#i have a notebook where i sometimes write replies by hand then write them here lmao

[1punch]

god im so tired it's been such a long day at college

[urfavblond1e]

𝐈𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 ♡︎

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ৹ You and Suguru have been dating in secret and it hasn't been easy but it's totally worth it. So, while at a party, Suguru slips away to see you, not thinking anyone is around. But just how long does it take Satoru and Shoko to figure out what's going on?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ৹ suguru x fem!reader, fluff, making out (oop), you and suguru get caught kissing (losers lol), suguru is annoyed, satoru is the annoyer ™, shoko is a girls girl, yaga mention.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ৹ 2.1k

𝐚/𝐧 ৹ was literally in class when I got this idea so I started writing it in my notebook. i'm shameless (hearts divider by @/s-h-o-w-y).

“You could have practically any girl here, Suguru and yet you keep ignoring them all!” Gojo exclaimed at his best friend. The two of them, along with you and Shoko were at a house party of a friend. And despite his flirty personality, he noticed that a lot of the girls their age seemed to flock to Suguru. Yet he ignored their advances every single time.

“I’m just not interested,” Geto replied, putting his hands in his pockets.

Satoru scoffed. “C’mon, you can’t possibly be serious. We’re at a party, have some fun! It’s not like Yaga is breathing down our necks right now or anything.”

But again, Suguru shook his head. “Knock yourself out, I’ll pass.” He shrugged it off.

Up until a couple of months ago, the two boys would go out and meet plenty of girls and would just have fun. But as of late, Suguru had just been ignoring any girls who came his way. Politely, of course, but he always made sure that they knew he was simply uninterested. Gojo would watch as Suguru would turn them away, his jaw agape. He simply couldn’t understand it.

Truth was, Suguru had been dating you for the past couple of months but the two of you had mutually decided to keep it a secret for the first little bit. You were still navigating relationships and you wanted that aspect of privacy. Suguru, of course, wanted to give it to you. But that did make seeing each other quite difficult.

At first, Suguru had no desire to attend these parties anymore. Knowing that he’d be approached by the girls there. But Satoru begged him every time, not knowing about his relationship with you. You didn’t want Suguru to miss out on the fun and told him to go anyway. So, he did. He’d just turn away any girl who’d come his way.

Especially since you wanted to keep things on the down low, he couldn’t just tell these girls that he had a girlfriend without the possibility of the word getting out to your friends.

Satoru glanced at two girls who had their eyes set on him. “Suit yourself.” He shrugged off before putting on a flashy grin and walking towards the girls.

The moment Satoru was distracted, Suguru let out a sigh of relief. “Finally,” he groaned. “That should keep him busy for a while.”

Now was finally his time to slip away—to slip away and find you. You had wandered off with Shoko ten minutes ago and he was already itching to see you again. He pulled out his phone and texted you.

“Where are you and Shoko?”

Moments later, your text popped up on his screen. “Don’t know where Shoko went but I’m down near the bathroom.”

Suguru smiled at your message—finally, he could just be with you alone, even if it was just for a minute. He made his way through the house, ignoring anyone and everyone he walked past. He just wanted to see you and he was determined to do so.

Turning around the corner, Suguru saw you in the hallway, leaning against one of the walls and his face lit up. Shoko was nowhere in sight, and neither was anyone else, just you. He understood you wanted to keep the relationship a secret but boy did it make things hard sometimes.

“There you are,” He said, walking up to you. Immediately, his arms were around your waist, and his chin was propped up on your shoulder. “Felt like I was going to suffocate back there.” He mumbled.

You chuckled a little. “That bad, huh?” You asked him with playful empathy.

Suguru nodded his head. “Satoru can’t take a hint that I’m not interested in any of the girls here. But I can’t just outright say why.” He sighed. Keeping your relationship a secret was hard—especially from his best friend.

Mr. “Six eyes sees all, nosey, and in everyone’s business Satoru Gojo” was hard to keep a secret from. Especially when he didn’t understand why Suguru was so uninterested in the girls around him all of a sudden.

There was no rule in school saying you couldn’t date other students—however, Yaga viewed relationships in school as a distraction and while if he found out you and Suguru were together, he couldn’t do much about it, he would just make it very obvious that he didn’t approve. Which in turn, would just make things awkward.

So, all of this together was the reason why your relationship was so private and secret.

“But now… I don’t have to deal with any of these pesky people.” Suguru grinned down at you. Within seconds, he pulled you into one of the rooms right by the bathroom, just so he could kiss you in private—away from everyone else, hoping nobody would come stumbling across the two of you.

Putting far too much faith that no one would, Suguru didn’t close the door all the way. Instead, he got straight to it, not wasting any time by pressing his lips against yours. You were a little taken aback by the sudden kiss and his eagerness but you reciprocated with fervor.

It had been hard having to sneak around all the time to do something as easy and simple as kissing; like conveniently going to the bathrooms around the same time while in class—or saying you were going to get some of the cursed weapons from the shed and Suguru would offer to “come help” you every time.

Needless to say, he was making up for all of the times he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t. He understood and respected your wishes to keep things private but boy were there enough times when he wanted to kiss you, no matter who was around.

His hands slipped from your back, down to your hips, giving them a firm but gentle squeeze. The only time you pulled away was to catch a breath, only for you to reconnect your lips with his moments later. With his hands still on your hips, he pulled you closer, kissing you harder.

Suguru was a great kisser—granted you had no one to compare him to since he was your first boyfriend but he made you feel alive every single time. He was the epitome of an amazing boyfriend. Respectful, sweet, with just the right amount of playfulness. You swore you could love him forever.

You don’t even remember when you fell for him but you were so glad you did.

But before you could continue, you heard a very familiar voice near the doorway, which caused you both to freeze right in your tracks. “Am I interrupting something?”

It was Shoko, standing in the doorway with a little mischievous grin on her face. You finally pulled away from Suguru, your face as red as a tomato and your eyes as wide as ever. “S-Shoko! Where—how’d you get here?” You asked, stumbling over your words.

“Smoke break in the bathroom,” She said, holding up a cigarette.

Of course, a smoke break. In the bathroom. In the bathroom right next to the room, you were just making out with Suguru in. Suguru mentally cursed himself for not closing the door all the way. At least that would’ve given you a second or two to pull away from each other and make things look normal.

“So, how long has this been going on?” Shoko asked, clearly not giving up on her curiosity.

“Um,” You looked at the ground for a moment. “About three and a half months…”

Shoko looked a little surprised. “Wow, that long? I always assumed something was going on between the two of you but I didn’t know you were together—especially for that long already.” She replied. It was decently impressive, given how strict and nosey Yaga was. Not to mention how nosey Satoru was. “And whose idea was it to keep this a secret for so long?”

Suguru pointed at you almost immediately and Shoko let out a snort at his quickness, provoking you to roll your eyes. Shoko’s eyes moved to Suguru. “And just where is Satoru?” She asked, knowing that the two of them were practically attached at the hip on nights like these.

Suguru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s occupied talking to some girls who were flirting with him earlier.” He answered, feeling slightly bad that he had just dipped. “I took that as a chance to come find [name].”

Shoko’s lips tugged into a grin as she looked you up and down; your lips were still slightly swollen from the passionate kisses you had just shared. “I can see that.” She teased.

Shoko had been your best friend ever since attending school but for some reason, you wanted to die of embarrassment. You wanted nothing more than to crawl into a little ball and blip out of existence. It was pretty embarrassing when you were caught making out with someone, even if it was your best friend who caught you.

“Honestly? I’m just impressed you two managed to keep this a secret for so long.” She said, crossing her arms. “Yaga-sensei is practically breathing down our necks most days and Gojo is awfully nosey.”

“Trust me, it hasn’t been easy,” Suguru muttered under his breath, earning a quick glance from you.

“You’re not going to tell Yaga, are you?” You asked Shoko. Shoko wasn’t a snitch—you knew that much but there was a little anxiety in the back of your mind that word might somehow get out to your teacher and make things awkward in places like the classroom.

“You won’t hear a word from me,” Shoko replied.

You let out a relieved sigh and smiled but it got you wondering why you were even anxious to say something about your relationship before. You reached out and your fingers laced with Suguru’s and he squeezed your hand.

However, just moments later, you heard footsteps coming from behind Shoko and towards the doorway to the room. It was Satoru, stumbling over after hearing your voices. “Is Suguru over here? He just disappeared.” He said, his voice slightly dazed.

But his slight daze immediately went away when he saw you standing right next to Suguru, your hand in his. “Ooooohhh what’s going on here?” He teased, leaning his arm on Shoko’s shoulder. It was pretty obvious what was going on. He had observed enough, and Suguru had talked about you enough to know that you liked each other at the very least.

Shoko rolled him off her shoulder and you narrowed your eyes at Satoru. You knew it was practically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut about certain things and you weren’t taking any chances.

“Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut.” You said firmly. You almost sounded like a mother scolding a young child.

“Okay fine,” He groaned, knowing there was no use in fighting you. He could tease or annoy Suguru all day but you were definitely not the girl he wanted to cross. You were not as forgiving as your boyfriend was. “How come I’m the last one to know about this though?” He looked at Suguru, feigning humorous offense.

Suguru began to walk towards the door, your hand still in his. There was no use in trying to hide anything around Shoko and Satoru anymore, so why would he? “Because you have trouble keeping quiet about certain things.” He replied to Satoru as he passed by him. “AKA you have a big mouth.”

Shoko just snickered, following you and Suguru out of the room. “What? What do you mean?” Satoru exclaimed, following behind the three of you. “I can keep a secret! I promise. C’mon you guys I’m not that bad!”

“Name one secret you’ve kept,” You said, looking back at him over your shoulder.

Satoru hesitated as if he was trying to think of one he could say. But then he crossed his arms and turned his nose up. “Well, I can’t say them because they’re a secret, obviously.”

Although this was obviously not true, it earned around of laughs from the three of you as you returned to the party. Even though this wasn’t how you planned your night to go, part of you was quite relieved that you no longer had to hide your relationship with Suguru around Shoko and Satoru. It felt like a weight had been taken off of your shoulders.

And Suguru? He was the most relieved out of all of them.

And he definitely kissed you a lot that night.

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 15 - Something Wicked This Way Comes

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: Jenna and Y/N respond to an emergency signal- an old friend of Y/N's

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, maybe angst, some fluff, alcohol consumption

AN: my dog has a skin tumour and my period is kicking my ass but by god will i write something again - thank you everyone for being patient, i'm sorry for the wait <3

word count: 4.1k

Part 14

—//—

The air smelt of rust and forgotten things.

You and Jenna picked your way through the crumbled husk of what used to be a computer repair shop - though there was little left to identify it. Rows of dust-choked shelves leaned in like toppled dominoes, wires curled like dry vines across the broken tile. The faint sound of dripping water echoed through the far end of the building, where half the roof had collapsed, letting in beams of early morning sunlight speckled with dust motes.

It should’ve been quiet. Still. Just another scavenging run.

But then the static crackled.

You froze mid-step. Jenna did too, her boot lightly tapping your heel as she almost bumped into you.

It came again. Not just noise. Not a fluke of interference or wind through old metal.

A voice.

“…S-SOS… anyone out there… this is Cam… please…”

You turned slowly, your eyes sweeping across the mess of shattered electronics and overturned desks until they landed on the culprit: an old emergency band receiver, wedged between a fallen monitor and a tangle of split cabling. It blinked red. Active.

“…I’m stuck… injured… please. I’ve been here two days…”

Your chest tightened. The name. The voice.

“Cam?” you whispered aloud, before you could stop yourself.

Jenna’s brows drew together. “What?”

You stepped forward, brushing off grime from the receiver, your heart thudding. You pressed the cracked talk button. “Cam? It’s- it’s Y/N. Is that really you?”

The reply was instant - desperate. “Y/N? Holy shit. You’re alive. God, I didn’t think- fuck. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

Behind you, Jenna was silent.

You looked over your shoulder at her - eyes wide, stunned. “I know him. From high school. We were friends. He- he disappeared one day. Just vanished.”

Jenna’s jaw tensed. “And now he’s here. On this exact frequency. After all this time?”

“He might’ve picked up the old emergency bands. Some of them still work,” you said quickly. “We have to help him.”

“Do we?” Her voice was low, wary.

You turned to face her fully now. She was standing straight, one hand resting on her hip, the other near her holster. Her eyes weren’t angry, but they were watchful - guarded in that way that meant she’d already assessed all the ways this could go wrong.

“He’s alone,” you said. “And hurt.”

“And we don’t know who he is anymore,” Jenna countered. “You said it yourself - he vanished. People change. Or they don’t. And the ones who don’t are sometimes worse.”

Your stomach turned. She wasn’t wrong.

But still… it was Cam. Or it used to be.

You thought of the boy who used to sneak you extra fries in the cafeteria. The one who’d walk you home when the buses stopped running, then gone.

“He might’ve saved my life once,” you murmured. “I can’t ignore him now.”

Jenna’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She looked away, briefly, like she was searching for an argument that wouldn’t come.

“…Fine,” she said after a pause, voice taut. “But I’m coming. And if anything feels off, we leave. No questions.”

You nodded, heart racing. “Deal.”

Jenna turned her gaze back to the receiver. “Did he say where he was?”

You pressed the button again. “Cam, where are you exactly? We need your location.”

The voice crackled through, weaker now. “North of the industrial zone. Just past the power substation. Red brick building. Metal shutters. Second floor… can’t move my leg.”

You scribbled it quickly into your notebook, nodding.

Jenna reloaded her Glock with a sharp click.

You could feel her tension - the way her shoulders squared, the quiet way she checked her knife sheaths, the glance she gave you that said stay close, don’t be stupid.

“Let’s go find him,” you said, trying for a steady voice.

Jenna didn’t answer, but she followed - always half a step behind you.

And outside, the wind began to pick up.

-

The air grew heavier as you moved closer to the location Cam had given.

What passed for streets now were just cracked pavement and a minefield of abandoned cars, broken glass, and creeping weeds. The industrial zone loomed in the distance - hollowed-out factories and crumbling smokestacks, their shadows long in the afternoon light. Crows circled above, low and slow.

You and Jenna stayed low, keeping to the alleyways where possible, your footfalls near silent.

“There,” you whispered, pointing toward a structure ahead.

It stood squat and wide - the red brick building Cam had described. Metal shutters lined the windows, a faded loading dock peeled with graffiti. One of the shutters was half open on the second floor. A broken fire escape snaked up the side of the building, rusted but intact.

“Could be a trap,” Jenna murmured, her voice barely audible.

You nodded once, heart beating fast. “But if it’s not...”

She gave you a long look, then gestured. “I’ll take the lead.”

You let her - gladly. The tension in her body had sharpened, her steps cautious but deliberate. She checked every corner, every window, every open door along the path. At one point, she raised a closed fist and you stopped immediately, crouching behind an overturned bin while she peered ahead.

“No movement,” she said after a long moment.

You reached the building’s side and tested the fire escape. It groaned but held. Jenna scowled at the noise, gesturing you upward with a stern look. You went first. She followed close behind, her rifle slung but ready.

You reached the second floor and ducked inside through the half-shuttered window.

It was a dim storage office - dust on every surface, papers long since yellowed and brittle. The scent of mildew clung to the walls. You moved cautiously through the hallway, eyes scanning every shadow.

Then a weak cough echoed from behind a closed door at the end of the corridor.

You exchanged a glance with Jenna.

She raised her Glock and stepped forward, you right behind her. Her hand hovered at the door handle, her eyes flicking to you once more.

You nodded.

She pushed the door open.

There he was.

Cam.

Slumped against an overturned filing cabinet, one leg twisted unnaturally beneath him and wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet. His face was thinner than you remembered, sharper, almost gaunt. His blonde hair was messy, his face streaked with grime, but his expression lit up the moment he saw you.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

You froze for a beat, blinking at the surreal sight - the same eyes you remembered from school, somehow unchanged in the storm of everything else.

Then you moved forward quickly, kneeling beside him.

“Jesus, Cam,” you muttered. “You look like shit.”

He laughed - a short, pained sound. “You look incredible, actually. Still a firecracker.”

“Don’t flirt when you’re half-dead,” you scolded gently, already examining the wound.

