to get to know someone, cuddle them and hug them, without them immediately expecting them to sleep together. (*JINGLES KEYS* Stay with me!)

And i mean... no.. hes not sex repulsed clearly but it dosn't feel right in his chest. To fuck someone and then they leave. Wolverines mate for life so I think the thing is, what gets him hot and bothered is proving youll stay. Sticking it out with him through all times, telling him you're never going to leave him.

Then- Oh good golly then? Everything is horny worthy. You could just be sitting there and he'd get all pissy because now hes horny and mad about it. You could cassually bring him food and say you thought he might be hungry and he'll let the food get cold because hes too busy fucking you, and then eat the food after to show gratitude and appreciation.

Logan is not meant for hook up culture. He is made for "Our souls are so intertwined that seperating us would put a tear in the universe."

He could see someone whole ass naked and just blink and ask where their clothes went. You could tell him that you want him to do the dirtiest things and he'd probably just blush and think you have alternate motives.

I like to think that he does sometimes finally accept a hook up here and there simply because A. Why not. He hasnt been held in awhile and B. Why not he's literally gonn live forever might as well get some tail if they're offering.

But if and when he finds that person(s) he's locked in. Theres nothing no one else could do that would make him all hot and bothered. Someone could literally give him a lap dance and hed probably just sit there confused as hell, tell them stop, or just leave. It doesn't do anything for him at all.

Now litsen (at least in Finding Home Au, cause theyre married) Wade could come slip into bed with him, very gently rub his arm, kiss him goodnight, then cuddle into his back and Logan would automatically sit up and glare at him cause now hes hard.

"Why do you keep doing that?! Stop!"

And wades all confused "stop what?" Cause hes genuienly tired, but too bad cause Wolvie puts that baby to sleep a different way. (Best sleeps of his life btw)

Morph too, I feel like in 97 morph gets a lot of passes for jokes and touchiness. I also feel like that for the first week (maybe a month idk logan is dumb) or so logan thinks moprh is joking and dosnt actually care about him in that way, so morph starts saying more genuine and sensitive things to him and Logan now is actually blushing, still in denial but is catching butterflies, hoping that morph isnt lying but is too scared to make a move, worried their friendship will end.

Man idk what to say about storm. Logan was hot for storm the first time she punched him in the face. Idk what to tell yall, hes a simp for that woman and I am too so like I get it. Id be terrified to fuck storm though if I was litTERALLY MADE OF METAL like bruh he has more balls then me cause id be scared shed kill me after I ate her out by electrocuting me with my skull crushed between her thighs. ANYWAY

🫡🫡GLORRRY GLORY WHAT A HELLUVA WAY TO DIE 🪖🪖💪

I think Logan would be very difficult to get hot and bothered. Like. He's been through so much yanno?

Like flash a titty at this man and he'll probably be like, "what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Can't you take me to dinner first?"

[ghost-proofbaby]

Something my family always did was qe would open presents very carefully because we had to reuse wrapping paper (we were poor) and reuse bows. We didn't get much st Christmas but it always meant something to me as a kid. There were times my parents got nothing just so me and my sister could have something.

I can see Eddie being raised the same by Wayne

i absolutely agree with this. it was harder in my household since we always bought such cheap paper that ripped if we even breathed on it, but bows? always reuse. name tags? save them. any sort of gift bags? don't even think about throwing those away.

and i just... it's nice to think about Eddie being raised that way as well? like a sense of comfort in knowing he wouldn't give us a weird glance when we still do it, even if now we're not in the same position of necessity.

also, i can so clearly picture the first christmas where wayne does this, only his second christmas with eddie. and he's just downright scared. which is weird, because why is the weight in his chest turning so heavy at the thought of letting his nephew down? just this thirteen year old boy who's gone through hell, whose standards might just be six feet under. but it's all he can think about, all he can worry about, as he's wrapping up that damn guitar so carefully. eddie's only gift that year - the only item he'd even brought up in the last six months. and wayne had spent his entire check on it, no room left for frivolous wrapping or shiny new bows. wayne is reusing last year's paper, using an insane amount of tape he'd borrowed from a neighbor to patch up any and all tears his shaking hands make in his rush to wrap the guitar in time.

and you know what? eddie would notice.

make a small comment, saying "is this last year's paper?". and i can feel wayne's heart dropping as he waits for eddie to be upset but then the boy does this easy thing, something wayne watches him do many more times over the years, where he turns it into something positive.

"sick," he'd say, with a toothy grin and buzzed head, eyes genuinely shining as he looks up at wayne, "this paper is sick. i'm so glad you found it again this year."

wayne doesn't have to tell him to carefully unwrap the gift. because eddie wasn't stupid at thirteen, and he knew had to still his shaking hands just long enough to not leave a single extra tear in that paper, just in case wayne needs it next year. he doesn't mind - he's just glad to be celebrating the holidays again with someone who cares.

but it's all over when eddie sees that guitar. wayne expected shrieking or yelping or just... he doesn't really know, just anything. but all he sees is some kid with hair that's a little bit longer this year, shoulders a little less slumped, and tears pouring down.

