#i could thank u guys for an entire lifetime

[muniimyg]

I love when he shows her his love, doesn't matter if they're in public or not😩 oc reading a book about dolphins when she hates them☝️jk showing off his tattoos since she told him they’re hot and makes her horny (twiinnsss where have u been?!??!) also jk’s little comments here and there when he teases her🤭 the way she’s his priority no matter what he does he’ll give up everything for her🙌 AND their first time was so fucking HAWWTTT (i had to take breaks to assimilate your words and i was speechless at every sentence😩☝️) we love a vocal man🤲 i can’t believe it’s over tho?? im gonna miss them… tf i already miss them🥲💔

arghhhhh thank you for another masterpiece again???? you’re a genius and i love you🫵 (also please take care of yourself. eat, drink, sleep. get well soon <33)

TWINNNN 💛

taking breaks during their little smut scene is WILD. i had the hardest time writing it cos i was half asleep & sick 🤒 glad to hear it’s not half bad,,

i also can’t believe it’s over… i miss them too !! they were so fun and i can’t believe how fast i wrote them 😹✨idk what i was on this past week HAHAHA

thank u for ur kind words 😔 a genius ?? a masterpiece ?? u make me so shy 🫵 i’m jus a silly virgin 23 year old that writes in between her 2 jobs and school work ,, what did i do to deserve such sweet readers 🥹🫶🏻❣️

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything. 

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt. 

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime. 

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality. 

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable. 

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open– 

There’s no one on the other side. 

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order. 

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.  

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in. 

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state. 

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity. 

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss. 

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not. 

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already. 

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.   

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.” 

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do. 

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him. 

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied. 

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked. 

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches. 

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest. 

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way. 

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’. 

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big. 

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity. 

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it. 

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes. 

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation. 

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”  

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.  

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.” 

So Bucky gets his makeup done. 

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms. 

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.” 

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’. 

 Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him. 

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin. 

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.” 

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces. 

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.” 

That sounds…doable. 

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate. 

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead. 

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.  

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned. 

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this. 

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table. 

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t. 

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you  had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you? 

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further. 

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue. 

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit. 

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.  

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless. 

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.” 

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening. 

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated. 

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top. 

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion. 

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens. 

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago. 

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this. 

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.” 

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.” 

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?” 

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs. 

You look like you’re going to lose your mind. 

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?” 

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?” 

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better. 

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch. 

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers. 

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone. 

The video goes up that weekend. 

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out  the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies. 

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved. 

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name. 

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt. 

Motherfucker.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Next part

[writingstoraes]

secret trip 🛫

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: this seemed like a really cute idea so! lmk what u guys think 🤍 requests for charles imagines are open btw! pls send some cause my own ideas r betraying me rn lolol

about: the entire grid seems to be going to italy together, fans can't seem to put the pieces together!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, ferrarifan, wagsf1, and 234,110 others

yourusername with love, italy

isahernaez Have fun, babes ❤️

yourusername wish you were here 😣

wagslove SOOO GORGEOUS

charles_leclerc My beautiful angel

yourusername love you, handsome :D

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, maxverstappen, and 1,334,982 others

charles_leclerc Loving the view a little too much, loving my muse the most.

f1films Charles and Y/N vacationing in Italy is something I never knew I needed

mercgirl I think they're with some of the drivers, check their stories

pierregasly Have the best time 😝

arthurleclerc No picture of me?

charles_leclerc Leave the hotel for once?

carlossainz55 and pierregasly recently added to their instagram stories!

danielricciardo and landonorris recently added to their instagram stories!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, pascale_leclerc, and 345,892 others

yourusername good food, good times, and the best people ❤️

pierregasly Someone pass the salt

carlossainz55 Why did you feel the need to ask that here pierregasly Why do you wanna know? 🙄

charles_leclerc No one told me Max gets wine drunk...

yourusername i say whoever ordered the wine takes care of him danielricciardo That champagne saving me right now 🤣

ferrarihorse I didn't know all of you were all so close omg this is adorable

charlesfearless italy with my loml and friends... now i want that

yourusername and charles_leclerc recently added to their instagram stories!

Trans: Nothing I'd love more than spending a lifetime with you.

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, isahernaez, and 501,221 others

yourusername the answer to the million dollar question — why everyone seems to have flown to italy, well it's because today, i married the love of my life who also happens to be my best friend and my answered prayer.

i have had the best time conquering the world with you, my love. from the big romantic moments to the small mundane things, you make life more pleasurable. here's to forever 🥂

tagged: charles_leclerc

charlosfan aaaa an intimate wedding! truly one of the best option, congratulations to my favorite couple <3

yourusername thank you love! it really was nice being surrounded by close friends and family ❤️

scuderiaferrari Best wishes, Y/N and Charles! We still remember your first paddock appearance as a couple; time truly has flown!

charlieferrari I KNEW ITTTT MY FRIEND OWES ME 50 DOLLARS LOL

yourusername hahaha thank you for the faith then 🙏

lewishamilton Congratulations once again, you two! What an honor to be there as you celebrate a new milestone in your life together 🎉

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, lewishamilton, and 1,982,221 others

charles_leclerc Exactly five years ago, I could not resist asking for your first name just so I could see you again. Today, you took mine.

J'ai hâte de passer ma vie à t'aimer. I cannot wait to spend my life loving you.

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly Haha you weren't best man carlossainz55

carlossainz55 You weren't either?

maxverstappen Time to bring out the wine 🍷

charles_leclerc No landonorris No danielricciardo With love, no

carlossainz55 Overflowing best wishes, mate! You owe me for actually sending Y/N the text of you wanting to ask her out 😁

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12

notes: believe it or not this prompt has been gathering dust on my notes lol lmk what u guys think! also lmk if anyone wants to be a part of my permanent taglist :)

[doki-doki-imagines]

hi! maybe a little self indulgent but was wondering if you could write a lil drabble of earthrealm gang x yn (fem y/n if possible) but she’s related to shang tsung in some way (idk sister, daughter if u wanna get real silly) and shes just as pretty but just as mean :3c ty!

author note: In some the reader is the sister in others the daughter. Going for hcs for my mental health :)

Do you like what I write? Consider tipping on my ko-fi!

Johnny Cage: -He doesn't completely trust you, even if damn, you are hot. -Like he can't resist flirting with you even if it means getting the harshest rejection ever. -At this point, it is a challenge more than anything else. Once one of your failed potions exploded right into his face while he was blabbering one of his cheesy pickup lines. "You are smoking." "Hot?" "No, just smoking." You reply, pinching a strand of hair still on fire, extinguishing it. -You know 99% of boys stop flirting just before getting a date? Johnny's positive mindset won't let him fall for this trap. -Maybe you'll fall for his loserboy behavior…

Kenshi Takahashi: -Mh the ex-yakuza doesn't trust you one bit. Even if you never betrayed them. -It's just that you like lying a bit too much for his liking. -"I'll keep an eye on you." You chuckle "What eye? I don't see any on your face." You shrug his words off. -Nobody has ever been blacklisted this fast in Kenshi's mind. -But for real, he'll keep your every step checked ready to attack at any of your missteps. -"If you like spying on me so much you could take me out on a date so I can answer all your questions." You hear him choking on his saliva before snapping back. "How do you know I'm spying on you?" Your eyes widened getting closer to him "So I was right? You are spying on me? Damn, you must be so down bad for me-" -The idea of falling one of Wu Shi mountains sounds so good now for Kenshi. "Come pick me up at 9 p.m. and take me to a nice place it has been so long since I've eaten something nice." -Seems like Kenshi has a new problem to deal with. -Also because Madame Bo is the only place nearby…

Kung Lao: -He doesn't trust you at all, your mother may have been a nice woman but your father is terrible! And with your sharp words, Lao thinks you have taken his personality too. -"Begone sorcerer! My hat will slice you in two if you take another step closer." "I'm sure my words have done more damage than that stupid hat." -Actually, a friendship will develop thanks to your constant fights, not always won by you. -Raiden better if you stay alert, you have two sly foxes in the temple now

Raiden: -He isn't as wary as the others, after all you haven't done anything wrong. Being born from such an evil guy doesn't make you evil. -But damn, you can be so harsh with him at times. More than once Raiden wanted to remind you that if it wasn't for him you would be homeless and a loser just like your father. -But then Raiden remembers it's actually thanks to Liu Kang if you are there and bites his tongue. -You are also one of the few people able to make Raiden snap! Most monks never saw such fury before he met you. -"You should thank me. Weak minds don't last much in battle." "If you expect me to thank you for pissing me off you'll have to wait your entire lifetime, snotty sorcerer."

Liu Kang: -When he created this new timeline he hoped a sister could tone down Shang Tsung's evil intentions. -But at the end he threw you away, treating you like a stepping stone to the road to achieve his goal. -So Liu Kang took you in. That doesn't mean you will so easily forgive him for his mistake. -Your words slice his heart frequently. Not because you want to cry about your condition, it's mostly your fault after all, but simply because you like to tease that raw nerve that awakens a usually hidden side of him. -"Shut your mouth or I'll seal your lips forever!" "Ohhh-" you coo at his words "But then how I'll latch my lips at your throat? You seemed to like it yesterday." You say, pressing a finger on the spot where the hickey should be, already recovered thanks to his godly nature. -Liu Kang stomps his right foot on the ground before running out from your lab. How he can love you so much and despise you at the same time is something he still has to wrap his head around.

Geras: -A saint. You may tease, joke, just be nasty and Geras will reply with the calmest voice ever. -Liu Kang told him to make you feel at home and Geras takes his job seriously. -You nagged him a lot about the hourglass, making you take a small peak at it but he never let you close. -"You are too serious Geras, loosen up a little." "It's to compensate for your lack of rules." -You still have to warm up to each other…

Bi-Han: -He doesn't like you. AT ALL. -Bi-Han looks at you with a face dripping with scorn. Even if you are taller than him, he'll make you feel like an ant. -If you tease him too much he'll snap back and won't keep himself from hitting you. -But if you stroke his ego, promising him strength and glory… -As your brother told you "If you want men to do what you want stroke their ego and they will be at your feet." -He also did an analogy comparing the ego to a di- Okay I think the point is clear.

Kuai Liang: -He doesn't trust you, but if Liu Kang decided to keep you with them he won't oppose his decision. -Liang will often ask to train with you, mostly to test your skill level and eventually prepare for a future betrayal. -Also your lab will be often spied, checking if your experiments are safe and good for Earthrealm. -Till one day Liang found a small card on your desk "Train better your men, I could tell someone sneaked in the first time. Shirai Ryu won't last long otherwise." -He tightens the grip on the card, rolling it up before throwing it on the ground. -Liang was the only one that has been spying on you…

Tomas Vrbada: -He doesn't trust you immediately but he is one of the few to give you a chance. -Tomas won't be like a dog, following you around and completely trusting you, but he'll be one to bring you a hot beverage in cold winters when you are alone in your lab. -He answers wittily to your words and rarely he gets dejected. -"I suppose you won't survive in the Lin Kueis if you had a weak mind or if you are simply an idiot…" You whisper out, Tomas' ears catching your words anyway. "…You thought I was an idiot?" -You'd like to reply "Why the paste tense? I still do." but you decide to bite your tongue. You don't mind his company after all.

[4am-enha]

hiii I love your writes🫶🫶🫶

Can u write one where Heeseung is carsick during a trip to y/n's house. He has a fever when arriving there and it gets worse( it was more than carsickness) and y/n and the members take care of him ( he has a high fever during 2 nights)

I'm addicted to sick fics if u could write it I'd be so happy ❤️

cabin fever.

note: this idea was adorable, i had to write something for it. thank you and i hope you enjoy! muah xoxo.

description: basically the ask above! y/n and the guys go on a week's holiday at one of y/n's parents vacation homes far in the forest, but their plans become complicated when heeseung falls sick, hours away from home. comforting ot7 sick fic one shot.

genre: comfort, fluff, sprinkle of crack. maybe a little romance?👀

pairing: OT7 best friends enhypen x female y/n

warnings: mentions of illness and fainting, pills, strong language.

wc≈ 3.7k, ot7 one shot.

The trip had finally made its way out of the group chat.

After months of planning and anticipation, the beginning of their getaway together had now arrived. Nobody could wait- excited for the once-in-a-lifetime, unforgettable memories they would soon make together.

Y/N, Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Ni-ki, had all come together to go on a week’s trip away from this all-too-familiar town, and into the countryside. Luckily, Y/N’s parents owned a few vacation homes here and there, making it easy to find a place where the entire group could stay.

The plan was simple; a week away into the forests of the countryside while staying at one of Y/N’s vacation homes together. A chance to reconnect with nature and each other. And, if something did happen to go wrong, there was a small town five minutes or so down the road where they could find everything they could possibly need.

Early this morning, everyone gathered at the two cars that they would be taking to get to the house. After a lot of arguing and rounds of the game ‘rock, paper, scissors’, it was decided who would be in each car. In car one, there was Y/N, Heeseung, and passenger Jungwon up front alongside Jay, who would be the one driving. In car two, there was Jake, Ni-ki, passenger Sunoo, and driver Sunghoon.

There was a lot of pushing and shoving things into the car, but it all fit eventually. Well, after everyone tirelessly convinced Sunoo and Y/N that they did not need multiple bags full of non-essential things each. Everyone had been on the road for a few hours now with a couple of pit stops here and there, but now they were down to just 30 minutes left on the road trip until they would finally arrive at their destination.

Everyone had managed to keep their energy up until now, except for Heeseung. Currently, car one was doing carpool karaoke, but Heeseung was not joining in at all.

Y/N turned to Heeseung, who was sitting beside her with his arms crossed and head slightly tilted back, “Hey why aren’t you singing with us? Do you not like the song?”

“Yeah man, If I gotta sing, you have to as well. Don’t make me do it alone with these weirdos,” Jay joined, looking at Heeseung through the car mirror.

“Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying it Jay,” Jungwon huffed, leaning against the car window and watching the trees blur by quickly as they drove forward along the lengthy straight road.

“Can we just open a window? I’m hella motion sick right now,” Heeseung grumbled in response.

Y/N grabbed the closest water bottle and handed it to Heeseung, “drink some water, it’ll help. We should have had Hee sit up front.”

“That helps?” Jungwon questioned.

“Yeah, I mean that's what my parents told me whenever I asked to sit up front. They said they got motion sick in the back of the car,” Y/N shrugged.

Jay laughed, “Sounds like they were just trying to make up something so they wouldn’t have to sit in the back.”

“Whatever, they wouldn’t do that,” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“First stage, denial,” Jay continued to joke.

“Be quiet. Anyway, I wonder how the other guys are doing,” Y/N laid back into her seat again.

Jungwon pulled out his phone, “I’ll text them.”

︵‿︵‿୨🩹୧‿︵‿︵

Meanwhile, Ni-ki and Jake were doing some intense thumb wrestling matches in the back of the other car, pulling each other around aggressively; the pair of them were very obviously cheating at the game. Sunoo peacefully scrolled through his phone up front, glad to be a little bit away from the mad duo in the back.

“Can you guys quit?” Sunghoon kept his eyes on the road as he scolded them.

“What?” Jake sassed.

“Quit bickering for the love of my sanity. You’re actually now making the car sway,” Sunghoon complained.

“It’s Jake's fat ass tilting the car,” Ni-ki snapped back.

“What ass? He has an ass?” Sunoo added, eyes still on his phone.

Jake threw his arms in the air, “I have an ass it's just not fat alright? AND I’M NOT TILTING THE FUCKING CAR!”

Ni-ki was in a fit of laughter, almost wetting himself right then and there.

Sunghoon shook his head, “seriously guys stop.”

Sunoo turned up the car volume, “Yeah shut up, my song is about to play.”

It was a cutesy song to which Sunoo somehow knew all the dance movements.

“Get Sunoo off of aux RIGHT NOW,” Ni-ki yelled in horror, covering his ears as if it was physically paining him. He reached up into the middle to grab Sunoo’s phone.

Sunoo began screaming, “LET GO OF ME, YOU CAN’T REACH UP HERE!”

Sunghoon suddenly swerved sharply for a half second, making everyone sit back and go silent in fear, “Is that seriously what it takes to get you all to shut the hell up?”

“Wait, Jungwon texted me,” Sunoo opened up his phone again after seeing the notification briefly light up on his screen, “apparently Heeseung is super motion sick or something. He said Heeseung really doesn’t look too great.”

︵‿︵‿୨🌡️୧‿︵‿︵

Heeseung had been asleep for a while now. The music had been turned down in order to let him rest for the rest of the drive. His head slowly fell softly onto Y/N’s shoulder, still sound asleep.

“Oh my god, I can feel the heat radiating off of him. He’s so warm,” Y/N whispered with a shocked tone to the two that were still awake.

Jungwon looked to the back of the car where Heeseung was with a concerned expression, “I don’t think that’s a normal symptom of motion sickness… maybe he should take some medication.”

“Shit, I left all the first aid and medication with Sunoo in the other car. How much longer until we arrive?”

“It’s just over there, I can see the house. I just need to pull up,” Jay answered.

As Jay pulled up to the vacation home and parked the car, Y/N slowly detached herself from Heeseung- gently propping his head back up to a natural, comfortable position. He was definitely one of the deepest sleepers amongst the friend group.

Everyone exited the car, reuniting with the other half of their friends who were getting out of the other car a few spots behind them. Niki and Jake came out of the car trying to headlock each other, but that wasn’t a surprise to anyone. In fact, you could probably get rich from betting on it.

Sunghoon approached Y/N and the others, looking absolutely drained.

“Oh my, what happened? Are you alright?” Y/N scanned him with worry that another one of her friends might be unwell.

“Now you listen to me Y/N. Don’t you ever leave me with them two ever again,” Sunghoon pointed toward the culprits, Jake and Ni-ki, who had finally let go of each other?

Y/N giggled, “So sorry about that. I forgot how they are when they’re left together for more than five minutes. I’ll rig the game of rock, paper, scissors for the journey home and make sure they’re separate.”

“Thank goodness,” Sunghoon sighed in relief.

Sunoo joined the conversation with wide eyes, “where’s Heeseung? Is he okay?”

“He’s still in the car. I didn’t want to wake him ye-“

Y/N paused when she looked toward the car again, spotting Ni-ki quickly approaching the car door, swinging it open while snickering, and taking goofy 0.5 pictures of Heeseung asleep. Then he started tickling him.

Heeseung woke up and swung at him, in which Ni-ki had only just avoided by luck. Heeseung grumbled grumpily at him, swearing under his breath.

“Caught you slacking,” Ni-ki teased.

“Just you wait,” Heeseung mumbled back while unbuckling his seatbelt. He took barely two steps out of the car and began to stumble over. Luckily, Ni-ki caught him before he made friends with the pebble-infested floor.

Everyone gasped and rushed over to help quickly, “Get him inside, right now.”

︵‿︵‿୨🍵୧‿︵‿︵

A little while later, Jay came rushing back into the house with a doctor from the city down the road. He had left almost immediately to get some help for Heeseung.

The doctor placed his bags beside the couch where Heeseung was lying down, surrounded by everyone who looked worried sick for their dear friend. The doctor then knelt down beside Heeseung and took his temperature. He did some general checking, making sure Heeseung’s vitals were good and everything like that.

“Tsk, he’s got a fever alright,” the doctor examined the thermometer, “he will be okay though. He’s just got an aggressive cold right now. Just make sure to keep breaking any spontaneous fevers that may come back and make him rest a lot. Oh, and give him these,” he handed a bottle of specific medication to Sunoo as he stood up, “just call me if anything worsens, or if anything happens that you’re not sure about.”