“I’ve been worse,” he grinned, though his teeth never showed.

Behind you, Jenna stayed near the door. Watchful. Silent. Her body taut like a coiled spring.

Cam glanced up at her, then back at you - dismissing her presence entirely.

It made your stomach twist, even if you couldn’t say why.

“How long’ve you been stuck here?” you asked, gently pressing around his knee.

“Two days. Fell through a rotten stair. Made it up here. Radioed out when I could.” He winced. “Didn’t expect it to work.”

“Lucky it did.”

You began unwrapping his makeshift bandage, noting the swelling. It didn’t seem infected, but it would need bracing.

“You brought a rescue party,” Cam said, eyes flicking to Jenna again. “Didn’t know you rolled with soldiers.”

“I’m not military,” Jenna said flatly.

“That a gun I see?”

“She’s with me,” you interjected, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Cam’s gaze lingered on you. “Good. You always needed backup.”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you turned back to his leg and focused on securing it with the splint Jenna pulled from her pack. The tension in the room coiled tighter with every second.

And still - Cam didn’t so much as acknowledge her help.

-

It took both of you to get Cam up and mobile. You offered your shoulder while Jenna trailed behind, silent but watchful. Cam leaned into you more than necessary - his hand gripping your side a bit too tightly, too familiarly. You felt it, but didn’t say anything. Not yet. Maybe it was the injury. Maybe he was just relieved. That’s what you told yourself.

“Missed this,” Cam muttered near your ear. “Being around you again.”

You didn’t answer.

The fire escape groaned under your combined weight as you descended, Jenna watching your every step from the ground below. You noticed how she kept one hand on her side holster the entire time. Not ready to fire. But far from relaxed.

Once your boots hit the pavement, Jenna approached - sparing Cam a single glance before flicking her eyes back to you.

“We should move. Fast,” she said. “Sun’s setting soon.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, repositioning Cam’s arm as he half-limped, half-dragged himself forward. “We’ve got a spot a couple klicks south. Safe. Quiet.”

“Perfect,” Cam grinned, that same tight, too-wide smile. “Lead the way.”

You started walking, careful to keep your pace even - too aware of every brush of Cam’s fingers near your hip.

The first twenty minutes were quiet - too quiet.

Cam asked a few questions about where you’d been, what you’d seen, the usual survivor stuff. You answered in short phrases, eyes flicking to the skyline. Jenna didn’t speak unless she had to.

Cam didn’t ask her anything.

When a hollowed-out convenience store appeared on your left, Jenna offered to check inside for anything useful. You offered to go with her, but she shook her head.

“Stay with your friend,” she said evenly.

You watched her disappear inside,

That left you and Cam alone for the first time.

He leaned against a rusted lamppost, exhaling sharply. “You know, I used to think about you.”

You didn’t answer.

“I mean, I was halfway through Kansas with a group of complete psychos. I’d close my eyes at night and just - remember the way you used to fight in class. Like you were born with fire in your bones.”

You gave a strained chuckle. “I remember you disappearing without a word.”

Cam’s grin twitched. “Yeah. Had to get out. Long story.”

“Still waiting to hear it.”

“You will. Soon.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, more softly: “You look good, Y/N. Like... too good for this world.”

You turned to face him fully.

“Cam, it’s been years. You don’t get to talk to me like nothing happened.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, hey. I’m just saying you turned out even better than I thought.”

You said nothing. Not until the door behind you opened again.

Jenna emerged, a few tins in hand..

“Let’s go,” she said.

You walked faster after that. Let Cam hobble a little more on his own.

-

The sun was just starting to dip below the trees when the villa came back into view - that warm, golden hour glow casting long shadows across the gravel drive. You felt your shoulders sag a little at the sight of home. Even with Cam walking beside you, talking non-stop, there was something in you that unwound at the familiar outline of the roof, the rustle of the garden fencing in the breeze. But something was off - you didn’t know what yet, just a quiet thrum of wrongness tapping the back of your mind.

Jenna was quiet.

She hadn’t said much since you helped Cam hobble through the fields. She stayed a few steps behind you, not out of caution - not entirely - but it felt deliberate. Observational. You could feel her eyes on the back of your neck, but every time you glanced over your shoulder, she looked somewhere else.

And then Angelo barked.

Your heart skipped - not out of fear, but from the sound alone. Home. You smiled instinctively and picked up the pace, only to freeze on the third step to the porch when you saw him.

He was at the door. Hackles raised. Teeth bared. A deep, guttural growl rolled through his chest like thunder caught in fur.

“Hey, buddy,” you called softly, holding out a hand. “It’s just us.”

His eyes flicked to you for a split second - he recognised you, of course he did - but they snapped right back to Cam like a tether, every muscle in his body coiled tight.

Cam stopped walking.

He tilted his head, raising both hands with a forced little chuckle. “Well, damn. You always had a thing for grumpy pets, huh?”

You blinked, halfway between a laugh and a frown.

Angelo didn’t move.

He growled louder.

Cam lowered one hand, taking a small step forward. “You’re not gonna bite me, right, big guy?”

That’s when Jenna moved - fast, silent. She came up beside you and put her arm lightly across your stomach, a casual enough gesture to anyone watching… but you felt the tension in her muscles.

“Maybe let him come to you,” she said flatly. Her voice was smooth, but her eyes were locked on Cam.

Cam held her gaze for a moment, that too-easy smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Then, with a little huff, he stepped back.

Angelo didn’t stop growling until Cam was two paces behind you. Then, finally, he sniffed you - real fast - and pressed his head against your hip with a soft whine.

You scratched behind his ear and murmured, “Good boy.” But your heart felt heavy. Confused. That warning growl… you’d never heard him do that before. Not once.

Inside, you unlocked the door, stepping aside to let Cam in. Jenna didn’t follow immediately. She stayed outside for another second, staring after Cam as he strolled into your living room like he owned the place.

You reached for her arm. “You okay?”

She gave you a short nod, eyes still fixed on the doorway. “Just… keeping an eye out.”

Cam whistled low from the hallway. “You really scored with this place, huh? Indoor pool, backup power, full fencing? What’s next, a damn wine cellar?”

He was already moving through the space - glancing into the kitchen, poking his head into the hallway.

“Cam,” you called, trying to keep your voice friendly, “maybe don’t-”

“Relax,” he said without looking back. “Just checking it out. Never thought I’d see a place like this again. Hell, didn’t think I’d see you again either.”

You bit your tongue.

Jenna closed the door softly behind her and stepped up beside you, arms crossed, stance unmoving.

“Most survivors would be grateful,” she said under her breath. “Not... nose-diving into someone else’s pantry.”

You let out a small sigh. “He’s just... loud. Always was.”

Jenna didn’t reply. But the look she gave you was enough.

Cam eventually circled back toward you, his arms stretched above his head like he’d just come back from a jog. “This place is paradise. You two got everything a person could want. And each other, huh?”

Your throat tightened.

Jenna didn’t flinch.

You smiled, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s not exactly a luxury stay. We worked to make it liveable.”

Cam stepped closer, brushing your arm with the back of his fingers - a touch that lingered half a second too long. “You always were the resourceful one.”

You pulled your arm back under the guise of adjusting your jacket.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, casually.

You pointed down the hallway. “First left. There’s running water - but it’s not hot and the water pressure is kind of shit.”

Cam nodded, already heading there.

The second he disappeared from view, Jenna turned to you.

“You trust him?” she asked quietly.

You hesitated. “I knew him in high school. He was a good guy.”

Jenna’s eyes were tired when she looked at you. “He didn’t look at me once.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “I noticed.”

She softened just a bit. “I’m not saying don’t help him. I’m saying... keep your guard up. Please.”

You nodded.

And behind you, Angelo let out another low, uneasy whine - his eyes still fixed on the hallway where Cam had gone.

-

You found yourself scrubbing the already-clean kitchen counter. Jenna was unpacking a few tins of beans into the pantry, unnecessarily reorganising your already well-stocked shelves. Angelo paced between you both, tail flicking with mild agitation.

Cam hadn’t come back from the bathroom yet, and somehow that made the whole house feel heavier.

“I’ll prep the guest room,” Jenna said, her voice low but firm, grabbing one of the extra sets of linen from the hallway cupboard. She didn’t wait for your nod before disappearing down the corridor.

You let her go. Part of you wanted to follow, to apologise, to tell her that this was temporary - that she was your choice, not Cam. But instead, you turned to the stove and did what you knew how to do best: you cooked.

The fridge still had some of the roasted root vegetables from yesterday - and Jenna had picked a few plump tomatoes from the garden earlier that morning. You diced them without thinking, hands moving on instinct, adding dried thyme and a little cracked pepper to a shallow cast iron pan.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Cam emerged with damp hair, his shirt off now - just the grimy tank top beneath. He tossed the shirt over the back of one of the chairs like he lived here, then leaned against the doorframe and watched you.

“That smell…” he said. “Shit, Y/N. I forgot what real food even smelled like.”

You didn’t look up. “Dinner will be ready in a bit.”

“You always were the kitchen genius.”

You didn’t respond.

He took a few steps forward and leaned one hand on the island. “So what’s the setup here? You and her-”

“Cam,” you said, too sharply.

He raised his hands. “Hey. Not judging. I just didn’t take you for the domestic type.”

You swallowed, turned off the flame under the vegetables, and finally looked up. “People change.”

“Sure,” he said with a smirk. “But do they really?”

Jenna entered just in time, saving you from answering. Her eyes scanned the kitchen quickly, then flicked to Cam’s posture - how he was leaning into your space without realising it.

Dinner was silent after that.

You sat at the end of the table, Jenna to your left, and Cam across. You’d made a simple dish - a warm root and bean salad, with the last of the feta and homemade flatbread on the side. Jenna murmured a soft thanks before digging in.

Cam talked enough for all three of you.

He told you about how he’d ended up stuck in that half-collapsed auto shop, how his last group scattered, how he’d tried to hold out. He told it like a war story, bravado dripping from every word. You nodded politely when needed. Jenna didn’t speak once.

When the plates were cleared and Cam excused himself to “check out the property a bit,” Jenna stood at the sink with her back to you, shoulders drawn.

You joined her, towel in hand. “You okay?”

She hesitated. “I don’t like him.”

“I know.”

“He touches you too much.”

You turned your head, surprised by the bluntness.

“I know it’s not like that,” she added. “But I don’t like it.”

You handed her a clean plate. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No,” she said, finally glancing at you. “I just needed to say it.”

You offered a small smile - then nudged her shoulder with your own. “Next time, I’ll pretend I dropped a spoon on his foot.”

Jenna cracked a grin. “Make it a ladle. Less suspicious.”

The tension didn’t fully leave the air, but it eased. Just enough.

Outside, Cam’s footsteps could be heard crunching over gravel. Angelo was still at the door, hackles no longer raised but posture alert.

Something in your gut twisted.

You hoped it was nothing.

But deep down… you knew it wasn’t.

-

You didn’t sleep that night.

Not for hours, anyway.

Even after the quiet had settled like dust across the villa and Cam had finally shut up and wandered off to the spare bedroom - muttering something about needing a real bed for once - you lay in the dark beside Jenna, your body curled loosely beneath the blanket, your mind flicking through a reel of unease.

He hadn’t stopped touching you. Barely glanced at Jenna. He’d made himself at home in your home. And you hated how you’d let it happen. Or maybe you hated how easily he’d slipped into that role -like the last seven years hadn’t changed anything.

But they had. God, they had.

Jenna hadn’t said much after dinner. Just helped you clean up quietly, her eyes distant. When you passed her a tea towel, her fingers brushed yours, and for a second you thought maybe she’d say something. But she hadn’t. Just dried the plates. One by one. Like they were the most important thing in the world.

Now, in the soft, dim light of your bedroom, her back was to you.

She’d pulled on a hoodie after brushing her teeth - one of yours, judging by the way it bunched around her wrists - and she lay curled around one of the pillows, arms drawn tight to her chest. Angelo was on the rug near the foot of the bed, breathing slow and even, a protective weight in the room.

You watched Jenna’s shoulders rise and fall.

She wasn’t asleep. Not fully. You could tell from the rhythm of her breath. The way her fingers flexed sometimes.

You shifted a little closer. Not touching. Just near enough.

“I didn’t know he’d still be like that,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Cam. I thought maybe he’d changed.”

Jenna didn’t move. But her voice came, quiet and without heat. “I didn’t think he was supposed to be anything.”

“I meant…” You paused, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I meant I didn’t think he’d act like that.”

She turned slightly, just enough for you to see the outline of her face in the dim light from the hallway.

“He ignored me the entire day.”

“I know.”

“And touched you every chance he got.”

“I know.”

Her eyes flickered toward yours.

“And you let him.”

The words weren’t cruel. Not accusing. Just… honest.

You looked down at your hands beneath the blanket. “I froze. I didn’t know how to act. I haven’t seen him since we were seventeen and then he’s just… there.”

Silence.

“I didn’t like it,” you added. “The way he acted. The way he looked at you. Or didn’t. It was off.”

“You think?”

You cracked a smile. Barely. “Okay, maybe I’m understating it.”

She didn’t smile back. Not yet. But she did shift a little closer. The blanket pulled tighter between you.

“He’s in our house,” she said softly. “He knows where we live now.”

“I know.”

“We don’t know how long he’s been out there. Or what he’s done.”

“I know.”

She exhaled slowly, then surprised you by reaching out - just slightly - and taking hold of your hand beneath the blanket. Her palm was warm. Firm. Real.

“I just don’t want to lose this,” she said.

You blinked.

“This… peace. You. The villa. Everything we’ve built.” She squeezed your hand once. “He felt like a reminder of everything we left behind. And not the good parts.”

You swallowed hard.

“I don’t want to lose it either,” you whispered.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

Then Jenna shifted fully, curling into your side, her cheek resting just above your shoulder. Her arms slipped around your middle, and you instinctively pulled her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead without thinking.

The air between you softened again. Like the tension was melting. Like you could finally breathe.

Jenna murmured, “At least Angelo doesn’t trust him either.”

You snorted quietly. “Yeah. I’ve never seen him growl like that before.”

“I like that dog more every day.”

You let the silence take hold again. But this time, it felt warm. Protected. Your fingers found the hem of her sleeve and curled into it gently.

Minutes passed. Your thoughts slowed.

And just before you drifted off, you heard her murmur against your collarbone-

“I still don’t like him touching you.”

You smiled into her hair.

“Me neither.”

--//--

AN: didnt proofread enough i think 🫠

[ihatemyselfhoho]

Hi again yes could you know write a yandere Wukong and Macaque. The reader is from another world okay? They take inspired from oc and they only just want to go home though they actually leave everyone alone they know that this world was once fictional and well they just want to go home. Because who wouldn't? They don't want to be in this world and like they travel a lot get it? And they always use these papers though to write their spells on or more like weird symbols that have associations with different types of elements due to the fact they were trained by an ancient being. An old man named Edward get it? And the reader basically travels all over the world they want to go home but also they don't want to become the very thing they don't want to become and they just happen to run into them. The reader' always covers their face. And think of them traveling and they travel to many places to the point they document everything. In a notebook. They know how to fight they know how to fend for themselves they're actually kind and they smell like the fresh air of the forest or wood or sometimes rain because of where they travel. Their hair is actually pretty long and messy but somehow silky but it's actually very much nice to touch or braid and well yes they make their own things on their own. I hope this is enough information for you.

You were so close that they could almost touch your silky hair and breathe in the comforting scent that surrounded you. Yet, you were farther away than they realized—always chasing something or someone, endlessly crafting spells with those papers, and constantly hiding.

Wukong and Maqaque met you in different ways, but both encounters hold significant importance for them. Wukong first encountered you during the Journey to the West arc. After being scolded by his master, he stormed away to a glistening lake. You, on the other hand, were just traveling and searching for that elusive element—snow. It didn't snow much in your home region, so you decided to leave your master’s side in search of it.

.

.

.

As you walked through the thick wooded trees, you glanced at your map. “Hmm, it’s further away than I thought... Did I pack enough water?” you grumbled, rubbing your forehead. You checked the map again, and to your pleasant surprise, a lake wasn’t too far along the path you were taking. Quickening your pace, you pulled out your flask and smiled when you spotted a clear lake. 'How pretty! It’s too bad I can’t stay in this world,' you thought, walking closer and crouching before the water.