"son-" he'd start, not even sure how to comfort the boy but needing to.

eddie does the last thing wayne had expected. the boy had been distant since showing up at the trailer, keeping to himself quite a bit, flinching away from touch. but for the first time in over a year, eddie doesn't flinch away.

he launches himself at wayne.

hugs him through his tears, just babbling out his thanks on repeat. they both agree to never talk about it again after the tears dry, and wayne even sheds a few of his own. but something melts that night for them - jokes happen easier, awkward side hugs and messing of eddie's blooming curls as wayne leaves for his shifts are more frequent. every damn day he hears him playing on that damn guitar, even without an amp. the next christmas wayne gets him the amp, another lonely present, wrapped in the same paper (probably for the final time -- it's seen far better days and he's pretty sure eddie could see the gift through one of the torn corners two days before christmas even came) and eddie once again makes a comment about how lucky it is wayne can still find that paper in stores. they both know the truth, and neither really care.

eddie keeps that guitar for the rest of his days, adorned with the nickname of Sweetheart. and they keep reusing paper, both knowing it was more than some bit but deciding to make jokes all the same as if they were actively choosing to do so. it makes it all a bit easier.

eddie doesn't care if wayne never has another dime to spend on another present for him, or can ever wrap another gift. he'll take his damn christmas presents in paper bags if it came down to it, cause the love is there, and god, he had missed that.

[bumblesimagines]

Lessons in 'Chemistry'

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After getting stranded on the side of the road, (Y/N) is helped by Sarah Cameron and given a ride home. Weeks later, she asks if he can return the favor in an unexpected way.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical OBX warnings, mentions of drugs and dealing, mentioned/implied classism, sexual content