“Thank you so much,” Jay guided the doctor to the door and waved him goodbye, thanking him one final time before the doctor left.

Y/N took the medication from Sunoo and took two pills out into the palm of her hand. She sat down beside Heeseung with a glass of water in her other hand, “You gotta take these Hee.”

Heeseung weakly sat up with a little bit of help from Ni-ki. He then leaned toward Y/N with his mouth slightly agape, who then placed each pill carefully into his mouth and helped tip the glass of water into his mouth.

Jake approached with some random bags of frozen things that he found last second and placed them against Heeseung to help him stay cool. Initially, the cold made Heeseung flinch a little, but he accepted it, “really? Frozen cranberries?”

“It’s all there was man,” Jake apologised, making Heeseung chuckle lightly.

Jungwon had run upstairs but shortly returned with as many pillows as his little arms could hold. Ni-ki and Jungwon worked together to make sure Heeseung was as comfortable as lying on a couch could be.

Muffled quarrelling could be heard from the kitchen. It was Jay and Sunghoon.

Jay was trying to make some comforting and healing food for Heeseung with his own cooking knowledge, meanwhile, Sunghoon made laps around the kitchen looking at his phone, and reading out overly fancy complicated remedies and recipes. He may have been trying to be helpful, but Jay had to deny everything he suggested and constantly remind him once again they ‘do not have the ingredients for that shit.’

After everything was more settled, everyone left Heeseung to sleep peacefully on the couch while they went outside the back and started setting up the campfire.

︵‿︵‿୨🩹୧‿︵‿︵

Hours later, Heeseung awoke to the faint sound of obnoxious laughter and shouting from outside which travelled through the windows of the house.

He sat up, still drenched in sweat that his fever had graciously gifted him. He looked around for a few moments, processing everything. His eyes trailed across the empty glasses on the table beside him and a bowl filled with soup that had gone completely cold. He felt bad- Jay must have left it for him to eat when he woke back up, but he had slept far too long.

The sound of his friends having fun and enjoying themselves made Heeseung jealous. He was envious that everyone except him was getting to have fun and make the memories he so desperately waited for the second the plans were made. He couldn’t stand being so vulnerable, so he got up even if his body wasn’t ready yet.

Heeseung made his way outside the back, and toward the campfire where everyone sat casually talking about anything and everything that came to their heads at the moment.

“It’s your turn- oh, Heeseung’s up,” Jungwon announced upon seeing Heeseung approaching.

“You’re not supposed to be getting up and walking around yet Hee,” Y/N lectured him.

“I’m feeling fine,” Heeseung lied, taking a seat next to Sunoo, “what did I miss?”

Heeseung lasted about fifteen minutes before he began to feel lightheaded again, his body slowly tilting backward involuntarily every now and then. Except suddenly, he couldn't keep himself upright anymore and the next thing he knew, everything went black.

︵‿︵‿୨🌡️୧‿︵‿︵

When Heeseung awoke again, he was greeted by Y/N leaning over the bed he lay in, caressing his hair, while sitting in a random chair she had pulled up to sit beside him.

“How did I get here?” Heeseung sat up, taking in the room he was unfamiliar with.

“Well luckily for you, it isn’t a hospital room. We’re just in one of the spare bedrooms,” Y/N explained.

“Oh. Did I faint?” Heeseung couldn’t recollect any memory from just before he had passed out until now.

“Yes, you did,” Y/N sighed heavily, “and you gave us all a heart attack. You could have fallen forwards, straight into the fire Heeseung! You could have died, we could have lost you,” Y/N scolded him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean to yell at you as soon as you wake up, but it was really scary. Promise me you won’t get up and do stuff when you’re not actually better,” Y/N calmed down a little.

Heeseung felt incredibly guilty, “I promise. I’m really sorry I put you guys through that.”

“As long as you keep your promise Heeseung. If anything, I’m partly responsible. I shouldn’t have left you unsupervised like that. I’m sorry,” Y/N shook her head in self-shame.

Heeseung reached for Y/N’s hand, holding it gently, “Don’t blame yourself.”

Y/N stuck by Heeseung’s side for the rest of the night, falling asleep upright in her chair, slumped slightly over herself uncomfortably.

︵‿︵‿୨🍵୧‿︵‿︵

The next morning, Heeseung awoke to Jungwon and Jake by the side of his bed rather than Y/N whom he had seen in that spot last. It took him by surprise, making him jump a little.

“C’mon bro, Jungwon ain’t that ugly,” Jake joked.

Jungwon slapped him on the arm harshly, “I change my mind, I don't need you in here.”

“Where’s Y/N?” Heeseung asked curiously, ignoring them, and wondering where Y/N had disappeared to, and if she had spent the whole night there in the chair that was still placed beside him. He hoped that she had not sacrificed her sleep for him.

“She went grocery shopping about an hour ago. She should be back soon,” Jungwon answered.

“Yeah, and she put us on babysitting duty,” Jake added, throwing a slight verbal dig at Heeseung.

On cue, Y/N returned loudly through the door trying to carry all the shopping bags inside in one trip, “I’m back!”

After some time spent putting away the groceries, Y/N made her way into the main room where Heeseung was already sitting on the couch waiting. Jake and Jungwon had gone outside to join the others on a nature walk. Y/N decided it was probably better not to tag along- she would much rather hear about the chaos of a walk they created when they return, rather than have to be a part of it.

“Good afternoon Hee, how are you holding up this morning?” She sat in the chair opposite him.

He looked at her with an eyebrow raised, “Did you stay in that chair all night?”

“Is it a problem?”

“Y/N, you don’t have to do that,” Heeseung sighed, feeling guilty again.

“It’s okay. If I would have left, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway,” she assured him.

“I’m sorry I’ve basically ruined the start of this trip,” Heeseung hung his head in disappointment.

Y/N sat up with an angry expression, “Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t ruined a thing.”

Heeseung began to cough a bit concerningly, earning a worried look from Y/N.

“Stay put. I’ll be right back,” Y/N pointed at her eyes and then back at him as if she were warning him that she was watching him.

She rushed around in the kitchen and returned after a few minutes with two mugs, one in each hand, and a packet of Heeseung’s favourite snack hanging from her mouth held by the clench of her teeth.

“What’s this?” Heeseung took the mug from her carefully.

“I got some of your favourite snacks while I was out shopping,” Y/N pointed to the mug in his hands, “and that’s tea with a spoonful of honey. Trust me, it helps when you’re sick. Drink up!” Y/N took a sip from her own mug, sitting down next to Heeseung now.

Heeseung smiled at her and copied her, taking a sip from his mug; he widened his eyes with the pleasant taste, humming in enjoyment.

“It’s good right?” Y/N watched him eagerly.

He nodded enthusiastically, and they both giggled.

︵‿︵‿୨🩹୧‿︵‿︵

Later that evening, everyone gathered and agreed to do something in which they could include Heeseung this time so that he didn’t feel left out like he had felt the night before. Plus, the guys really missed him during the day. It just felt so empty when they weren’t all together, all the time.

It was decided that they would all do a movie night. It was a great idea, something everyone could enjoy, and something Heeseung could join without having to get up from the chair or out of the blankets the other guys had earnestly wrapped him up in.

They watched a few movies: comedy, horror, action. For the final movie, they put on a romance movie. It didn’t take long for almost everyone to fall asleep during it. Arguably, it was very late. But Y/N complained that she was the only one interested enough to not get bored and drift off to sleep.

Sunghoon was out like a light in the singular chair on the furthest side of the room. By his feet were Jay, Jake, and Ni-ki who had collectively fallen asleep together all huddled up in a shared blanket on the floor, knackered from the amount of yelling they all did during the horror movie. Light snores could be heard, but it wasn’t clear who was the one producing the snoring. It was probably Jake.

Sunoo and Jungwon shared one side of the couch. Jungwon’s hair was flopped all out of place, twinning with Sunoo’s hair beside him which was doing the exact same thing. They looked like two little pom-poms together.

On the other side of the couch were Heeseung and Y/N. Heeseung was fast asleep and had fallen asleep first out of everyone. It was excused though, because he must have been exhausted from the horrible illness fighting his body right now.

Y/N on the other hand, was wide awake. Her eyes threatened to close a few times here and there at the sight of all her best friends asleep so comfortably, but alas her eyes stayed glued to the TV. She refused to let the movie go to waste.

Beside her, Heeseung began to shuffle around and mumble to himself. From what Y/N could tell, he was still asleep. He must have been dreaming. She found herself staring a little at him, noticing his eyebrows furrowed together as if he were in pain. Before she could even tap him, his eyes fluttered open, meeting hers.

Y/N looked away quickly as if she wasn’t staring, and then looked back at him, “Are you alright?” She whispered, cautious not to wake the others so closely located to her.

“I’m alright, why are you still awake?” Heeseung asked, sitting up properly.

“The movie hasn’t finished,” she pointed to the TV.

Heeseung laughed, “How did we get to romantic movies?”

“It was my idea.”

“I mean,” Heeseung scanned the room of sleeping bodies, “I think I can tell,” he teased.

“Oh, whatever. It’s a good movie,” Y/N scoffed, diverting her attention back toward the TV.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” He whispered after a few minutes.

Y/N shrugged, “It’s not awful, but a little I guess.”

Heeseung grabbed Y/N’s arm and pulled her towards him, “come closer then.”

“Oh okay,” Y/N felt herself get a little shy at the sudden gesture.

Heeseung adjusted the blanket, snaking his arm around her and pulling her into the blanket with him, and smiled.

Y/N smiled back, “Thanks, Hee.”

Eventually, the pair fell asleep with their heads against one another.

︵‿︵‿୨🌡️୧‿︵‿︵

“Shut the fuck up you’re so loud.”

“You’re gonna wake them up.”

“Move, I want to take a picture too.”

“Ni-ki stop taking selfies with them, that’s just plain wrong.”

Heeseung’s eyes opened to the sight of the other guys hovering around him with their cameras in his face, giggling mischievously amongst themselves, “What the hell?”

Then it became clear as he felt someone’s arms suddenly move slightly around his waist. It was Y/N. They must have fallen asleep and somehow ended up holding one another on the couch. How it actually happened, he had no recollection of.

And because of Y/N’s reaction when she had finally sat up fully awake and realised- it was clear she probably had no recollection of this either.

“Oh my god that’s embarrassing,” she held her flushed face in her hands.

“Ni-ki I know you ain’t laughing like you weren’t all snuggled up with Sunghoon’s feet last night,” Heeseung teased defensively.

“WHAT THE HELL NO I WASN’T,” Ni-ki yelled back, clearly offended at such an insult.

“Don’t bring me into this,” Sunghoon rubbed the sides of his head, annoyed.

“Anyway,” Heeseung interrupted, “good news. I think I’m healed.”

“You better not be lying,” Jake squinted at him suspiciously, not believing it.

“No deadass, I feel so much better,” Heeseung beamed.

The guys cheered and jumped around in excitement, “We can finally start off this trip properly.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Jay asked amongst the sudden chatter.

Just then, a nasty-sounding cough came from beside Heeseung. It came from Y/N, and everyone looked her way immediately. She looked like she hadn’t even slept, even though she most definitely had.

Heeseung placed his palm against her forehead. It was very warm. She must have caught the sickness from him.

Heeseung laughed in astonishment,

“Actually guys, I think we got some other work to do first.”

🤒 end!! 🤧

note: all feedback is encouraged and any interaction is appreciated! thank you so much for reading! i enjoyed writing this. if there’s mistakes, pretend you ain’t seen NOTHIN. i got lazy with proof reading >< please let me know what you guys thought of this. was it okay?? also kinda unrelated but guess who got txt tickets for december! 😽 (it’s me)

[superm4ks]

I need Max to serve some cunt bc it's been wayyy too long. The last time he really served cunt was when he called George a dickhead but I need moree

😑😑😑😑 👍🏽 ok respectfully we love a good Baku cat fight but like

- excuse me

- literally the next race

- Checo was telling media both Max’s titles happened because of him somebody out there was floating Prost senna conversations people lost their whole minds like 😭😭

-first of all quali didn't even start great like he hadn't set a lap when it got red flagged kind of Amateur hour at rbr. last time u will c number 1 car go out late btw he’s fully traumatized these days he’s breaking front wings hauling ass out of that garage god bless him. Anyway p9 wid his hyped up teammate starting on pole the casuals were celebrating even tho max was doing like. borderline unthinkable laps in fp2 so u could smell a generational moment from the get go

-dude overtook like literally everybody on hards by like lap 15 i think and still had all four wheels somehow spinning faster than checos fresh mediums by lap 40

- Destroying ur teammates entire wdc campaign in a single race weekend on hard tires from p9 kinda cunty idk?. To me

- Ok fine then Monaco: Jeddah won the battle but he won the war. made up 2 tenths in one of the shortest sectors of the whole calendar in prolly one of the best and most competitive quali sessions in Monaco, ever. Senna type performance, just fully letting the talent take over rascasse and antony noghes. U cannot serve more cunt than that

- Non? Bon. Spain: black and white flag for track limits. His engineer tells him he’s stupid and Max is like 'whatvr what’s the fastest lap' and his engineer is like 'SORRY did u not hear what I just' and max steals fastest lap from Checo. Who btw had just set that on new softs for his flop lil point and Max leading by 24 seconds at risk of getting a pen wid gp warning him against it is like 😚😚😚😚😚bet . This isn’t cunt to u. Ok

- FINE. Canada: do I have to talk about senna again😐. Do I have to say he equaled sennas wins at 25 years old. But despite the Senna numbers it was also an eerily Schumacheresq quali session from Max. Taking pole by a second under the rain is something u c twice, maybe once in a lifetime, if ur lucky. We are lucky 🫵🏽

- Austria: u look at me rn and tell me Austria wasn’t the most 2021 max you’ve seen that mf since that actual season. U tell me he didn’t serve cunt nearly sending both Red Bulls to eat shit at the RED BULL ring because he was a lil annoyed checo dared to like. Squeeze him a lil bit. Nearly overtaken by an Haas i cannot stress this enough. Bro Lewis impeded him once by accident during practice and Max literally twerked in front of his car and got away wid it. And on top of that he gaslit rbr into letting him pit for softs and risk the whole race to take one single extra point like he wud rather fucking die than let anybody else have it. He’s beating merc in the THE FONSTRCUTORS CHAMPIONSHIP‼️‼️‼️‼️ HES 1 PERSON

- .

- Austria was such fucking prime Verstappen cunt delivry it was so dumb and all of it completely unnecessary and ur fucking telling me he hasn’t really ‘served’ because he doesn’t have some tall beans and toast bitch up in his face like

- Which obvi brings me to Silverstone: HE WON THE BRITISH GP HE literally won the British Grand Prix???? Half a million people praying on his downfall, mclaren having its own lil moment he doesn’t give a fuck 5 poles and 6 wins in a row on ur head fucking losers eat it. Eat ittt. 2023 has been nonstop cunt serving from this guy it’s literally one of thee greatest verstappen performances to date put some respect on it immediately . Thank u

[meowthefluffy]

An update on my unfinished au’s!

I have over the last few months fallen deeply out of love with the Sanders Sides series and as a result I have not updated any of my projects in some time. At the current point I am at I am only planning to do the final two installments in the cupid au (because I pretty much lost my affection for the ts series right before the big finale of the project!!) and the lust Roman au (as it is my longest running work to date and I want to comple the project as a show of dedication to my younger self) although it will most likely be on a much quicker time scale than I was intending originally! (Instead of the 11 more parts I was hoping to produce it will probably be closer to 5 and I will most likely skip a few parts of the story that weren’t as important)

I feel a lot of affection for the work I have created but not a lot for the actual series so I’m trying to find a way to rework the stories I’ve created for the au’s to become independent creations that I will enjoy continuing to make! (Aside from the Lust au which I feel is mostly a story I don’t feel the need to come back to/rework since it relies so heavily on the source material) Most of my au’s function as stories mostly separate from canon material except for the characters archetypes present in each, so I’ll be working on retooling/reskinning said work to be more original and workable as long term projects! (Since u guys were really invest in my plots which had almost nothing to do with the canon characterization)

I’m currently working on retooling the Zombie au (Which I used as heavy inspiration for my oc Sophia I sometimes post about and her girlfriend) the Cupid au (I’m putting together more creative designs for the characters so that I can hopefully redo the comic- since I’m super in love with the concept) The sleeping beauty au (since it functions entirely the same as a stand alone story- and I could use the designs of my princess characters from that comic I made a long time ago for Valentine’s Day ) and the Super hero au! (Which I never properly defined and thus have a lot of incomplete ideas for, and my only struggle is coming up with better super hero names for them)

The only one of my main au’s I probably won’t rework is the Evil king au- just because I’m not sure how I could retool it to not just be a story about abuse(I feel more comfortable creating a story where everything is horrible and bad and the people involved are just bad for eachother when it’s an au- because there is other work of those characters where they aren’t that way to balance it out- but if it were my own new characters I feel as though it wouldn’t be nearly as fun to read or write)

This is a series of decisions I’ve been trying to wait on for a long time because I have been hoping something sanders Sides related would come out soon that would re spark my interest but nothing so far has happened- and with the way the story is going I don’t think it’s something that is going to happen. I still love all the work I have created for this fandom and I am so proud of all the collaborative projects I have been able to create with you all! I will happily re-read your asks and comments on my comics and I am still really proud of the community I’ve been able to create!

I’m sad to let this part of my life go (it’s taken up a solid 4th of my lifetime) and I understand that a lot of you all won’t follow me to my new projects- because I understand you guys didn’t come here for random oc projects- or original comics. And Altho it breaks my heart to see some of you move on and leave my notifications I am happy I the time with you all that I did!

Thank you all for everything- and I’ll see you soon 💖

[sebmaxrc]

I think it's just Pedro who has a bit of a peculiar character tbh😭 If you watch the mini doc TNT did where they spend a day with him you can catch some glimpse of his personality better. His family sold their family boat to raise money to allow him to race and he’s a proper hardworker and also very humble and in the doc you can clearly see that are qualities that his parents also have. When he goes to train he only brings his flop friend from moto2 and he lets his best friend of a lifetime training. Doesn’t bring mechanics or anything, he does his own set up and sometimes he makes it bad on purpose so he has to ride a bad bike. The people who work with him always say that he’s an old soul in a young body but at the same time he’s the most 20yo guy ever. There’s this interview he made in italian with his ex telemetry data engineer where you can see that every single thing he thinks he say it out loud. The interviewer told him “you told more things to me in 40 minutes than what the entire MotoGP grid could tell me in 1 months”. I guess that’s why the journalist that work in the paddock and the people who work with him like him that much

Pedro does have a peculiar character lol that makes him so entertaining.. but wow I didn't know about that Italian interview!! 😳 that's so interesting... but the more I find about him the more curious I get tbh

thank u so much for the insight anon <3

[hogans-heroes]

https://www.tumblr.com/hogans-heroes/744517790110826496/httpswwwtumblrcomhogans-heroes74451655142580

no because if u do rewatch i need to know how u perceived some of the scenes and dialogue, mainly when bucky asks buck what he thinks of them and buck says he doesn’t think anything of them and i’m like what on earth does that mean😅 or when they first came in the room and everyone got weird and quiet and i even got weird vibes from buck and bucky and i’m like ok is this just racism

Thanks for making me stop my chores and look at the episode again with subtitles so I could get the rest of the dialouge lol.

When the guys first walked in and introduced themselves, Buck nodded and said "Gentlemen, welcome to paradise." (On second look the bunks they took were the empty ones, Hambone was just sitting on one).