- “Who are you?!” a male voice shouted. You quickly stood up to see Wukong?! His fur appeared darker than in the first season of Lego Monkie Kid and a bit more... messy. 'It's attractive in a way—wait! Wasn't in the whole Journey to the West story arc, Wukong shown to be a hotheaded murderer?'

Caught up in your ordeal, Wukong managed to sneak right up next to you, staff in hand. He tilted his head, his tail swaying in annoyance at your lack of attention.

"Hello? Are you here—why are you ignoring me!" Wukong leaned on his staff, giving you an annoyed glare. You flinched before catching yourself, unsure of how to respond.

"I am the great Wukong! The Monkey King, the Great Sage equal to Heaven! So don't you dare ignore me!" he shouted, his arms waving animatedly in your face.

As you continued to fix your hood, you caught sight of Wukong's expression, a mix of annoyance and hunger. "Ah-sorry...um, I'm just gathering water...don't mind me," you replied, trying to defuse the tension.

Just as you expected him to retort, his stomach let out a loud growl. "Ugh, now I'm hungry, great," he grumbled.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced in your mind, transporting you back to your world. You remembered your little brother, that pesky little guy who used to pester you incessantly for food. Just picturing his wide smile when he finally got what he wanted, with juice dribbling down his chin, made you chuckle.

You couldn't help but wonder if Wukong shared that same kind of innocence beneath his bravado. Did he have a softer side too, one that found joy in little things?

"I have some fruits in my bag, I'm more than willing to give you one," you said as you shuffled through your bag, pulling out a ripe peach. You held it out to him, but in the blink of an eye, Wukong snatched the peach from your hand. He took a big bite, and juice splattered across your face. For a handsome monkey man, he sure ate like an animal. You couldn't help but chuckle at the sight—his enthusiasm was unmistakably charming, even if it came with a bit of fruity mess!-

Wait... you shouldn't have even talked to this guy! Let alone get attached! You got caught up in memories and ended up treating him like a little brother!

"Ah— I must head along now, I have a long journey ahead of me!" you said, smiling nervously as you shuffled away. But then, a clawed hand grabbed your cloak.

"Hey, did I say you could go?" Wukong spoke, his voice more stern.

In a panic, you pulled out a spell—and poof! Smoke surrounded the area.

Wukong grunted, waving his staff around. "Woah!" He rubbed his eye before angrily shouting, "Hey! What was that for? Do you want me to pummel you into the ground—" But when his eyes cleared, they met nothing. You were gone.

A strange feeling weighed heavily in his heart. Could it be a disappointment for you to leave so suddenly? Or perhaps he already misses that rainy scent you carried with you?

.

.

.

Macaque met you around his shadow shows. You had been dragged by your friend, who insisted, "His show is one of the best!" With that joyful smile on her face, you hesitantly followed along.

You settled into your seat, adjusting your mask and hood as your hair flowed out like water. Twirling a silky strand around your finger, you thought, 'I would have it up, but it gets too tangled at times…'

Suddenly, the lights went out, and your friend squealed beside you. "It’s starting!" she whispered, gripping your arm tightly.

As dim lights flickered on, shadows began to crawl toward the stage. A shadow brushed against your ankle, causing you to flinch, but the initial fear soon faded into a curious realization. Wasn't there a character in Lego Monkie Kid who used shadows? What was his name? It felt like ages since you immersed yourself in this world, and the details were starting to slip away…

But that thought slipped away as the shadows formed, creating a story as it danced around, and the man on the stage spoke, his voice itching your ears pleasantly. You start to feel drowsy, as your eyes are lulled to sleep; you don’t even catch your friend saying she’ll grab some snacks to go.

A voice tickles your ear. “Was my show that boring?” The man smirked, his hood covering his eyes. Quickly jolting awake, you scramble to collect yourself.

“Ah—no! It was amazing just—” Your eyes soften. “It was comforting in a way. I remember how my father used to do shadow play with me—sure, it wasn’t as advanced as this, but!” You smile softly. “It was nice recalling that memory…”

The man paused, seemingly flattered, before catching himself. "What's your name?" But before you could answer, your friend jumped by your side with a truckload of snacks in her hands. "Hey! Let's head back to my house and we can gorge ourselves on snacks—before you go do that mysterious stuff and disappear for weeks!" she pulled you along, almost dropping the snacks.

Macaque’s gaze darkened, how annoying. His ears listened to your heartbeat, slow yet strong. Macaque sighed, why was he acting so despondent? And why... why did he crave that rainy smell close to him once again?

.

.

.

Wukong and Macaque think of those moments much, almost obsessively. How can one person, whose face is unknown, whose name is just a dream to hear, do so much on them? They can’t let you go so easily, not now, not ever.

Be careful on your journeys, and always make sure to double check the shadows, and question those colorful birds that watch you eagerly. You may never get back home if you don’t.

.

.

(This ended up becoming a short story, then head cannons! Sorry...but I hope you at least like it!)

[lovequartz]

where our fingers meet.

✵ pairing: town doctor!wonwoo x fiancee!reader

✵ genre: fluff!

✵ warnings: none

✵ word count: 701

✵ crush me in your arms give me a lovelier kiss, lover

✵ notes: yeah i am back with more of this couple <3 i literally cannot stop writing for them

the week before the wedding is stressful, and not for you but for your mother and sister. you are still trapped in somewhat of a daze, you can’t believe you’re getting married let alone who you’re getting married to. your sweet sweet wonwoo, you’re sure you must’ve dreamed him up for it is madness that a man so perfect exists. in thinking of your wonderful fiance you’re awash with a sense of longing that sits heavy in your chest. 

it’s been a little less than a week since you’ve seen him, due to all the planning madness your mother and sister have swept you up into. not to mention the fact that wonwoo had left town for a stretch to visit his parents and travel back with them so they could attend the ceremony. you wish you could’ve gone with him, to have a bit of privacy between the two of you before you were to become spouses. 

silas has been lovely as he usually is, but you suspect that he’s coming to understand that you won’t always be with him so he has been making sure to take up as much of your attention as he can. which is why he currently lays sprawled across your lap while he doodles on the edges of his math notebook, and the accompanying math textbook sits abandoned across the room near your bed. 

you run your fingers through his hair for a few passes, “i thought you promised your mother that you would have a page done by bedtime?” 

silas hums, you feel it against your thighs where his upper body is positioned, and he puts his pencil down and lays his head against his open notebook, “too sleepy,” he murmurs.

your hand moves from his hair to rub his back gently, it was just about his bedtime so the sleepiness was understandable. you leave him be and when you’re certain he’s asleep is when you tuck him into your futon, making sure the blanket covers him. gathering his things, you stack them neatly into a pile and set them near the door. 

as your nephew sleeps you busy yourself with getting ready for bed yourself, changing your day dress with your sleep gown, and running a comb through your hair. 

a few minutes into brushing you hear a faint knocking at your window, its seems too quiet to be actual knocking but doesn’t quite sound like the branches that sometimes scratch at it. you slowly make your way over, and try to peer out the spaces in the slats. after not really seeing anything, you carefully slide the window open just a crack and the sight you’re met with makes you gasp. 

“wonwoo?” you say in disbelief, staring wide eyed at your fiance that stands just outside. 

he gives you a shy smile, and rubs his hands together nervously, “sorry for the abrupt and unannounced visit.” 

you shake your head, still dizzy with disbelief. “what are you doing here?” 

“i wanted to,” he pauses as if embarrassed by his actions, and you notice how red his ears are, “see you.” 

your face heats up at his admission, and you stare silently at him for a few moments before telling him to stay put. assuring him that you would be right there.

you grab a shawl from your closet and throw it over your shoulders before quietly making your way out of your bedroom and out of the house. your slippers kick up loose rocks as you hurriedly round the corner to where your fiance waits. 

he smiles when he sees you, holding out a hand that you take as soon as you’re close enough. both your fingers weaving together seamlessly. 

“is everything okay?” you ask breathlessly, still a bit worried over this unannounced middle of the night appearance. 

his free hand comes up to cradle your cheek, and you melt as his thumb brushes across your skin. “everything is fine,” he replies, “i fear that a week without you is far too long for me to bear.” 

“wonwoo…” you mumbled, flustered over his words, “you could’ve called.”

he shakes his head with a grin, “and miss this lovely sight before me? never.”

notes: okay my lovelies thank you as always for reading and there will most likely be more of this couple from me! let me know what you thought <3

[retrosabers]

𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐒.

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: sometimes you and eddie’s banter can take a bit of a turn

warnings: allusions to smut, swearing

word count: 1.3k

a/n: this is a very small little something to ease myself back into writing. let me know if you would be interested in a second part! :)

“cut the shit munson.” you spit from your place at the other end of the drama room. “you don’t intimidate me.”

eddie laughs, a cynical sound that rumbles from deep within his chest. the boy smirks, and you have to fight the urge to jump across the table and smack him.

“oh really?” he leans back in his throne, spreading his legs wide. “then why are you standing all the way over there?”

you roll your eyes, poking your tongue into your cheek. his arrogance was unyielding, and it seemed especially true when he was in his element like this. eddie was always one for theatrics, even more so after a session of his beloved dungeons and dragons.

it was so irritating.

eddie cocks his head to the side, eyeing you in a condescending way. with a narrowing gaze, you slowly saunter over to his seat, eyes never leaving his. the smirk on his face intensifies. like he had you right where he wanted.

there’s always been a cat and mouse game between you and eddie. a competition to see who could push each other’s buttons the most. your friends nagged you both about the tension that so obviously lingered in the air, but you could never tell if it was from a growing dislike, or just the opposite.

whether eddie was a thorn in your side or the apple of your eye, you would never give him the satisfaction of letting him win. ever. especially in this moment.

the boy props his foot against the edge of the table, and pushes it back. the squeaking sound startles your ears, and eddie can’t help but be amused at the way you flinch. you gracefully slip past him and lean against the table’s edge. you’re situated right between his legs with a sharpness in your eyes that makes his head spin.

“i don’t have all night eddie.” you say with a bit more venom than intended. it was a long and stressful day, and you had been running around campus like a maniac looking for your chemistry notes only to find out the biggest pain in your ass had stolen them after first period.

“relax princess,” he reassures with mock concern. the pet name sets your skin ablaze and he takes note of the way your fists curl around the table’s edge when he says it. “got it right here.”

he reaches behind him for the worn out red notebook.

you scoff. “funny how you would steal my notes for the one class you and i both know you’re not gonna pass.”

he dramatically places his hands over his heart, your notebook pressed against the logo of his hellfire shirt.

“ouch. you’re killing me over here.”

“a girl can dream,” you quip back, lunging to grab your notes so you can just go home. of course, he’s quicker than you, and tosses the journal back onto the table right as you swing foward.

you lose your balance and quickly brace yourself on the arms of the throne. you glance up and find the darkest of chocolate brown eyes boring into yours. your breath hitches in your throat involuntarily, causing eddie to break out a shit eating grin.

“so you do dream about me.” he replies with a cockiness that’s surprising even for him. you’re close enough that you can smell the faint aroma of tobacco on his breath and you can really see the length of his lashes. god, why was eddie munson so pretty? the realization makes your stomach flutter, churning with a feeling that’s never been associated with him before.

but then you remember that it’s eddie, and eddie’s only trying to see you cave before he does. you’re the only person he can rile up like nobody’s business and the feeling is more than mutual. you’ve got each other in equally vulnerable positions; it’s just a matter of who’s facade is going to crack first.

“you’re right.” you admit, your voice far more sheepish than he’s ever heard. it’s bordering submissive, something eddie’s not sure anyone has ever seen from you before. the notion goes straight to his crotch.

the corner of his mouth twitches. it eggs you on.

“i dream about you a lot.” your voice is barely above a whisper as you lean in even closer, palms planted firmly on either side of eddie. a cage of sorts that he’s seemingly fine with being trapped in.

you notice the way he’s fully leaning back now, removing his arms from beside yours to tuck them behind his head. it gives you a peak of some of his other tattoos, and a new angle of his biceps that will likely be the subject of your thoughts for the rest of the day.

“oh yeah?” he asks, voice an octave lower than before. “tell me about it.”

you tug your bottom lip between your teeth and eddie has to fight the urge to close the gap. your lips are nearly touching, hot breath fanning over each other’s cheeks as you feign innocence.

“we’re always in bed.” you continue, eyes flicking over eddie’s form. you can see the way he’s breathing a little faster, and you can definitely see the tent forming in his jeans. you look back up at his eyes and his pupils are nearly black.

you boldly dance your fingers up his torso. “sometimes you’re on top, sometimes i am.”

eddie prays you miss the way his cock twitches at the thought. he doesn’t want to imagine the ridicule he would face if your friends found out. it’s exactly what you’re aiming for.

in an effort to get his mojo back, he gently cups your jaw, tracing the outline of your cupid’s bow with his thumb. he moves it down to pull back your bottom lip, watching with intent eyes as the plush flesh snaps back into place.

heat pools between your legs, threatening to put a crack in your plan that’s very clearly working. but god, there’s such a satisfaction at watching eddie be wrapped around your finger, so entranced by whatever your next move is. you’ve gotta keep the upper hand.

“the best part though” you tease with a wicked grin, ghosting your lips over his.

eddie hums. he raises his brows defiantly, like he’s daring you to confess that you’ve been thinking about him the way he thinks about you. he doesn’t care if this is some stupid fucking back and forth. he wants to hear you say it.

when your hand trails back down and brushes over his crotch, he nearly loses it. you lean in beside his ear, offering a low sultry whisper. the boy’s eyes flutter shut, preparing for whatever’s coming next.

“is when i get to stick a pillow over your face.”

his eyes shoot back open in an instant.

you look like the cat who caught the canary. a devious, cheshire-like smile on your face as you slowly back away from him with your notebook in hand.

“smooth,” he deadpans, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to distract from the now very obvious boner he has.

“sorry, sweetheart,” you mock him, returning to your original place at the other end of the room. “i’ve gotta fly.”

in a bold move, he asks, “does this mean i should swipe your stuff more often?”

your bravado falters for a moment at his question. then, it returns tenfold.

“you’re gonna have to find out.”

you saunter out of the drama room with a teasing salute, picking up your bag from it’s place by the door. eddie, flustered yet scorned, laughs out into the empty room. the sound reverberates off the walls and the empty soda cans still scattered on the table.

two can play at this game. you may have won this round, but there was plenty more coming .

he was so going to get you back.

thanks for reading! <3

[twstgarden]

❁ ❝ 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿 ❞

━ first years and wish-granting magician! gn! reader ━ how would the first years like having a wish-granting friend? (f/n means first name)

requested by: anonymous ♥ request type: headcanon requester’s message: Hayy, Mina!!! First of all i hope you’re having a wonderfull day! Anyways! I saw that your requests are open, and I would like to request some platonic headcanons for the first years gang with a gn!reader who was a wish granting unique magic, simillar to Alluka from hunterxhunter. For the reader grant a wish the person needs to fulfill 3 requests made by the reader (the person is strucked by a curse of bad luck who least for some days if their requests are not fulfilled). Love your writing🌷. florist’s note: i feel like i totally half-assed this, i'm so sorry. anyway, thank you for the request, sweetie! 

this work does not contain spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia's arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open

✦ a unique magic like yours is certainly impressive, especially for your first-year friends. of course, they don’t hang out with you for the sole reason that they like your unique magic. they genuinely care for you, and your abilities are just a bonus for them.

✦ now in terms of each and every one of these sweet little numpty boys, ace would occasionally joke around and ask if you could grant a wish for him. “n/n~ there’s something i reeeeeally want,” said ace as he leaned closer to you, pressing his hands together as if in prayer.

✦ “you need to grant my 3 requests before i give you what you want,” you replied as you took a bite of your meal. ace sighed and sat back on his seat, “okayy~ let’s hear it. what are the things i must do?”

✦ you raised a brow at his eagerness, “…what is this wish anyway?” a cheeky grin found its way on ace’s lips as he joked once more, “i wish to get perfect marks on my test!”

✦ silence.