Idk what possessed me but goodnight

~~~

The moment he crossed the threshold from the hallway into the bedroom, he immediately felt out of place, like a worn-out pair of dirty old boots being set amongst a shiny new pair of Mary Jane's.

He scoped out the room, noting it was much bigger than his bedroom back on the Cut, and felt a hint of uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. Everything looked as if it'd come right out of a magazine or a sitcom based around high school, including its inhabitant who slotted into the space like the last piece of a puzzle. 

Sarah leaned against her vanity, the table trembling under her weight and almost knocking over some upright lipstick tubes. She hooked her fingers into the back of one of her sneakers and pushed downward until her heel popped out, then casually tossed the shoe aside to be forgotten until she needed it again. She did similarly with the other sneaker, and then her socks, which she threw into the laundry basket a few feet away. She seemed comfortable yet nervous, her fingers fidgeting with her golden bracelet as she turned around to face him.

They weren't friends, hell, they were hardly acquaintances. Though he assumed that was precisely why she'd even approached him in the first place asking him to repay a 'favor'. It hadn't been entirely his fault that his dirt bike had chosen to suddenly stop working and she'd just happened to be driving down the same road, but that act of kindness was typically repaid with a similar favor.

He still wondered if it was all some sort of prank, a test set up by Rafe to test his loyalty or something. But Sarah clashed with her brother enough for him to take Rafe out of the equation. 

"So," She exhaled, scooping her hair over one shoulder and toying with the ends of it. "What.. what should we do first?"

(Y/N) needed a drink, or two, or maybe three to process what Sarah was asking of him fully. She'd gone up to him the day prior just as he'd been preparing to drive home from another kook party with his pockets full of cash.

For a moment, when she asked if he was willing to return the favor, he thought she meant hitching a ride back to Tannyhill or scaring the shit out of some jock who wouldn't leave her alone but then she'd given him an almost sheepish smile. 

"I... I want you to teach me some things." She'd said, tugging her jacket further over her body to escape the nipping chill of the night. He'd grimaced, expecting her to mean shooting a gun or doing some sort of drug that'd send her spiraling down the same path as Rafe. Instead, she nearly made him and his bike tip over into the grass. "Like... in the bedroom? How to, you know... please? Ugh, that sounds so weird."

"Why?" He'd asked slowly, the word drawled out 'cause it sounded batshit for her to be asking him and not her boyfriend.

"I don't want to embarrass myself with Top. I always hear the guys talking shit or- or complaining." Her cheeks had gone red by then, a combination of the chill and what she was asking of him. He almost felt guilty but then Topper's irritating little face flashed in his mind and he considered telling her to straight up dump the guy.

"Yeah, sure."

He'd been mostly itching to get out of the cold, his tired brain telling him it was just some dumb dare and she'd be texting him some apologies by the time he got home. His phone had vibrated with a message telling him what time he could come over without Rafe around to ask questions that night.

There he stood, half-certain the regret would begin settling in for her in a few minutes and he'd be compensated with some snacks from their walk-in pantry. She tilted her head, though, and he quickly realized that maybe the Camerons were all really fucking weird. 

"You do realize this is cheating.. right?" (Y/N) asked with an arch of his brow, maneuvering his leg around the door to push it shut behind him. Maybe they'd sit on the bed and he'd offer her a free therapy session on why kook guys weren't worth stressing over, because no guys who unironically wore polo shirts and khakis together were worth stressing over. She gave a flimsy shrug.

"Yeah," She answered casually, because she was Sarah Cameron and she was known for that sort of thing, before she took a few cautious steps toward him. She looked at him like middle-aged women with nothing better to do looked at banned breeds in shelters, with intrigue and a desire to reach out. "But it's whatever. I'll have other boyfriends."

He was beginning to believe she was using him to get out of the relationship, as a reason why they weren't working out. The most that'd happen to her would be a few nasty looks from Topper, and the least that would happen to him would be a fight. A kook with a bruised ego was a dangerous kook, and he was certain Rafe believed there was a bro code between them. No macking on siblings was always a given, no matter the relationship. 

"What do you want to do?" (Y/N) asked, because he wasn't fully sure what she'd meant by 'teaching' her 'things'.

The fancy private school she and the other kooks attended definitely had to have classes where they were taught anatomy, and at the very least had some basic Sex Ed classes. All Kildare County High had was a teen pregnancy epidemic that was treated like cooties because they were all at a higher risk of OD'ing on something and not making it into their twenties. Not that DARE ever swayed anyone.

Sarah smiled, almost bashful, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I want to kiss you." She answered, stepping closer to him, still slow as if she were dealing with a shelter mutt.

Something coiled around his gut, hot and electric and uncomfortable. He was no prude, he'd lost his virginity as a sophomore two years prior, but to be wanted aloud felt wrong.

His life had been spent learning how to hide, how to blend into the background and be forgotten within the hour. You only had two choices in the Cut: become a ghost floating on by or become a feral dog with bloodied teeth. He'd chosen the former, his brother the latter. To be noticed raised an alarm in his head and sent his senses into overdrive.

"Mm." He made a noise in the back of his throat, his hands furling in the pockets of his worn jacket. The room suddenly felt hot despite the AC blasting cold air into the back of his head and his fingers twitched for something to fiddle with while thought about his next words.

He was starting to wonder if maybe he was a new passion project of hers, though he'd never seen Sarah Cameron care for that sort of thing.

"Why not one of your friends?" He was stalling. He knew he could easily back out, mutter some excuse and offer to do her another favor, but some part of him wanted to stick around. Maybe for the chance at a good time, maybe from dumb curiosity. He just despised the idea of something more forming from it.