Then in the library Alex says to Buck, "Back on that first day, all the guys looked to you. You got the final say. So why didn't you gripe about us bunking in 8? [their barrack number]"

Buck: "Well let's just say I knew you weren't spies."

As far as Bucky asking Buck what he thought of them, Buck's response that he hadn't been thinking of anything came across as having not given them a second look, they were just three more guys to him, though I suspect Bucky was asking because he knew they were up to something. I'm sure there's a certain "itchy" look about guys who are contemplating escape, which Bucky would be very familiar with.

This is kind of where we get into the realm of needing to have an entire lifetime of background in that era to really understand, but we can try. Alex and Macon were definitely getting a variety of Looks when they walked into the barracks, which could be for any number of reasons. It's safe to say there were at least several guys there that weren't happy about it and had that deep-runnign predjudice, and we also need to remember that even when someone wasn't racist, having your whole world perspective turned around is gonna take you a few seconds to come to grips with (meaning you never knew there were Black pilots and if you were from certain areas of the country were living with segration as normal whether you liked it or not, which explains a few "deer in the headlights" looks). From Alex and Macon's perspective however, it would suck to be on the receiving end of those looks no matter what was behind them, and they certainly would have a right to be worried about bunking with people they felt they couldn't trust. Alex seems to be more quick to trust than Macon, which of course could be for any number of reasons.

[here2bbtstrash]

I also feel obligated to say that I would like to take all of them to a hockey game, purely to see how they react to a good fight and how much stadium food they would consume before they inevitably feel sick

BANGTAN + HOCKEY = A RARE OVERLAP OF TWO OF MY FAVORITE THINGS omg. ngl i got inspired to write some headcanons so let's goooo (ty to @sailoryooons for helping me cowrite hehe) 🏒

namjoon: he gets a little lost trying to find his way back to the seats on his own, and when his arm gets grabbed by some important looking dude in a polo, he just goes with it - which is how he ends up in the locker room, sitting quietly through the entire opening pep talk before anyone notices him. the height, the muscles, the general look of confusion on his face: the new assistant coach saw him bumbling around and just assumed he was a healthy scratch - oops!

seokjin: is here exclusively for the shit-talk. bullies the opposing team mercilessly even though he's not actually 100% positive what's going on in the game - it doesn't matter. these clowns need to be TOLD and he's gonna be the one to do it. let's face it, he could play hockey better with his TOES than these losers can! he's also very supportive of any and all fights that break out, and think it's ridiculous that people get penalized for the most interesting part of the game!!

yoongi: possibly the only one actually focused on the game. somehow has all the team standings as well as every single player's name and stats memorized, and can provide them off the top of his head when asked (okay, nobody asked, but he's providing them anyway!!!!!!) (this does actually end up coming in handy when jimin wants to know the names of the cutest players) - he also complains LOUDLY when the refs make terrible calls, and jin immediately joins in despite not knowing or caring what hooking even means.

hoseok: doesn't even know who's winning, all he knows is that he wants to be on the jumbotron so bad - he's wiggling in his seat every time the music comes on, and once the cameraperson finds him, his pure joy meltdown of seeing himself on the screen is so endearing, it becomes a recurring theme the rest of the game to cut to hobi at least once during any given moment of downtime. they even pan over to him during the kiss cam, just for laughs, but jimin is READY and proceeds to lean over and plant the smooch of a lifetime on him.

jimin: jungkook notices it first, and everyone thinks he's mostly joking and/or projecting when he mentions it, but then yoongi corroborates: the players...... can't stop looking at him. two dudes literally skate into each other because neither of them can take their eyes off jimin. guys sitting on the bench are turning around to look at him. he just cards a hand through his hair and tries to keep his knowing smirk to himself.

taehyung: the mysterious enigma that he is, our boy disappears midway through the period, mumbling an excuse about wanting to stretch his long-ass legs which, yeah, fair. but just as seokjin is starting to complain that he's going to miss the start of the period if he doesn't make it back soon, hobi is swatting at his arm and pointing towards the ice because, yep, there taehyung is: sitting prim and proper on the back of the zamboni, princess-waving as he circles the ice. to this day, nobody knows how he talked his way into it.

jungkook: as far as he's concerned, this is an all-you-can-eat buffet with a side of sports. hot dogs, burgers, nachos, pretzels, chicken tenders, popcorn, churros - he's eating til he's nauseous and washing it down with as many beers as he can get away with before jin cuts him off. he's here for a good time, not a long time!!!! .....and yes he will complain the entire ride home that his stomach hurts 🥺

whrguekhgjldf thank u and sorry this is so niche but i had fun lmao

soft hours!! 🌸 if you could do one (sfw!) activity with one member (or subunit!) of bangtan: who are you with & what are you doing?

[auriidae]

saw ur tags, please share your list of desert duo coded saint motel songs (if youre willing, if not ignore me lol) 👀

anon i am ALWAYS willing to share my ideas abt desertduo thank u for asking!! i have many thoughts so this is going to be v disjointed but here u go

(i actually made up a whole desertduo-centric au based entirely on the vibes of the songs in the original motion picture soundtrack a whiile ago o_o so almost all the songs from that album are linked with them in my mind,,,, but i won't go into that now haha. here's the list !)

first of all. old soul is the original desertduo song to me. "cause the more i get to know you / well the more i feel i knew you / in a lifetime a long time ago" but it's a post-3l au where everyone forgets except as the winners grian and scar start to remember.... (also i'm a mild watcher grian enjoyer so "i've seen heaven in the moonlight / blow it out / yeah, turn around" has a very clear mental image of, yknow, eyes in the moon and stuff. yeag)

also, make me feel like. there was a whole thing about scar and milkshakes and french fries in earlier hermitcraft that became like cemented in my mind as integral to his character for some reason so the first time i heard the "dipping your shake with the french fries" line the whole song became about him. "it started out like it always ends" oughhh that's such a line. 'there is no other end to this story' and all that. also "there's only so much that my heart can take / i get so close and then i hesitate / i don't want to die alone" and "don't let me down / give the run around / yeah you'll be my ticket to heaven" this is such a soulmate-coded song DO I NEED TO SAY ANYTHING MORE

SLOW DANCE AS WELL. i was listening to it the first time like "hey this is kind of them based just off the vibes" and then it went "i could be your best friend, i could be your centerpiece, i could be your soulmate, i could be your everything" and i lost my mind entirely. i'm not a purely romantic desertduo enjoyer so take that lyrical aspect of the song with a grain of salt but dude ough

a good song never dies is like very scar-coded in my mind it just has his vibes. i've never read the lyrics through but it puts me in mind of some charismatic charlatan and yeah that's him

bullet's "you don't stop a bullet that you set into motion / you don't stop a fire when you light an explosion / so then why are we fighting, already ignited / counting down, down, down, down" they are sooo self-destructive and this song's got that going for it so

and last but not least la2ny!!!!! "trying to get back / back to the place that we were / pure and dangerous / always just us versus the world" <that is literally. that is So double-life-desertduo-remembering-and-regretting-after-third-life core. "i had the damnedest day / you don't hear what i say / your head's up in the clouds" (soulbound to the man in the clouds by gideon anyone?). also "feel the distance, miles apart / in our beds" <me when i'm soulbound to this guy who i used to be closest to more than anyone else in the world but cannot understand why he's emotionally closed off for the life of me. this might be the most them-coded song here actually,, the rest are fun for vibes but this one's got the lyrics on point.

anyways saint motel's songs are the MOST FUN TO MAKE UP STORIES TO EVER and i love their stuff a lot. thank you very much for giving me an excuse to ramble about this ^-^//

[ome-magical-ramblings]

In memory of: Dr Leon Wright

Another Obscure person of interest, Dr Leon Wright, PhD., Professor of Religion is a very interesting person and down to earth person that we don't have a lot remaining of his techniques or teachings. Dr. Wright was the first person Saygyi U Ba Khin authorized to teach meditation outside of Myanmar. The letter was presented to him in a public ceremony at the Myanmar Embassy in Washington, DC, given by the Myanmar Ambassador. The book also states that Dr. Wright shared an account of preaching meditation to 10,000 people – college men and women, and Congregational ministers like himself– over a period of 3-years.

Dr. Wright practiced a breathing technique the entire two years he was in Burma. At one point midway through his stay there, he opened his eyes while doing the technique and could see fire coming out of his feet. Near the end of his stay there, he had a deep meditation in which the hand of Christ appeared to him and gave him a yellow rose. At his last meditation at the monastery, the Head Abbot called the assembly together, and made the following statement: "We must honor this man, Dr. Leon Wright, who has been among us and is now departing. He has made more spiritual progress here than 1 in 10,000 monks makes in an entire lifetime."

I hope That this writing isn't here just as a baseless advertisement to his breathing technique, the man passed on 1996 so he's not getting anything out of this. Just such a great figure put forth this technique he learned and poured his soul and effort into helping people learning the Bible and about Christ, the out-pouring love of Divinity coming out of this guy. In the end I want to say that I feel deep and honest respect Dr Wright, and I offer thanksgiving toward God in his name that I was able to learn his breathing technique. If you can't pay for it, contact me I will pay for it or share my recording of it for you. I hope that Dr Wright's work doesn't die out and I hope that people benefit from it. Amen. I Will add my own experience: Everyone have their own experience with his cleaning out technique and I hope that people appreciate and feel motivated by my writing of this technique. My hand and feet started having tremors, I felt heavy breathing, my back was sweating while my front of body was cold, I pray to be cleaned and I was cleaned and during the last part of the breathing I felt this sense of elevation, serene, tranquility, Xi, etc. it was extremely refreshing like swimming in the sea, the body felt light, my heart felt light, the mind was silent, and I felt my whole body "cleaned" in and out and a gentle serene dawned on me. Touched by the spirit of divinity, I am thankful and grateful <3 :)

[elsanna-shenanigans]

December 2023/January 2024 Contest Submission #3: NightLink

Words: ca. 2,900 Setting: modern AU Lemon: lime CW: none

Elsa’s delicate fingernails danced without pressing down along her backlit Macbook keyboard—tikitikitik—one of countless nervous habits she channeled through her restless hands on a daily, weekly, lifetime basis. She sat hunched over her kitchen counter in the dark, blinking into the cool glow of the laptop screen like a neurotic mushroom.

“You need to let loose,”Kristoff had said to her two weeks ago, during a lull while they polished up pint glasses behind the bar. “Spice up your life a little.”

“I don’t take romantic advice from guys who quote Spice Girls,” Elsa retorted.

“Yeah, well, you could use it. I see you vibrating with pent-up frustration whenever a female with a pulse comes up to order a drink. So, what’s the issue?”

What could she say? It’s not like she could tell him why no one was good enough, why no one could even come close to—god, it was shameful just thinking about it. So she just whapped his arm with a dish towel and said, “I’m not trying your stupid hookup site.”

But she was lonely. And yes, vibrating with pent-up frustration.

She tried the stupid hookup site.

Now, weeks later, she sat at her laptop and questioned the life choices that had brought her to this corner of the internet on her night off. NIGHTLINK proclaimed the banner in lurid scarlet script. Below that, in joyless contrast, was the Terms and Conditions page. Elsa had set that part of the website as her bookmark because the homepage’s bouncing, jiggling DickTok ads and lecherous mosaic of g-string thirst traps scared her.

But what scared her even more: a tiny red inbox notification blinking in the lower corner of the screen. The little speech bubble icon had been pinging patiently at her for the last ten minutes while she stared, stewed, screwed up the courage to open the new message.

What if it was from her?

“They’re just internet randoms,” Elsa chastised herself, rubbing her elbow. “Who the hell cares? Just read it.”

So she sucked in a deep breath and opened her messages.

[NEW] Subject: u want sum?

She let out a sigh. False alarm.

Her eyes drifted to the message thread second from the top:

[1:18 P.M.] Subject: still awake?

Elsa’s nails skittered across the keys in another fitful burst of phantom typing: tikitikitik. No new messages from the one person whose notifications made her heart skip a beat. It had taken her entire lunch break to craft and commit to a reply, so why crickets ten whole hours later?

Whatever. Just internet randoms. She opened the new message at the top of her inbox.

The sender, EforEveryone, hadn’t even bothered typing a body to the message. All he’d sent was a photo attachment; a tiny thumbnail beneath the subject linepreviewed the nice surprise he had sent over for her viewing pleasure.

Elsa grimaced. Why did so many of them turn the camera flash on for dick pics? Did they want their junk to look like a naked mole rat?

As for the rest of him: EforEveryone’s profile picture showed a shirtless, sunburned bro flipping the bird at—Elsa surmised—all the haters. She could just imagine his sleazy voice:

u want sum?

“No thank you,” Elsa grunted, then hit BLOCK. She’d set her preferences to women only, but like clockwork, a steady influx of thirsty internet dudes came sniffing around with zero sense of boundaries. Actually… zero sense. Full stop.

Navigating back to her inbox, she skimmed over more than a dozen subject lines proposing threesomes and/or drooling over the girl-girl preference listed on her profile.

Nearly all of them, except…

[1:18 P.M.] Subject: still awake?

Elsa clicked on the second message in her inbox. She couldn’t help it.

Her fingernails tapped a frenetic rhythm on the granite countertop while she gazed at the profile picture that appeared on her screen. ginger4u13 lay on her back, molten red hair fanned out on a pillow, while a lacy maroon bra pushed up generous cleavage. The picture cropped just below a tantalizing slice of the girl’s taut white stomach. A flaming heart emoji pasted on the picture obscured her face.

God, this girl was so… she was just so…

Elsa hated to admit that she might have a type.

And it wasn’t just the picture that excited Elsa. Just rereading that morning’s messages with ginger4u13 made Elsa’s cheeks burn.

ginger4u13:

i want to say something really forward, but i’m worried i’ll scare you off

it’s about your picture

Wanderlusting:

Try me.

Elsa’s reply had read like a deadpan delivery, but her heart had been pounding in her throat when the girl diverted from light flirting into this territory. Elsa’s own picture—a vacation snapshot from her January solo trip to Iceland’s Blue Lagoon hot springs—showed her half-submerged in a sweeping expanse of milky blue water, tendrils of steam rising up around her, with snow-capped black cliffs jutting out in the breathtaking backdrop. She’d censored her face with a black rectangle, of course, but the string bikini left little to the imagination. She marveled at her own daring in uploading the picture—at asking a Korean tourist to snap the full-body photograph in the first place—but it was a big hit with the horny straight guys and unicorn hunters flooding her inbox. As for the women…

ginger4u13:

looking at you in the hot springs, i can’t help thinking

that blush on your chest is so sexy

my mind goes to one of my favorite things about being with a woman

hmmm, i should stop

Wanderlusting:

You can go on.

I’m curious.

ginger4u13:

i love the way a woman’s body flushes with color when you heat her up with your hands

so when i see you like that in your picture, i just think…

ginger4u13:

sorry, was that too much?

Wanderlusting:

It’s not.

I like it.

Your words are triggering my imagination.

That was an understatement. Elsa had spent the entire morning pacing her apartment like a tiger in a cage. Elsa had never thought to appreciate this physical detail, but now that it was in her head, it was so incredibly suggestive. She imagined ginger4u13’s photo come to life, flushing pink just above her breasts the way the girl had described. She also imagined the girl’s chest heaving off-rhythm with quickening breaths, sweat gleaming at the hollow of her throat, a bloom of color heating up behind scattered freckles.

…What?

Elsa couldn’t know that ginger4u13 had freckles behind the emoji that obscured her face. Why would she imagine that? Her thoughts were wandering to such dangerous places.

“I’m going to hell,” Elsa rasped, mouth dry. She hopped off the stool and padded to the fridge for a bottle of water. Standing in the stark light pouring out from inside the fridge, she started in on what had become—in the last three days she’d been chatting with ginger4u13—her constant spiral of self-reassurance. Surely she wasn’t a complete degenerate for gravitating towards a girl who so, so closely resembled her literal sister?

Florence Pugh married a dude who’s nearly identical to her dad, Elsa thought as she sipped, and she keeps scoring roles in blockbusters, so it’s not some unforgivable offense that will get a girl canceled. This is just a subconscious affinity our monkey brains make when we select our partners.

She carried the water back to her laptop and hopped back up on the stool. On the tail end of that afternoon’s exchange, she had composed a proposition that took all of her courage to type. Only to be ghosted. Elsa groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

This is what I get for following Kristoff’s advice. I’m so bad at this, it’s pathetic.

To torture herself, Elsa scrolled down to reread her rejected proposition. Then her cheeks tingled as the blood drained from her face.

She’d typed the message, but hadn’t hit send. The sentence waited in the limbo of the chat composition bar:

Do you want to trade more pictures?

Elsa stifled a strangled cry of dismay in her fist. ginger4u13 must think she’s the ghost. Before she could second-guess herself, Elsa hit send on the message draft.

Wanderlusting:

Do you want to trade more pictures?

Elsa chugged down the rest of her water. When she looked back to the screen, she spotted a green dot indicating ginger4u13 had logged online. Barely thirty seconds had elapsed. Then, a typing bubble appeared.

ginger4u13:

yes

i want to see more of you

do you want more of me?

Elsa chewed her lip. Once again, her mind wandered.

Wanderlusting:

More than you know.

ginger4u13:

give me 5 minutes :)

i want to snap something🌶️just for you

Elsa sat frozen on the stool for a minute. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She didn’t think she would get this far, especially not with an internet random who was so absolutely gorgeous and easy to talk to.

something 🌶️ just for you

That very minute, ginger4u13 was taking a photo exclusively for Elsa. Not a selection pulled from the selfie bank—a real-time glimpse. The thought electrified Elsa with excitement. She closed her laptop, hopped off the stool, and weaved her way through the dark kitchen into her bedroom. When she switched on the lamp next to the bed, she took a minute to appreciate how well her floor-to-ceiling mirror would suit full-body thirst traps.

She’d never used it for that purpose before.

But for this girl, who was so… who was just so…

Elsa pulled down her sweats and stripped off her T-shirt.

Five minutes later, she sat in her lingerie on the edge of the bed and swiped through her camera roll. The photos were… fine. Elsa had no idea how to pose herself seductively, and had settled for toying with her bra strap. At the very least, she could work a nervous tic into a suggestive pose, sliding the strap partway down her shoulder. She selected the photo where the light and shadow play best captured the subtle parentheses of her obliques—a feature she actually liked about herself. After hastily scribbling over her face in the photo markup editor, Elsa lay back on the bed and opened the NightLink app on her phone.

Nothing from ginger4u13 yet. It had been seven minutes; had she changed her mind? But Elsa had already committed to the photo shoot. She uploaded the thirst trap… and hit send. Then, after a minute, she figured the picture looked weird without any accompanying text, so she typed out:

Wanderlusting:

Just for you.

A typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again, and once more disappeared. Elsa’s heart rate spiked—insecurity, suspense, and arousal clashed within her. A moment later:

ginger4u13:

you are so fucking

unbelievably

gorgeous💦

The wet emoji—Elsa blinked. What was the girl implying? That she was… that Elsa had made her…?

ginger4u13:

you’ve got me sweating now

Elsa cleared her throat. Right. She began typing an automatic “Thank you,” then thought better of it. Too sterile.

Wanderlusting:

Like I said, just for you.

If I’m being honest… talking to you has already had me sweating.

ginger4u13:

really?

Elsa hesitated. Then:

Wanderlusting:

Absolutely.

Your words, your picture

I think you might be just my type.

ginger4u13:

i’d love to be your type

Before Elsa could reply, a photo attachment filled her phone screen.

