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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

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All I Need

Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love? Based on:

Warnings: 18+ mature content but nothing too explicit, this is just sweet love making

words: 2077

A/n: I’m supposed to finish my last kinktober and update my series, but both are very heavy and I needed something sweet to defrost my writer's block. I hope you don’t mind me squeezing something else until I finish my other WIPs🥲

“…every time I look into your eyes I see it, you’re all I need…”

SPENCER KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. There wasn't a single thing he wasn't familiar with—from every mole, every scar, to every stretch mark. Any imperfection you considered of yourself he found to be perfect.

He was well aware of the small scar on your hip bone. Or the mole resting at the back of your thigh. Or the way you disliked caffeine, because every time you drank it, it increased your heart rate drastically. Which was why you always judged him every time he had a cup of coffee in his hand, especially with the amount of sugar he never seemed to stop adding.

"That is definitely not healthy," you would always say, to which he simply responded with a small peck on your lips. It was his way to shut you up without saying anything.

He also knew how soft you actually were underneath that hard exterior you always carried. You were an enigma the first time you joined the team, but Spencer always had a soft spot for mystery, and solving you became his mission even when he wasn't the best at maintaining conversations. He remembered making a fool of himself when he talked to you, stuttering about one of the random facts engraved in his brain.

But you still listened to him, and for once in his life, he finally found someone who didn't mind hearing him talk. It was nice to have somebody who found his knowledge interesting, and with that thought in mind, it didn't take long for him to take an interest in you.

Not that he wasn't interested at first, because honestly, you were a splendid sight when you first walked through the door. It was more so an interest that was considered surpassing a simple friendship. An interest that had him push his confidence into asking you out.

Spencer never pegged himself as someone who would be content having a significant other in his daily routine—his past relationships never seemed to work out, after all—but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he was actually in pure bliss. It seemed as if you had cast a spell, drawing him deeper into your presence, a magnetic force of affection that went beyond the superficial. Every smile, every touch, seemed to emanate a radiant heat, and he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnitude of your warmth.

Especially at this moment, staring into your eyes as they slowly fluttered open from a long night of slumber, he found himself leaning forward. You were so warm, so inviting. The soft light coming from the curtains cast a shadow over your curves and he couldn't help himself from trailing down your body.

You were fully awake now as he pressed his lips on every part of your skin. The slight movement of your arms wrapping around his neck had him grunting, and somehow he was suddenly positioned between your legs, pressing his hot length onto your wet folds, wanting nothing else but to push himself deep into your warmth.

As he watched you beneath him, eyes half closed, mouth open in anticipation, he couldn't help but mutter his next words because you looked breathtakingly beautiful. Heavenly gorgeous covered in a sheen of sweat, so damn pretty with eyes full of desire. You looked like a siren, an angel, and a lustful woman all rolled into one.

Everything about you was so divine, and the desire to consume every part of your existence became an insatiable hunger. It was a need, a yearning that made the idea of spending a lifetime without you seem unfathomable as if oxygen slowly drained from his world, leaving him breathless.

The words bubbled up from the depths of his heart, and before he could second-guess himself, he blurted out, "Marry me."

Your eyes snapped open as he finally sank his hips into you, and before you could even respond, before you could even register his words, his rough thrust stole the breath from your lungs. Rational thoughts shattered as he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was slightly painful yet completely pleasurable.

He slowly pulled out, then pushed back in, your back arching, legs wrapping around his waist. "Spence," you moaned as he started a steady pace, trying to gain your focus but failing miserably. You couldn't think of anything else except the sensation between your legs. "Oh, God."

Languid and smooth, his hips continued to roll into you. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

The feel of his cock sinking in and out of you had your head falling back against the mattress. Your fingernails tightened upon his back, and he drove you gently into the bed with low grunts. His voice was rough, broken by focused breaths. "We could do this every morning."

A whine broke out of you.

"I'd wake up first," he told you. "I'd make you breakfast in bed..." He slipped out again before thrusting into you slowly, dragging his cock along your inner walls that had you mewling. "...right after I wake you with my tongue between your thighs."

You let out another moan. He drank in the sound with a smile before lowering his mouth to the base of your neck. Heated kisses trailed along your skin as his fingers trailed down the outline of your body before they stopped at the warmth between your legs.