(Y/N) could hardly count as a playboy. He'd been with three girls in his long nineteen years of life and he only ever had to look one in the eyes when he attended school. The other two were tourons, the daughters of eager tourists who visited during summer break to bask on their beaches and get a taste of their day-to-day lives. He preferred them over girls he'd grown up with, over girls who lingered and could potentially continue prodding at him.

Sarah's lip jutted out in disgust. "Like Kelce or Benson? They're basically my brothers, it'd be too weird." (Y/N) did not comment on the fact either of those two would jump at the opportunity to do anything with her. He simply nodded as if he understood, as if he had girl friends who were like sisters to him. It'd always been just him and his brother.. and Rafe, he supposed, but Rafe was more like a stray who refused to leave. "Plus, they're friends with Top. I don't trust them not to snitch."

"But you trust me?" (Y/N)'s brows furrowed. 

"Yeah," Sarah laughed lightly. "You're not like those other guys Rafe hangs out with." Sleazeballs, she meant.

The one singular time they'd ever had a proper conversation aside from polite small talk had been when she'd given him that ride in her shiny BMW. The car still had that brand-new smell, fresh and light and almost cool but mixed with subtle hints of vanilla and coconut that he often associated with Sarah.

She (unsurprisingly) proved to be a better driver than her brother who believed going the speed limit was optional, and she spent most of the ride chatting with him as if she were catching up with an old friend who'd left for college. It was odd, somewhat endearing but odd.

"Right." He exhaled and rolled his shoulders, his jacket sliding off his shoulders and exposing his upper arms to the cold air. He tugged each arm free from the sleeves and rolled the jacket up before jumping it on a chair pressed up against the wall beside the shelf built into the wall, the faded brown fabric clashing with the floral pattern. 

If she was comparing him to Barry and his clients, the bar for trust was in hell. He could count on one hand the number of guys from that group he trusted, and it only included Barry 'cause the same blood ran through their veins.

Most of them were older men; ones with wives who despised them, divorcees with enough bitterness to create generational feuds, deadbeats who rarely remembered their kids ages or birthdays, or hopeless folks who'd long given up on their dreams of the future. (Y/N) pitied them sometimes, before he'd be reminded violence and greed came just as easy as breathing to the hopeless.

Sarah's room was incredibly nice, he noted, though an odd shape from being on the side of the manor. It looked like a hexagon cut in half with its slanted walls, leaving the lower half of it to be decorated with pictures and frames and the upper half to loom over the bed. Sarah must've really liked blue because nearly everything was blue or white. Her lamp, the floral loveseats, the large circular rug, the decorative pillows on her bed that had S and C threaded into them, the curtain. He felt tempted to ask if half the things in her bathroom were blue too.

When he tore his eyes away from a framed picture of different butterflies and their names, he found Sarah standing much closer than before. His first instinct was to flinch, to create distance between them, but his feet kept him rooted in place and rendered him to blink at her in surprise. Sarah's eyes crinkled, amused she'd caught him off guard, and then her hands moved to rest over his cheeks. Her hands were soft and smooth, free from callouses and chaffing because unlike most of the kids in the Cut, her father had ensured she'd never have to work a day in her life if she so desired.

"Can I kiss you?" Sarah asked, voice soft and almost breathless, dripping with anticipation. She cradled his face in a way that was unnatural to him, too gently, too sweet; it made him uncomfortable, it made him want to press pause and savor the moment. Affection was a fleeting thing on the Cut, and most often involved a trade of sorts. 

Another threshold, another line he contemplated crossing. Technically, he'd done nothing to warrant the wrath of the kooks yet but kissing their princess would be breaking an unspoken rule between pogues and kooks. The 'war' between them was dumb, he very well acknowledged that, but he still followed the laws of their divided land to avoid conflict. Most kooks knew to leave him alone, his status as the local dealer's baby brother giving him an advantage over others, but kooks weren't particularly known for their intelligence. 

"Yeah, sure," He exhaled, his go-to words with Sarah at this point, and she laughed again like windchimes in a summer breeze. 

Just as expected, Sarah's lips were soft and plush, suddenly making him self-conscious about how his own lips felt. He applied chapstick a fair amount of times, would that change anything? He wasn't sure but he tried pushing the insecurity away to close his eyes and focus on not making a fool of himself in front of the nicest kook in all of Figure Eight. 

His hands clumsy grasped at her waist, exposed by the crop top she wore riding up when she circled her arms around his shoulders. His hands retreated briefly when they touched her skin, worried for a moment that it was going a step too far as if their mouths weren't on each other. He placed them over her waist again more confidently, massaged the skin warm from constant time in the sun, and tried not to focus too heavily on how well he was kissing.

Sarah tilted her head and her button nose rubbed against his, her lips parting slightly and teeth gently digging into his lip. He tentatively opened his mouth, just a bit, and swallowed the muffled giggle the bottle-blonde released. He'd kissed girls before (just the three but enough to keep his brother's teasing to a minimum) but they'd always been rushed kisses, frantic and fast-paced to get to the part they actually wanted to do. Sarah took it slow, exploring his mouth and then pressing against him to encourage him to do the same. 

She began moving, her chest bumping into his and forcing him to blindly move along with her until his legs bumped against her bed. They parted when he plopped down on the bed, the comforter rustling and the bed creaking softly with the added weight. He took a moment to catch his breath, to allow his mind to catch up and he peeled his hands off her waist. His lips felt different, likely smeared with the barely noticeable pink lipstick she wore, and his heart had kicked up its pace. 

"What exactly-" He swallowed and pressed his palms into the smooth white comforter. "What exactly do you want help with?" 

Her arms hugged his shoulders again and the moment their lips met again, she took advantage of their position and proximity by grinding her hips. His hands flew to her waist and a quiet grunt escaped him, his body naturally beginning to fully react to the situation. Her lips curved up into a victorious grin and he began to wonder just how inexperienced she actually was. 