✦ “…seriously?” you mumbled. sure, ace did have his moments, but it’s not like reaching a high score is nigh impossible for him. seeing your reaction, ace laughed and patted your back, “i’m joking! i’m joking! gee, n/n, you’re so serious.”

✦ deuce, on the other hand, barely mentions your abilities nor does he have any use for it. sometimes, however, he gets tempted.

✦ “n/n…”

✦ “yes, deuce?”

✦ “since you can grant wishes like azul, but you’re less harmful than he is… can you do something for me?” he said it so politely that you can’t help but smile, patting his head as you replied, “sure, what is it?”

✦ “i wish to have a photographic memory… like the kind where i can just stare at my notebook and everything in it gets into my memory…” spoke deuce, making you blink. this is just like ace’s wish but with more steps!

✦ as for jack, he’s the one who never mentions or asks for anything related to your unique magic. he sees no point in asking for a wish when he can just work hard for it, but he greatly admires you for your wonderful ability!

✦ instead of asking for a wish, he compliments your skills instead… of course, it’s rather awkward.

✦ “uh… you did… good.” that was all jack said in response, making you blink after you used your unique magic on a student that passed by you and jack, asking for a wish and they have fulfilled all your requests. as sweet and generous as you are, you granted this student their desires.

✦ their wish? to get all 3 ssrs in the game they’re playing in a single 10-pull.

✦ jack was with you during the process, and as soon as the student walked away, he tried to compliment you, only to end up being awkward about it. you chuckled as you replied, “thanks.”

✦ as for epel, he was quite chill about it. similar to jack, he barely mentions or asks for anything regarding your abilities, but he does praise you a lot better than jack does.

✦ “woaahh~ you’re like a genie! so cool!”

✦ you were grateful with how epel compliments you, but you felt as if calling you a genie is a stretch. sure, you grant wishes, but you’re not as powerful as genie, no? at least, that’s what you think.

✦ ortho, on the other hand, has known of your unique magic before you revealed it to the rest of the group. he had everything analysed and statistics of your power were already read by him.

✦ “f/n l/n-san, your magical abilities are extraordinary! granting wishes in exchange for three requests puts you at an advantage. ah… but i don’t understand why deuce spade-san says it’s almost like azul ashengrotto-san’s unique magic…” spoke ortho as he conversed with you.

✦ “oh, pay it no mind, child,” you replied, “i guess it might seem like azul’s magic on the surface since we are both the ‘wish granting’ types.”

✦ lastly, sebek does not acknowledge it too much. yes, he knows you grant wishes, but it’s not like it’s something he needs to take note of. he has no use in having you grant him a wish when he can just work twice as hard to achieve what he wants.

✦ he doesn’t know how to properly compliment you either, but he thinks it’s impressive at the very least.

✦ but of course, nothing tops the power of his master.

✦ and grim? he tries to use it to his advantage. he would constantly pester you, even when you are in your dormitory, asking for a wish of thousands of tuna cans, grilled meat, salmon, and whatnot. his wishes were never-ending.

✦ every time you give him 3 requests, he ends up not doing them in the specified time frame you have set, causing him to get a string of bad luck for a week straight. the poor monster with a bottomless pit was very furious that week.

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[xf-cases-solved]

ayyyy, @numinousmysteries, guess who it is! it's me, your secret santa for the @poangpals gift exchange, here to gift you words that are kinda angsty, kinda hurt/comfort-y, and kinda (or more than kinda) horny. i've written a lot of cancer arc lately and was like "hmm, maybe i should branch out..." BUT, when i saw your ideal episode was "memento mori but they bang at the end," i was like, "okay, well, obviously this was meant to be." so that is what i have brought you! a post-memento mori fic where they bang at the end! thank you for everything you bring to this community. you're a baller and i hope you enjoy your gift <3 -diz Title: Memento Vivere Word count: ~6500 (bc i can't shut the fuck up to save my life) Rating: Explicit Here's the link to ao3, or save yourself a click and read below!

***

Memento Vivere

She is in the middle of grimacing at her own reflection in the small compact mirror she found at the bottom of her overnight bag when Mulder shows up at her hospital room, keys jangling in his hand as he hovers in the doorway, neither outside nor inside, like he's uncertain about what kind of proximity he's allowed this morning. Like she's a skittish cat he's trying to win over. And what grates at her isn't his tenuous disposition—it's that it's completely warranted, and it's so jarring to be known so well.

She knows that he knows that she bared her heart to him last night, and is now grappling with mortification. She's never been good with emotions. In college, she could do a walk of shame with her head held high, but when a lover would voice their affection for her she would suddenly become incapable of looking them in the eye. Her heart is in a lockbox and sometimes she goes so long without opening it she almost forgets the combination, and when she does manage to pop it open she gets frantic, wanting to immediately slam it shut.

"You about ready to go?" Mulder asks casually. Too casually. He's assessing her like he would a suspect, adjusting his tone to meet her mood and make himself more approachable, and she wants to snap at him for profiling her, but she won't. She can't. Not without confirming his analysis of her, and she doesn't need to open the spine of her book any wider when he can already read her with such clarity.

In her writings—the filled pages already torn from the notebook and shredded into pieces in the wire trash bin next to her bed—she had thought she was divulging the secrets of her heart to him. It occurs to her only now, as he watches her from across the room with a purposefully mild expression, that while he may not know her every thought, he is the only other person who knows the combination to the lockbox in her chest. He could open it at any time, but he doesn't. He could reach inside her and hold her beating heart in his cupped hands, learning every detail and committing it to memory, but he would never take from her anything that wasn't freely given. His respect is almost more overwhelming than anything, because it's a reminder that if he weren't an honorable man he could ruin her. He has access to her nuke, and she can do nothing but trust that he won't hit the button.

"Yeah, just a second," she replies—casual. 

She slips the compact mirror back inside her bag and gets to her feet. She tries to summon the woman inside her who walks down the hallways of the Hoover Building—confident, assertive, and unaffected by stares or assumptions—but it's difficult without her body armor. Even though she only had one infusion of the chemo, her body still feels frail and hungover, like the day after a bad twenty-four hour flu, and she's wearing flats with her yoga pants and sweater, highlighting the height disparity between the two of them in a way her heels usually help to mitigate. There wasn't a hair dryer to use after her shower, so the natural curls she usually irons out are taking over, absurdly making her feel disorderly and sloppy. And she's not wearing makeup, and it's not the dark circles around her eyes or even the mole above her lip that she's self-conscious about—it's the freckles that spatter across her cheeks and nose. Well put together women don't have freckles, and she's sure he's going to interpret her vulnerabilities on her sun-kissed skin like the soggy tea leaves at the bottom of a china cup. 

The worst part of dying, she's starting to think, is the discovery that her walls that felt sturdy like concrete are actually made of straw, and there's nothing like an illness to come sweeping through to blow your house down.

On the way out of the hospital they pass the room Penny died in. She looks away from the door, and Mulder looks at her. In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment he reaches over and squeezes her hand. 

They don't say anything. 

Scully thinks his choice of silence says more than words ever could.

*

When she wakes up on her couch she isn't sure if it was the nightmare that roused her, or the relentless throbbing in her head.

The ride back home from Allentown had been uncomfortable in every sense of the word. Mulder had rambled theories at her—about Dr. Scanlon and MUFON and government agendas—until her lack of engagement made the conversation eventually dissolve, first into him nervously chattering about the most ridiculous X-Files cases he could think of and, when that didn't work either, into nothing, a pall falling over them as she shifted restlessly in her seat, unable to find a position that didn't feel ill-fitting like a shirt that she couldn't untwist. They didn't once speak the word cancer.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep after he dropped her off, but ten minutes into some daytime talk show and she was suddenly dead to the world, and judging by the low light that surrounds her, she has slept all the way from early afternoon well into dusk. The TV still flickers at her, now playing the evening news, and she's sure that there aren't going to be any headlines about manufactured brain tumors and shady oncologists who betray their Hippocratic oath by purposefully poisoning women who look to them for salvation. The types of horrors she witnesses rarely make the news. Not with all the facts attached, at least.

She pushes herself up with a groan. Her head really hurts, and although her first instinct is to attribute it to the mass in her sinus cavity, when she reaches up to swipe under her nose there are no remnants of dried blood, and the dryness of her tongue and hollowness of her belly makes her think that the rhythmic throbbing in her skull is probably because she can't remember the last time she had a glass of water or a single bite of food. 

She goes about the motions of getting together what she supposes is technically dinner, even though she forgot to proceed it with breakfast or lunch, and when she gets it all together—a hearty meal of half a banana, a slice of buttered toast, three ibuprofen, and a tall glass of ice water—she settles back down on the couch and assesses the other ache she'd awoken with.

The nightmare is formless in her memory, lacking a cohesive plotline now that she's in the waking world, but nevertheless, the emotions it stirred up inside her are visceral. There is a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, bottomless as the abyss. It's a type of fear that grips her from the inside, putting her adrenal gland into a chokehold and activating her fight or flight, except she can't fight her own mind anymore than she can flee it. 

This is how she knows, even without the details, that her dream was about dying.

These types of dreams have been coming to her more frequently nowadays, starting the night Leonard Betts spoke five chilling words to her in the back of an ambulance. She's had friends who have been pregnant, and they would often tell her about the constant dreams they would have on the subject throughout the entire nine months. In a way, she figures, it's a similar concept; she and her friends all have had dreams about what their body is growing inside them—the notable difference of course being that they grew something into life, and she's growing something that takes it away. 

Tomorrow she is going to have to start making phone calls. Make appointments and discuss treatment options and try not to get discouraged when the options are limited. When she first told Mulder about the cancer, he had been so insistent, saying, "There must be some people who receive treatment for this," and at the time she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell him that she wasn't sure she was going to be one of them. The odds were, and are, so heavily stacked against her, and as a medical doctor she is very aware that sometimes quality of life outweighs the quantity of it. Her experience in Allentown hasn't really endeared her toward the idea either, if she's being honest, and not because of Scanlon, or even because of Penny, but because she had not felt sick at all, up until she tried to treat the illness, and then suddenly she'd been in hell. 

But while she may be uncomfortable with how much of herself she bared to him last night, she knows that she made promises that she can't take back. She is loyal to a fault, and she gave both him and herself her word that she would continue to live as long as she could, and so she will. 

She's just not convinced much of her life in the upcoming days and weeks and months and maybe even years will feel much like living. In fact, she's pretty worried—down to the very depths of her subconscious, if her dreams are any indication—that she's going to feel like she's dying.

They say doctors make the worst patients. Sometimes that's because of stubbornness. Sometimes it's because they know exactly what to expect.

She finishes her meager meal and drinks down the last of her water. She slips an ice cube into her mouth and bites down on it, shattering it into pieces. The enamel of her teeth has always been sensitive to temperature, but instead of being off-put by the pain that spikes through to her jawbone when the ice touches her nerves, she revels in it. Her head, while somewhat improved, is still aching, and she finds herself appreciating that as well. She finds she is grateful for the signs her body is giving her to tell her it's still here, and maybe that's the trick. Maybe to get through this she has to go into it with a respect for the pain. This only hurts because I am alive, she'll have to train herself to think. 

She can do that. She's certainly stubborn enough. 

She wishes it didn't all have to be about pain, though. She doesn't want to forget that a body can feel good things too.

Ice crunches between her teeth, shocking her like a root canal, while she thinks about the signs of life that are enjoyable. Warmth. Comfort. Pleasure.

Pleasure.

On the TV, the news anchors are tying up their reports that are lacking things they don't even realize are missing. In her mouth her internal temperature warms the ice water, and the ebbing of the pain is a brief moment of gratification that acts as a sampling of what endorphins can do. 

Tomorrow she is going to have to make plans to put herself in a varying, yet indefinite state of pain, and she will have to learn to appreciate it in order to remember how to be alive. 

Tonight, however, she could remind herself in a different way.

It is a terrible idea.

It's an idea she has had a million times before and has stamped down just as often.

Ten minutes later and she's out her front door and getting into the driver's side of her car. Muscle memory guides her down the streets toward Alexandria, while she spends the whole drive telling herself to turn back.

She doesn't.

*

"Hey," Mulder says in surprise, eye widening slightly at the sight of her standing at his door. He's got on a white tank top and dark grey sweatpants, looking nothing like the federal agent he usually does. Instead of seeing a professional, albeit a tad bit crazy, government official, she sees her friend in the way that is much easier to ignore when he's wearing a suit and an ugly patterned tie. Like this, he exudes masculine energy, and her eyes are immediately drawn to the slopes and curves of his muscular shoulders and biceps. There is hair peeking out on his chest where the neckline of his shirt dips low. He hasn't shaved for at least a day, an even stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaw. She drops her gaze to the floor before he can catch her roaming eyes, and she sees his feet are bare. For some reason that's the most intimate part of it all, and the reality of what she's come here to do hits her like a freight train and she flushes with what must be a particularly spectacular shade of red.

In contrast, she's feeling a lot like she did this morning, like a soldier out of uniform. She's wearing the same pair of yoga pants, and under her coat she has on a faded souvenir t-shirt her parents gave her after an anniversary trip to the Outer Banks well over five years ago. It occurs to her only now that she'd left in such a rush that she hadn't even bothered with a bra, and she becomes instantly aware of the oversized shirt brushing directly against her breasts.

At least she wore boots with a heel this time, but in reality it's not doing much to level the playing field. Mulder's six-foot frame still dwarfs her completely, and while she normally feels like a peer in his presence—like a respected intellectual whose gender is totally irrelevant—tonight she is feeling a lot like she did the first time she entered a university science lecture and found herself surrounded almost entirely by men. The difference is that back then she had felt, ridiculously, embarrassed by her femininity, hyper-aware of every questioning stare, asking the same question: What is she doing here?

But like with most things, Mulder—simply by virtue of being Mulder—challenges her way of thinking. While she has long since stopped viewing her womanhood as a flaw, she is always viscerally aware when the people around her view it as one, and over time that has bred resentment. Standing here before him, though, she holds no animosity toward the difference in their sexes. Like the way her science complements his reckless belief, so too, in this moment, does her feminine ying balance his masculine yang. 

She doesn't even worry about the freckles on her makeupless face. 

"Scully?" He sounds concerned, and she realizes she's been standing here in silence after appearing at his apartment unannounced, and the last time they saw each other it had ended with her muttering a curt goodbye as she all but bolted from his car to escape the suffocation of her own self-imposed belief that emotional vulnerability was akin to disgrace.

But what Mulder isn't privy to yet is that the shame from this morning about being so transparent has been wholly replaced by the need of a dying woman to be reminded of the good parts of being alive. Scully is ready to be bare, by every definition, and she can only hope that he'll let her. 

Refusing to give in to cowardice, she forces herself to look up from the floor to meet his eye. 

"Can I come in?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course." He angles himself to place a hand on the small of her back, ushering her inside, and even through her coat and shirt the contact burns like the ice touching her enamel. She kicks off her boots, sinking back down to her natural five foot two—three, if the height gauge at the doctor's office chooses to be generous—and lets him take her coat and hang it up, before leading them both over to the couch. He plops down, leaving a purposeful vacancy beside him, and looks up at her expectantly, but she doesn't sit. Cocking his head, he asks, "Are you all right? Why are you here? If you needed something you know you could have called me and I would have come to you. I know you only went through one day of treatment, but I'm sure it had to have taken a toll on your—"

"I'm fine," she insists, cutting him off. She doesn't say it harshly, but she doesn't leave room for him to argue against it either, even though she can tell he desperately wants to. Instead, he chooses to heed her command, and presses his lips closed, waiting for her to tell him why she's standing here when earlier today they drove over three hours and she had barely said a word the entire time.

It's possible she didn't think this far ahead. More than that—it's possible she hasn't thought this through at all. 

But she's committed now, and she's starting to feel feral, her needs centered around primitive instincts. It is in every species' nature to fight for survival at any cost, but she is burdened with a human's intellect that can allow her to deny herself continued survival if doing so also means prolonged suffering. If she is to keep her promise—if she is to fight for her life with treatments that make her feel sicker than the disease they're targeting—then she has to go into it with a memory that reminds her why it's worth it to stay alive.