All the blood rushed to one pulsing point below her stomach.

ginger4u13 lay on her back, this time pulling the camera back far enough to show more of her body. She stretched out in dark lingerie, spine arched just so, showing off the smooth expanse of her bare stomach, her thighs tightly squeezed together. One hand squeezed her left breast, the thumb sliding her bra a few inches aside to reveal a taut, pink nipple. The photo cut off just above her lips—a tantalizing hint at an identity just out of reach.

Elsa drank in the photo for a full minute, skin tingling all over.

Just for you.

She fumbled and backspaced through typos. Then:

Wanderlusting:

Is it wrong that I want to touch you?

ginger4u13:

no

i’d want it

Wanderlusting:

Where?

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Thirty seconds later, another photo dropped in. Embers erupted low in Elsa’s stomach. ginger4u13 lay in the same pose, only this time, her left hand had snaked all the way down past the waistband of her underwear and disappeared inside. The thumb hovered over the patch of skin between her navel and her waistband. Elsa imagined the tiny hairs there, imagined grazing them with her lips. She was throbbing, now.

ginger4u13:

right here

Elsa typed and scrapped one reply after another:

What would you do if

I would

I wish I could

You’re making me so

ginger4u13:

you’re making me nervous with all the typing

;)

Wanderlusting:

I’m trying to find the words for what

Sorry, accidentally hit send.

For what you’re doing to me.

ginger4u13:

try harder

It was also hard for Elsa to type with just one thumb. Her left hand kept drifting, as if with a mind of its own, to roam across her fevered skin, trailing along her bra cups, lightly scratching her inner thighs—

Kristoff was right. She did need to let loose some of her pent-up frustration, even if on some twisted level, she knew she was engaging in a fucked-up fantasy that played into her “subconscious affinity.”

ginger4u13:

if you can’t find the words, you can show me instead

yes, i’m greedy

after that fucking picture you sent, how could i not be?

Elsa stared into the whirring blades of the ceiling fan overhead, trying to think of a reasonable argument to slow down, too hazy in the heady mist of arousal to form anything more coherent than More, now, go, go, more.

ginger4u13 hadn’t asked for a video, but whenever Elsa managed to break her chains of insecurity, she was surprisingly prone to escalating one-upmanship. While she waited for the ten-second video to upload, she grabbed her discarded bra from the duvet and tossed it in the direction of her laundry pile chair. She obsessively scanned ginger4u13’s previous messages, breath coming in hot jets from her nostrils, while she waited for a reply.

i’d want it

yes, i’m greedy

Finally:

ginger4u13:

oh my fucking god

jesus christ

you have no idea how this makes me so… 💦

who are you?

Elsa froze. Frown lines appeared between her brows as she tried to wrap her head around the question.

ginger4u13:

easy on the typing bubbles, it’s a joke ;)

i’m just saying, though

if you turn me on so badly over the phone, of course i’m dying to find out what you’d feel like in person

your body, your hands…unless you just want to text…

Elsa hesitated. Her rational thoughts said, Don’t be an impulsive idiot. Her thrumming body said, Don’t fucking stop now. After a minute, she bit her lip and typed a reply:

Wanderlusting:

I wouldn’t rule it out.

ginger4u13:

i’m glad

you know, i’m forming this fantasy about you

about your body, and the way you’re touching yourself

ginger4u13:

should i stop?

Wanderlusting:

Tell me.

Please.

ginger4u13:

it’s hard to type though

my hand is occupied ;)

can i tell you over the phone?

Elsa sucked in a deep breath, anticipation racing like wildfire along every inch of skin that she’d exposed for her video.

Wanderlust:

Okay.

ginger4u13:

here’s my number

5550131127

call me

Elsa closed out of the NightLink app and readjusted herself, crooking her legs wider and easing herself fully flat on her back as she began tapping ginger4u13’s number into the keypad.

555 013—

What appeared on the screen gripped Elsa’s chest with an icy fist.

Contact: Anna 🍫 (555) 013-1127

NO. NO. NONONO NO.

Elsa scrambled to punch backspace. She tried typing ginger4u13’s number again. The same contact suggestion appeared. She opened Anna’s contact card and compared it with the number ginger4u13 had sent. Identical.

A full ten minutes of immobilized panic followed. With her head swimming in a thick gauze of dread, Elsa didn’t hear the ping of “ginger4u13”’s incoming messages. She saw them pop up on her lock screen, though.

ginger4u13:

where did you go?

ginger4u13:

hello?

Elsa imagined Anna lying on her bed across town, frowning into her phone—her phone with the spidery cracks from dropping it two stories off a hotel balcony on their sisters’ trip to Oslo last summer.

Emphasis on sisters’ trip. Jesus fucking Christ. Elsa had taken her top off for her own baby sister, sent her a video of full-on—of literally touching her own—

A sudden thought lunged, unbidden, to the forefront of Elsa’s sickened internal spiral:

What was her fantasy about me?

Elsa wanted to die. She’d gotten aroused—so painfully aroused—from looking at her own sister.

Another warped thought shot like a lance past all the others:

That wasn’t the first time, though, was it?

Elsa snatched up her phone, opened her thread with “ginger4u13,” and jabbed BLOCK.

That was enough spice for twenty lifetimes. Fucking Kristoff. Fucking Spice Girls.

A drop from a two-story balcony wasn’t sounding so bad right now.

[celestie0]

ouuu my dear flowie. i am long overdue in responding to this reblog, but just know that i read it when you originally posted it and it made my entire day, my entire week, my entire month, dare i say my entire YEARRR...your reblogs give me enough serotonin to last a lifetime. singlehandedly add years to my lifespan

live picture of me reading your reblog reviews of my fics:

I would let him give me a hundred thousand, even a billion headaches. Kickoff! Gojo deserves everything. Trust me. I would let no harm come to him.My man is a puppy in love with how he’s following reader around, tell me ellie, what do i need to do to manifest him? He’s so adorable aaaaaaahhhh my heart is bursting.

PLEASE A PUPPY IN LOVE IS SO ACCURATE THATS P MUCH KICKOFF GOJO. and yess his ways of charming are so unconventional :''') he got that pretty boy privilege and has never had to charm a woman lolol

but please all he needed to enter a bush was a little sound, he has 0 survival skills.

OMG NAMING THE CAT MEGUMI PLS THAT WOULDVE BEEN CUTE AND ALSO SO CANON. but yea kickoff gojo has zero survival skills how he hasn't been kidnapped yet up until this point is a miracle

Why do acting like you found them fucking publicly 💀😭 (is it the effect of seeing two pretty people together? Must be) i understand him.

girl yes anytime i see a hot guy in public just staring at him feels like having public copulation xddd its sumn ab the hot people

Especially with how she feels Gojo wouldn’t really understand her situation because he has never faced it, it’s the disguised-kinda covered element of helplessness mixed with embarrassment for me when i want to convey the social anxiety but cannot because people expect otherwise of me.

aww bb i'm sorry ab that, yea it's kinda crazy how we have attributes we associate w ourselves but then because of that, we're not able to give ourselves grace to differ from those attributes. but i totally think ppl are multifaceted and we can surprise ourselves w straying from our norm. like ig reader has stage fright but she also slapped tf out of a man at a bar in ch9 LOL...but anywho yes i hear youuu

The best part about kickoff is the sheer realism and relatability that readers feel when reading it. You write about stuffs that university students deal with, and you aren’t just making us live our dream of dating a man as beautiful as gojo but also giving us a voice and lending us an ear. You are hearing us and making sure we feel validated. Especially when you talk about insecurities related to career, that is something not a lot of fics do, they make us perfect, but you perfect our flaws, you let us shine through them. That’s a huge thing to achieve I believe. Like nothing in kickoff feels superficial even with those glowing blue eyes and white hair of the freak. Sorryyy!!!!

AAAAAAA flowie thank u so much i could cry fr :''') i'm so glad the realism comes off. yes i think...hmm i think career is so difficult to navigate in college, esp along w romance. in my romantic experiences in college, i always felt like they went hand in hand w my career stress. like wondering if i'm spending too much time thinking ab boys lol, or being w guys that didn't really value my career goals or even care about them. i miss my college campus clubs and my fellow club board members sooo much, i had sm fun organizing events w them and i think writing this chapter really took me back to that time. like idk just doing fun stuff w someone, like reader n gojo in this chapter, those moments are so priceless to me than something that might be an actual date or sumn, if that makes sense. but i'm so glad the story makes you feel validated, ik you were also in debate clubs in school so i think it's so cool how despite all the different careers n niches n interest (like idk anything ab film clubs lmfaoo) we all can still kinda relate to that feeling of ambition paired w insecurity

I love it when people praise our abilities by honouring our actions, that’s very meaningful and appreciative. Like he could have just told she’s all that, but him adding instances added much value to his sentiments.

YAAASS PREACHH i love it when people mention specific actions when they state a positive character trait xD makes me feel seen. kickoff gojo def sees reader in ways she doesn't see herself. also awww yes his dad would be so proud of him :'')

ihm! Reader and kickoff! Reader will have a great time together as the two gojos play golf together while one tries to pitch the other in to buy a house as the other one argues that soccer is the better sport.

LOLOL wait that's so cute i need to see this happen bahahah. i feel like ihm reader & kickoff reader would like not have much in common while kickoff gojo and ihm gojo would have a younger bro older bro relationship where they're just bickering all the time pls. and then the girls can relate to how annoying their boyfriend/husband is

i think as students we have all cried over missed opportunities or the lack of them, it’s feels nice to have that representation over here, and he ensures everybody feels seen and doesn’t take away from reader’s shine as she doesn’t from her juniors, again very endearing.

yes yes yes :'') i've def cried before because i felt like all my hard work wasn't going to bigger places like i wanted it to be. but like in the words of emma from one day: "it's not about changing the world, it's about changing the little bit around you." i think gojo using his influence for good in this chapter was my favorite part to write, yknow he's not just a dumb frat dude that gloats about partying and winning games n stuff on his social media, but he knows that he can help make a difference w it too! i def think kickoff reader really fell in love w him a little bit in this chapter. and omggg bb sorry for the TEARS!!! but i hope it was comforting happy tears <3 i'm so glad you feel seen! that's all i want to accomplish w my writing

AHH THANKS SM FOR YOUR REVIEW FLOWIE BB THEY MEAN THE WORLD TO ME <33 i look forward to them soooo much, i get so giddy to see them!! much love from meee to youuu

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.10 a fresh start

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 10/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 10.5k

a/n. hiii!! welcome to ch10!! if you’re confused about the word count, i decided to split up the original ch10 of kickoff (which was 31k words) into three installments (read more here) and sooo this is the first installment :0 i really hope you enjoy! i think this is a pretty chill chapter so no warnings or anything hahha. i’ll see you at the bottom :”)

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

“Let me take you out on a date.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m busy.”

“You look like you could use a break.”

“You look like you should go bother someone else.”

“I don’t want to bother someone else, I want to bother you.”

You sigh, sitting back on your heels in the chair that you’ve been balancing yourself on for the past hour or so within the business building, room 202, not sure if it’s the paint fumes coming off the brush you’re holding in your hand that’s giving you the headache or if it’s the incessant pestering of the man sitting beside you.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon and you’re working on painting a poster for the Film Club photography showcase that’s happening later tonight, and what you thought would be a peaceful moment to yourself turned into what it is now since you ran into Gojo in the hallway as he was making his way out of class, and of course he decided to follow you around like a duckling after that.

You glance to the right. He’s still got his backpack on as he sits slumped in the chair beside you, with his presentation of washed out black jeans, a hoodie that’s a shade of void darker with UTokyo Men’s D1 Soccer heat-pressed printing across in jock lettering and he’s got the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair looks thoroughly kempt for once, and not slick with sweat like it usually is on the field, or tousled from the amount of times he runs his hands through it when he’s concentrated or frustrated. But he might start now, given you’re not budging at all to his advances.

“You know how nice it would be?” he says to you with his own version of a blissful sigh, resting his elbow on the conference table and setting his chin on top of his palm, and the way he leans into your space makes you subconsciously lean into him too. “We could go out for dinner, maybe by the beach, order dessert, you wear something nice–”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“N-Not that you don’t always wear nice things–” His eyes briefly sweep down your form, in which you’re awkwardly sitting still with your paintbrush pinched between your fingers in mid air, and then he vaguely gestures to you, “I just mean something nicer,” this time, you feign an offended scoff, “wait, no, that came out wrong, I mean–”

“Satoru,” you interrupt him, bending over the table to dip your bristles into some blue paint in the palette at the other end, “I'm actually very busy right now, so I don’t really have the mental real estate to deal with your sales pitches on why I should let you take me out on a date.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that his eyes are on you, and you only flick your gaze to his face when you notice it’s the longest he’s been silent this entire time, and you find that he’s taking in the sight of you bent over this table. He snaps out of it when you sit back into your chair.

“And you constantly staring at my ass doesn’t exactly charm me, either.”

He glances over his shoulder for a brief second, as if to confirm the emptiness of this room, then grabs your chair to roll you towards him in between the space he’s created by the obnoxious amount of spread to his legs, and you wobble a little due to your seated position on your heels. A gasp leaves your lips at how close his face is now, and his hands hold onto the armrests of your chair to make sure it stays that way. “What do I have to do to charm you?”

You blink at him for a few, startled as you take in the serious expression on his face, and his eyes are so captivating you have trouble finding words. You know why he’s asking—because he’s teetering on an edge of desperation that’s evident in the way he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from your lips, like he’s just one slip of self control away from refusing your denial of him and closing this distance between the two of you that you seem so intent on torturing him with.

“I–” you start, and you grab onto his forearm with the excuse of gaining balance, the texture of a vein pulsing felt underneath your palm, “...I don’t know, figure it out.”

It’s a lame response, but you just can’t explain it. One week of him pining after you didn’t feel like enough, not after all the suffering he put you through after he rejected you, and maybe it was a little petty but you just liked seeing him chase after you because it felt like you finally had the power, the control, and that’s exactly why you don’t have an answer for him. But also, in your defense, his attempts to charm you so far have been………….rather unique and odd, and you’re starting to wonder if he’s ever had to “court” a woman before. Actions that have you realizing pretty privilege might really be a thing since he’s gotten this far despite his strange decision making.

Like earlier this week when he showed up to your apartment with flowers, but of course it wasn’t one of those sweet bouquets you’re always eyeing from the check-out line at Trader Joe’s, no–this man had pilfered an arrangement of roses and marigolds and tulips and dandelions from the park downtown near the city library while he was on a morning run and then showed up at your apartment with them in his hand. It annoyed you, because it was six in the morning, so not only did the ring of the doorbell wake you up but you also became annoyed at the early-morning reminder about how you’re not someone like Gojo who wakes up at the crack of dawn to casually go on eight mile runs (your biggest fear is marrying someone that wakes up at 5am on a Sunday to go on hikes and he unfortunately seems the type). But when you fluffed up those flowers in a vase at the kitchen counter a few hours after you shoo’d him away all in the name of getting a few more minutes of shuteye, you noticed the softness of the stems on the roses, and you realized he plucked each of the thorns off one by one before giving them to you.

He also showed up to your door yesterday, with twigs and leaves in his ruffled hair, a tear through his nylon shirt, and a small tuxedo kitten in the palm of his hand. When you asked him where he found the tiny thing, he said he heard something crying in the bushes while he was walking somewhere. And you figured that’s all the sensory input he would’ve needed to walk through ivy and thorns to find it. Something about I don’t know, I thought you’d think it’s cute and you’d wanna keep it, and you took it from him, the tiny thing so adorable and just a little puff ball in your hands, and most definitely covered in fleas. And then you started crying, because you remembered you can’t keep animals in your apartment. And then he started panicking because he didn’t know why you were crying and he tried to comfort you and that only made it worse and you kicked him out of your apartment with the tiny fluff baby too so as not to get attached, and you’re sure he still has absolutely no clue what he did wrong.

That’s how you would describe his efforts, in all honesty. But a part of you knows that he’s trying. You’re not entirely sure why that’s his definition of trying, but you haven’t thought a lot about what dating him would look like. You were so caught up in how you felt about him, and whether he felt the same, but you never thought a step forward after that. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said you could handle staying away from him any longer.

By the way, Gojo kept the kitten. He’s still working on a name but he’s thinking Grand Theft Auto just so he can say ain’t no way got GTA cat before GTA6.

“All you are is pain and suffering,” he says. “You know that, right?” He rolls your chair even closer, to where the momentum has you threatening to fall right into him, so your hand moves from his forearm to his shoulder, and you're starting to get suspicious he’s trapping you in his personal space.

“You’ll learn to manage it,” you say to him, voice hushed, and you see it in his face that your words excite him.

It’s hard to think straight when those eyes are on you, and after a solid minute of just staring at your lips, he moves his gaze up to level with yours to prove some level of restraint. But what he can’t keep himself from doing is placing a hand on your thigh, pressure soft as his fingers press into the fabric of your jeans, and the movement is slow when he slides his palm up to grip your hip but with more intent.

Your hand that was grasping onto his shirt starts inching towards his neck until it settles on the curve where it meets his shoulder, and your fingers lightly brush against the texture of the hair at his nape. His eyes are still on yours, even with the test of your tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

“Let me kiss you,” he says, and it would sound like a demand if he didn’t say it so breathlessly. His other hand also reaches out to grip onto your hips, urging you more towards him. Another shift forward and you’d be sitting in his lap.

“Oh, we’re asking for permission now?” you chastise, thumb pressing into his neck. He sucks a breath in through his teeth, and now his gaze drops to your lips.

“Yeah, ‘cause last time you were pissed about it.”

You almost roll your eyes. “Wow, my audacity,” you comment sarcastically.

“Just give it to me,” he says, face tilting, the perfect amount to kiss you if you just gave him– “the permission.”

Your breathing picks up when he leans forward, your eyes hooded slightly on reflex, and you’re both staring at each other's lips like it was stupid you’re not kissing right now.

The slam of the door startles you, and being one inch away from him turns into a foot of distance as your head turns to face the entrance of the room. Gojo’s still gripping onto your hips, keeping your chair close to him, and you’re shifting your body weight on your heels as you try to pull off his hold of you until he finally relents and releases.

There’s a student standing at the door, posture slumped as he holds a binder to his chest, and you can tell he’s probably a first or second year with the way he’s wide-eyed and just staring. When he realizes you’re waiting for him to speak, he jumps a little. “Oh! Uh, is this…where the Film Club showcase is happening?”

You straighten your posture, in a way that means business, and struggle a little to untuck your legs from your seated position on your chair to then stand up onto your feet with a bristling sensation of nerves in them when you realize they had fallen asleep. “Yes! Yes, it is. B202, you’ve got the right place,” you say and manage an awkward smile.

The student’s gaze shifts to Gojo, who you see in your peripheral vision is leaning back in his chair, knee swinging side to side and arms crossed at his chest. You want to tell him to sit up straight and not look so nonchalant in the presence of a stranger, but there are some things about a person you can’t really change.

You see the moment in the student’s eyes when he recognizes Gojo, and those wide eyes somehow become even wider. “Woah,” is all he says with a few blinks.

“Um,” you say, taking a step forward, “I’m sorry, what’s your name?” You feel eyes on your back as Gojo watches the interaction.

“Haru!” he says, “I think I messaged the club’s Instagram page last week…not sure if you’re the person I talked to.”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” you say and introduce yourself to him again. “Thank you for coming, but the event actually doesn’t start for a while…”

“Oh, my bad,” he says, “I’ll…” his gaze flickers to behind you, “...come back soon then.”

You purse your lips together and politely nod before he exits the room and you let out the breath you were holding, face wincing a little from the awkward interaction.

You turn on your heel to head back to the table, and you see Gojo still slumped in his chair looking at you with curiosity.