It definitely wasn't kissing. If anything, Sarah was an expert at that already with her years of dating boy after boy after boy.

He assumed the 'lessons' would be about heavy-petting or featherlight touches underneath clothes but instead of answering, Sarah smiled at him and dug her knees into the bed as she straddled his thighs. The lingering smell of her scented body lotion invaded his senses while she got comfortable on his lap, light and sweet-smelling enough to nearly make him hungry. 

Sarah suddenly pulled away and brushed her fingertips over her bottom lip to wipe away the slick that'd gathered there. Her legs moved, sliding effortlessly along the comforter until her toes met the floorboards and then her knees followed with a soft thump. (Y/N) stared at her long and hard before the switch flicked and realization dawned on him like a wave of cold water. 

"Is this okay?" She asked softly, her palms already moving along his thighs and hazelnut eyes peering at him through her dark lashes. She almost reminded him of a siren trying to entice him to make a costly decision, and his body seemed fairly keen on doing just that. Sarah palmed the growing bulge and smiled when he shuddered, her eyes darting back and forth between his crotch and his face.

"Are you sure about this?" He managed to ask without his voice miraculously cracking. His fingers dug into the comforter and crinkled the material but he desperately needed something to grasp onto while his brain struggled to comprehend what he'd gotten himself into. Heat invaded his face, covering his neck and ears before creeping down his spine and torso.

Sarah pressed the pad of her index finger into the button of his jeans and then nodded, her fingers popping the button and slowly dragging down the zipper until it reached its end. He felt clammy and nervous, like a fourteen-year-old seeing an old Playboy magazine for the first time or watching a scene from a film get steamy. It was the type of jittering nerves you got when you were doing something you shouldn't and the risk factor was beginning to set in. It made him a little light-headed. 

Sarah's fingers dipping beneath the waistline of his jeans and the band of his briefs snapped him out of his momentary daze, his gaze darting downward in a flicker of confusion before he lifted himself enough for her to begin shimmying the articles of clothing down his legs. He lowered himself down closer to the edge of the bed, inhaling heavily through his nose when the cold air hit his thighs and reminded him he was now exposed in front of Sarah fucking Cameron.

He almost flinched when fingers curled around him and his eyes darted down, his cheeks flushing with heat at the sight of her long fingers slowly dragging over his length. He twitched in her hand, slowly hardening further, and he wished for nothing more than to shove his face into a pillow to avoid being seen by her curious eyes. 

All the times he'd been touched by a girl had been quick, swift pumps before he sunk into her through a drunken haze. He wished he had a drink in hand, something that'd fog his brain and halt his instinct to overthink every single little thing. It was difficult to try not to when he had the Princess of Figure Eight with his dick in her hand. And she had the gall to look intrigued, if not delighted. 

"Should I take my top off?" Sarah asked breathily, and (Y/N) almost hadn't heard her through the light ringing in his ears when she gave him an experimental squeeze. 

His eyes immediately jumped down to the shirt she wore, one he actually thought looked nice. It was a light rose-pink shirt with a darker pink floral pattern that he thought looked rather fancy for a casual everyday party until he stopped to wonder if she'd dressed up a little nicer than usual just for him.

He had no sisters to run questions by, to watch and take notes of what girls purposefully did or didn't do, just an older brother who'd rob anyone if given the chance and whistled at pretty girls on the street occasionally.

He shrugged. "If you want."

Sarah smiled, a little cheekily, and released him to lift her top up and over her head, tossing it aside without a care. He swallowed thickly and her smile turned into a grin, one that blatantly spelled trouble for him. She leaned forward onto her knees, ones that'd likely be red and numb by the time she had her fill of fun, and arched her back slightly.

He tried focusing on her layered necklace, the gold one she frequently wore that had an S charm, but his eyes flickered lower regardless. His grip on the comforter tightened and he twitched again, his misery coming this time in the form of a small watery glob that trickled down from his tip. 

Jesus.

A chill shot up his spine when Sarah abruptly leaned forward and dragged her tongue over his tip to collect the pre, his hips involuntarily bucking at the action. She gave a light hum and took him in her hand again, giving him a few experimental pumps that had more pre trickling down his shaft. Her eyes watched him, observing every reaction his body gave her as if it were an actual lesson and she was taking mental notes. 

"I-" He made a low noise in the back of his throat and she stopped, blinking up at him with doe eyes like it was all some casual thing and wouldn't have her dad whipping out a shotgun if he walked in on them. He gave a shaky exhale regardless and raised his hand, suppressing the trembles by pressing his fingers together before he spat into his palm. 

"Oh." Sarah peeled her fingers from him and brought them to her mouth, licking the mess off them while she watched him with a concreated furrow of her brow. Dangerous, was what she was.

He tried ignoring the sight and gave himself a few pumps, pre mixing with saliva and making him glisten under the sunlight pouring in from the window. Her hand replaced his and he rubbed his palms against his thigh, not daring to dirty the comforter that likely costed more than his mattress back home.

She continued moving her hand, squeezing lightly at times and slowly picked up her pace. Her eyes flickered upward to his face once his pants and quiet noises became noticeable, another spark of victory glowing in her eyes. 

A strangled curse fell from his mouth when she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around him, her hands falling to grip his calves and dig half-moons into his skin. (Y/N) had half a mind to gather her bronze hair up with his cleaner hand, loosely holding it in a ponytail as she began attempting to fit him further into her mouth.

Her eyes squeezed shut, driplets of drool escaping from the corners of her mouth. He could tell she made an effort to breathe through her nose through the newfound haze in his head and gave her hair a light tug to coax her into taking a breather. 