She walks over to his desk and leans against it, mindlessly thumbing through documents strewn carelessly across the top. There are pieces from casefiles, and pages photocopied from obscure books on phenomena she'd never believe. There are scratch pieces of paper with notes scribbled on them, written in a shorthand that she's sure only makes sense to him. There are newspaper clippings and articles torn from tabloid magazines he would call source material, and she would call a scam. She doesn't read any of it, but she keeps her eyes trained on them as she considers her next steps.

Gaze pinned on a faded picture of some kind of creature that has clearly come off a printer that was running low on ink, she finally says, "I want to ask you for a favor, but I should warn you that it's a bit unorthodox."

"Unorthodox, huh? I dunno, Scully, I'm a pretty conventional guy, I'm not sure I can handle anything out of the ordinary."

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. How does he do that? she wonders. How does he know how to calm her when he doesn't even know that she's feeling frantic in the first place? 

That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you. That are you. 

Those were words she had written only days before, placed inside a journal that was meant to be a confessional, but again, she should have known better. What use is there in inviting someone into your heart when they're already there?

She stops fiddling with the contents of his desk and looks over at him. He's regarding her with an expression of concern that on a different day she would construe as pity and detest, but right now she has the capacity to accept that he's looking at her like that, not because she's weak, but because he cares. Because he's worried. Because he wants her to live.

"Last night, when you said you read some of what I wrote... how much did you read exactly?"

Mulder rubs the nape of his neck and shrugs.

"A bit," he says, which she takes to mean "all of it." She can picture him, after confirming she was safe, sneaking into her hospital room and sitting on her bed, skimming each page, and then going back through a second time to take it in more fully. It should feel like an invasion of privacy, but instead her impulse is to huff a small laugh. She tries so hard to hide from him, and yet he finds her every time.

"So you know about the treatment. What it feels like." He nods slowly, like he's trying to piece together what she's getting at and hasn't quite formed a cohesive picture yet. She sighs.

"Tomorrow I'm going to set up a meeting with Skinner and take him up on his offer in getting into contact with an oncologist. We can still pursue the case—that is, if any new evidence presents itself to give us any new leads—but in the meantime, I need to figure out what treatment options are available to me. Time is of the essence in these sorts of situations." 

Mulder nods again, still waiting for the clarifying piece of the puzzle.

"Mulder, without talking it over with a specialist, I can't know for certain what treatment route they're going to have me take, but with my medical background I can make an educated enough guess to safely say that, whatever it is, it's not going to be pleasant."

"Any help you need, Scully, you know I'm just a phone call away. And don't worry about work. If you have to take leave that's fine. What matters most is that you get yourself health—"

"I know. I know that, but that's not what I came here to talk to you about."

"... Okay." He gives a small shake of his head. "What then? What's the favor?"

Scully draws her lower lip between her teeth. 

"I need your help," she says slowly, "in reminding myself that my body can do more than feel pain. That it's more than just a vessel to get me from one place to another... I need you to help me remember why it's worth saving."

"I don't..." he starts, but his sentence trails off as she makes her approach over to him with a purposeful gait. She goes to stand between his legs and he opens them wider to give her space like the action is automatic. He tilts his head back to look dumbly up at her, and the change in dynamic—her above and him below—makes her feel some type of way low in her belly. 

She reaches out and cups his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone with her thumb, and she sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. She thinks the picture may be becoming clear to him now.

"Scully—"

"You can tell me to leave," she cuts him off. "You can say no and I won't hold it against you. We don't ever have to talk about it again. But if you're willing..."

Mulder gives a breathy, disbelieving laugh.

"Scully, trust me, it's not a matter of whether or not I'm willing, but look at what all you've been through in the past couple days. I don't think you're thinking rationally, and I don't want to take advantage—"

"Not thinking rationally? Me?" She smiles a little as she pulls her hand back, making a point to drag her fingers slowly across his skin on the way, and she doesn't think she imagines him leaning into her touch. "Mulder, I appreciate your concern, but why don't you let me decide what I do and don't want to do."

"Scully..."

"Do you trust me?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Of course I do."

She takes hold of both of his wrists, and when she tugs his arms out to settle his hands on her hips she's met with slight resistance, but she knows it's just for show. She's not weak, but he's got plenty of strength to get away from her if he really wanted to. Instead, the pads of his fingers press into her pelvic bone, even after she's dropped her hold on his wrists.

"Then trust me when I say this is what I need from you," she says. She smirks and adds, "I told you it was unorthodox." 

"You weren't kidding," he mutters, and fuck, his eyes are boring into hers so intensely she nearly shudders. 

Sweatpants are not exactly ideal when it comes to maintaining modesty in sensitive situations, and Scully's effect on him does not go unnoticed. Her eyes dart down to the significant bulge between his thighs, and then back up to his face where he gives a bashful half-grin accompanied with a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say "can you blame me?"

"I won't hold it against you," she tells him again, "but I do want this."

"Fuck," Mulder breathes. He shuts his eyes for a beat, like he's trying to compose himself, and then blinks them back open, embers of an impending fire starting to glow behind his dilating pupils. "This is a bad idea," he tells her, stating it more like a fact than as a deterrent. 

"Maybe," she agrees.

"We have to work together tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that one, too. You don't think this will... change things?"

"Not if we don't let it." 

"You really think it's that simple?"

She considers the question. Considers whether or not she can learn what it's like to have him explore her body tonight, and then pretend like she didn't come morning.

"We're two consenting adults," she says, evading the question. "Has the thought of doing this really never crossed your mind?"

"That... That feels like a leading question."

"Would it make you feel better if I said that it has definitely crossed mine?"

"Jesus, Scully," he breathes, shifting in his seat and clutching her hips so tight that she won't be surprised if later she finds finger-shaped bruises on her skin, reminiscent of dusted prints at a crime scene.

"It's just sex, Mulder," but even as she says it, she knows it's a lie.

He knows it too, judging by the muscle twitching in his clenched jaw as he holds her eyes with a steady look.

"Is it?" he asks evenly, and they both know the answer is no.

No. Of course not. Sex could never be "just" anything between them, but the reason why is a topic they've come to an unspoken agreement to never acknowledge aloud. But Scully isn't stupid. She knows that the way electricity behaves between them—constantly thrumming and sparking, in tense situations as well as banal—isn't normal. Four years ago she dropped her robe in front of him in a candle lit hotel room, and she hasn't stopped feeling his gaze on her lower back since; the tender way his eyes roved over her delusive mosquito bites is as permanent a tattoo as the blood red ouroboros that has only recently lost its scabs.

The term "something more" is a vague and fanciful concept she would sooner dismiss as nothing but a perpetuation of commercialized romance, if she herself wasn't subjected to it on a near daily basis. Since day number one there has been an elusive "something more" surrounding them, fighting for their attention, even as they so ardently deny its existence.

So no, it isn't just sex, but Scully also didn't come here to give voice to the elephant that follows them from room to room. To put it plainly, she came here so he could fuck the will to live back into her body, and she refuses to lose sight of her mission.

So in lieu of a response—because she can't animate any elephants, but neither can she lie to a man who treats truth like the core tenet to his religion—she instead throws caution to the wind, swoops in, and kisses him. 

Ice touches enamel. She wants it to burn.

Whatever reservations or protests he may have been fighting against must not be too hard to cast aside, because his response to her is instant, tilting his head to slot their lips together and kissing back so forcefully their teeth clack together. But even that doesn't, or maybe can't slow them down.

Mulder's hands move from her hips to her ass, and in a single swift movement he lifts her onto his lap. He swallows her surprised gasp as she straddles his thighs, his hard cock brushing her center, the layers of their clothing teasing her relentlessly when right now she needs skin-on-skin more than she needs air.

Mulder seems to be of the same mind, because one second she's sitting astride him fully clothed, and in the next he has somehow stripped her of her shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Returning the favor, she peels his off too, feeling like a kid at Christmas unwrapping the box she knows contains the best present under the tree.

Scully tries to recapture his lips, but he stills her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He then leans back to get a good, long look at her.

"God, Scully," he whispers reverently, eyes trained on her chest. He reaches out to touch her, and when he does her breasts fit perfectly in his hands. Tentatively, and with such profound focus you'd think he was attempting to split an atom, he pinches her left nipple and rolls it experimentally between his index finger and thumb. It's such a simple touch, but it goes straight to her leaking cunt, and when she moans Mulder's attention darts back up to her face, the embers behind his eyes now a full-fledged forest fire, blazing a warpath through the trees. He makes it a point not to break her gaze when he leans in and takes the same nipple into his mouth.

"Mmm," she hums, letting her head loll back. He sucks the nub of her nipple taut, and involuntarily she bucks her hips in response. 

Mulder mumbles something incoherent against her breast, and when she asks for clarification, he pulls away with an obscene pop and then nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck, saying, "You're everything."

Everything. Like he ran through the full gamut of adjectives and found himself wanting. Like she is so many things at once that there isn't a single word that encompasses the breadth of her worth to him. 

You're everything.

It's the most overwhelming compliment she has ever received, because she wants, more than anything, to live up to it, and yet she's not even sure if she is going to be able to simply live, period. She's not sure when her greatest fear became failing him. It might have been the first time he ever challenged her. When she stood in front of his projector, veiled by the illuminated slides he'd already prepared for her arrival, as he quizzed her on chemistry, and causes of death, and the supposed limits of science in a vast and complex universe. She had wanted to prove herself to him then, and then just never stopped. 

The truth of his influence over her is too much to handle right now, so she decides to kiss him again—an act that is quickly becoming her new favorite strategy for deflection—and then buries her fingers in his hair. She oscillates her hips in slow circles, taunting them both with light but consistent pressure on his cock. She feels him twitch in anticipation for her, and her pulse throbs in her cunt in turn.

"I want you," she whispers against his lips, but he shakes his head.

"No," he murmurs. "No, not yet."

Before she can ask him for clarification, he's lifting her up with a firm grip on the backs of her thighs, and then proceeds to lay her down lengthwise on the couch.

There's a manic energy wafting off of him in waves, and yet, in total contrast, the way he slides her leggings and panties down and off her legs is so purposeful and leisurely that she has the absurd thought that nobody has ever undressed her with such respect before.

When he kisses her soundly on the mouth and then begins making a trek down her body with his lips and tongue and an occasional nip of his teeth, she feels—for the first time since she stepped foot inside his apartment with this ludacris idea—a pang of apprehension.

For the most part, she isn't a self-conscious person. Once she got past the awkwardness of adolescence, she's had a fairly healthy relationship with her self-image. But that said, Mulder's intended destination is obvious, and she's had enough sexual partners turn their nose up at the suggestion that for a moment she worries he's only doing it because he thinks she expects it of him.

But then he settles himself in between her thighs and peers up at her with a hunger better fit for a man so far into starvation he's about to succumb to it, and she realizes then that while he may be able to read all the words on her every page, it is not a one-sided transparency. If ever there were to be a scholar on the topic of Fox William Mulder, she would be the one.

The apprehension, already fleeting in the first place, dissipates entirely, and she lets her legs fall open in invitation.

There is no hesitancy in his acceptance. He uses two fingers to part her labia, and then starts off by dragging the flat of his tongue from her soaking entrance up to her swollen clit in one long stroke, and that alone has her crying out, unconcerned about how she sounds or how thin the walls might be. 

Never a man to miss important details, it's unsurprising the speed at which he masters the intricacies of her body. She knows he's paying attention to every miniscule shift in her body language by the way he adjusts the pressure and speed and direction of his mouth and tongue. When he slips one finger inside her, quickly following it up with a second, and pulses a come hither motion as he sucks on her aching clit she wants to sob. He eats cunt with the devotion of a holy man, and he makes her feel deserving of being worshipped.

This is why it's worth it to live. Because for every twinge and ache and pain her body is capable of, it is equally capable of so much good feeling that it could constitute a religious experience. That while there are always going to be moments of suffering, there are also going to be moments of pleasure, and to truly live you have to accept the full spectrum of what it means to possess a human body.

When the coiling heat in her cunt finally boils over, and she arches her back and cries out Mulder's name while a rapturous climax works through her, suspending time and space, she thinks to herself, over and over like a mantra—like a promise: This is what I'm fighting for. This is what I'm fighting for. This. Is what. I am fighting for.

When she comes back to herself enough to spring into action, she is barely conscious of her own movements, acting more on primal instinct as she yanks Mulder up and kisses him sloppily, licking into his mouth and tasting herself on his tongue as she manages to flip them so that he's lying on his back, panting up at her with blown pupils and parted lips. 

She gets his sweatpants and boxers pulled down past his knees, and he kicks them the rest of the way off. He curses when she takes hold of him and guides him to her entrance, unable to wait to be filled by him any longer. 

He's so big, and even with the slickness from her orgasm she has to take him in slowly, letting her cunt adjust to the stretch of him. 

"There's so much of you," she groans, rocking her hips, slipping him in further inch by inch. He's holding onto her hips again, gripping her like she's a life preserver as he clenches his jaw, clearly trying his utmost not to thrust into her before she's ready for it.

"You feel... Jesus, Scully, there aren't words to describe how you feel," he says, strained between gritted teeth, and she's so thankful for him. For his patience. For his attention. For the "something more" between them that she doesn't dare give a name to, even in the privacy of her own mind.

When she finally takes him to the hilt, it feels like an accomplishment. Skewered between her legs on his massive cock, she has the same sense of satisfaction she gets when she pins him into a corner during a debate. Already he has infiltrated almost every aspect of her life, and now he's inside her body as well, and she understands what he meant before, because it's everything. He's everything.

She tells him so, and that's more than he can handle. After the words spill from her lips, he thrusts up into her, making her shout, but on the next thrust she meets him in a counter-rhythm, driving him impossibly deeper inside her. The apartment is full of the sounds and smells of sex as she begins to ride him in earnest. She plays with her own tits, and he watches her, rapt with attention, and when his breathing starts to hollow, he puts a hand between her legs and lets her rub her clit against him.

"Yes," she moans, riding him harder, shocked that he has her teetering on the edge again so soon. "God, yes. Mulder, I—I'm going to—" 

She completes her sentence nonverbally, falling over the edge once more, and this time Mulder follows her. He's chanting nonsense syllables that are probably supposed to be her name, as she clenches around him and milks his cock dry, letting him fill her fully and completely. She wants to feel his spend leaking out of her later. She wants to feel bruised when she walks. She wants to remember every last second of tonight—even if they never speak of it again—because she is going to need the memories in order to face what's waiting for her come tomorrow.

When they've both returned to Earth, they stay joined together in silence for just a little longer, searching each other's faces, possibly for signs of regret, or maybe just for the sake of looking. He pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear and she lets her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch. Between her legs he's starting to soften. Her unorthodox favor has been fulfilled, and reality is hurtling back to them at speed.

"Thank you," she says, not opening her eyes. 

He doesn't respond for a few beats, and then he says, "It's worth it, Scully. Remember it's worth it." 

She nods. 

It's so easy, she thinks, to be aware of her own mortality. To remember that she will die.

She vows now that, in the face of every upcoming obstacle, she will remind herself, often, that she can also live.

[fractiflos]

Answers to the Asks

There was only one like, so I should only answer the first one... But I really did want to answer some of the others, so below the cut will be the other ones I wanted to get to. And here's my answer to 19.

I wanted my username to have something to do with cats, but before I made my Ao3 account, I had to make an account on something else (forgot what) and spent way too much time trying to come up with something that wasn't already taken. So, I went with an old pen name I came up with and never got to use because I figured it wouldn't be taken. Jane, after Jane Eyre, one of my favorite books. Alice after Alice in Wonderland. And Rosewood, after my cat Rose. (I was right, it wasn't taken)

2. I do try to use paper, but I lose pens and notebooks really easily. Also, I tend to grip pencils really hard for some reason, so my hand gets sore fast. I generally keep all my writing notes and stuff on my laptop, because it's a lot harder for my brain to lose something so expensive.

6. I kind of plan beforehand. After I come up with the general idea, I think of an ending to work towards. Then I try to come up with some stuff in the middle. But it's not super detailed so a lot of the finer stuff is up to "go with the flow".