Your mouth was wide open against his shoulder, eyes watering with the force of pleasure from having his cock smacking through your wetness, his body forcefully shoving your knees apart. You felt his fingers trailing your clit in slow circles and you arched your back, each tender brush tightened that coil of heat simmering in the pit of your stomach. The simulation drove you further into a haze of pleasure that a soft yes finally escaped your lips without you realizing it.

The barely whispered word didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Yes to this," he wondered as prompted his weight on his other hand. "Or to my proposal?"

You glanced up at him, your face a mixture of pleasure and alarm as you gave him a look. "You're crazy."

He watched you closely, mesmerized by the way your hips were bucking every time his cock hit that soft spot inside you while his fingers continued their tease. "Maybe." He leaned down and softly bit your shoulder. "But I am crazy in love with you."

When you didn't respond, he slowly pulled away and fixed his gaze on you. Your reaction, or lack thereof, spoke volumes, and as his eyes met yours, he found himself captivated by the reflective pools of emotion within. There was a hint of fear and concern, shadows that danced with the flicker of uncertainty. Yet, beneath those layers, he could see the distinct longing in your eyes. It was hard not to distinguish it as it matched the same look in his. Your stare was warm and domineering.

They were so full of love.

And that moment, Spencer realized, that was what you were to him—love. You were the greatest passion he had ever known.

You felt completely in the moment with him as you let your gaze scan over his features. His eyes appeared darker in this light of the room, but you could still see the soft lightness of them. Then, you leaned up, noses brushing gently against each other before you pressed your lips onto his. His body moved again in response, hips bucking into you and you felt him pulsing inside your core as his mouth worked harmoniously along yours.

"Marry." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

You whimpered. Everything was too much. The intensity of the pleasure was almost intoxicating, a heady concoction that wrapped around you, rendering you momentarily breathless.

"Having you for the rest of my life is a privilege." He continued, grunting as you clenched around him. He lost himself with one final, jagged plea. "Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

His words, touch, and the stroke of him inside you—it all blurred together. It pushed you so wildly that the coil in your stomach twisted sharply through along your body. He lunged down to kiss you again, tongue pushing deep as he stole your moan before it could break into the air. He tugged you into him at the same time that you submitted to his pull.

There were times when you would appreciate this. The contact, the intimacy, the warmth of your boyfriend connected with you. Right now though, you needed release. So you buried your hand in his curls, all messy and askew.

"Spencer," you breathed out against his lips. Each of his thrusts fed the growing flame in your body as your body turned pliant for him. “Oh god, yes,” you cried, head thrashing side to side as your eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by pleasure.

He peppered kisses over your neck, your jaw, your temple, desperate to be even closer to you, to melt into you. "Yes to what?"

Your senses were heightened, every touch and every breath seemed magnified in the intensity of the moment. Your body shuddered with every vicious thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes." A desperate, needy little whine slipped past your lips and you opened your eyes wide to give him a pleading look. "Spencer, please, please."

You were panting, your breath hot and your skin even hotter, and you could barely hear him when he spoke, "Yes to what, Angel?"

Angel. The syllables carried a warmth that resonated deep within your heart. Sometimes you were his Angel. Sometimes you were his Sweetheart. While you cherished the way he expressed his affection, a yearning for more had taken root.

Marry me.

You could be more than his angel. You could be his wife. But it wasn't just about the affectionate words anymore; it was about a promise, a shared future, and you realized as he hovered above you, all sweaty and desperate, that you wanted to feel this bliss every day. How could you not when he fits so perfectly inside you that you could swear he was made for you?

And then you felt it, his hand trailing down your arm before it stopped right along your fingers, intertwining them with his. Your hand clutched onto his as his thrust sped up a fraction—but it was still deep and lazy, enough to make you squirm. His cock was achingly hard inside you and when you clenched down on him, you adored the twitch and resounding moan it drew out of him.

You wanted this for your life. You wanted him every day. You wanted to wake up each morning in his arms, him whispering sweet nothings as he buried himself inside you.

You wanted him so much you would be a fool not to accept his proposal.

"Yes," you breathed out. "I'll marry you."

He grunted against your lips. "Say that again."

His thrusts were now fast and ruthless, his groans filling the room while the sound of skin slapping together echoed with it. Every time you could feel him deep inside you, it brought you closer to that familiar coil in your stomach. It was a heady sensation, an intoxicating blend of desire that quickened your pulse and set your senses ablaze.

"I—shit," you cried out, legs shaking at the pleasure traveling along your body you were starting to wail desperately for your release. "Fuck, baby, I'll marry you."