She leaned back and inhaled, her lips already swollen and slick. Her forehead creased with some frustration, reminding him that stubbornness ran in the family, before she leaned in again, wet warmth enveloping him and forcing another buck from his hips despite his best attempts at remaining still.

She made a small noise, unintentionally sending vibrations right to his gut where a knot slowly began to form and forcing a guttural groan out of him. He practically watched a lightbulb flicker in her head.

Sarah Cameron, as he came to learn, was a quick learner. She scraped him lightly with her teeth every now and again, her watery eyes jumping up to look at him apologetically to which he gave a reassuring nod despite his gaze only focusing on where they were connecting, but she managed to keep it to a minimum. She had little idea what she was attempting to do, likely going off what she'd seen or heard, but she gave it her all and was rewarded with noises he'd never heard from himself before.

It was messy, with an occasional gag or choke or gasp for air when she pulled back, but she kept going with determination he'd certainly never have. 

Kook girls were certainly something.

With another curse, another half-stutter of his hips, and another surprised noise from the kneeling blonde, the tightened knot in his gut burst and he spilled in her mouth. Her hand grasped the base again and she pulled back enough to only have the tip ensnared in her mouth, suckling as if she were drinking soda that'd spilled over onto the lid of a cup.

His legs trembled and his back slumped, the AC keeping the sweat from collecting across his temple. He hoped he could shower or at least curl up for a nap somewhere in the manor like a cat who'd strolled in through an open window.

Sarah leaned back and wiped at her mouth, looking like the cat who'd caught the canary with her prideful and even smug smile. She was full of surprises.

He released her hair and took the liberty of slumping back onto the bed, letting out a heavy exhale that left his body deflating into the comforter. His view of the white ceiling was obstructed by her pretty face, lips still glistening and pulled into a small smile.

"Maybe we could.. go all the way sometime?" Sarah asked, strands of her hair tickling the side of his face when she leaned down to kiss the corner of his lips. He blinked.

"Thought this was all for Topper?"

Her nose crinkled with a laugh and her shoulders moved with a shrug. "I used him as an excuse." She revealed, lowering down to lay on top of him and prop her chin on his chest.

"Oh." He should've guessed as much; no girl with any actual interest in her partner gave head to other people. His brother always lamented about his gullibility.

"So?" She tilted her head and batted her lashes. "What do you say?"

"Yeah," He murmured, lips pulling upward. "Sure."

[sonic-fan-01]

Probably not a hot take from me, but...

Sonic The Hedgehog 3 is one of the best family films of 2024.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

It's not a perfect adaptation of Sonic Adventure 2 by any means, but it cleans up a lot of the unessary stuff from the game.

Especially in regards to Maria and the ARK.

I LOVE that the Space Colony ARK doesn't exist in this movie. Because the movie knows it doesn't need it. All it needs to adapt is the research facility where Maria dies and the Eclipse Cannon.

Gerald Robotnik is an interesting character in the film for sure. He still has the same hatred he harbored for humanity in SA2, but with the added bonus of resentment for his grandson, Ivo because, in his own words...

"You're no Maria."

Gerald definitely is playing favorites, and I think it's abundantly clear why. He sees himself in Ivo, and it disgusts him. Whereas with Maria, he can only remember her innocence.

Speaking of Ivo, man, he's great. I mean, he's just all over the place in this film. He's good, he'd bad... and he sure as hell is funny. He and Stone are great, and I love how he finally admits his true thoughts about him during his sacrifice. Stone deserved to be validated for all the shit Ivo put him through over the years.

Now, I wanna move on to our meat and potatoes. Sonic and Shadow. They're phenomenal. Sonic is pretty much the same as he was in Sonic 2, with a little bit of added angst, which is due entirely to the film's themes about family, morality, and loss. Shadow is... jesus... he was amazing. He was everything I wanted him to be. Cool, dark, yet understanding. That being said, I wish they spent more time on Shadow dealing with the issue of what Maria wanted VS getting revenge on GUN with Gerald. I think extending Shadow's conversation with Gerald about their plan and Maria's wish would have done this perfectly and, in turn, better set up his switch to the good side so it's not as "oh yeah I guess we're doing this now."

"Live and Learn."

Okay, time for me to gush about Crush 40.

First of all, SEGA needs to pay Johnny G. what he's owed. Second...

HOLY FUCK

Live and Learn is everywhere in this thing. It's basically Shadow's theme for this film, playing in moments where he's either doing cool shit, or turning further to the light.

And when it played when Sonic and Shadow went Super on the fucking moon?! Oh my god, I would've screamed if it weren't for the fact I was in a public movie theater. You do NOT understand what this means for the next few films. We might actually get songs like "What I'm Made Of" or "His World" adapted for these movies if they keep doing well.

And I don't need a masters degree in Sonic-The-Hedgehogology to tell you how COOL that would be.

Speaking of Sonic, I wanna turn it back to talk about him and Tom. Dude. I love how Tom is immediately ready to join Sonic on his adventures. He loves this kid and wants to support him in any way he can, and I bet Sonic's so happy Tom wants to Hero with him.

"What did you do."

Tom's injury towards the end actually hurt me a bit. I didn't realize how much I cared about him until they played with the possibility of his death in this film. Also, I love what it meant to Sonic. We've seen in Sonic 2 that Sonic has some pent-up aggression for the echidna that killed Longclaw, that he never really properly expresses. The possibility of losing Tom, his best friend and father figure, the first person he connected with after years of isolation, it drives Sonic into a dark mindset. And. I. Love it.

This is what modern Sonic stories need. To give Sonic a wide variety of emotions, for him to act rashly if his closest friends and family are hurt, because it gives him more personality and shows us just how much he cares.

"What was his name...? Tom...?"

I loved everything about the scenes where Tom is hinted at being dead. I love how Shadow sees Sonic's reaction to Tom's potential death, and he has a small realization that he's become just like who he hated. I love watching Sonic panicking because he might be losing his best friend and father. I love how Maddie tries to keep a hold of herself for the sake of Team Sonic. I love the argument between Knuckles and Sonic about the use of the Master Emerald. I love the fight between Super Shadow and Super Sonic. I love how Shadow criticizes Sonic for letting his blind rage take over. I love how he wants Sonic to finish the job, and Sonic realizes what he's doing.