12. I love comments because it's always nice to hear (read) that someone liked what you wrote. I sometimes go through periods of no energy but I do try to reply to each comment. But it weirdly stresses me out when the comment number is higher than the kudos number, so sometimes I delete my replies. Also, when I was young, I went through a superstitious phase. I'm over it now, but to this day seeing the number thirteen gives me a stabbing pain in the eyes (I can handle seeing it written but not the number itself) so I do appreciate that nothing is at that number.

10 + 3 - It depends. If it's a gift or a prize, I can usually get it done in about two weeks cuz then I'm really motivated. I'm currently on a "One WIP will get weekly updates and then move on to the next" schedule. One-shots, should take about 1 - 2 weeks if I'm motivated. If not... Well, Primary Colors was sitting in my drafts for about one and half years for one example.

14. Ghastly Advice. I looked it up once and the word count is long enough for it to qualify as a novel lol.

15. Current WIP name: Killer Rabbit. It may change when I publish this one-shot. I haven't seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail but I was shown the killer rabbit clip and it made me think of AFO. There should be more Bunny for One. So, I'm working on this one-shot where he turns into a rabbit (it was also a prompt I once made but I really wanted to write it, so I'm working on it)

16. Yes! AUs are always really fun because I can either make stuff up completely (like in Swan Sight) or have fun putting The Characters in a different media universe (like in The Other Father).

18. I can't stand silence. I usually put on whatever music I'm listening to (I cycle through different types) which at the moment happens to be anime openings. My favorite is Idol by Yaosobi. Though sometimes I just turn on my fan and use that as background noise.

20. I like a lot of genres. I guess I should say romance because of all the KudoIchi fics I write, but I like others too. Crack/any kind of comedy is fun because it's nice to know I made people laugh. I really like fantasy, but I don't get to write enough stories with it. Maybe I should write more fantasy one-shots. Horror is also fun to write. I'm a scaredy-cat when I read it, but it doesn't bother me as much when I write it.

21. I die like all the One For All users when AFO caught up to them.

22. Me being ace and not liking sex scenes all that much, I'll have to go with Plot with some porn. I actually haven't written a sex scene. Maybe I should try (I know one WIP where it would fit) but it would probably be really bad.

23. No matter what, I think this crown will always belong to Sensei | All For One/Sensei | All For One.

24. I can't think of a singular comment because I reread a lot of my comments when I'm feeling down and need motivation. I guess it would have to be the long ones though, because there's more to motivate me!

25. Some days, writing is the only reason I have for living. So, if I'm going to keep writing and living, then I want to improve.

That's everything. If there's any other questions you have though, feel free to ask. My inbox is always open!

[firedrakegirl]

Pheobe was focused on her writing, a single earbud in and playing music to drown out some of the sounds of the cafe. Her tea had long since gone cold and her posture resembled a question mark more than a person. She was on a roll and didn’t look up until someone gently tapped the table across from her.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here? The other tables are full.” The man had long dark hair and enchanting emerald eyes. He had a divine aura, but seemed to be trying half heartedly to hide it.

Between being pulled from her hyper focused state and the anxiety of suddenly being addressed, she froze up. After far too long a moment of his watching her expectantly, she nodded and blushed.

He sat across from her with his cup of coffee and his eyes rolled over her form. “Thank you. You can call me Loke.”

“Phoebe. It’s nice to meet you.” She managed to get out. She straightened up to offer him a hand to shake and her entire spine sounded like rice crispies.

“Are you quite alright?” Concern lit his eyes. There was something odd about how he was sitting in the chair.

“Mmhm. Just haven’t moved in a while. Would you mind watching my things for a moment?”

When he nodded, she stood and went to the restroom before getting in line for a fresh cup of tea. Sadly, she hadn’t inherited her mother’s fire powers, so she needed a fresh cup instead of reheating it. When she sat back down and met his gaze, she blushed brightly. “I got too into writing and when you distracted me it was like I got all the status effects ever. Had to pee, needed a drink, need to eat, etc.” she rambled before blushing more. “Sorry, you didn’t need all that information.”

The god’s face broke into a smile and he shook his head. “You mortals never cease to amuse. What are you writing?”

“Oh, just a silly little story. Nothing all that interesting or exciting. Just a way to relax after work and away from my real life, you know?” She observed him as he listened to her and then it hit her. He was trying to mimic the humans in the cafe. His upper body was in a similar posture to all the business folk who would work all day here, but his lower body’s posture was far more casual. She had to hide the chuckle. He was trying to mesh with the humans, with no idea of how to actually do so.

“Sounds interesting. Care to tell me more?” He sipped at his coffee too casually, like he was savoring a rare treat.

“It’s the story of a human princess who finds herself in an arranged marriage with a demon spider prince. Shes terrified of him at first, but then finds that a lot of the way she thought about his people was all misconception and misinformation. Eventually they fall in love and confound everyone who thought it would be an uncomfortable political marriage.” She summarized, shrugging a little. “It’s all kinds of silly tropes and chaos and not the most logical, but I enjoy it.”

“A princess and a demon spider. Thats not a story you hear about every day. Midgardians are so creative with their stories.”

“Oh, we really are.” She couldn’t help but agree. “Do you enjoy stories?”

“Very much. Where I come from, most of them are tales of wars and battles, so the changes here are a delight. I can find stories in all kinds of topics here.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

They continued to talk through several more cups of tea and coffee, several pastries, and her laptop dying. Eventually, the cafe was closing.

“Would you like to meet again sometime?” Loke asked hopefully.

“Oh absolutely. Let me write down my number for you.” Phoebe quickly scribbled it on a bit of paper from her pocket notebook. She handed it over as she packed up. “Next time you’ll have to tell me what you’re the god of.” She winked at him as she stood and walked out of the cafe before he could reply.

[haecien]

Prankster — Y.JH | warnings - cursing, kissing

I found this cool prompt generator for ships! If ya want the link its here ;D

2/ 13

Link to the masterlist!

Pt. 2 Yoon Jeonghan

Yoon Jeonghan, how do I even begin to explain this prankster? You don't even know what is up his sleeve this time, he pulls the most predictable pranks but I always keep falling for them.

He always pulled some type of prank on the teachers every week, I'm surprised that he isn't suspended yet. " hey psst y/n. " I looked behind me to see jeonghan, I rolled my eyes at him and replied " Yeah? What do you need this time. "

He scratched the back of his head looking a bit embarrassed " Well... you know the scary teacher who's always on my back right? " I nodded my head " Yeah?... where are you going with this. " jeonghan took a deep breath

" Can you stick arround with me, I got introuble with her and I need to actually act like I've changed... maybe if in hang out with you more she would think I got more behaved? "

you felt sick of even having the thought of being seen arround him, but he seemed really genuine this time, he looked at you for a while with a sad expressed. You sighed and given into him " Fine, but on ONE condition. If you pull another one of your pranks again im ditching you. " he let out a slight giggle

" Can't promise that, ill try though " a sly smile spread across his face, you don't know whats wrong with you. You HATE him, but why are you getting so soft with him? Haha, love is werid isn't it?

A few weeks passed by and you realized he wasn't all THAT bad, sure he was a bit mischievous and a bit of a prankster but he was genuinly nice and made you laugh sometimes.

" Hey y/n, I got us some drinks from the cafeteria! You want one? " before I could even reply he cut me of " No? Okay ill have it all to myself! " " YOON JEONGHAN! " you flicked his forehead and grabbed the other drink from his hand " Oww! " he said playfully as you both laughed it off

" Ah, fuck I have to study for a test, Sorry I have to go " you felt a bit sad that you had to part ways so early, you grabbed onto his arm. " Isnt it Chemistry that you need to study for? I can help you. " you felt a little flustered when his eyes light up, he looked so happy and he quickly got out his notebook from his bag

" Whats taking you so long! Let's start! "

You both studied for hours, it was becoming late and your eyes became heavier and heavier by the second. You constantly kept yawning, Jeonghan asked if you wanted to stop but you insisted it was okay, " So, were done with Ionic and Molecular Compounds. Tell me whats the difference? ... " Jeonghan flipped through his notes and started to read out what he wrote

His voice sounded so calming and soft, eventually you dozed off into a deep slumber. Jeonghan got a bit startled and thought you had died on the spot but he placed you on his lap and didn't even move a single inch, he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear and looked at you with a smile on his face. He gave you a little peck on the forehead,

" Its sad that you won't be able to know what I'm about to say, the truth is. I lied about everything, I just wanted your attention to myself. "

Eventually you woke up to see you lying down on his lap, you looked up and saw that he had fallen asleep too. You were flustered and got up, God how long were you out for? You began to start cleaning up your stuff and placed them into there proper places

" Goodmorning to you angel. "

" Angel? What kind of nickname is that. " " The type of nickname that I gave to the person I like. "

"... Fuck you, Yoon Jeonghan. "

Cien rambles

I was giggling while writing this HAHAHA, our gentle sexy is up next👀 GOD this is so much fun to write i love it!!! Also wow I got 7 followers:D thank you so much❣❣

[sapphoaleucate]

Care Toolbox !

Lately I've been wondering how to be intentionally kind to my people, because I love gently and often care more than I show. So I made myself a Care Toolbox. I'm sharing it here in case you need one too.

This is a collection of small things you can do or say to show someone you care. It’s quiet kindness. Thoughtful gestures. Words and comfort. It's all just saying "I see you and I care".

Tiny acts of kindness

Offering the comfy chair/pillow/spot in the sun/near the fan ;

Bringing tea/snacks, loved/comfy drinks, loved/comfy food ;

Leave snacks near their bag/extra pen ;

Leave sticky notes reminders ;

Do a task without asking ;

Give permission to cancel plans, remind them you love them anyway ;

...

Be a good listener

Listen ! Don't give solutions when you're not asked to ;

Have a notebook where you write down what people love, in order to make thoughful gifts, and talk about their interests. You can write their birthday too. It can also help you remember some detail they shared, like an exam, a medical appointement, or a hard date - check in ! ;

Care without fixing or judging.

Some gentle scripts : I know you don't ask, but is there something I can quietly do for you ? Have you eaten something real today ? I keep a biscuit in my bag for emergencies - want it ? I'm headed to the shop - need anything ? Hey, I noticed you've been showing up even when it's hard. That's real strength ! No need to talk. Just come sit with me if you want. Texts : Thinking of you, no response needed. Just saying hi in case you forgot you're loved. ...

Material toolbox

Always have : tissues, menstrual protection, phone charger, umbrella, water bottle, hair tie, snacks, "No need to reply" notes to stick on little gifts, soft blanket ;

A little pouch with calming things inside (lavender, gum, tiny charm...) ;

...

For close people - The Hug-Worthy Crew !

Put a blanket over them if they fall asleep near you ;

Warm their hands in yours when it’s cold ;

Bring them their “emotional support drink” without asking (tea, juice, rum, whatever) ;

Cook or order their favorite meal when they’re down ;

Keep “their” snack at your place ;

Drop surprise treats in their bag/pocket with a note like “You are not allowed to forget how great you are.” ;

Speak for them in stressful social situations: “Hey, they’re a bit peopled-out, we’re gonna step outside.” ;

Say “I got this one” and handle the annoying call, errand, or admin thing they keep putting off ;

Hold them tight in your arms ;

...

My signature marks of love

I LOVE weird rocks, often pick up the best ones ; sometimes I give one I really really love to someone who needs him more than I do ;

I often say inside phrases that mean "I love you" without directly saying it (e.g. "Don't forget your tupperware" = I'm here for you)

I often cook ramen, and make my own broth ; I take some in a bottle and call it a "Care potion" to give to someone's body ;

All these warm gestures that say : I've got you. I hold you. I'm guarding you, guarding your sleep, guarding your stomach. You're safe here. Stay as long as you need. I'm yours for leaning on. I'm not afraid of your pain. I see you. All of you. And I'm staying.

Sorry it's a little longer than I expected ! Hope you'll enjoy.

I'd loooove to read yours too ! What's in your Care Toolbox ?

[wcrldcfvtlvsarchive]

Sloane decides to listen as Claire begins to rattle off questions, however, Sloane isn't the type of therapist to just answer questions as soon as she hears them; the way Sloane worked was allowing her patients to say whatever is on their mind because sometimes speaking out loud was a lot often had answers hidden in their questions. As Claire speaks, she reaches for her notebook and pen and begins to write down the questions that Claire has for her and decides to wait until she is done speaking to finally answer them one by one. Glancing down at her notes, Sloane crosses one leg over another while she rests her hand on the written page, and offers a gentle smile.

" It's completely normal to know what you want to do with your future. For twenty-four hours back in Raccoon City you were in survival mode, then you set off to find your brother, another survival thing you did. Now? Well look at you, " she gestures to the room they're in before bringing her attention back to her. " You're choosing yourself by talking with me and seeing me, and you're trying to heal. In a way, you made a goal. A goal to heal and overcome the traumas you've endured. " Sloane states gently and calmly. " I think you wouldn't be here if you didn't already have an idea that you wanted to go back to school, and since you're asking me, I think it's a good start. That way you won't be overwhelmed by assignments, the people, and just the environment overall. "

Even though Claire wanted to continue what she was doing, Sloane would have to advise going back to the college she originally attended however, there was a middle road to take. " If you don't want to do community college, you could always try online courses with the original college you went to, however, in my personal opinion, I'd have to advise against it, reasoning being, that you might get PTSD from when you left your class to go to Raccoon City in search for Chris. " Sloane replies as she begins talking with her hands. " Think of it this way, you walked through a door you can't turn around and go back into. You've seen things, done things and your life is no longer the same. I think a fresh start is what is needed for you, progress isn't linear but I'd hate to see you fall back attempting to grasp a life that isn't the same as it was. "

Letting Claire sit with that for a moment, Sloane offers a sad smile as she thinks about the fear of Chris. " No. It's not weird being afraid to lose Chris, " Sloane states, " He's your family, your only family who knows exactly what you've been through if not worse. The most you can do is communicate with him, ask for updates, or maybe...." she trails off for a moment before picking her words carefully. " You could pick a profession where you'd be able to know what's going on with him. But you can't worry too much about him when you have your own healing journey to go on. "

It felt like coping with dark humour was better, it's kind of how she is or started to be. she never used dark humour before and somehow it ended up being there. The going back to college was high on her list and not sure if she wanted to keep studying what she did before. "What if I don't know what I want to do in the future?" Claire felt like she has been targeted because of the whole Raccoon City and it probably doesn't help either that she's Chris his little sister. Findeling with her fingers while looking down at her shoes before looking back up to look at Sloane. "Setting goals? No, I haven't. My goal used to be finding Chris and ever since that was the case I haven't really set any other goals."

Adjusting her ponytail as she leaned more back onto the chair that she was sitting on. Still playing with her fingers, tapping her feet on the floor. honestly she never really thought of going to community college. She would love to get her bachelor's degree for journalism maybe even literature. She did journalism before she dropped out of college and she was doing so well.

"You think, it would be a good idea to go back to college and to start of at a community college? Because I want to get a degree I really do. Or finish what I was doing." Living in New york at an apartment with her brother although chris was never home so it was more her place. Chris just pays for the rent that she didn't had to worry about. Looking around in the room as she was thinking on what else to talk about or what else to say to her. "Is it weird to be scared of losing Chris?" She suddenly asked, she never even realised this or thought about it. The work chris does makes her wonder that if she would ever get the call telling her that Chris died.

Yes she is scared of losing him that would mean that she is all alone as she has no family besides her brother. To be fair she doesn't really have many friends either, besides Leon. Who she hasn't seen since they both escaped Raccoon City.

Letting out a sigh, there was just a lot that she had going on and she wished she had a normal life, which she doesn't. She was absolutely aware of that. Not after the whole being beating up by Wesker and then knowing that she is also on a target list. It was not the life she thought she would have, here she is.

[deadinthedisco]

California Dreamin'

summer nights as an up and coming seventies rock band

word count: <1000

warnings: swearing, moustaches

.

"Marco, if you don't stop messing with that needle-"

"I'm not!" Marco screeches in defence from behind his new porn stache, lifting his hands up in a surrendered position when Harry saunters over to his new record player and stands in front of it protectively. You giggle quietly at their behaviour, squinting as you watch the boys squabble from the patio doors. Harry had saved money from his first released record to buy this Technics player, so he was feeling precious about it. He'd only really let you fiddle with it, but you always saw him monitoring you over your shoulder.