“Okay, seriously, please stop distracting me,” you say as you take a seat on your chair again and pick up your paint brush, “I need to finish this now, because I won’t have time before the event tonight.”

“Why won’t you have time before?” he asks, tapping on his phone screen to check the time. “It’s at six, right?”

“Yes, but I have to finish this poster, and then rehearse my presentation. And then I have to get the supplies from my professor’s room, and also need to go get the pizza and refreshments, and–”

“And why are you doing all this by yourself?” he asks, setting his elbow on the desk and leaning his cheek against the knuckles of his curled hand. He pulls the hood of his hoodie over his head.

You sigh. “The other board members were busy this week. With midterms and stuff. I mean, I’m busy too, but this is a really important event.” You sneak a glance at him, and his earnest attention is suddenly making you feel nervous. “It’s the freshman & sophomore students’ chances to show off their works in a large capacity, and talk to some people about their photos, even book some shoots if there’s a decent turnout.” He nods at you thoughtfully. “Anyways,” you say, directing our attention back to your poster, “I didn’t want to cancel it, so I just figured I’d take on the job. But I wasn’t expecting any distractions.” You regard him with an annoyed flick of your eyes in his direction.

He hums softly, and you use his silence to get lost in your thoughts for a moment. You still need to rehearse the presentation slides, and it could be the exhaustion you’ve faced in the past week that causes you to shake a little from the anticipation of speaking in front of people, but you realize that you’re nervous. Nervous to publicly speak. Nobara usually does these sorts of things as the president, you’ve always opted out to do more of the behind-the-scenes as vice, but there’s this feeling you’ve got that makes you realize if this event doesn’t go smoothly, there’s no one to blame but you.

You glance over at Gojo for a second, who has been watching you this whole time, and he raises an eyebrow in question. You blink, and shake your head slightly, as if to say oh, nothing and then your eyes slowly travel back to the brush in your hand.

“Are you nervous?” he asks you.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Huh?” you squeak out before looking at him.

He uses a jerk of his chin to point to your hand. “You’re shaking.”

You look down at your hand, and notice it is indeed trembling slightly, and you're about to hold your wrist with your other hand to keep yourself from shaking, but his hand beats you to it when it falls over your own. You look down at the sight, and then slightly tilt your palm upwards so you can loosely hold onto his. He squeezes it once and you look at him.

“You’ll be fine,” he says.

It all feels a little silly. I mean, you can imagine the last thing in the world he could empathize with is stage fright. He plays in front of thousands of people in stands every week, of whom you’d say half of which are showing up for him exclusively, and even if the team’s down during the half or stakes are insanely high, or if the chants are so loud most people could hardly even hear themselves think, he always pulls through in the end. Something as simple as presenting in front of a handful of students in a media room wouldn’t have his hand trembling the way yours is right now, because there probably isn’t a fearful bone in his body.

“Do you ever get nervous?” you ask him. It comes out faster than you could think, but curiosity is killing you.

His eyes study your face, brows dropping a little.

“I mean, on the field,” you clarify, “when you’re playing.”

He relaxes a little bit. “Oh, no, not really. I mean, sorta, but it’s not really a feeling I can afford to give much thought to when I’m out there, so I guess not?”

“Mm…” you hum, accepting his answer, and his fingers curl over your hand to hold it a little tighter. “I see. I wonder what that’s like.”

“What what is like?” he asks.

“Not getting nervous.”

“I get nervous sometimes. Just not really on the field.”

“When do you get nervous?” you ask him.

“Usually when I’m with you.”

Your eyes study his intently and your cheeks feel warm.

“Are you just messing with me?” you ask, with a half scoff, to prepare yourself to play it off as a joke.

“No, I’m not,” he states, “I get nervous around you. Cause I’m always scared I’m gonna fuck shit up somehow.”

“Oh,” you say, shoulders slumping a little, “I thought it was a different kind of nervous.” Like a love sick, can’t breathe around the person, heart about to give out kind of soul crushing adoration-filled nervousness.

He looks at you puzzled. “What other kind of nervous is there?” he asks.

You sigh. “Nevermind.” You pull your hand out from under his, and he flexes his fingers a little, like he’s getting used to the absence of your hand underneath his, before he withdraws it back to his side.

Your hand is still shaking.

“Hey,” he says, leaning in a bit closer to make sure you hear what he has to say, “I saw you slap the shit out of a guy at a bar for disrespecting you and then telling that other fuckface to go take it up the ass. Which is probably the most badass thing I think I’ve ever seen anyone do, so I know you’ve got no reason to be nervous right now.”

You take in a deep breath for confidence and nod.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He leaves you alone for the most part after that while you work on your slides, except for his occasional loud shouts when he messes up some mission in the combat game he’s playing on his phone. And you remember he’s someone who’s supposed to be extremely busy, and probably has shit to do right now, but he’s essentially killing all day here with you.

“What are you doing?” he asks when he peers over at your laptop screen once you come back from a bathroom break.

“Oh.” You stretch your fingers out and close them into fists over your keyboard before going back to one of your open tabs. “I need to submit my grad school application.”

Gojo places his elbows on the table and leans his weight onto them, watching your laptop screen from beside you as you navigate UTokyo’s grad school application portal. You can already tell he’s dissociating.

“It’s done?” he asks as you click through the webpage.

“Yes. It’s done. Officially. I just need to–,” you take a deep breath in, “I just need to press…submit.”

Your cursor hovers over the blue button, in the same way your finger is hovering over your mousepad, and you’re stuck frozen.

Gojo leans in closer to your space to where you can smell the soft fragrance of his detergent, “then press submit.”

“I…I will.” You blink at the screen.

But you’re the queen of stalling, in all aspects of life.

He takes his elbow off the table and reaches his arm over to your laptop before pressing down firmly on the right-click cursor button, and you watch in a panic as the loading circle appear on the screen as he calmly retreats his arm, and then you see Congratulations on submitting your UTokyo Graduate School Early Admissions Application for the 2024-25 School Year!

“What–” you look at him with shock.

“You were taking too long,” he says with a shrug.

You slump into your seat with a small pout and watch your phone light up with a confirmation email as well.

“So how should we celebrate when you get in?” he asks.

“We? And when as in if.”

“Yes, we. And when. Now answer.”

You sigh. “I dunno…”

“Is there something that you really want?” he asks, nudging your arm with his elbow before he lays his cheek down on his forearm on the table so he can see your face better. And he looks so cute and boyfriend-ish with the way his hair sprawls over the sleeve of his hoodie and his cheek is plush from where he’s resting it.

You lean all the way back in your chair. “Mm…to end world hunger. Cure cancer. Bring peace and prosperity to all my friends and family.”

“Yes ok, very kind of you,” he responds, voice scratchy like he’s tired but his leg is bouncing impatiently underneath the table, “I meant something you can buy.”

“Like happiness?”

“Just be serious for a second.”

You laugh. “Hmm…I mean, it’s not really a tangible thing…but I’ve always wanted to take a roadtrip to Mt. Fuji,” you offer.

He lifts his head up off his arm with interest. “Ok, then, when you get in, I’ll take you on a trip to Mt. Fuji. All expenses paid.”

“You sound like one of those travel advisors at the mall that scam families for debit card deposits,” you snort, “also, why do I feel like it’d just be an excuse for you to annoy me in forced proximity over the span of five to seven days.”

He drops his head to rest it on his arm again with a small grumble leaving him. “You’re so cynical sometimes.”

Just a bit jaded since last week, is what you think to say. But you’re not in the mood to explain the existential dread within you since Kai’s whole posse of ultra lame losers stirred the unnerving pot of career stress within you, but maybe you just need a bit of time to come down from it.

“Ok fine. If it’s all paid for, then I guess I shall accept the offer. Er, the prospect of the impending offer.

There’s a grin on his face, kinda drowsy and sick with some sort of glee, and he uncrosses one of his arms from the surface of the table to hold his hand out to you, pinky sticking up in the air.

“Alright then, it’s a promise,” he says.

You blink at him, eyeing his pinky, but he just wiggles it in the air like get on with it. You sigh, curling yours around his firmly, and your signature addition is the press of your thumb to his in security of sealing the deal, which you realize by the slight furrow to his brow that he’s never seen it before. You shrug.

“Pinky promises are never to be broken,” he says, kinda cheekily like he knows it sounds silly, and for a second there’s a glimpse of juvenile innocence on his face. His words sound like something a parent would echo to a child, like words from his own. Your pinkies are still coiled. “You’ve gotta say it too.”

“P-Pinky promises are never to be broken,” you repeat after him.

“Sweet.” He pulls his hand from your and then he turns his face so his forehead is resting on his arm now instead of his cheek, breathing slowly as he’s silent for a minute.

“Are you–...are you sleeping?” you ask.

“Yes.” He muffles into his crossed arms.

“Tired?”

He sighs heavily. “Very.”

“Um…I need your help with some things, though.”

“...okay.”

—

“Who are we going to see again?” Gojo asks, using a shake of his head to get some of his fringe out of his eyes hands-free as his fingers spread in his hold of the box underneath them, and it’s hard not to admire the way his hands look. Large shades of pale pink where they were slightly strained, like at his knuckles and joints, and those cool toned veins that valley from the grip that he has. There’s something way more attractive about his hands when he puts them to earnest use.

You two are walking down the hallway on the third floor of the building. “Our faculty adviser for our club,” you say, reaching into your pocket to make sure you still had your keys with you, “oh, he’s also the professor I asked for my reference.”

“Ohhh, interesting,” Gojo comments. “You said he’s a fan of soccer right?”

You’re taken back to that first night you met Gojo at that frat party, and you mentioned your professor to him. Feels like forever ago. But at the same time, like yesterday.

“Yes, UTokyo’s team in particular,” you comment, “honestly I think he might faint when he sees you.”

“I wish you would faint when you see me,” he sighs.

You roll your eyes and then finally arrive at your professor’s office. It’s slightly ajar, as it usually is, and you take a small peek inside to see that he’s sitting at his desk, window open and illuminating the room with golden rays of the setting sun, and you’re made aware of the fact that night is coming soon.

“Hi, Professor,” you say after knocking once, and the man jumps in his seat when you pull the door open to step inside. You always forget he’s easily startled, and make another mental note to not scare him anymore because if he gets a heart attack and dies from shock, you wouldn’t be able to afford the lawsuit.

“Hello, hello, y/n,” he greets, sitting up in his chair by grabbing onto the arm rests for leverage, and you can feel the edge of the box push against your back as Gojo makes his way into the room too.

As predicted, your professor nearly faints and dies from shock when he clocks the sight of Gojo, and you briefly wonder if Gojo would be able to afford the lawsuit, and then your professor is running up to him and shaking his hand with a vigor that has the younger man wincing a little in discomfort, but by the short amount of time you’ve finished looking through the storage room for projector cables & supplies, then re-emerge to your professor’s office with filled up boxes in your hands, Gojo’s typing his number into your professor’s phone and apparently he’s going salsa dancing with him and his wife this weekend?

“You should come too,” Gojo says, adjusting his grip on the boxes he took from you as you two meander down the hallway back to the media room.

You dust your hands off. “To what? Salsa dancing?”

“Yeah, apparently there’s gonna be spiked brazilian lemonade,” he coos, like he’s pitching a pyramid scheme to you.

You sigh. “How often do people just randomly invite you to things?”

He glances up at the ceiling like he really needs to think about it. “I dunno. I just accept, don’t always go.”

“So you’re, like, a selective people pleaser,” you note. “Save face in the moment but then run away from the commitment.”

“Relax. I was having a good evening.”

You two make it back to the media room with no more unsolicited psychoanalysis, and you’re scrambling around to get things in order for the event while Gojo tries his best to be helpful wherever he can, but he mostly just looks like a lost puppy.

“Okay so I ordered four pizzas,” you say, holding up four fingers in the air, “and then you also need to get, like, maybe two family size bottles of Coke from the store?” Now two fingers. “A pack of napkins would be nice too since apparently we ran out.” You look through the box you got from your professor’s storage room. “And…I think that’s it. Keep the receipts so I can reimburse you.”

Gojo nods at you after every command, eyes wide and brows furrowed in concentration like he’s really trying to picture the list of tasks in his head so he doesn’t forget any of them, and you feel a bit bad for ordering him around to do all of this for you but he was here anyway so you might as well put him to use.

“And then can you also get some stuff from the trunk of my–er, Mina’s car. I parked it by the Literature building in Lot 16.” You pull the car keys out from your tote bag and hand it to him. He stands there like a statue before his fingers curl around the cold metal keys. “Please be back here a half hour before six!!”

“So I guess I’m a member of the club now?” he muses, throwing the keys up into the air a few feet to then catch them.

“Mm, no, you need to fill out a form to be an official member,” you say as you make your way to the podium and open the drawer to pull out one of the microphones.

“Send me the form then,” he says.

“It’s on our Instagram.” You tap the head of the microphone and are satisfied when you hear thumping across the room’s speakers. “LinkTree in bio!!” you chirp in club advertisement reflex.

He pulls his phone out from his pocket and half leans back/half sits on one of the tables and taps away at his screen. You’re standing at the podium computer scrolling through your logged-in Spotify account to figure out which ambient playlist to have playing for the event.

“Alright,’ he says before slipping his phone back into his pocket, “I just filled out the form.”

Your phone chimes with an email notification right after he says it. “Yay! Congrats! Welcome to UTokyo’s Film Club!” you exclaim, again, in practiced club advertisement reflex.

He smiles at you and crosses his arms. “Are there any cool perks?” he asks.

“Uhh, a chance to enter into a Kodak film roll raffle every semester?” you say, knowing it’s useless because you two are graduating in less than two months so this was your last semester anyway and the raffle had already passed. Oh, also useless because Gojo isn’t a film photographer. Your phone chimes with another email notification. You glance at it. “Oh! Someone else RSVP’d for the event tonight. Yayyy.”

“Sorry, I think that was me,” he says, “I filled out the wrong form at first.”

“Oh,” your shoulders drop in a sulk slightly, done before conscious thought can stop the motion, so now Gojo’s caught onto the fact that you’re upset about something.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and he walks over to where you’re standing at the podium.

“I’m just a little…bummed out about the turnout,” you confess as you glance at the RSVP form for the event on your phone, “eighteen people signed up, but that includes the eight students that are showcasing their photography. Oh, and now it also includes you. So…that means only nine real sign-ups, and I guess it’s a little less than what I thought it would be.”

“Aww,” he coos, and he places his elbows up onto the wood of the podium, holding his face up to look at you. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say, and you blush for some reason.

He’s smiling at you now, boyish and lost in thought that probably has nothing to do with the conversation at hand.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, “I just think you’re really cool.”

“Okayyy,” you diffuse the compliment, “are you going to stay for the event?”

“Will you let me?” he asks.

“Maybe,” you say, “if you don’t do anything strange during it.”

“And if I do?” he asks.

“So you are going to do something strange?”

“Nope.”

“Well, now you seem suspicious.”

He laughs. “I was just joking.”

“When you bring the pizzas back, just leave them outside the door. I’ll take it from there,” you say.

“You’re not even gonna let me inside?” he scoffs.

“No.”

“And if I come inside anyway?”

“I’ll place a bucket of water at the top of the door,” you say, “so it’ll fall on you, except it’ll give you a concussion instead of a soak.”

He snorts. “Yeah? How are you even gonna reach the top of the door?”

“I–...shut up.”

“I can help you,” he grins, leaning forward on the podium, “reach the top of the door.”

“You’re going to help me terrorize you?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs. “Anything if it means I get to touch your butt.”

“Wha–!! Why would that entail you touching my butt?!”

He looks confused by your confusion. “Hmm…maybe…maybe we should act out what you think this scenario would entail…and then we can act out what I think this scenario would entail, perhaps multiple times, and then–”

“Just go get the things I asked, please,” you say with a sigh.

He laughs, it’s sweet but loud, and you blush when you realize he’s just messing with you for his own amusement.

“Stop teasing me,” you pout at him.

“I seriously can’t help it,” he tells you, and he leans himself off the podium to stand up straight before shoving the car keys you gave him into his pocket, “the way you react is always so cute.”

You feel like you could melt.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” he says, and you watch him as he heads out the door. And the room feels empty without him.

Luckily there are things you can distract yourself with in his absence. Well, technically he was the distraction, but sometimes it felt like everything else was the distraction keeping you from him.

There’s still about an hour left before the film club students come in to set up the exhibits, and you set up everything else you need to set up around the room, like moving the tables around so that the walk flow is like that of a museum’s, you set the club posters you painted up on the wall, pull a plastic table cover over what will be the food and refreshments section when Gojo eventually brings them. And you spend the last ten minutes rehearsing your slides.

It occurs to you that this is the last time you’ll be doing any of this, possibly for the rest of your life. Film Club still has a few events left for the year, but they’re mostly just tabling events and then the end-of-year banquet at the Cheesecake Factory. And so as you click through slides at the podium, your eyes drift from the screen off into the still empty room. And that feeling of something coming to an end washes over you. But you’re not really sure how to feel about it just yet.

Your thoughts drown out the gradually growing bustling noise outside in the hall, and you only become aware of it about a couple minutes later, when the noises increase into loud shouts and cheers. Was there some event next door that you didn’t know about at the same time as the Film Club event? You didn’t know of any, but right before you can check the university’s social media, the door burst opens and Gojo’s standing there with a stack of four pizzas balancing on one palm, with the pinky hooking a plastic bag seemingly carrying a couple bottles of soda, and in his right hand is—…beer?

“Hey,” Gojo says, a gleeful look on his face. The noises outside are heard clearly with the door he’s keeping open with his foot, and then they disappear back into muffles once again when he closes the door. “Where do you want this stuff?”

You storm up to him. “W-Why did you buy beer?” you ask him.

“Huh?” he glances down at the couple of cases of beer in his left hand. “I mean, pizza and beer, you can’t go wrong with that.”

“What??”

He blinks at you. “I-Is it BYOB or something??”

“Satoru. This isn’t a frat party!! This is a Film Club event!!”

“There’s no alcohol at your events?” he asks, setting the pizzas down on the food and refreshments table you had set up earlier. “I assumed you had just forgotten to ask me to get some from the store when you were listing off tasks earlier.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “No. There is no alcohol at our events,” you sigh. But he’s ripping the tops of the cases anyway. “Do you know why it’s so loud outside?” You move towards the door and try to peer through the frosty glass.

“They’re here for the event,” he says. You swirl on your heel to face him, but all you see is the expanse of his back as he rips a pack of napkins open.

“T-This event?” you squeak out.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “Yeah. You said something about the turnout being small, so I posted it to my Instagram story.”

Your mouth drops open.

He stiffens. “I mean, that’s what one of the…” his voice slowly trails off, “…roles & responsibilities was…for the Film Club membership form…to be a member…”

You continue to stare at him.

“…help publicize for club events,” he clarifies.

You quickly turn to face the door again and push it open with force, almost hitting someone straight in the face, and after you apologize for your carelessness, you take in the huge line of people flush against the wall, all chatting with friends in small groups that trail all the way back to the entrance of the building. Most of them are people you’ve recognized at SAE parties and social media posts, and you quickly close the door because now your heart is beating so fast in your chest from the nerves that you can hardly handle it.

You turn to face Gojo again and walk up to him while he’s still busy fixing up the table with more finesse than you'd have expected from him. “Satoru!! I don’t have enough pizza to feed all these people!! There isn’t even enough space in this room for all of them!!” You’re panicking a little.

He tilts his head at you. “Just—…have them walk inside in a single file and round out of the room in a circle.” He gesticulates the plan with his finger in the air. “Easy.”