A sound of satisfaction erupted from him as he kissed you with every ounce of power he had. He kissed you as he had never kissed anyone before. He kissed you deeply, possessively even, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from different angles, but it felt perfect.

You felt perfect. Your lips. Your curves. Your scent. It was as if you were made especially for him. He was fully consumed with you, consumed by you, and yet he couldn't get enough. Though you were beneath him, he was at your mercy, and the fact that you could still have such control over him made his stomach twist even more.

He was so in love with you. He was so sure of it, so sure of this abundance of passion, for Spencer Reid could sometimes be dense when it came to sudden bursts of emotions, but he was not stupid. He wasn't oblivious, nor was he lacking in perception. It wasn't about intelligence or lack thereof, it was simply about the purity of his emotion.

And he was deeply, unequivocally in love.

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the-boy-meets-evil · 6 months ago

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maybe something sweet and fluffy with woozi. trying to stay late to surprise him with dinner or something but he finds you asleep on the couch. he's been stressed and working more than usual (insane behavior) and you just wanna help him relax and take the weight off his shoulders

pairing: jihoon x gn!reader genre: est. relationship | fluff, maybe the tiniest bit suggestive rating: e for everyone (but this blog is still 18+) word count: 1440 warnings: mentions of food but nothing else

author's note: thank you for sending this! i am painfully late with this (and wanted to wait to finish all the requests before posting). this is for my baby @effortandmore for her birthday drabbles. ily lauren 💕 divider by @cafekitsune

taglist: @crepecakeu, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizoon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @naajaeminsgf, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @harry-the-pottypus, @pyeonghongrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality (strikethrough means can’t tag, check your settings!), join my taglist here

You’ve loved Jihoon for a long time. As a friend first and then slowly as something much more. When you first met him, you thought he was hard to read. Difficult to ever really know. As you spent more time around him, that idea morphed into something else as well. He’s not the kind of person to be vocal about what he’s thinking or feeling. If you’re waiting for him to tell you how he feels, then you’re going to be waiting for a while. Unless you know where to look.

That’s probably why it took you time to realize all the ways he was telling you that you were more than a friend to him. Over time, he started inviting you just to be around him when he was working on projects at home. Or inviting you over to do your own work at his place while he did chores around the house. Slowly, you realized that he always had your favorite snacks in the cupboards and favorite drinks in the fridge. Occasionally you would even mention needing something in passing and it would show up delivered to your house a day or two later. Never with a note, but always with the understanding that it was Jihoon taking care of it. Taking care of you. You realized that your heart shifted to caring about him as more than a friend before your brain even caught up. It was like he had been showing you all along that you could depend on him.

Jihoon isn’t always one to say what he’s feeling, but he likes to hear it from you. It’s cute to watch his face light up when you tell him how much he means to you or why you think about him throughout the day. He’s easy, though, because he’s just as happy to have you around. Sometimes you don’t say anything at all, just curl up on the couch to watch a favorite show. Those are some of your favorites because you know how much space he’s made for you in his home. You know how important that space is to him so that he can recharge. But, he accepts you like you always belonged there with him.

Lately, work has been a little overwhelming for him. Maybe not overwhelming as much as busy. You know how much he likes to be busy and would prefer that to work being too slow. It’s also clear how much he likes to solve a problem and be the one to find that elusive solution. So, this project has been challenging, often resulting in him staying late, and you know he wouldn’t change it. Even on the nights where he doesn’t get home until it’s nearly time for bed.

Tonight, you’re trying to do something a little bit nice for him. It’s been days on end, even some weekends, of him busting his ass on this project. And you don’t understand the words he’s using. Haven’t ever really been tech savvy enough to get programming. What you do know, though, is that he’s been surviving on too much caffeine and food delivery. Sometimes he does listen and order from healthier places. Sometimes it’s all he can do to remember to eat at all, so it’s whatever can get to him fastest. But, he seemed pretty confident that he would be out of work at a decent time tonight. You decide to use your key to his place and let yourself in to surprise him with a great home-cooked meal.

For someone that doesn’t really like cooking that much, Jihoon has a pretty well-stocked kitchen. Although, knowing how considerate he is, that’s probably mostly because you liked to cook at his place and complained about all the things he didn’t have. All you need to do is show up with your ingredients. You decide on a menu of comforting foods that also can either keep warm on the stove or be easily warmed up without losing flavor.