Melanie stalks down the rich oak stairs in her new bootleg jeans she found in a small charity shop back home, her worn down guitar in hand and a notebook. She wrote the best songs on her oldest guitar. You'd said to Harry a few years ago that you believed everyone's instrument is supernaturally bound to them in some way. You were both pretty high at time.

"God, Melanie. I miss my jeans so much." You whine.

"As if you're not looking unbelievably sexy on that garden chair over there. Marco, here, come and get the gorgeous pregnant woman a drink, would you?" Melanie replies, leaning to kiss you on the cheek and propping her things on the cream sofas. She snatches her scarf from over the lamp in the living room and ties it around her neck.

"Is this gorgeous pregnant woman in the room with us?- Ow! I'm messing, you miserable old sod." Marco sends you a wink but is quickly reprimanded by a swat to the head by your man, who was intensely inspecting his Bowie vinyl for scratches. You quietly giggle, knowing yours and Marco's relationship was playful and unserious, though you really liked Harry's protectiveness.

"Talk bad about my missus again and I'll rip that monstrosity clean off." Harry points to Marco's moustache before patting his cheek heavily, looking over at you with a glint in his eye. You grin, pretending that didn't make you slightly turned on. You were pregnant, it was hard not to be turned on by anything Harry did. Especially when he was wearing his maroon corduroy trousers and just a tank top, cigarette hanging from his lips and a glass of whiskey in the other. Your hand rests over your bump covered by an airy white summer dress, and Harry looks at you from across the room like you hung every star in the sky.

Marco appears by your side with a cloudy lemonade and you smile, grabbing his hand in a thank you and shifting on your garden chair to feel more comfortable. Harry had rented this place for your stay in Malibu whilst you, him and the rest of the band wrote their new album, but sometimes you secretly wished you could live here forever. Large veranda doors that open wide to let the setting sun in, beautiful oak walls and avocado coloured marble on the kitchen floor. You could sit and write every day here.

"What's on your mind, my pretty lady?" Harry's deep voice is smooth like treacle in your ears. You glance over to where he's situating himself on the other outdoor chair, stubbing out his cigarette now that he's next to you. Opal coloured sunglasses cover his eyes, and his hair remains slightly more grown out than usual. He always looked like this when he wasn't doing shows, kind of rugged, rockstar-ish. You loved it.

"I love this house, so much." You breathe. He grasps your hand and kisses it softly, holding it there as he sighs contentedly, glancing over at the skyline and the sun creeping behind. An orange glow sets over the small house and you smile, observing Marco and Melanie trying to light the old barbecue that must have been at least ten years old. Harry's hand creeps up your leg under your white summer dress, slipping it over his knee so he can run his hand up and down - brushing over your ankles every so often.

"How the fuck do you where these when you're pregnant?" He fiddles with the strap of your brown wedged heels.

"Just 'cause I'm pregnant doesn't mean I can't still dress nicely. You know, I found a column in the paper back home by this young'un called Sophie Clark. She writes little fashion pieces at college. She's dedicated a section to me every week. 'The stylish lead starlet of The Saffron'. I need to keep up appearances." You muse, fiddling with the large thin hoop earrings that Harry had gifted you just the day before.

He leans down and kisses your shin, before travelling his hand to your bump unconsciously. "I know. I read it sometimes when you're away at your writing sessions back home and I can't see you. Need to know what you're wearing so I can picture taking it off you--"

You give him a knowing look, and he closes his mouth immediately with a mischievous look. His hand moves in gentle circles over your stomach and you revel in the feeling. It quite literally could not get any better than this. A warm, summer evening in California, the smell of incense coming from inside the house. The hum of The Mamas and Papas travelling from the turntable speakers.

"We're gonna write some good shit here, guys." You inhale. Harry hums and reaches for his notepad on the ground next to the chair, flipping it open and writing something down pensively.

"You found a muse already?" You try and peek and he laughs, slamming the leather bound book shut and grabbing your hand to plant a kiss.

"Just feeling inspired. Entranced. In love." He murmurs and closes his eyes, "I've got all of my muse right here in my hand."

.

heyyyyy!!! so i've kind of created a new lil universe after watching daisy jones and falling into a hole of 70s obsessions again. lmk if you'd like more little blurbs from these characters. I introduce you to The Saffron. my own little seventies rock band.

[nekoannie-chan]

Different escape plan

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Mutant!Avenger!Reader.

Word count: 872 words.

Summary: You have a different plan to escape from the Accords.

Warnings: Canon divergent

A/N: This my entry to @incorrectmarvelquotesss‘ 1000 Followers Celebration with the incorrect prompt #3:

"Why are you still here?"

"Because I care about you, you asshole."

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum  @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae  @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose  @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry​  @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch   @chaoticcollectivenightmare​ @ @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club​  @marigoldreamer​

You dropped the notebook you held in your hand. One of the disadvantages of your powers was that you couldn't control when you were going to have a vision.

You weren't going to let Steve make a mistake, and you weren't going to give Ross the nod either. Of course, there was another way, one they evidently hadn't thought of.

In fact, no one knew that man was going, apart from Tony, and you had never trusted him. Of course, you had seen a lot of things.

Having visions meant that you were not always going to heed them all, as it was very easy to change the course of what would happen; however, sometimes it gave some advantages.

"Do you know what it comes to?" Steve asked you, and you were just about to inform him when Vision told them.

"To something that won't suit us," you answered dryly.

Steve signaled to Wanda and Vision to continue, but he stopped you. "What exactly do you mean? "he questioned, mortified.

"Well... it has to do with the Sentinels and all that stuff I lived on the run from for a long time," you said, looking him in the eye.

Steve nodded; he understood, but that didn't mean he was going to let it happen.

Sitting there while that horrible man told lies was one of the hardest things you had ever done in your life.

Not to mention the pressure they wanted to put on you afterwards to sign the Accords.

"I have to save Bucky," Steve told you after the discussion you had with Stark.

"I know, and you also know that I can help you," you replied.

"I don't want you to be in danger...

"You know I'm not going to sign them," you interrupted him.

"I know, but I need you to be safe. I'll get you... as soon as I can. You know they'll be looking for me.

"Uh, the right Captain America is going to break the rules," you scoffed.

"Y/N," Steve scolded you.

"Don't worry about me, Steve; I'll be fine; you know I have my contacts." You smiled; you knew what was going to happen, but you wouldn't let it.

You had your own plan, and this was where you would cause the future to be different. In your vision, you had gone with Steve to rescue Bucky and ended up fighting Stark and the others at an airport.

Now you would go ask the mutants you knew for help. Erg could help you escape; he knew everything to do with the subway, while John could warn you in case they were chasing you, and as an additional plan, Clarice could give you a way out through a portal.

You hadn't said anything to Steve either; you knew he didn't want anyone else involved, but you weren't going to let the Accords ruin their lives either.

Getting the help of the other mutants was easy; you simply had to tell them what was going on and show them the Accords document that Ross had given them.

No mutant was going to sign the Accords, so you told them your plan, and they all agreed to help you. Esme had even told you of a place they could not enter if you were chased and would shelter you.

You saw the old factory; you had to get them out of there. Bucky in a few minutes was going to wake up.

"Who's in there?" Sam asked.

You grimaced; Steve wasn't supposed to involve any more people, but there was Sam, who was supposed to have nothing to do with it and should be out of danger.

"Y/N? I told you to take shelter. Steve scolded you as soon as he saw you, and Sam was perplexed.

"Why are you still here?"

"Because I care about you, you asshole."

"I don't want to put you in danger."

"You won't.   I have old friends, so Steve, we have the plan to escape.

"We're going to be on the run," Sam said.

"We mutants know a place where the authority Ross has can't do anything; they'll take us there." I talked to my contacts, and it's all arranged.

"Did you know what was going to happen and not tell me?"

"If I told you, you would surely do everything to make it happen; I got a way out; don't worry, Lorna and Marcos will take care of getting Wanda and Clint to safety... "

"How do you know...?"

"Steve, I know a lot of things—more than you think." We have to hurry; they will be waiting for us at the airport, but they will be bored, and by the time they realize we won't arrive, it will be too late.

"Bucky... "

"You can come with us; they will help him there too."

"How do you know these people?" How do you know we can trust them? Sam questioned.

"It's a long, old story from when the Sentinel program was active."

"How much longer will we wait?" Rhodey complained.

"They should be here by now," Tony replied. He didn't know what he would tell Ross; no one knew where the others were.

[frannyzooey]

In The Dark: Chapter 2

Ezra x F!Reader

Chapter One

Summary: After a couple of lonely months as a new transplant to New York City, you meet Cee in your grad school writing class and hit it off immediately. Finally finding a friend, you wouldn’t risk upsetting that for the world — until she invites you over for dinner one night and you meet her guardian, Ezra. Immediately drawn to each other, you both know it would be wrong to get involved — but you just can’t help it.

Rating: none now, but this will be an age gap fic - I’ll rate it explicit when we get there

—

You secretly wished you could spend the night in the laundromat. 

Enveloped in the cozy, fragrant warmth, surrounded by the low, rhythmic rumble of the dryers; you had a suspicion it would be the best night of sleep you’d ever get. 

You had been slightly worried about the logistics of laundry when you heard it was rare to own a washer and dryer in New York, but were surprised to find out how much you ended up liking going there. The satisfying click of the quarters into the machine, the methodical folding of clothes that allowed your mind to wander while your hands were busy, the people watching. 

The free wifi, of course, was an added bonus. You used it frequently, your laptop open in front of you now while you trace the edge of the table you sit at with your fingertip. The formica is worn and scratched from use, smooth and cool under your touch and you wonder what it would be like to lay your cheek on it. Your computer screen dark, your gaze is resting instead on your washer across the room while you listen to Cee. 

“Where are you?” she asks, the sound of a washer door slamming shut momentarily drowning her out and you push your earbud deeper into your ear. 

“The laundromat. It was time.” It was, judging from the outfit you were wearing. 

“I told you, you should just do it at my place. We have a washer and dryer. A real luxury,” she teases and you smile, doodling a design in the corner of your notebook. 

“Meh, I like it here.” You did — it really had become one of your favorite places. A slice of the city all rolled into one - the constant movement of people around you, the task itself so mundane and normal. Everyone had laundry to do. “Tell me more about this application. What’s it for again?”

“It’s just this short story thing,” she says, going into the details and you listen while narrowing your eyes at someone checking the time on your dryer. Keep it moving. 

“I gotta get the outline made,” she continues, getting your attention again.  “Hey, wanna go see a movie tonight? Ezra texted me. He had plans, but they got canceled. A date or something.” 

You stiffen at the mention of the word date, your brow tugging together. “I didn’t know he was dating anyone.” 

“He’s not,” she replies. “But he goes out a lot. Probably doesn’t wanna sit at home with me all the time,” a tone of self deprecating humor creeping into her voice. “He meets people real easy — women are always chatting him up. It’s kinda cringe sometimes, ya know? The way they throw themselves at him.”

You had noticed that. 

You’d been hanging out with them a lot lately, since your first trip over to their house. Eager to show you around town, they had been taking you out to dinner at places in their neighborhood; the two of them arguing over which place to go. Lots of visits to tiny, crammed bookstores where both Cee and Ezra had this endearing way of leaning in close to the bindings, crawling their fingers over the titles to keep their place as they browsed. 

After a few visits to their house, you thought maybe you sensed something between yourself and Ezra. He had this way of looking at you, his eyes sliding down your body before quickly coming back up with a smile. A touch of his hand against your back in the kitchen, a teasing bump of his shoulder on the couch. Standing close while waiting for a table at dinner, his fingers brushing yours when he took the books in your hand, insisting on paying for them. You had liked it all, maybe a little too much, until you saw that’s how he was with everybody. 

Warm, personable, always making small talk, always flirting with that lilt in his voice. It was like it was nothing for him to instantly build a comradery with whoever he met, immediately putting them at ease. He was present and open, familiar in his touches and smiles, but he didn’t always come with and when he was gone, you found yourself waiting for him to show up. Hoping, actually, would be the better word. 

You tried to hide it from Cee, assuming that your friend wouldn’t be too happy to know just how much you looked forward to seeing her guardian and probably would like it even less to find out how much you thought about him at night, alone in your bed. Rolling onto your side, slipping your hand out from underneath the waist of your briefs; your body sated and sleepy. 

She knew you fairly well by now and sometimes you wondered if she had any idea. Hopefully not - you didn’t want to risk your only friend. 

You hear the sound of traffic in the background on her end and thinking about how much you’ve read into his actions, a wave of embarrassment washes through you.

“Anyway, he was bummed,” she continued. “I guess he really wanted to see it. Something about space. You in?”

You didn’t have anything else to do tonight. Tamping down the embarrassment you felt a minute ago and resolutely ignoring the leap in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again, the buzzer of your dryer sounded loud and you stood up, grabbing your canvas bag. 

“Sure, sounds good.”

–

It’s funny, especially given how charming he was, that it never entered your mind that Ezra might be out with another woman when he wasn’t around. The word “date” lingering in your mind as you folded your clothes, you didn’t know why you assumed he was with friends, or at a bar, or running antiques errands when he wasn’t around. It’s like the word unlocked something in your brain and you found yourself unable to stop thinking about it that afternoon, the idea still tugging at you when they picked you up for the movie. 

Who does he go out with? What kind of women does he like? You thought about these questions as you sat in the backseat of the car, staring at the dark curls on the nape of his neck while he and Cee joked in the front seat. The city slid past your window, the blue tones of twilight bathing the buildings. What was he like with them? Was he like how he is with you? Different?

“You okay back there?” he asked, looking over at you in the ticket line and you nodded with a self conscious smile, embarrassed that your withdrawn silence had been noticed. 

Stepping up to the window with an easy confidence that you now knew was just him, you watched him order the tickets and thought about how he did that with everything. Loose in his skin, a stroll when he walked; it was the same kind of casual deftness that you noticed when he cooked, when he drove, when he sanded a desk or paced while he talked on the phone. He knew what he was doing, was comfortable in his body and as you glanced at him standing in line for popcorn, you noticed the breadth of his relaxed shoulders under his T-shirt, the rounded bones of his shoulder blades pulling the fabric into a tight drum. 

He stood there like he was meant to be there and it was funny, you couldn’t explain it, of course he was meant to be there but he acted that way everywhere — in line at the coffee shop, at the grocery store, reading in his living room. It was a confidence you admired, one you wish you had. One that told you (and everyone else) he knew what he was doing and you wondered what else he knew how to do. 

“Large, right?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in wait for your answer and when you nodded, you liked the way he ordered for you. His actions made you feel taken care of, made you feel as though he had everything under control, which appealed to you, especially since moving here had left you feeling so……unmoored. 

His close cropped hair was disheveled as usual, the bright white threading with the dark at his temple and you admired the fine lines surrounding his eyes, the strong bridge of his nose. His tanned skin was clear but textured, aged in a way that made him even more handsome and you longed to touch it just to see how it felt. He shuffled closer to you, making way for someone else to pass him, and you inhaled his masculine, clean smell; the warmth of his body felt so close to yours. He seemed so strong even just standing next to you like this, his frame larger and taller than yours. 

Your eyes focused on the tiny curls of dark locks at the nape of his neck, the ones you’ve seen him push his fingers through to scratch absentmindedly when he reads and you wonder what it would be like to do the same. The urge to place your hand on his lower back pulled at your hand, an ache to feel the solidness of his body and you wanted to fist the cotton of his shirt loose at his sides and tug him closer just to fit your lips against that pebbled hollow of skin below his ear and smell him. 

You wanted him. More than you’d wanted anyone in a very long time; maybe ever. It was almost unbearable sometimes, the magnet that pulled you toward him and you wondered if he ever felt it too. You thought so, judging by the way he looked at you sometimes, but you assumed it was probably just wishful thinking.

Filing into the theater, you sit between the two of them and when your knee presses against his, you will yourself not to move it away. Again, when his forearm shares your arm rest, again when his shoulder fits neatly against yours. You subtly lean into his warmth while talking to Cee, hoping neither of them notice. 