"The light shines, even though the star is gone..."

Sonic and Shadow's brief conversation on the moon is actually really sweet. They share a connection through their losses, and Sonic is able to guide Shadow to the light, by simply telling him to make the right choice. I think it's great because up until now, I think Shadow believed what he was doing WAS the right thing. But after seeing himself become like the GUN agents who ended up killing Maria... He starts to doubt himself. He goes to Gerald, who reassures him that what they're doing is justified, but Shadow doesn't believe that. Note how in that scene he asks if "this is what Maria would have wanted." Gerald responds by basically ignoring his question, saying that destroying earth is what deserves to happen to it. Gerald's own attitude led to his downfall. It's what caused Shadow to realize that he's on the wrong side of the fight by the time Sonic and him are on the moon, sulking.

"There are no winners with revenge."

I love this line from Sonic. It says so much about his past experiences from the last 2 films. He's seen revenge constantly ruin his life. So to be the one delivering it...? It goes against everything he's stood for, crosses a line he doesn't want to cross, and most importantly, sets him up for failure.

"Don't tell me you have a catchphrase.."

I like the comradery between Sonic and Shadow in the Super Hogs v GUN drones fight. They have a newfound understanding for each other that I think would have been able to make them better friends had it not been for Shadow's sacrifice, which will probably lead to the amnesia plot lines from Heroes and Shadow 05, which means it'll probably make Shadow a Sonic hater again. But then again, these movies keep surprising me, so who knows, maybe we won't go that route?

"What..? Who are you?"

Speaking of surprises.

FUCKING. METALIX.

And AMY MOTHERFUCKING ROSE.

Holy fuck. You all have no idea how hype this is. Unfortunately, I can say much in terms of predictions, but I think we'll be in for a treat come 2027.

[unintentionaloracle]

The Bloodline Doesn't Know [Fic]

Here we go! Got more Zowens for you because I miss them.

Summary: Sami's attempt to appease Kevin about his involvement with The OG Bloodline works too well. Now Sami finds himself sinking deeper into a tangled web of his own making...and a spicy situationship.

(Also there's a brief wink to Candy and an Ambreigns mention but I don't think they're significant enough to put in their tags but I can fix that if needed)

“Sami!”

Hearing his name shouted in that tone hurt.

Sami had gotten so used to being excited to see Kevin again over the past year. The giddiness of seeing the man he loved again after weeks or months apart. If Sami had things his way, when he turned around to see Kevin's face, it'd still be a welcome break from the chaos of his life. He'd get a firm hug that made him feel like nothing in their violent profession could hurt him.

But now?

Damn it, Sami thought.

Dread started to gnaw at his heart. He'd wanted to put off this confrontation longer. At least until he was done with Drew and could politely go his own way from The Bloodline. But of course, the world wouldn't allow that. And with him showing up on Kevin's show? It was inevitable. So instead, he tensed, girding himself for what was to come.

“How could you do this to me!?” He said, motioning to Sami’s shirt. “How could you go back to him!? After everything he put both of us through!? Or your stupid, precious Usos though!?” Kevin shoved Sami’s chest. “You said you loved me, Sami! HOW IS THAT LOVING ME!?”

His words were like lemon juice on his already wounded heart. Sami tried his best to look Kevin in the eye. It was the least he could do. For all of Kevin's recent fury, Sami could also see something different in his eyes. Something that, while once present with Randy and Cody, felt more pronounced. Something actively fighting with the smoldering hatred in his eyes instead of waiting it's turn.

Sadness. Mourning.

Sami felt tears forming in his eyes...

...and an idea forming in his mind.

He knew he shouldn't do it. It would probably be worse in the long run for the both of them if he did this.

But he couldn't let Kevin stay this way. Couldn't leave him all alone when he was struggling. He knew what it was like, when he thought the world was plotting against him. And this was what he wished he had in those days. Or thought he had.

“I do love you, Kev...” Sami said, backing up against the wall.

“LIAR!” Kevin shouted, pinning him against it.

“That's why I'm your inside man with Roman!” Sami blurted.

Kevin backed up slightly. “What?”

Sami took a deep breath. “Did you really think I would go back to Roman so easily? I'm keeping an eye on him. Making sure he won't take over again. Or hurt you or anyone else I love again. The minute he does?” He smacked his hands together. “Helluva Kick to his face.”

Kevin eased up more. Sami was surprised how easily he lied. Though as he thought about it in this pregnant pause, he realized there was a grain of truth. For all his excitement at being with The Usos again and feeling like things were different this time, there was still a lingering doubt...

Before he could mull on it further, Kevin shook him out of it. “You're with me?”

“Always,” Sami said, cupping his face. “Please, Kevin. It kills me to see you all alo—”

Kevin cut him off with a fiery kiss, repinning Sami to the wall. Instinctively, Sami wrapped his legs around him as he reciprocated. A small moan bubbled against his lips, threatening to escape into Kevin's mouth should things escalate. Instead, Kevin pulled away, replacing the moan with a whine. Kevin smirked, no doubt loving this little bit of control he'd gained in his life.

He whispered in his ear. “Tell me anything you find out, okay?” Kevin asked, running his hands along Sami's thigh.

Sami nodded, dumbstruck.

“Good. Meet me back at my hotel room,” he said. He glanced at Sami’s chest. “And leave that shirt wherever the hell you want: your car, your bag, preferably the trash...I want you to look good...”

...Sami knew he shouldn't be into this, but...

Kevin gave him a peck on the lips before dropping the flushed and rumpled Sami back to Earth. “God, you're so cute like this.” He said, thumbing his chin. “...Actually, just meet me in the Lamborghini.” He said before leaving.

Sami tried to recompose himself before following, only to hear three words he dreaded:

“Call Roman Reigns.”

Sami rushed to the pillar Heyman was hiding behind, knocking his phone from his hands. He turned the call off and threw the phone away. “It's not what it looks like!”