You figure that you should let him know that you’re going to be there when he gets home so it doesn’t surprise him. The food can be the surprise even if he knows you’re there waiting for him. He seems excited to see you when you text him. When the food is all ready, you figure that you can have a glass of wine while you wait.

Jihoon: i’m so sorry, this is taking longer than i thought to wrap up

You: that’s fine, take your time

It’s not uncommon for Jihoon to send a text like that when he’s in the middle of a project. He hates it and you know he does. But, you also assure him that it’s fine. You didn’t have any actual plans and he doesn’t need to rush through work on your account.

While you’re waiting, you decide on a little taste test of the food you made, careful not to make it too obvious that you’ve had some. Not that he would care, you just want the presentation to be nice for Jihoon. With some good food and a glass of wine down, you’re a little sleepy. Cooking can do that to you. There’s no harm, you figure, in getting comfortable on the couch while you wait and putting on some background noise.

You don’t even realize that you drift off until you feel someone’s arms sliding underneath you. Your eyes flitter open and land on Jihoon. He’s got his shaggy hair pulled back into an elastic with strands falling out from the length of the day. His face is soft with nothing more than complete love and adoration. It’s so clear that he doesn’t want to disturb you and that makes your heart constrict further. This man has been working for who knows how many hours and he’s still taking care of you.

“I’m awake, babe,” you say through a slightly groggy voice.

“Sorry, was trying not to wake you up,” he says and pulls his arms back.

You catch one of his hands to pull him back in for a quick kiss. “I’m glad I woke up.”

“The place smells really good,” he comments.

“Yeah, I made dinner,” you say.

His face brightens for a moment and it makes you nearly melt. “I would’ve left sooner if I’d known.”

“It’s a surprise, you goober,” you say with a smile. You pull yourself into a sitting position.

“Hey, it’s fine, I can get a plate,” he says.

“No, no. You go have a nice shower and by the time you’re out, I’ll have it all ready,” you say and get to your feet.

“You don’t have to…” he starts and you press another kiss to his lips before turning him in the direction of the bathroom.

“Go,” you say.

It takes a minute to shake off the cobwebs from your unexpected nap. By the time you’re in the kitchen and warming everything back up, you can hear the water running in the bathroom and the music audible even over the sound of the shower. It sounds like one of his more upbeat playlists, which is a good thing. Even if he doesn’t say much, you can always tell his mood by what playlist he puts on. Tonight, it seems like he’s in a good mood despite the long day at work. Part of you hopes that you surprising him adds to the good mood.

The water shuts off, leaving only the playlist as your background and you know you still have a little bit of time before he emerges. So, it’ll be perfect timing as nearly everything is ready again. You’re putting a plate together when he emerges from his bedroom in gym shorts and a t-shirt, wet hair still falling around his face. The smile on your face is instant.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re just beautiful,” you say, smile still bright.

“I must look exhausted,” he brushes off.

“Still beautiful,” you insist and delight in the way blush creeps up his neck. To save him from saying anything, you hand over a plate.

“Can’t believe you did this,” he mumbles softly.

“I thought you deserved a treat,” you say as you grab your own plate.

“Just having you here is a treat,” he says, unusually sappy with you.

“So you don’t want the rest of the post-dinner treats I planned?” you ask innocently.

“Didn’t say that,” he says, locking eyes with you.

“How early do you have to be in tomorrow?” you ask.

“I have the day off,” he says.

“Don’t get too full, then. I’ve got plenty of surprises for you,” you say.

hope you enjoyed it! let me know 💕

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junipers-archive · 2 years ago

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And They Were Roommates

Word Count: 1k

Includes: Fluff, fluff, some more fluff and a kiss? You confront Spencer about your relationship status after Penelope informs you of everyone's belief of you being more than roommates :)

(Prompt from this challenged by @imagining-in-the-margins)

You were at the coffee shop nearest to the apartment, desperately trying to find a pick me up. It was 6:30am...a new record for you. Seeing as your roommate and best-friend Spencer hadn't alerted you that you guys ran out of coffee at home, you were now standing in what you deem the longest line in the world you'd ever seen for coffee.

Then again it was one of the first times you'd been up this early to see people who actually got up early. It'd only been 10 minutes but you swore if you didn't get your daily caffeine boost soon you'd start to shut down.

The line was moving at snail pace so you decided to see what the problem was, only to catch a Penelope Garcia with 8 coffees in her arms, trying to balance her way out of the crowd.