When the lights dim, the tension you feel between your bodies raises a notch and you suddenly feel restless, finding it hard to breathe steadily. He shifts in his seat to get comfortable, the light of the screen illuminating his profile and you fight the urge to look away from the screen and just at him. 

Taking a sip of soda to distract yourself, you pause for a moment when he holds his hand out and when you give it to him, you watch the way he takes a slow drink from the same straw. This is so dumb. Why does it turn you on so much that his lips are touching right where yours had just been?

Placing the drink back in the holder, he shifts again in his seat and leaning closer, you are going to ask him if he has enough room, when he has the same idea. Your faces almost come together, his warm breath skimming over your lips, his hand coming up to catch your cheek to steady you and just a moment, your mouths are inches apart.

“Sorry,” you immediately apologize, the whisper felt against his mouth and his eyes drop down to yours for a moment before he catches himself, leaning back. 

“It’s okay,” he replies with a smile, but you notice with disappointment the way he pulls away from you, shifting to lean to the other side. 

You stare resolutely at the screen in front of you, trying not to feel hurt and the rest of the time is spent trying to ignore the steady, thick tension between the two of your bodies as you try to focus on the movie instead. 

–

“Ezra.”

The three of you turn in the lobby at the mention of his name, a woman walking towards you and when she gets close enough, you back away slightly to give them room to hug. 

“How are you?” She is pretty, you note, her eyes shining with affection at him. 

“I’m okay,” he answers, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he grins at her. “You?”

He looks over his shoulder a moment at Cee, an acknowledgement that he’ll be a minute and as you ask her what she thought about the movie, your eyes keep glancing over at him. The woman’s hand is resting on his arm and he is laughing, an obvious familiarity between the two of them. You wonder how they knew each other. Did they date? 

“Hey,” he says, leaving the woman standing and waiting, “I’m gonna go grab a drink.” He gestures over to her, receiving a warm smile in return. “Will you two be okay getting home?” His brow momentarily scrunched in concern, Cee waves it away while rolling her eyes.  

“Of course. Go have fun. We won’t wait up.”

He says nothing, his eyes flashing towards yours and you aren’t sure because it happens so fast, but you think you see them skim down your body with something that looks like…want. He turns, walking towards the woman with a smile. 

“You ready? Let’s get out of here.”

–

You keep your distance after that. The sting of his rejection felt every time you thought about that night, you felt silly to even feel it because you knew how one sided the crush was - yet you couldn’t stop. Rather than be confronted by his face and the reminder of how he felt sitting so close to you, you start inviting Cee back over to your place. It was better this way, you told yourself. Just end it before it gets any worse. 

It wasn’t too hard to avoid him anyway with how school took up most of your time these days. A month or so into the semester, classes were getting harder, deadlines filling up most of your weekends and you didn’t think you had ever read so much in your life. The leaves began to change color outside of the public library as you sat in your favorite spot by the window, the beginning of fall felt in the crisp air as you walked around campus and even as busy as you were, you looked forward to when you and Cee could fit into each other’s schedules. 

She liked coming over to your place for dinner, but after almost a month of accepting your invitations, she extended one to you for her place, insisting that she felt bad because you were always cooking for her. You said yes because you didn’t want to hurt her feelings - or, that’s what you told yourself anyway. 

A nervous energy lights your body up from the inside out, even more so when you picture his face on the way over to their house and when you climb the familiar stone steps, the front windows are dark. Not sure if anyone is home, you knock just in case, pulling your phone out and getting ready to call Cee, the door opens. 

“Hey there.” Ezra stands in the doorway, his fitted t-shirt covered with a fine, light dust and your breath catches at how good he looks; better than you remembered. It’s like seeing him anew after all this time brings the crush back tenfold and hearing the register of his voice reawakens the hunger you felt before. 

“I haven’t seen you in awhile. I’ve been asking Cee about you.” He wipes his hands on a rag and you watch the movement for a moment, his features flickering with something like concern shifting into curiosity. “Wanna come in?”

“Sure.” 

“She’s not going to be home for a while. I’m just working right now, but come and keep me company. I’ve missed you. Tell me what’s new.”

“Not much,” you replied, dropping your bag by the door and following him back to his work room. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, dust motes slowly swirled in the beams and the trembling, powerful voice of Cat Power sang out into the room before he lowered the volume on his stereo in the corner. 

“Just busy with school.” You leaned your hip against the corner of another piece of furniture, the worn cloth covering it coated with fine wood dust. You push a pile of it around with a finger tip, making a small hill. “Not a ton of time for anything else.”

“Sounds lonely.” He returns to his task, sanding the dry, aged wood of the desk in front of him and you watch as he focuses on it for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Cee’s been keeping you company though, right?”

“Yea, when our schedule’s line up. I know she’s working on that submission right now. It’s been fun talking about it with her when she comes over.”

“She’s at book club right now, right?” He looks up at you, clear interest on his face. “What about you? Have you found any groups to join yet? Any book club or writer groups?” His arm flexes with effort as he pushes the fine grit sandpaper across the edge of the desk. “Cee found some on Meet-Up, have you used that? Or Tinder, maybe? Depending on what kinds of activities you’re looking for?” He thumbs at an imperfection and looks up, a curl of a grin under his mustache and you huff a laugh. 

You feel embarrassed at the question, not wanting to admit the trouble you had finding friends in this city. He made it sound so easy, like you could just go out and join groups and find your people and it probably was that easy for him - he definitely seemed like the type who could do that. You hadn’t seen him for a month and he’s picking up like no time has passed at all between the two of you, not missing a beat. It relaxes you, puts you at ease and you think about how much you missed him. 

You don’t want to touch on Tinder, not wanting to tell him that you did recently join it, but the profiles of the boys on there all seemed so much like…..boys. Their youthful pictures and clever captions did nothing for you; your actual type standing in front of you right now. 

“Tinder? Really?” you deflect and he laughs. 

“I don’t know, whatever site you use these days to hook up.”

“Hook up?” you tease, and he smirks, looking you directly in the eyes. 

“Fuck then, Birdie - is that what you wanna call it?” He says it softly at first, his voice lowered in concentration on his task, but when he looks up, his eyes don’t leave yours, mischief in them. “However you find someone to fuck.”

You freeze, a shift in the room and the way he is holding your eye contact feels like a test — one you don’t want to back down from. A pulse beats between your legs at the sound of that word rolling off his tongue. 

“Right..,” you reply and he seems to delight in your hesitation, standing to full height. 

“Come on, Birdie, you can tell me,” he says smoothly. “I know from the way you don’t want to answer right now, you’ve been on there. Don’t forget - I raised Cee. I know all about deflecting when someone doesn’t want to talk about their love life.”

“A boy? A girl?” he presses, and you shake your head. 

“A boy, definitely.”

“A boy?” 

“A man,” you correct, suddenly feeling like you were being walked backwards into a trap. 

“A man?” He raises his eyebrows and your face heats. He has you right where he wants you and you bit your lip with a smile, trying to back your way out of it. 

“I —“, the door interrupting your sentence and you both pause, listening to Cee come in. She announces her arrival, calling out Ezra’s name, then yours and he grins at you for a moment, tossing the sandpaper from hand to hand before going back to his task. 

–

Dinner made and served - enchiladas, with fresh guacamole on the side - Ezra came into the kitchen briefly only to get his plate, thank Cee for dinner and to disappear back into his work room. You had watched him go, feeling a mixture of relief that he wasn’t staying and a yearning for him to come back. He spent most of the evening there, the whine of an electric sander sounding down the hallway at some point and eventually, you heard a door shut and the shower start up. Not that you were keeping tabs on his whereabouts in the house, obviously. 

You and Cee had started with homework, but had long since abandoned it in favor of scrolling through the NYC events page for the upcoming fall weekends and as it got later and after a couple of Tito’s and sparkling water cocktails later, the plans you were making were getting more and more elaborate. The stress of school was starting to squeeze in and you both were antsy for some time off. 

“We should just get out of here for a little bit,” she suggests, squeezing a little more lime juice into her glass. “Or maybe – ooooh, what if we rented a little cabin and had a weekend away in the woods?”

You nod enthusiastically, leaning back in your chair. You stretch your arms in front of you, your body cramped from hovering over the screen for the last hour. “That would be awesome. It would be nice to get out of the city for a couple of days for sure.”

“What are you ladies doing in here?” Ezra strolls into the room and over to the table, his hand resting on the back of your chair as he bends down to look at the laptop over your shoulder and you can smell the crisp dampness of his shower. “Wanna come watch TV with me?”

Cee nods, grabbing her drink and standing up. “We don’t have a lot of streaming options, but we have regular TV. Ezra likes the gamble of what you might find,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“Me? You’re the little channel rat, always digging around in the menus to see what the weirdest show you can find is.” He settles into the couch, fishing around for the remote and Cee takes the other chair in the room, reaching behind her for a blanket. 

“Remember that crazy knife show? The one we found at like, 11pm one night, about those two guys having a competition on who could make the best knife? And the ridiculous way,” she starts laughing, the sound breaking up her words and he joins her, “they tested them? Cutting weird shit in half?”

“You were addicted to it, don’t lie,” he laughs again. “You wanted to make your own knife after that. You wanted to cut shit in half too.”

“Come on,” he says, patting the cushion next to him. “Let’s see what we can find.” He winks.

–

You never did sleep very well at other people’s houses. You needed a cool room, your fan blowing, the backdrop of the street noise floating in through the window and you heard a little of that, but not enough. You turn onto your side, looking at Cee’s profile in the dark. She is fast asleep, her face relaxed in slumber, her light hair a tumble on the pillow and you envy the slow, deep rise and fall of her chest. 

Hoping that a glass of water would help, you get up and when you pad into the kitchen, the hardwood floors under your feet chill your body; the loose t-shirt and sleep shorts Cee lent you not warm enough to keep it out. The flickering light of the TV casts shadows into the hallway, drawing you further into the living room and you see Ezra, slumped under a throw, watching television. He looks up at you, giving you a tired smile and he shifts slightly, making a small effort to sit up straighter. 

“Did you need something?” he asks quietly. 

“No,” you reply. You sit down next to him on the couch, trying to keep a polite distance between your bodies, but when he sees you bring your bare legs up and curl your arms around them with a slight shiver, he scoots closer, draping half the blanket he is using over them. It’s just large enough for the two of you and once you’re settled, his eyes drift back to the TV. “Couldn’t sleep?

“No. I came out to get a drink of water, thinking it might help, and then saw you. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. As long as you’re okay with late night reruns.” He’s trying to be quiet, the husk of his voice deep and gravely and he sinks deeper into the cushions, leaning slightly towards you. 

You couldn’t care less what was on the screen, your body filling with a slow spreading tension at sitting so close to him, sharing his blanket. The thick, soft material is warm, even more so filled with the heat of his body and if you shift even slightly to the side, you know your knee  would be touching his thigh. 

“Cee seems like she’s excited about that submission,” you make conversation and he nods, a smile curling at the edge of his lips. A tired one, laced with pride. 

“Yea, she’s been talking about it a lot.” He turns his head to face you.  “What about you? You find anything like that?”

Resting your teeth on your lower lip, you slowly nod. “I’ve just been working on this story, outside of class. Something for myself. I was thinking about maybe trying to submit it somewhere.” You meet his eyes with a shrug. 

“Could I read it?”

He asks the question while scratching his thigh and when you feel his knuckles graze your skin under the blanket, everything in your body pulls tight and focuses on that spot. “What’s it about?” His hand stays in place, resting on his leg. 

“It’s —,” you stumble, not quite knowing how to answer. You wanted to tell him the truth, but also wanted to make it sound as boring as possible so that he wouldn’t be interested. His opinion meant a lot to you, or maybe it’s that you wanted to impress him — either thought halting you for a moment.  It’s not like you’ve had issues sharing your writing before. “It’s a romance. Or — it’s more fiction, actually, but there is romance in it. I don’t think you’d be into it.”

“You wound me, Birdie.” His words are said softly, yet with a hint of mock hurt, a glance up at you with a grin so you know he’s teasing. “What makes you think I’m not into romance?”

Birdie — you felt a flush of joy at the nickname he’s called you after that first night in the car. “I don’t know,” you laugh, meeting his gaze. “You don’t seem like the type, I guess.”

He raises his eyebrows, seemingly agreeing with you. “What type do I seem like, then?”

“I don’t know,” you stall. You want to say “someone who seems like they would read something much smarter than romance”, but it dies on your tongue, sounding too much like something a crush would say. “Regular fiction, I guess. Maybe sci-fi or something.”

“I do like those. I like a good Western too.” He grins, flicking his attention back to the TV for a moment and you admire the glow of his profile bathed in the light before he looks back at you. “But I also like romance.”

“Just for the dirty parts, right?” The teasing words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them and he surprises you with a laugh. 

“Of course,” he says.

You let the silence linger between the two of you for a moment, commercials playing in the background. You pick at the blanket with your fingers, wondering if he knows the back of his hand is still touching your skin and you fight the urge to move your leg just to feel his skin slide against yours. 

“This submission. If I get it, I’d have to move. It’s like a workshop thing, in London.” He looks at the hesitancy on your face, the way you rest your teeth on your lower lip in thought. “But I don’t know. I probably won’t get it.” You shrug, as if you’ve already given up on it and he frowns at the gesture. 

“I’m sure you will, and then we’ll miss you.”

“You will, huh?” The smile on your face is a rueful one, hope lighting dimly in your chest before you could stop it. 

“I’ve grown used to having you around. Or, I did. I’ve been thinking about you.” Your heart picks up pace at the words, even though your mind wills you not to read too deep into it. He cares, is all. Just like he cares for Cee. “Missed seeing your face around here.” 

He hesitates, his eyes dropping down to your lips for a moment before coming back up to meet your gaze and you wait, your breath held in your throat. Under the blanket, his fingers move, only just and he watches your face. You feel a heavy weight build between your legs, his finger resting lightly on the inside of your knee before tracing the smallest of circles on the bare skin and you don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life. He could do anything to you right now and you wouldn’t stop him - all because of one finger. 

“Why did you stop coming around?” he asks, his finger a slow, maddening circular path and it takes you a minute to answer. 

“I, um,” you swallow, trying to steady your voice. “I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. Didn’t want you to get sick of me always hanging around.”

“I wouldn’t get sick of you.” His words were directed at your mouth, said with no real conviction and you didn’t dare move; both scared that you would disrupt the moment and also held captive by his gaze. He says nothing more, swallowing slowly and you watch the bob of his throat. A second finger joins the first, this one barely skimming the ridge of your knee and you knew he was doing it on purpose, but his eyes search yours, like he was waiting for you to stop him. 

You thought about how much you have wanted this; how much you want it now. How you wished he had done this in the movie theater, or at any time during your dinners over here, or in the car when he drove you home. The woman he left with the other day suddenly entered your mind, releasing a flood of images along with it: him, flirting with the baristas at the coffee shop, with the waitresses at dinner, with the staff at the bookstore. The way he touched that woman, his hand on her back as he led her from the lobby. He doesn’t really want you, a voice in your head said quietly. You’re too young for him. You’re here - that’s enough for him. This doesn’t mean anything. 

You push against those thoughts, thinking now of Cee. Of what she would think if she walked into the living room right now and saw the two of you. You weren’t doing anything, even though you wanted to do everything, but thinking of how hurt she would be to find out you wanted to sleep with basically her father - you didn’t want to risk it for what was probably just boredom on his end. 

“I don’t know about that,” you continued, looking back at the TV, the words sounding sadder than you wanted them too and his brow furrowed; his finger stopping. You looked back at him.  His face shifted from want into a resigned, tired look.

“You should probably get to bed,” he withdrew his hand, pulling away on the couch and directing his gaze back at the TV and it was like he had suddenly shifted from Ezra your friend to Ezra the parent. “It’s late.”

You already missed his fingers. Hurt by the rejection that you brought on, you suddenly wanted nothing more than to curl up under a blanket and hide, nursing your confused feelings alone. You nodded, pulling the blanket off your lap. 

“Goodnight.” 

Knowing full well you weren’t going to sleep any better than you had been and feeling the heaviness of his gaze on your back, you made your way back to Cee’s room.  

Fuck.