Heyman looked Sami up and down, his lip curled and his hand over his chest. “It looks like you're betraying your Tribal Chief again just so you can get laid by,” his face scrunched as he shook his head, “Kevin Owens.”

“I'm not–! I...I'm just getting close so I can keep an eye on him. So he doesn't come after us. If he does, I can warn Roman. I promise, I'm just doing whatever it takes to look out for the family! No need to tell Roman!” Sami pleaded.

Heyman looked skeptical. He sighed, motioning for him to leave.

Sami sighed with relief. “Thank you! I promise, I'm protecting everyone by doing this. You'll see! And I'm sorry about the phone!’ He said, hurrying off before Heyman could take it back or Kevin could grow doubtful.

---

The weeks that followed were more of a flurry than usual. On top of everything else, there was trying to keep an eye on the ever-elusive Roman and reporting back just enough crumbs to satisfy Kevin. Though as time went on, the reports had devolved into something along the lines of:

“Roman doing anything bad?”

“Not much. Just ghosting us.”

“Good.”

And then they'd eagerly bang with a passion on par with their younger years, often with the Winged Eagle belt staring down Sami–almost judging him for “betraying” his friends for this–somewhere by the foot of whatever bed they were on. But Sami always kept the guilt over happily screwing the man that put two of his friends in the hospital aside for later.

(Cody would understand, anyway, given his history with Randy...right? And who hadn't gotten into bed with someone who had done terrible things at least once in this business?)

This is good for us... Sami thought. Kevin is calmer, we get to stay together, and I get to protect my family...

---

However, it nearly came crashing down one SmackDown.

Roman had pulled Sami aside after a Bloodline meeting, Heyman looking gleeful behind him. Roman pulled up a picture on his phone and showed it to The Honorary Uce.

“Sami, why the hell are you sneaking around with Kevin?” Roman asked as Sami took in the picture: him and Kevin, Kevin mid-dropping the Winged Eagle belt from his shoulders as he crawled atop a lounging Sami on the bed, the blinds of their (... Kevin's...) hotel room window not closed enough at the moment.

Damn it! Sami thought. He remembered this exact night. Kevin had noticed before they got too into it and closed them. Clearly not fast enough...

“Heyman, that's illegal!” Sami protested.

“What makes you think I took it?” Heyman asked, overly flabbergasted.

Sami rolled his eyes. There was no point wasting time arguing with Heyman. He turned to The OTC. “Roman, I can explain, it's all part of my plan to protect–!”

“I don't want to hear it!” Roman boomed, shutting Sami up as Heyman grinned, clearly eager for the inevitable bloodbath to come like a buzzard. “I know what's going on!”

Sami braced himself...

“You were afraid we wouldn't approve...” Roman said, gentler.

“...What?” Heyman and Sami asked in a harmony of disgust and confusion.

“Look, I don't like Kevin, but if he makes you happy, it's fine.” Roman said, patting his shoulder. Sami then felt Roman tense. “Just don't let it get in the way of our business, okay?” he added, lowering his voice to a rumble like thunder.

Sami nodded. “Uh, yeah. I was worried this was a Romeo and Juliet situation. That's all. Thanks, Roman. That...means a lot.” He said, now feeling worse for his deception.

Roman chuckled, loosening up on a dime. “No problem. Now go get your man, Sami. And hey, maybe we'll invite him to dinner, sometime.”

Sami nodded, hurrying off, unsure of how he got away with that. From the look on Heyman's face, The Wiseman didn't know, either. But Sami knew when to take a win when he got one, so he hurried off to Kevin. He contemplated if he should pass on what Roman thought was happening...

He felt himself get roughly yanked around the corner to a broom closet, Kevin wasting no time to kiss him.

Later. I can think later...

Epilogue

“My Tribal Chief, you can't be buying that “forbidden love” nonsense!” Heyman pleaded.

“I don't,” Roman said, frowning. “But it's keeping Kevin distracted, so I'll let him keep doing what he's doing. And if it screws us, I'll make sure Sami pays for it...”

Roman didn't want to acknowledge there was a pain in his heart (and a phantom pain in his back) when he thought of Sami possibly betraying them again. Deep down, he knew Sami had clocked it: Roman did still have some affection for him on some level, tinged with begrudging pride.

“Besides, I think I really know why he's running around with Kevin...” Roman said, old memories coming back to him. Ones that made him grieve something he selfishly missed but could never have again. But also ones that kept him company when he was alone.

“Oh?”

“Wiseman, have you ever fooled around with a deeply unstable man?” He asked.

“...No...” Heyman said, raising an eyebrow.

Memories continued to resurface. Of rough hands. Discarded tank tops on the floor. Hypnotic, unhinged, rambling compliments and affirmations. Kisses marinated in cheap beer on a crappy motel bed after a terrible betrayal.

“Then you wouldn't get it.” Roman said simply, leaving the room and his Wiseman baffled.

[naturesass]

I can't stop thinking about the 0% ship log vision

[silusvesuius]

g*lmar rly has to be the best skajrim character on the real like even if you don't like him he just is . literally The best one i think......... on dat note i also imagine that he and ulfr*c despite being fairydust BFFs for lyfe genuinely have the worst communication skills ever seen

[hearts401]

we live in a world where im terrified that if i show off my very special headcanon of william liking physical affection it'll get tagged as ship

[franeridan]

I really wish yamato had gone with luffy and I love that he asked to be considered a crewmate anyway and that luffy told him he'd always have a place on the sunny so I a hundred percent consider him a mugiwara but in my ideal one piece where the war ended differently and ace is still alive yamato is his. like obviously ace is dead and he hadn't been a captain for a while before then anyway, but in my ideal one piece yamato belongs to him. he's a spades. he's ace's crewmate first and foremost.

[ourceliumnetwork]

i have acquired a mystical and powerful ointment (hydrocortisone cream) from the village herbalist (rite aid) to assist with the curse set upon my bloodline from many generations ago (eczema)

[sw33t-oubliette]

love (hate) when im Thinking about my childhhod and im like "yeah it was pretty normal and good ithink" and then i fuckingg Rember

[bumblingbabooshka]

Worst Guy Ever - Also, Unfortunately, Very Homosexual Convo. (subtextually)

[longagoitwastuesday]

I'm loving how, being stagings of the play and not reinterpretations, many productions are able to add some characteristic creative twist to it that adds or enhances something in particular

[norikuna]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.