Right. Like the professional-grade sports conference signings he’s been a part of. “I’m just one person. I have no idea how I’m gonna deal with a group that large.”

“Relax,” he assures you, and he takes a step towards you to hold both your hands in his, “it’s going to be fine! You’ve done these events before, it’s no different than those times. Plus you’re not just one person! I’ll be here with you, too.”

His overwhelming positivity and ease and nonchalance is starting to contrast way too heavily with your anxiety and uncertainty and cynicism, and it has you pulling your hands from his because your palms are starting to get sweaty.

The door creaks open slightly ajar, and you both turn to face it. Haru, the film student from earlier, takes a step into the room.

“Hi!! This is—…this is where the event is supposed to be, right?” he asks sheepishly with skepticism, likely because he can’t believe the line outside.

“Yes!” you confirm, and you glance at the projector screen for the time, “take a seat, I’ll be going over logistics soon.”

Following him suit are a few other film students that trickle in and take seats at the tables, and you do a mental roll call and notice that only a couple are missing. But you’ve only got five minutes until the hour starts for the event, so you shut the door airtight for a peaceful ambience and rush to the front of the room at the podium.

“Hi,” you say into the mic, “thanks so much to you all for coming here!! In a few minutes, I’ll be opening the door for people to come by and check out your photo exhibits. I ask that if you do get commissions booked for your work, you write it down on the sheets provided so we can assess the helpfulness of these events in helping students secure freelance work!” You’re practically reading off a script as a coping mechanism, because your hand is shaking in anticipation. You look down at it underneath the hood of the podium, and in a second, it’s being covered by a familiar hand.

Gojo’s standing next to you at the podium now, holding your hand but discreet from view, and it gives you enough ease to finish your presentation smoothly, mostly because it goes by in a blur with the distraction of his comforting hand squeezes, and you can finally release the deep breath you were holding in.

“Awesome,” Gojo says right when you dismiss the students to start setting up their photo exhibits at their tables, “you finished the presentation. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You almost sound patronizing,” you sigh, but you turn your palm up so he can hold your hand anyway.

By the time you open the door for the event, your anxiety has settled, and all you feel is awe as you watch people make their way into the room. Albeit most of them just go straight for the beer and pizza at first (which you’re pretty sure is illegal to serve on campus, but whatever), and you had to make the last minute decision to change your spotify playlist on the speakers from Studio Ghibli classics to early 2000s club music just to keep them engaged, but as the event proceeds, they all start to travel down the exhibit tables and glance at students photos sprawled across tables and swiping through slideshows on their laptops, and there’s genuine conversation and interest.

Turns out frats & sororities were the target audience for professional photography all along? Considering how anal they are about their social media aesthetics and what-not. Something you’d never even really considered until today, and somehow your world has become a little bit bigger than what it was before.

As you walk around the room just to eavesdrop on some conversations and make sure things are going okay, you steal glances at the freelance commision sign up papers that the film students are keeping track of, and you see occasions written down like birthday photoshoot and grad photos and aunt’s baby shower scribbled under the event columns and you start to feel emotional. The little freshmen & sophomore film students look so ecstatic with the amount of work they’re booking in one evening, and for once you feel like a proud mom.

This is singlehandedly the biggest turnout you’ve ever seen for any event you’ve ever hosted, and for someone that has a hard time asking for help most of the times, you finally see what you’ve been missing out on when you do let someone see you for who you are and they just know what’s important to you.

When you think of it, he’s always known what’s important to you. And he’s always cared.

You’re blinking fast to fight the sheen of tears when you look at Gojo from across the room, who’s chatting it up with some people he knows and then ushering them into the showcase line, because you realize he’s made you feel really proud of yourself today, which is something you’ve really struggled with in the past week.

It’s been four years since you joined this club, with hours of hard work invested into events that weren’t going to get the front page of the newsletter like the Friday soccer games would, or get circulated around on social media like the sorority formals would, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t any less important. And it’s ironic that someone like Gojo who fits into that world of prestige and popularity and success is the one to show you that.

“Hey.” You jump when you hear Gojo’s voice near you and realize you had been too lost in thought to notice that he was approaching you. He’s pointing over his shoulder towards the door. “Some guy came by and said we’ve only got five minutes left for the room?”

You turn away from him slightly, and the sniffle of your nose is quiet enough in the loud echoes of the room. “Oh, yes, um, we only had it booked for an hour. I didn’t think we’d need more than that.”

“Oh okay,” he says, “I’ll tell everyone to get lost then.”

“But not before telling them to follow us on Instagram!!” you chirp at him in practiced club advertisement reflex, “the QR code is posted on the door.”

He nods slowly. “Sure thing, boss.” He turns to head back to the line of people still leading out of the door, but his eyes linger on your face and he turns back to you. The step he takes towards you makes you nervous, because you don’t want him to see you were on the verge of tears. You’re good at hiding these sorts of things.

“Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head down to look at you straight in the face because it’s obvious you’re not making eye contact.

You take in a deep breath and finally level your gaze with his when you’re certain your eyes are dry. “Yes, fine. Thank you.” And you smile at him. And he takes your word for it.

__

It’s pitch black outside as you walk with Gojo across campus towards the parking lot. He’s carrying all the supplies you have to take home in boxes piled high in his arms, while you just pull an empty mini wagon along because there’s way too many stairs as obstacles for any mode of transport by wheel.

There are a few moments where your shoulder accidentally brushes against his arm, and it’s mostly because you can’t walk in a straight line for the life of you, but you like it because it just feels nice to be in his space somehow. Like those little moments when your knee bumps someone else’s under the table, or your hands touch when handing something to someone, always noticed but never addressed because it just felt natural.

On the way to the faculty parking lot, where the blacktop is barely lit by the baseball stadium lights off in the distance, the exhaustion of the day catches up to you. Gojo’s hand reaches inside his pocket and he pulls out Mina’s car keys before pressing down on a button to open the trunk.

“Gosh, I forgot you had those keys,” you sigh as you fold the wagon and slide it into the back. “I would’ve freaked out if I noticed I didn’t have them.”

“Yeahhh I considered pretending that I lost them just to fuck with you, but I got lazy,” he says with a shrug and a yawn then sets down the boxes in the trunk with a slight grunt that leaves him, then he’s dusting his hands off.

You do a quick look-through of the supplies to make sure you didn’t forget anything in the room, and then pull your phone out to text Nobara that everything went well today. Well, great. Fantastic. Honestly, she’ll be shocked by the turnout when she sees the Instagram photos you’ll be posting to the club’s socials.

Gojo pulls down on the top of the trunk and shuts it closed, then he turns to face you. “Alright, so…”

“So…” you repeat after him, and you’re not sure why the air feels a little awkward, but you twiddle with your fingers because you don’t have the desire to step into the car and head home just yet.

Gojo nods slowly, looking around himself at the ground. “I guess that’s everything.”

“Mhm.”

He scratches the back of his head, and you realize he’s not making any moves to walk away either.

“Um,” you say, “Satoru–”

“Yeah?” he responds, fast, the second you say his name.

You take a step closer to him, and lean your hip against the car. “Thank you,” you say, holding onto your elbow and rubbing soothing circles over your own arm, “for what you did tonight.”

He tilts his head at you in confusion, but then his face relaxes. “Oh, no worries,” he says with a smile, and his voice sounds a little tired from the day too, “I’m pretty sure you would’ve killed yourself if you tried to carry those boxes down the stairs.”

“What?...no, no, not for the boxes,” you say with a shake of your head, and then you remember you need to be offended by what he just said, “what the hell, that’s not true. I have more than sufficient upper body strength.”

He tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, like to stifle a laugh. “Uh-huh.”

You sigh and briefly pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance and then shake the feeling off with a shake of your head. “I meant…for what you did by publicizing the event.” And for being there for you, when you were feeling alone and nervous about the whole thing, like he could tell you just really needed someone to be with you. But you bite your tongue before you can say that part too.

His brow furrows for a moment, and you realize he’s confused about the appreciation.

“It’s just, I know what it was like when I was a freshman and sophomore, feeling like my work wasn’t really reaching anyone,” you say to him, the vulnerability on your sleeve as you speak, “so it was a really nice thing for you to do for those underclassmen today. I saw the looks on their faces, and they looked really happy. And–...I’m sure it made their day.” You glance off to the side for a moment because you feel a little shy, and then you look back at him. “It made mine too.”

He takes a step towards you, and he’s close now, to where the tips of his shoes almost touch yours. His eyes are calm, darker with minimal light to reflect off of but there are still stars in them as always. “I’m glad I could help. Uh, well, I’m a member of the club now, so, if you need any other help, then. You know where to find me.”

You laugh. “I doubt there’s much I could give you to do at this point in the year, but alright. If anything comes up, I’ll assign it to you.”

You both look up at each other with small smiles. Your thumbs still swiped over the skin of your arm, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to look at his feet, rocking back and forth on his heels slightly. You click your tongue and look up at the sky, and he tilts his head to the side a few times to stretch it out. Were you two just so brain-fried by the day that you can’t even think of a single thing to say to one another? But if that was the case, then why not just call it a day and go home?

There’s a person on a bicycle that passes by, jingling his bell in the process and that breaks the two of you out of this weird trance, and then he’s clearing his throat and you’re shifting on your feet.

“Oh, by the way—” “Um, I just wanted to—” you both say at the same time.

You blink at each other.

“Sorry,” he laughs, “go ahead.”

“No, no, you go ahead,” you say.

“It’s fine,” he gestures to you. “You first.”

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Well—,” he starts, “I’ll say what I want to say after you say what you want to say…so…no worries. Go ahead.”

“Right,” you nod in agreement, and scratch your arm a little. “I just wanted to say I’m still…sorry about what I said to you last week outside that bar,” you confess, “about…having it easy in life.” You squeeze your upper arm in anxious tendency. “ImeanIknowIalreadyapologizedforit,” you say, fast, with surprisingly no tongue twist, “but…still. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t open up to me about stuff because of what I said and because of…I guess, the…mean impression I claimed to have of you. I just don’t think I was in a great headspace, and…well.” You look up at him and his expression is soft. “I’ve really appreciated being able to talk to you about lots of things. Um. So, yeah, I just wanted to say again that I’m really sorry about it.” You take in and release a deep breath once you’re done with your ramble.

He’s quiet for a moment as he lets your words sink in, and he briefly glances down at his shoes, shoulders raising slightly to roll them back and then he relaxes them when he looks at you again.

“It’s okay,” he says, and he leans against the car now too. “I know you said that I was contributing to making you feel that way, so I owe you an apology for that too.”

You blink up at him.

“Plus, you were dealing with a bunch of pricks,” he says, “and stressed about your future.”

“Mm,” you acknowledge.

“We’re seniors,” he randomly mentions, “I think we’re all just…trying to figure ourselves out? So, I get it. And I don’t want you to feel bad about it.”

You feel a tickle in your throat, and the distracting pain of your nails digging into the palms of your hands is enough to direct your brain away from getting emotional right now. “That’s true. Figuring ourselves out. Mm.”

He gives you a small smile, and then he sighs when he remembers something. “Yeah, a friend of mine just broke up with his girlfriend of six years because he didn’t get into law school, so, stress is a crazy thing.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry for him–and, them.”

“Yeahhh he bought a ring and everything,” Gojo says, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing a little in empathetic discomfort.

“Oh my gosh.”

“Well, anyway,” he laughs a little, in some sort of fear that he’s just made things awkward, “you don’t have to worry about what you said. I–” he pauses, “I’m hard to get rid of when I want to be around. Ask Suguru, he’s tried to get rid of me on multiple occasions.”

You laugh, and he doesn’t follow up with any more jokes or explanations, like he just wants to hear your laugh in its purity. And you nod, taking in his words for a bit, letting them rerun in your head, because they leave a warmth in you.

“Have you given any thought to what you want to do after graduation?” you ask, and you’re humbled by the fact that you never even thought to ask him that before. Hell, you even asked the stranger you sat next to in stats today that question before you ever asked him.

“Yeah,” he nods, “I think I’m gonna play for the national league.”

“Oh! That’s awesome,” you chirp, “I have no doubt you’ll get it. I’ve seen those recruiters constantly coming up to you during games.” You lightly poke his arm in flattery. “Although you always look super annoyed when they do.”

He laughs. “Yeah, they have no concept of time or place.”

“But anyway,” you say, “that’s really cool. I know your dreams are going to come true, and you’ll be great at it too.”

He nods, and you notice your words seem a little lost on him, like he's distracted by something else, but he covers it up with a well-meaning smile of pursed lips and then another silence settles between you two.

“Oh, what were you gonna,” you start, pointing your finger at him, “what were you gonna say?”

“Oh, right, phew, thanks,” he exhales in relief at the reminder, “well, I guess it’s more of a…question,” he’s sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, “but we–the frat–is hosting this barbeque thing on Thursday before our game on Friday…and, I was wondering if you’d want to come.” His words hang in the air for a moment as he’s preemptively studying your expression for any clue of an answer, and you realize he’s nervous. When you keep your features neutral, he feels the need to keep speaking. “I mean I—...I’d have to send you the invite, ‘cause it’s kind of an exclusive thing…it’s also in the afternoon since it’s too late in season for us to be throwing parties the night before a game, but, uh, if you’re free,” he pauses to take a breath, “I’d really love it if you came.”

You just stare at him.

He holds his hands up in a slight panic, shoulders tense. “Not a—…it’s not a date though. Don’t worry.”

“Ahh…” you nod, feigning relief but in all honesty you forgot about how many times you’ve turned down his pleas for a date this week and you think it’s sort of cute but also sad that he felt the need to clarify. “Yeah, um, I’ll let you know.”

He smiles, it’s genuine and real and something you’ll never get tired of. “Alright, cool.”

And here you two are standing again in silence, just looking at one another. If you were on the outside, looking in, you’d think that the two of you had just met. Like a fresh start.

Your breathing slows as you gaze up at him, because the way his brow furrows ever so slightly as he looks at you is so handsome and sweet and it makes you remember how when you first met him, you wondered if you’d ever feel relaxed in his presence from how gorgeous he is. Back then, you never would’ve imagined that you would make him nervous someday.

His gaze slowly travels down to your lips, and you feel your eyes soften to where everything else around you is a blur. You want to kiss him. Maybe as a thanks, or a reward, something sweet to show him how much today meant to you. You tilt your head, looking up with doe eyes and flutters of your eyelashes, in the most obvious way a girl could silently tell a guy she wants him to kiss her. He’d have to be the most immensely dense person on the planet to not—

“You really should think about the salsa dancing,” he says, breaking any and all energy between the two of you, “I think it’d be fun.”

You blink at him for a solid ten seconds, and then sigh with a slight slump to your shoulders, because you realize he’s probably never had to guess if a girl wants him to kiss her or not. And he’s still as dense as the person he was when you first fell for him. But there’s something endearing about it, too. Simple. Simple was what you needed. “Mhm.”

After another brief moment of silence, you tuck your hair behind your ears.

“I should get going,” you say, through an awkward half laugh, “I have an essay due at 8AM tomorrow, so...I need to go home and procrastinate.” That earns a short snort from him, and you lean yourself off of the car to head towards the driver’s side. Gojo’s on your tail and then suddenly a step ahead of you as he gets the door for you and you sit inside then fiddle with the rearview mirror just to give your hands something to do because you feel his eyes on you and it’s all-consuming as ever.

“Hey,” he says, resting his elbow on top of the car door as he peers down at you, “text me when you get home.”

You look up at him while you push the keys into ignition. “I will. Good night.”

“Night,” he says with a soft smile on his face, and he hesitates for a moment before he closes the door. Like something someone would do when they don’t want a moment to end.

.

.

.

a/n. thanks so much for reading!! this was such a domestic little chapter to write haha i think it’s the most mellow of the three scenes i wrote for the original longer version of ch10 but sdkfhsdkf i still really enjoyed writing it.

anywhoooooooo the next chapter will be the frat bbq :0 i’m very excited for that one, i think it’s my favorite of the three installments aaa there’s a scene i wrote for it that is one of the highlights in the series for me so far. not because it’s angsty or dramatic or anything, it’s just really silly and cute and horny and is kinda young love vibes and i’m living for that recently because gege has ripped my heart out already i cannot handle angst rn xD hope that’s ok

again thanks so much for reading. i think some of you may know it was really hard for me to push through w writing bc of lots of reasons and stuff that was happening on my account, but all the lovely support n messages really motivated me to not give up on the chapter and i really appreciate that a lot!!

also i had fun dedicating the last chapter to someone, so i kinda wanted to do that again!! i have a lovely n sweet 🫶🏼 anon whose birthday was i think the week after i was supposed to initially post ch10, but unfortunately i didn’t get around to posting it in time even though i said it would be my early bday gift to them BAHAHAH so i wanted to dedicate this chapter to my darling 🫶🏼 anon <33 happy belated birthday my love!!

aaa i’ll hopefully see you in the next one!! :’’) love u all sm <3

- ellie 💕

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes: please do not ask me for updates (read rules); also, i have decided to officially close the taglist! i’m so sorry, but it’s getting a little too much for me to keep track of :’’) and apparently i have to manually input the tags as well as make separate posts to include everyone because of the tag limit, and it’s too stressful for me lol. i will continue to tag the people who i have been tagging so far (if you were tagged in this chapter or in my separate extended taglist post, i will continue to tag you in future chapters), but if you were not able to make the taglist, i do post on ao3 at the same time as tumblr, and ao3 has a subscription feature where you can get emails for updates! i think that would be helpful for anyone wanting to keep up w the story. sorry!!

taglist:

@megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

@phoenix-eclipses @who-can-touch-my-boob @mo0nforme @reagan707 @lost-resonance

@foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @beabadobeee @thexmistress

@tsukikourito @getitsatoru @gabriiiiiiii @kissofife @tiredflame132

[shurisneakers]

bridges break (iv)

summary: steve shuts himself away. you pull him along on a trip of a lifetime in an attempt to reconnect. great plan! except there's one big secret he's keeping from you that could change the course of your entire relationship, and there's no greasy stack of diner pancakes in the country big enough to hide behind.

(road trip!au, best friends to lovers)

Warnings: angst, mental health issues and disorientation, ptsd, swearing, mentions of death. lemme know if i missed anything and I'll tag it.

A/N: *tommy wiseau voice* i did not forget to update this, i did not. oh hi mark. ANYWAY. YOUR COMMENTS HAVE ME CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP I WANT TO ACTUALLY PASS AWAY THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH ILOVE U

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Steve’s legs dangle languidly off the concrete shore. His palm should be pressed to the ground, keeping his balance, but they instead defiantly clasp around an old worn-out sketchbook. His fingers nimbly capture ships on the horizon, waves lapping at the wall several feet below him and the orange of the evening reflecting off of rusted metal.

He looks up for a moment when a horn blares, loud and good. A smile slips past as he snaps his notebook shut and places it beside him, clenching his eyes shut and deeply inhaling the saltiness in the air.

“Steve,” a voice speaks from behind him, softly enough to not startle him. “I knew I’d find you here.”

His head whips around. “What the-- what are you doing here?”

Life is warm. Life is stripped down to its bare essence and still, life is good.

You didn’t spend another day in Chicago.

You'd turned in your keys to the reception the next morning, chucked your bag into the trunk and got into the driver's seat without a single word. The only exception was when you asked mutely if he was hungry or not. Steve had followed with a pounding headache and a string of unread messages from two of his friends.

Breakfast is silent.

You thank the waitress when she refills the mugs of coffee, but your eyebrows knit together the second your sight turns back down to your plate.