Fortunately for her, Spencer had introduced you to the team a few months ago after they'd wanted to see where he lived and he was essentially peer-pressured in showing them by Derek. You'd been given a 5-minute notice at the late hour of 11pm and to this day are still making him pay on movie-nights where you got to choose the film.

You were torn between helping Penelope and staying in your spot in line, but seeing as you remembered how kind she had been and she was about to drop all that coffee, you took pity. Rushing over and calling her name,

"Penelope, you need some help there?"

"ah!-oh hi Y/n, sorry you scared me for a moment! And yes please."

You took one of the trays of coffee from her, holding her purse around your other arm. "Not that I mind helping, but why all the coffee?"

"Well" She was now wobbling over to a table that was just freed up by a couple, talking to you while placing her many belongings on it,

"Sometimes, I like to get up really early and get coffee for the team, cause you know the coffee at work sucks and I'm sure Spencer's already alerted you, but someone's been stealing the curate cups from the kitchen!"

You now placed the tray you had been carrying on the table as well,

"No...uh Spencer doesn't exactly talk about his job much, we usually just talk about other stuff"

She looked surprised at this, "Really? I thought he'd be more open about what he does with his girlfriend. But I guess thats just Spencer."

Now it was your turn to be surprised. "I-I'm sorry, did you say girlfriend?"

"Well, I mean yeah, you live together, he talks about you all the time, and when we went over you two just had so much chemistry we all just assumed-" she stopped talking as she saw the growing disbelief on your face, "I-I just- I'm sorry are you not dating?"

You were speechless. Absolutely speechless.

I mean sure you liked Spencer, he was one of your best-friends and you did live together and yea maybe you had feelings for him. But could other people see it too?

I mean, it made sense, now that you thought about it, you two were practically never seen apart, having roomate-movie-nights, going on consistent 'friend-dates', eating almost every meal together and getting each other gifts for holidays, even sometimes falling asleep in each others beds when you both got black-out drunk on occasion...

Were you dating?

Penelope had taken your silence as her cue to leave, gathering her things, but you had another idea, one that wouldn't leave you overthinking for the rest of the day.

"Wait- I- I'll help you! I mean you can't carry this all yourself!"

"Thank you" she smiled " but you're sure you don't have anywhere to be?"

"Not a place in the world." You would just call in sick today, you thought.

On the drive to the BAU as you talked to Penelope who you found was alluringly talkative, you also realized you might not even be able to get into the building. When you asked she waved her hand, shooing away your worries it seemed as she explained that as long as you weren't a spy you'd be fine for staying a couple minutes since she had clearence.

The topic of Spencer didn't come up again.

Once you got there and helped Penelope up to the office you caught sight of your roommate sitting at his desk. Excusing yourself, you began walking over, It was more decorated than you assumed, containing his adorable action figure favorites and small trinkets you'd given him over the years. And as you got closer you even found he had a picture of the two of you posing at a theme park you'd forced him to go to with you.

He saw you before you were closer, standing himself up as well.

"Y/n? What-What're you doing here?"

"Are we dating?"god you needed to get a filter, but you were really curious.

He sputtered at that, which admittedly made you smile, "I-uh-Who-did Garcia?-What?"

By pure instinct you grabbed his face so he had to look at you now, as he had a habit of looking down when nervous.

You asked him once more,

"Doctor Spencer Reid Are you dating me?"

You could feel him blush against your palms as he answered,

"Uhm...do you want me to be dating you?"

You don't know what had gotten into you that morning, but the next thing you did surprised both of you, pulling him closer as his hands circled your waist hesitantly and you kissed him.

It was soft at first, almost gentle in the way the both of you were nervous, but eventually he deepened it, grabbing one side of your face, the other circling your waist completely now as you arms came to rest around his shoulders.

When you both had to finally come up for air you breathed out your more than obvious response, "yes."

And while you both grinning like idiots at one another, Penelope was adamantly taking photos of the two of you for your wedding which she had already informed Spencer was to be on October 31 of next year.

You never even noticed you didn't get your coffee, knowing you were now with the Dr.Spencer Reid was enough of a pick-me-up to last you a lifetime.

Reblogs and Comments appreciated!!

Update: Part 2

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mandarinmoons · 9 months ago

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Summary: You have a very specific way you drink your coffee and Spencer surprises you with how he's able to recreate your masterpiece

Coffee is considered as a lifeline by many and you weren’t an exception. If you didn’t have your signature drink at your workstation every morning, trying to concentrate on the task at hand seemed pointless.