Steve's reclined in his seat, one hand aimlessly pushing around some scrambled egg. The booth is pushed up against large fingerprint-smudged windows, overlooking the front where the car was parked somewhat haphazardly. He keeps his ear trained for the jingle of the bell overhead each time someone new walks in and the clinking of spoons stirring against coffee cups.

"Anything else I can get ya?" she asks, eyes flitting between the both of you.

"We'll let you know. Thanks." You give her a small smile. Steve does the same.

She leaves, not before throwing another look over her shoulder at the both of you. He wonders how obvious the contention must be for her to take notice on a packed morning like this.

He should ask. He knows he should ask, but the question curdles unrelentingly on his tongue, leaving his mouth bitter.

He could text Mona and get the next flight out of here, make sure that all the expenses were compensated and covered. Take steps to ensure you never had to see his face again, if that’s what you wanted.

He shovels a spoon of egg into his mouth. It feels like sandpaper going down his throat.

Steve lifts his gaze briefly, catching the same troubled expression. You hadn't fared too well on breakfast either.

He should ask. It isn't fair to wish for a trip after this.

He swallows through the dryness in his mouth and the nausea in his gut.

"If you-"

“How long have you-"

Genuine surprise flashes across both your features, but he recovers quicker, nodding for you to go on.

And so you ask, "How long have you been thinking about this?”

His mouth opens and shuts in slow succession. He’s not stupid; he knew this conversation had been inevitable and the timer had started ticking the second he’d confessed. Yet every single possible sentence he had rehearsed and re-rehearsed dissipated on the spot, leaving his mind blank and undefended.  

“Since I got back from returning the stones.”

He watches your face screw up as you calculate it in real time, and the subsequent realization that it had been a few months ditzes across your eyes for a millisecond. It looks hauntingly like heartbreak, before stoicism reworks itself onto it.

“Who knows about this?”

“Sam and Buck.”

You scoff slightly, head shaking. “And you didn’t think you should mention it to me too?”

It’s one of the only things he’d been thinking of for months. The more he did, the less he wanted to do it. And as it always had, it still sounded like a pathetic goddamn excuse.

"I did," he says. "I promise you-- I didn't mean to keep it from you this long."

"But you did," you refute. "You did keep it to yourself this long. You waited till we were on a trip together to tell me."

"I think I wanna go back.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “To the bar?”

He swallows thickly, praying that he doesn’t lose confidence.

“Steve?”

“To the forties,” he completes. “I think I’m going back to the forties.”

"What?" you ask. "As like, a day trip or?"

"No," Steve wants to crumble at the way your face slips into confusion. "To stay."

"To stay?" He can almost see the gears turning to make sense of this. “You mean--”

Steve nods silently.

"What-- how? And-- and why?" you ask, letting go of his hand. "Steve, what are you talking about?"

"I..." he trails off, forced to combat the sudden cold your hand retracting from his had left behind.

You wait for an answer, an explanation, something.

Steve just balls his hands into a fist in his jacket pocket.

There is nothing. With each passing second, your confusion morphs into something that makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. Betrayal? No, he had seen betrayal. This was-- Christ, he isn’t even sure.

"Sweetheart--" he tries, but you shake your head.

"We'll talk about this later," you say, clearing your throat and straightening your posture. "Not tonight. Not like this."

"I didn't-"

"I think I wanna go back to the motel now," you say quietly, taking a step away from him. "Let's just go. Please."

If he thought the world was quiet before, he has no idea what to say to it now.

You didn't once bring it up on the drive back, nor when he dropped you off to the safety of your door.

He left his window open wide and, in the midst of darkness, developed a dependence on the late night check-ins pulling up the hotel to distract him each time his spiral deepened.

Didn't matter much though. Each time, it picked up at the same place he'd left off: the look on your face the minute it registered what he said.

He'd flip to the other side, to a cooler part of the sheet, and to a fresh smell of cheap detergent. And it went on and on and on.

In the last hour before sunrise, he did manage to doze off.

That is, until the same stupid fucking dream had him bolting upright again. And just like the last few weeks, it’d progressed a sentence or two beyond the previous time, leaving him scrambling to get rid of it before he was forced to remember.

His mind wanders and he thinks, once again, that his memory is a curse.

"If we hadn't come on this trip," you begin, trying to keep your voice steady, "when were you planning to tell me?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I was waiting for the proper time. For it to make sense."

It doesn’t seem to be enough, which, fair enough.

"Steve, would you have told me? At all?"

At that, his muscles stiffen and he no longer leans back. "I would. Swear it to you-- I wouldn't just disappear. I woulda told you, some way or the other."

You search his face for any betrayal of his statement, but you weren't going to find any. Steve doesn't move either, not until you knew he wasn't lying to you, not now.

Your fork sets down with a quiet clang, and you finally break the stare. He watches you take a sip of lukewarm coffee, wincing when it goes down your throat.

When nothing follows immediately after, Steve goes back to pushing his eggs around the plate. His toast stales, firm to the touch and the coffee’s weak froth had floundered miserably to the middle.

“Why?” you ask suddenly.

Steve’s gaze doesn't shift from the plate, and the writing on it. He thinks it’s the diner name engraved on it, but it was harder to register when they all looked like meaningless shapes.

“Something’s been different,” he lets out, “Ever since I went back to the 70s to get the particles, something’s different. I thought it'd sort itself out after I got back and started workin' but it's been that way for months. Hasn't left.”

“Different means therapy, Steve,” your voice is a little louder than it was a second ago. “It means- I don’t know- dyeing your hair or getting a piercing. Going back to the forties?”

He doesn’t anticipate the shift from anger to desperation. The feeling of nausea worsens, joining the growing pit in his stomach.

“I did go to therapy.”

“Yeah, for a month before you walked out and never went back,” you counter. "And I get it, sometimes therapists fuck up, or you both don't click, or sometimes traditional therapy isn’t for some people. But a few sessions isn't enough, not for something like this."

A quick glance at the wall. A note of the time.

The doctor’s head tilted slightly, staring intently at him.

“Do you feel restless, Steve?”

“And that- the spacing out,” you wag a finger at him. “They’re all related to this?”

His head draws a blank, much like it does these days when he tries to think too hard about it.

“Can we talk about this later?” Steve's lips purses inwards. “Your food’s getting cold.”

You stare at him wordlessly and he ignores his worsening headache to meet your eyes.

Finally, you pick up your fork and continue eating.

---

Steve has his eyes closed, focusing on the low vibration of the window. He’s certain that if he opens his eyes again, he'd go right back to looking at you in anticipation for any kind of reaction.

A thin thread of guilt laces itself through him at the fact that you're driving today. He’d have taken up the responsibility if it meant you had time to think without having to pay attention to the road too, but he also knows you like having something to do with your hands when you’re contemplating something.

There’s a thin crease between your brows and your grip on the steering wheel was tight. You’ve been chewing on your lip for a while now.

You haven’t even looked at him once since you’d gotten in the car.

He’s tried, he really has, to not make it obvious he was peering at you because surely, that would only add more pressure to an already bad situation.

Still, he can't help himself, not when it's you. It’s pathetic, really. Even though he's sure you’ve taken note of how many times he’s looked at you in the past hour.

And so he glances over at you again.

Nothing has changed in the last fifteen minutes, no life altering difference. Same brows pulled tight, lip caged between your teeth.

“You’re gonna pull a muscle, Rogers,” you mumble. “I’m not gonna jump out of this car, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He turns back to the road, slightly embarrassed.

But your words only serve to remind him of his original hesitation, and this time, he doesn’t really want to wait till it’s too long.

"I can look up flight timings," he says. "We can get on the next one outta here."

Your frown deepens. "What for?"

"We don't have to do this trip," he says softly. "I know you've got a whole plan laid out, but I can take care of all the cancelling and refunds."

In an act of grace, you finally look at him from the corner of your eye. "Do you want to?"

"It's not up to me."

"Okay, but do you want to?" you repeat.

He's silent for a while, following your gaze as you turn back ahead.

"No," he confesses. "But it's not my choice. You should decide."

"It's settled then." You barely take any time to decide. "If you don't want to, and I don't want to, then I guess we're gonna keep going."

Steve looks at you, lines visible on his forehead. "Are you sure? We don't have to."

"I know we don't," you say, "but I want to. So unless you don't want to join me, I'm just gonna keep driving to the next stop."

It beats down on his chest suddenly-- the overwhelming urge to just lay it all out there and apologize. For everything, but beginning with flinging this at you suddenly without any kind of preparation. You deserved better than a random Chicago parking lot.

But Steve bites his tongue, and looks out the window instead. His apology had to be better, more thought out than his reveal at the very least. A simple 'Hey, look, I'm really sorry' wouldn't suffice.

“I wanted to make a stop,” you say, eyes trained on the road. “Not exactly a detour, but it isn’t along the main route”

“Where is it?”

“A few miles out. It's not really a tourist spot. You don’t have to get out of the car if you don’t want to.”

That only piques his curiosity more, but he waits.

The sky’s a brilliant, bright blue and there’s a trail of smoke from an plane flying overhead.

Steve wonders what it’d be like to lie under it, eyes closed and heart free. As his imagination dares to run wild, he sees you beside him. He hopes you’d be there beside him.

Summers in Brooklyn were humid. His hair plastered to his face and his cheeks were flushed pink and he remembers Bucky’s mom’s lemonade sticking to the back of his throat.

Rebecca smacked her brother upside his head when he doused himself in water on his front step like a moron, getting all three of them drenched for no reason.

It was a happy memory. Brooklyn was a happy memory.

He feels too tall for his skin, now.

"There are Skittles in the glove compartment if you want," you tell him. "You'll have to make do with those until we get some proper snacks."

Steve opens the compartment with a click and reaches in for the bright red packet.

He tears it open carefully so as to not scatter them everywhere. The car was rented, they probably didn't appreciate lone Skittles under the seats when you returned it.

He stretches it out to you first.

You look at him and Steve unknowingly catches his breath, then down at his hand holding out the sinfully sugary candy.

It feels like a test. He doesn’t know of what.

Your fingers reach in, gathering a few before turning back to the road.

Steve lets out a breath quietly, picking up one to chew on.

Purple. It tasted like grapes.

____

It takes a while before he sees what you were talking about on account of it being well outside the main city.

Acres of land cleared out to make place for a park that housed giant marble walls, several feet high. Well manicured lawns and pathways to navigate the stone labyrinth, with benches in front of each in case you wanted to sit there.

He knew that they had come up in several places all over the country. He had been to a few himself, but never longer than a few minutes.

"They're startin' to take it down," you voice. "San Francisco's nearly done. Started pretty late over here."

“Are they replacing it?” he asks, the Wall of the Vanished becoming larger as you neared it.

“I think so.”

Now that the people who were lost had returned, all the cities and towns that had put up their names in remembrance were tearing it down. For those who didn’t make it back, new memorials were set in place. Smaller, but just as meaningful.

"But in case they don't, I just wanted to pay my respect," you continue.

“You knew someone here?”

“I did.” You pull into the parking space. "It's not gonna take long.”

"Okay."

You pause with your hand on the door handle. “You don’t have to come with. I know this can be a bit... much."

He knows. “I want to.”

You scan his face once, biting your lip before opening the door and letting yourself out.

Steve watches you go for a second before pushing the door and stepping out.

Walking through the stones felt roughly the same as it had always been.

The day in background was blissfully unaware, childlike and happy, while the etchings on the walls were solemn and cold.

The exhibit here was smaller. The ones he had seen in New York and Washington felt like it stretched on endlessly, but it was probably because he had painstakingly combed through it for specific names.

You don’t wait to see if he follows, but you're aware he's there half a step behind you at all times. You take your time stopping in front of each, quickly running through every person’s name in search of who you were looking for.

"What letter are we searching for?" Steve asks.

"V," you say, moving on to the other side. "Vlaslov."

Steve takes another wall, running through Vernon's, and Vasquez's. They weren't in exact alphabetical order. Names were added well after construction went underway once more people were realized to have disappeared.

“There you are,” you let out at last, from two stones away.

Steve follows your voice to find you looking straight ahead at a name, perfectly at your height.

“Found you, you miserable bastard.” It’s fondness that he detects in your tone even though the words were vulgar.

Yegor Vlasov, he follows your gaze to. It rings vaguely in his head as one he recognizes from somewhere.  

“Wish I could leave him something. I’d pour him some of the damn tequila he liked so much.”

Flowers and any kind of memorabilia had been banned since the thousands of wilting bouquets each week had become tedious to clean up day after day. The stench of beer on grass was only manageable for about a month.

But the alcohol is clue enough for him to suddenly piece it together.

“Work, right? You used to work together?” Steve watches you you reach forward to touch the engraving. This stood crisp and sharp, unlike the others whose edges has becomes very slightly smoother. “I remember you telling me about him.”

“Yeah.” Your face cracks into a smile. “One of the best scientists I knew. Never stuck around in one place too long, so he moved here for research a couple of years ago, but he stayed in touch occasionally. Told me he'd save me Cubs tickets if I ever came down here.”

Though he should be glad a smile had finally made its way onto your face since its disappearance nearly a day ago, there is still sadness that lies just beneath the surface.

“Were you close?”

“Just work friends.” You drop your hand down. “Maybe if he stayed on a few more years, we’d have been actual friends. He didn't have any family so he spent a lot of time at work. Real mad scientist types. Genuinely insane."

"He sounds fun." The corner of his lip curls up.

"Oh, he was," you say with a quick laugh. "When the lab heard he disappeared, we did some shots in his name. Then sent the bottle on a homemade rocket to who knows where."

"What?" Steve asks in confusion.

"Long story," you dismiss. "But then when they all came back, he didn't. Guess he was one of the other ones. Wrong place, wrong time."

Your voice tapers off towards the end of your sentence.

His thumbs hook onto the buckle of his belt, slowly taking a few steps back to give you some privacy. After all, it was the inescapable tragedy of war that lingered under his feet when the clouds moved above a clear day.

"Okay, let's go," you say, voice quiet.

Steve lets you lead the way. The winds rustle, and in the distance he can see a couple standing in another corner of the park, hand in hand.

His mind flashes to the memorial back home. The names on the walls he recognized.

A gravestone in a quiet corner of the cemetery.

Steve's glad that when he flinches, no one is around to see.

---

It goes without saying that you haven’t talked much since the memorial.

Steve asks if you’re okay.

You reply with an airy “Just peachy", and don't bother to elaborate.

The AC whirs, and you turn down the offer for more Skittles. He simply rolls up the pack and leaves it in the glove compartment again.

He honestly believes the sugar made his migraine worse-- that or the fact that he’s been running on a incredible four hours of sleep.

Steve picks up his phone to check how far the next rest stop is so he can take over driving.

Lunch is takeout from that morning’s diner. There's no protest when he gets a salad to go, and a sandwich. You just get whatever the waitress recommends, mind elsewhere.

You pull over on the side of the road for a break when you spot a tree with branches spread wide enough to cover the hood of the car, since that was where you had opted to eat your food on top of.

Steve joins you, needing a respite from the closed space, but maintaining a respectable distance from you.

You stretch your arms above your head. Steve leans against the car as he checks his unread messages.

Mona’s sent him updates and reports and everything in between. He checks a few of them, mouth twisting at particular content, and shoots her a few texts back. Most of it he’s aware she's more than capable of handling on her own, and it’s further proven by the fact that she hadn't asked for his opinion or anything.

What she does ask is how the trip is going. He elects to reply to the text after that.

“Is the country falling apart without you?”

“It’s holding on.” Steve looks up. “For now.”

You nod, taking a sip from your bottle before tightening the lid back on.

The afternoon stretches lazily on, the heat climbing. He shrugs off his jacket, ties it around his waist.

Steve only manages about half his sandwich before he packs it back up. Maybe you were right about the burgers.

Above all else, Steve ignores the strange pangs of craving at the back of his mind.

He tastes phantom sugar on his tongue, so he deduces it to be something sweet. Something tells him he's tried it before-- it was too familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it.

"You sure that’s enough?" you question, watching the sandwich find its way back into the box. "It's really a scenic route. There’s not a lot along the way and we're only gonna reach at night. Your metabolism's gonna go haywire."

"'M not really hungry," he says in assurance. "I'll just eat the rest if I am."

"You’re not gonna get hungry?" you push.

“If worse comes to worst, I’ve got the Skittles. Nutrition, if I ever seen it. "

It's not exactly funny, but it has you pushing back the whisper of a smile before you clear your throat in defiance and hop off the hood of the car.

You offer him a bottle and he takes it, extinguishing the rising warmth spreading through his body with cold water.

It goes back to silence, only dry wind occasionally and the click of the car unlocking. You stretch your arms above your head one more time, rotating your wrists.

"Are you okay?" he asks again. Force of habit.

"I'm fine, Steve," you reply. "I should be asking you that."

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. "I'm fine."

You don't say anything, only continue to look at him for a second or two more before breaking the stare to walk to your seat.

“I'll drive,” he offers immediately.

You tug open the door and get in the driver's seat, leaving him to watch.

"Not today." Your head ducks out of view and into the car. "You look fuckin’ exhausted."

Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth when you start the engine, kicking a pebble resting near his feet one last time before opening the door and climbing back into his seat.

With nothing else to do, he pulls out the GPS on his phone and enters the destination, intent on helping on navigation at the very least.

“Says you gotta take the next exit off this highway,” he parrots back to you when you pull the car back onto the road.

You give him a hum in acknowledgement and he leans back into his chair.

Steve keeps himself occupied enough. The further you drive, the more he calculates the distance between the next bus stand and New York in case you suddenly decide to send him along his way in an uncharacteristic move.

"Steve."

"Yeah?" He perks up. "Next turn is-"

“Get some sleep,” you say, the edge in your voice jaded. “I’ll wake you up when we reach.”

"No, it's fine, I'll get some-"

"It's a straight road. The thing is voice enabled," you cut in. "I will be fine. Sleep."

Steve exhales through his nose when you don't show any inclination of changing your mind. He leaves his phone in the cupholder.

He shifts his whole body towards the door.

The AC’s turned down low, but the air outside is too hot to have the windows down.

He had read of how drastically the weather changes along this route, and to come as prepared as possible because you never knew what could hit you. For now it felt like summer was going to stay a while.

You’ve let a podcast on at the lowest volume on to fill the silence. He listens for a while, but soon the words start fading in and out, and he can barely remember what they said last.

He leans his head against the glass.

Trees blur past.

He slips into darkness.

“What have you been drawing?” she asks again, picking up the book.

“Just some ships.” Steve looks back out at the water. “Nothin’ special.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Polite as always, there’s a hint of gentle curiosity in her eyes.

He wordlessly gestures for her to go ahead, and she flashes him a smile before doing so.

Steve doesn’t know what about this is different, but he’s sure this is the prettiest she’s looked in a while.  

“You did all this now?” She traces a finger lightly over the sketch, making sure not to smudge the intricate lines.

“Yeah.” He switches between looking at her and the drawing, trying to get an analysis of her judgment before she hands it to him.

She turns to him with half a glare, unimpressed.

His eyes shoot open, sucking in a breath sharply.

It takes him a second to adjust his heightened hyper-vigilance to where he was-- not the docks, not the sunset, but an SUV-- and a second longer to let go of the seat he held so tight in a white knuckled clench.

The car wasn't moving. A swift look to his right and he realises you’re not in it either.

Steve rapidly unbuckles his seat belt, almost ripping it off it in an attempt to get rid of the weight that was pressing down on his chest. He sits up straight, shoving open the car door to get some air because fuck, the atmosphere was suffocating.

He remembers to breathe in, one, two, and out, one, two, three, four and count to ten mindfully.

His eyes stay open, however, as he glances around, but his chest rises and falls in exaggerated motions.  It works, but only after he does it twice, hands on his hips.

Once his spine straightens out again and he begins to make a move towards the car to grab the bottle, is when he sees that he’s at a gas station. There’s a little store adjoining and once he squints, he can see you over at one of the aisles through the storefront window.

Steve lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, sinking back into his seat, gripping tightly onto the bottle as he chugs the remaining water.

"Fuck," he curses, pressing into his temples hard.

He can't remember the last time it had been this bad, but he also hadn't fallen asleep in a small space any time recently, buckled to a seat. It had been about eighty years, give or take.

You were still checking out boxes, still within his sight. He wonders how much of his outburst depended on the split second thought that you had just left him here.

He mumbles something else to himself and it’s more so just to get his brain to calm down again.

Like every time, he resorts to the one activity that gets him more bored out of his skull than anything else. It’d become an unhealthy habit by now. He hates that he checks it ever morning as soon as he wakes up.

Arm still numb from sleeping on it, he scrolls through his notifications. He swipes away the emails from various reporters and agents and promotional messages and goes straight to his messages.

Govt. Reallocates Defense Budget, to Announce New Welfare Policies.

Jesus. His lips press into a straight line, partly impressed.

Mona’s sent him a Bitmoji in celebration. He sends her a balloon emoticon.

Right as he clicks out of the chat, someone else sends him a text with an attachment.

It’s a picture of a window. A tiny plant sits on the wall overlooking a a gorgeous view of a lake, but the whole image was a bit blurry.

To Steve

stop ignoring me. dick.

Against all circumstances, Steve's mouth twitches into a trace of a smile.

“Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, Rogers,” his best friend doesn’t hesitate the second he picks up the phone.

“My phone wasn’t exactly falling off the wall from your calls either.”

“You know me-” Bucky grunts slightly as something drops to the floor “-Mr Popular an’ all that. I was too busy havin’ a life.”

“Right.” Steve snorts. “Who fed your seventy cats while you were away?”

“Oh, fuck off.” He laughs, however. He’d been doing that a lot more recently. Steve thinks it's a good look on him.

“How you been, Buck?” He pulls his one arm across his chest, keeping an eye on the little store and your silhouette moving between the aisles.

“Like I said, busy.” Another object lands with a thud. “I have been left in charge of a fern.”

“Congratulations,” Steve says, smile growing on his face. “Who bestowed that honour upon you?”

“Oh, you know. The king of this country,” Bucky’s voice is muffled through the phone. “It’s a gift. Since I'm now officially therapy cleared.”

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"Yeah, graduated class of '24. Got the go-ahead to start poking around in there and not have me go murder mode, at least immediately," Bucky says casually, but Steve can hear the slight elation in his voice. "Woo hoo."

"Shit, Bucky.” Steve breathes out. “That's incredible."

"It's all right," he says. "They're having me move out of the hut and into an apartment. Getting a head start on readjusting, reintegrating-- somethin’ like that."

"You're moving?" Steve questions in mild surprise. "I coulda helped you, you know."

"Nah, I'm saving that favour for the penitentiary."

Steve winces at the thought. "You're not going to jail, Bucky."

"I know, I know. Sorry. 'M supposed to stop making those jokes. Apparently, they're not good for my self confidence or whatever.” He shrugs it off. "Murdock's flying in next month."

"Yeah?"

"He says he wants to take the whole thing slow, to make sure I was ready," Bucky says. "Told him to buy me dinner first."

Steve's face breaks into a grin. "I don't think you're his type."

"Bullshit. I'm a fuckin' sweetheart, I'm everyone's type." Bucky scoffs. "And I know you've been avoiding me, by the way."

"Why would I be avoiding you?" He knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Because-" The sounds from his end make sense now; boxes sliding across floors and tape being ripped off cardboard. “I asked if you told Y/N yet.”

Steve bites his lip before releasing it. “I did.”

There’s a silence at the other end before Bucky asks more seriously, “How'd it go?”

“Wouldn’t say it went too well.”

“I’ll bet. Pissed, huh?”

Steve sighs. “Has a right to be.”

“Y/N's gonna come around. I hope.”

Steve watches you walk towards the register.

"Did you?” he asks.

There is no response from Bucky’s end until a chuckle comes back, sounding a bit distant. Sad, almost.

“Took me a while, too, Stevie.”

At least his friend doesn’t lie to him. Steve chews on the inside of his lip, a furrow between his brows.

“Just give it some time. It'll be okay,” Bucky pipes up again. “Or, you know, this trip’s gonna be awkward as all hell.”

A corner of Steve’s mouth raises in a half-smile. “Still wish you were invited?”

“Fuck no.”

Bucky says a few more blasphemous things and Steve bickers with him for a few more minutes before the former says goodbye. The unsaid promise of a call soon hangs in the air.

When he looks back at you, you’re talking animatedly with the girl at the register the way old friends do when they run into each other after years. She says something and you laugh, nodding along.

He likes that-- how you find friendships wherever you go. He doesn’t have the same privilege, but he doesn’t hold it against those he encounters, given that most circumstances when he meets them are less than ideal.

He’s just glad the time he crashed in and shattered half the equipment in your lab wasn’t the first and last time you spoke to him.

It takes another few minutes for you to wave at her and grab the brown paper bags before walking out and to the car. You open the backseat and leave most of the stuff there, all the while balancing a large cup of something.

“You should eat.” You don’t wait for an answer, tossing a pack of trail mix at him. “That’s probably the healthiest thing in that store.”

“Thanks.” Steve watches you clamber in. “D’you know her?”

“Who?”

His gaze shifts from yours and towards the cashier, head lifting pointedly in her direction.

“Oh, no.” You pull on your seatbelt, clicking it into place. “I've never met her before.”

“Just looked like you did." Steve quietly tears open the packet of food and tosses a fistful into his mouth.

“I have friends in weird places.” The car switches on, pulling out of the station. “This store just ain’t one of them.”

He looks at you questioningly, before his face twists at the unwanted raisin that ends up in the pile.

“You meet people at conventions,” you say dismissively. “You never know when contacts from Zloda or Madripoor come in handy.”

Strangely, he remembers Tony saying the same thing years ago. Guess it just came with the job.

“And also-” You twist your body to reach into the backseat, shaking a magazine out of a cover before tossing it into his lap.

He holds up the glossy copy of Gardening: 4427 Brilliant Tips & Ideas to examine it.

“What’s this?”

“I know you like to read, Steve.” You readjust in your seat. “This was the least offensive one I found.”

---

The motel room doesn’t reek of stale cigarette smoke. The smell of clean sheets and carpets, and mothballs was predominant but frankly, he’d take it any day.

Steve leans his body against the headrest, freshly showered and mostly full from a few bites of some salad and a steak.

His TV is kept running in the background as noise, but his attention strays between the sketchbook on his lap and several other undefined thoughts that floated in and out at their will.

His hand absentmindedly sketches out basic images. Wildflowers on the side of the road, gas pumps, feet propped up against the dashboard.

He steadily keeps track of the minutes in his head, counting down to your arrival. It had given him enough time since you'd checked in to get dressed and ready.

“There’s a show I booked a while ago. It’s a band that does covers of modern songs in old genres. Swing and stuff.” You glance at him. “We don’t have to go.”

Steve can imagine why you’d think that, but he’s quick to reply, “No. No, let’s go.”

The look you give him is doubtful, but he nods again.

"It sounds great."

"Okay," you hesitate. "I'll see you at 7."

There were a few minutes left, but it was sufficient for his mind to play on loop bits and pieces of the conversation from that morning.

Steve had gone to therapy, but you weren't wrong in your call out either when you said it hadn't been nearly enough.

He'd seen firsthand how men suffered when they couldn't accept help. Hell, he'd gotten certified himself and was a counselor for a while till he stopped for reasons that outweighed his altruism.

But he was given a task. It was simple, glaringly so. But he hadn't finished it. And for that alone, it doesn't feel right to go back yet.

“I was told it’s the only way they’d let me come in.”

“To help with the aftermath, you said?” she clarifies, looking at the three total lines she probably had on him.

"Yes,” he replies. “Relocation, search and rescue for people missing after the battle.”

“Right, the Battle of Earth.” Dr. Nasser writes something down. He follows the movement of her pen. “We haven't talked in too much detail about that.”

"Steve?" You knock twice on the door. "You ready?"

"Coming," he calls out, sending one last glance down at his doodles.

Amidst the gas station and the gigantic marble walls is a familiar wooden pathway in front of a store. He frowns at it for a second before shutting his book and pushing off his bed.

He gives you a quick greeting when the door opens to reveal you, arms tucked awkwardly over your chest.

"Sure you wanna do this?"

"Absolutely," he affirms, closing the door behind him, all the while trying to place where he'd seen that particular background.

____

The crowd is buzzing by the time you get inside.

It's lively chatter, smiling faces and excitement all around.

Steve is sure he drops the energy of the room just by walking in, like some undead spirit.

You, however, have a tiny smile on your face the second you step in.

The lobby outside the actual theatre is fucking fancy too; gold accents, marble pillars and chandeliers from tall ceilings. Long staircases along the side lead to the upper floors.

"This is supposed to be a theatre?" Steve asks. "A theatre for movies and shows?"

"The creators wanted to make a palace for the people," you explain, following the flow of people walking up the stairs. "Apparently it's haunted."

"To be fair, that's what they say about all joints older than twenty years," Steve replies.

The kid in his apartment-- Meskill, his name was-- maintained that it was haunted too. Mrs McKinnon didn't take kindly to being sprayed in the face with ‘holy water’ from Walt’s kitchen tap and being told to 'leave this mortal coil!'. It explained why he never received a knitted scarf but Steve did.

"Bet you'll be a lot nicer when the instruments start to float, Rogers," you dish back distractedly, still in awe at the majesty of the place.

Steve shrugs, too occupied trying to figure out all the influences that had inspired the architecture of the place to realise it was the first real crack at a joke you'd made all day.

Greek, Roman, Baroque, Byzantinian, Venetian was what he'd counted so far.

"Why do you do that?"

Steve looks at you, then himself. "Do what?"

Your finger points at his waist. "That. Holding onto your belt like that."

His eyes trail down to where he latches onto the buckle, finding contentment in the balance.

"I don't know," he replies. "Didn't even realise."

"You do it a lot." Your gaze flickers up at him. "Why'd you start?"

"Can't remember." Steve let go of his belt, feeling a sudden awkwardness at the gesture. "Been doin' for as long as I remember."

You nod at his answer, unsatisfied but unwilling to show it.

Steve's eyebrows knit together in puzzlement the second you turn away from him. Where did it come from? Some old Western movie? Was he imitating someone? Why'd the memory seem so far away?

"Let's go?" you ask carefully.  

Steve nods and you lead the way up the stairs, holding on to the banister for support.

___

You're nearly twenty minutes ahead of schedule. It's good, there was no rush to get to your seats or crowd to shove through.

Steve had a glossy copy of the programme in his hand. He'd already memorised the biography of the band, making a mental note to check their channel out after it was done.

"How long is the show?" Steve whispers to you, maintaining the hushed tones those around him were speaking in.

"About two hours, I think?" you squint.

"Cool," he says, flipping the pamphlet back to check the set-list. "They've got a good line up."

"Yeah," you say, voice a bit far away. "You'll let me know if you want to go, right?"

Steve turns to you but the houselights go off, leaving him blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to-"

Steve tries your name again when you don't answer.

"I'm sorry," you say all of a sudden.

"Please ensure your mobiles are switched off for the duration-"

Steve inclines his head towards you. "What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't have been so harsh," you continue. "This morning, at breakfast. I wasn't the nicest. Shouldn't have discounted your experiences like that, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Steve says because he didn't even think about it that way. "I understand."

"I was angry and upset, and I thought I had time to calm down, but it wasn't enough and I took it out on you," you continue, voice low. "And I'm sorry for raising my volume, too. I can't imagine it was easy to have your experiences invalidated. It won't happen again."

He calls out your name, further urging, "You had every right to be upset. You don't have to apologize."

You nod, eyes trained on the stage as members of the crew dressed in black dart about for final checks.

"I wanted to tell you earlier. I did," Steve brings up.

"I know," you reply.

"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I'm really fuckin' sorry. I've been trying to work on it-- telling people things before it's too late. I was going to tell you, even if we weren't on a road trip, but there's no real justification. I should have told you when I told both of them. It wasn't right."

"The show will begin in another five minutes. Please sit back and-"

"Thank you." You clear your throat. "I'm-- I know I've been cold, but I'm gonna take some more time to process it. There's-- you know, it's--"

"You don't have to explain," he breaks in gently. "You do whatever feels right."

He wants to squeeze your hand the same way you do to his sometimes. A reassurance to one who seeks it. He can't offer any right now, he's already done the damage.

"Has it been difficult? Keeping it in this long?" you ask as someone murmurs an apology for stepping over you to get to their seat.

Steve's chest feels hollow. Because to be fucking honest, it had been easy.

It'd slipped out almost, the few times he'd seen you in between, on his couch or for brunch. He knew it in his bones that it wasn't right and would never be, but overwhelmingly, keeping the secret till he died was something he'd found as easy as breathing.

But he's lied so much already.

"Harder than you'd think," he says because he should. Because you deserve the effort.

There is the clicking of drum sticks together, and the intro to the performers starts playing, loud and colourful.

"You'll tell me if you want to leave, won't you?" you whisper.

Hoping to God he's being honest this time, he replies, "I will."

"Okay," you say. "Okay."

The audience hoots and cheers, even the people right beside him.

But Steve's mind still lingers on an empty promise and a belt buckle.

next part

[nishymoon]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write something about reader being an olympic gymmast and chishiya being amazed of all the tricks she can make? Thank u!!

Mirrors || Chishiya x Reader

➸ Adverentence: NSFW / Mature Content ♢

The training room on The Beach is very special. You love it, it's a room completely covered with mirrors, a long wooden bar on one of the walls - mounted for anyone who wants to train with dance - and various tools for all types of training. In addition, there are also times for the pool in case some swimmers want to use it for training. The Hatter has really thought of everyone and you are really grateful to him. Sport is your life. Today, you are completely alone in that room, it is completely empty, but it is for the simple fact that it is evening and everyone is at the usual party in the bar. You have no game scheduled for tonight and you just wanted some peace. Extend your leg as far above your head as possible, grasping the ankle with your hands to increase the pressure, exhaling slowly. You want to need to feel your muscles tug, almost moan, sore. You try in every way to think only and exclusively about your training but.....your mind travels. Feel a warmth in your lower abdomen as a recent memory makes its way into your mind. Yesterday night.

You played a game with him, the only guy who managed to get your attention. So attractive, intelligent, mysterious. So Chishiya. And you knew very well you were doing the exact same effect on him. The way he looked at you during that game of Spades as you jumped from balcony to balcony in that building without fear, the way you got to the right door faster than him thanks to your athletic skills. His eyes did not leave your body and your movements, for the first time in your life, you saw him woth an amazement gaze. You will never forget the looks you exchanged during this game. You both wanted it. You both went to your room after the game, the way he ran his fingers over your body, as if he had known you for a lifetime. The way he talked into your ear as he made you his. He praised you all night, he found you interesting for your athletic skills and so....damn beautiful. He stayed with you all night, you talked and you talked to him about your workouts here at the beach. You told him you were coming to this room to train. And in your heart, you are waiting for it. You hope with all your heart that he can come at any moment, if only to observe you while you work out. You start to feel too hot, you take off the sweatshirt you were wearing, leaving only the top and shorts. You don't stop, your training must continue. Chishiya enters without saying anything, without being heard, he finds you intent on the usual extra stretching session, the same one you did yesterday before the game of Spades and that you usually do before any game, your tied hair that follows your movements, soothing music in the background and the room, an entire wall of mirrors. You don't notice him until you look up and met his, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, a smile of pure satisfaction. The same smile that he started to make you shiver without restraint, just like last night. - Has anyone ever told you that you are damn beautiful? - The very thought that he can make you blush drives you out of your mind. But you couldn't resist. You stand up as he approaches you, grabs you by the hips and squeezes you against him, his mouth sliding over the bare skin of your shoulder and neck. - Yes.....some people have often told this to me.....but only one is able to have this effect on me.....- - I know him? - He smiles against the skin of your neck, aware that you talking about him. He bites your neck waiting for your response. - I'm more than sure, he is so intelligent....and he is the only one able to make me feel this way. - He raise his head to observe you, he doesn't give you time to say anything else, he kiss you with a passion and energy that makes you step back to support his weight, making you bang your back against one of the walls made of mirrors. And you let him do this, now you are like clay in his fingers. He melts your hair to pull it slowly and tilt your face more and more towards him, his hands slide free on your body, taking off your top to be able to see your breasts. Feel his mouth on yours again, his tongue invading you as one of his hands is torturing your nipple, causing you to moan in his mouth. The other hand works its way under your shorts, finding your clit, moving his finger to make you moan as desperate as you did the night before. You moan loudly as soon as you feel his finger moving faster, his lips leaving yours to slide down your neck and then down to take your nipple, sucking and licking it. When you feel his fingers enter you, your mind can no longer even perceive the soothing music you put on for your workout. He moves quickly inside you, your sweaty body slamming into the mirrors behind you, your hands clinging tightly to him and his hair. When orgasm hits, you are almost unable to support yourself and he does it for you. You've been training for years, your body is used to any kind of hard training, yet he's already managed to turn your legs into two jellies.

The sudden cold air hits your nipple as its warm mouth leaves it. You look at him, disheveled and almost completely naked and for him you are too enchanting. You should see yourself. Indeed, you can do it. - Let's use these mirrors.....- You are completely aware of his plan, you rush towards him, kissing him and urgently helping him to undress. You hear him take off your shorts, the only garment that was left on. He turns you and bends you forward, making you cling to the wooden bar in front of you. You look to the side and see both of your bodies coming together. You feel him rubbing the tip of his erection against your clit, getting wet before slowly entering you. He takes breaks when you just tense up, massaging his side and whispering to you how good you are at taking him inside you. His thrusts start slow, he wants to give you time to get used to him. But as soon as his thrusts get more intense and faster, you simply stop thinking completely, blinded by the pleasure rising in you and the heart rumbling in your chest. You moan his name, unrestrained and Chishiya feels you squeeze and stretch yourself more against him, already so close, and this makes him smile satisfied. His thrusts slow down and you snort in despair at the loss of your impending orgasm. - Someone here doesn't have much patience. - He whispers it to you, stopping his movements and reaching out on you to torture a nipple with his finger. You, too crazy for his games - which he had played yesterday too - move your hips quickly to try to imitate his movements. And he, smiling as a cat for his work, comes out of you and grabs you again by the hips, forcing you to leave the wooden bar and throw yourself on the soft mattress you use for training. You lean forward, kneel and face against the mateasso, your butt high, exposing yourself for him. You feel him kneel behind you and finally enter you again. You can't stifle your moans that echo in that room along with the background music, his thrusts touching the best place inside you while he holds you tight by your hips. Feel another orgasm explode inside you along with the pleasant soreness of your legs. You hear him coming right after, his moans mingling with yours. You are completely lost to him. For him who captivates you with that cat smile, for him who kisses her with indescribable sweetness and determination, for him who watches you during the games and admires your agility, your athletic body, your skills as a professional athletic who works hard for years. For him who just whispered "I like you" in that warm room covered only with mirrors. And he is all you need.

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Ehyy!! ♡ Thank you so much for your request! ♡ I worked a lot for this fanfiction for I had several ideas in mind......so I thought of merging them and doing something that was NSFW too, I hope that is not a problem! ;; If so, I can write you another one! That said, I hope you enjoyed it!♡