Your coworkers had taken notice how much your morning treat affected your productivity and some chuckled over it while some were concerned.

For instance, one morning you were running a bit late and because of that you didn’t have time to make your special concoction. Luckily enough Penelope Garcia is an angel walking among us and quickly strode to the kitchen in her high heels to try and make your morning. Although you were grateful for her generosity, you were a bit skeptical as you had a very specific way to make your drink.

As Penelope walked over to you some time later with a hot cup, she handed it over to you with a wide smile on her face. She watched as you took a sip and you put on a smile to show her your gratitude. Penelope walked back to her cave happily and when she was out of your sight you let out a small sigh. The coffee was a bit too creamy for your taste, but you couldn’t bear to tell it to Garcia as you saw how much trouble she went to try and please you. As for now you sucked it up and drank what you had in hand and remembered to set your alarm for five minutes earlier so you would have time to make your coffee next time.

The next morning as you arrived at work and hurried to the kitchen to gather up the ingredients for your morning brew. Your mood turned sour though as you realized the usual coffee you used was all out. You groaned as you closed the cabinet and put all the supplies back.

“Rough morning sweetheart?” Derek chuckled as he heard the displeased sound coming from your throat.

“You could say that again. We’re out of the coffee I use.”

“So? Just use another brand, there’s an open back right by the side.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I have a very specific way I drink my coffee and it has to be exactly right or else it’s just not good for me.”

“Ahh I see, you’re one of those “picky” types.”

“I’m not picky! I just… have a very specific taste.”

Derek chuckled and shook his head, “Keep telling yourself that baby.”

You rolled your eyes at Derek and a moment later Spencer walked into the kitchen, he furrowed his brows when he saw Derek’s smug smile and the annoyance written over your face.

“What’s going on?”

“Y/N here has to have their coffee made in a certain way or else they’re a grumpy little gremlin.”

“Oh shut up Derek, as if you don’t have a specific type of girl you go after.”

“Hey, I’m open to other options, not like you now,” Derek chuckled and walked back to his desk, leaving you and Spencer by yourselves.

“It’s not a bad thing you know.”

“What?”

“The coffee thing, it’s not a bad thing if you need something to be made a certain way.”

You smiled at the lanky man in front of you, “Thanks Spence.”

You walked past him and you felt a slight tug on your wrist, “Are you not going to have your coffee?”

“We’re out of my regular brew so, I guess not,” you shrugged and walked back to your desk. The morning fatigue was still having a heavy affect on you and you had no idea how you were going to finish that report Hotch had trusted you with. Still, you couldn’t let a little caffeine withdrawal ruin your whole morning and continued on with your day.

Nearly two hours later you still felt as sluggish as before. Although you had gotten through some of your work, it had taken you a little bit longer than usual and you tried not to curse over yourself too much for using the same exact words in your report over and over again. Time felt like it was standing still and your state wasn’t getting any better, it was hell.

When lunch time arrived you dragged yourself out of your chair and headed to the kitchen to try and find something from the fridge to bring you out of your zombie-like state and when you arrived at the door you were surprised by what you saw.

Spencer was hunched over by the counter and around him were all the things you use to make your specialty drink.

“Spencer what’re you doing?”

“I uhm, I noticed how down you were so I went to the store and got the coffee you drink. Well actually I went to three different places to finally find it but… uh yeah, I hope you like it,” Spencer’s cheeks had a rosy hue to them and he handed the mug to you. You took it in your hands and looked at it with big eyes before looking back at him.

“You know the way I make it?”

Spencer smiled and nodded, “I’ve seen you make it a few times and I think I’ve gotten the measurements down,” Spencer rubbed his neck and swallowed as he waited for you to take a sip.

When the coffee hit your tastebuds you were in shock, it tasted exactly how you’d make it.

“Spencer this is perfect, how did you do this?”

Spencer smiled and shrugged, “I don’t know, I have a good eye I guess.”

“Good eye? More like a psychic, this is crazy.”

Spencer laughed and watched as you chugged the beverage down to the last drop. It made him extremely happy to see how he was able to so easily please you and to know that all that it took was for him to go to a few different places to track down the one specific brand of coffee that had your heart was all worth it. Sure, to some people it may seem like a hassle to walk half way across town just in order to find something as silly as coffee beans, but that’s what you do for someone who you care about, and to Spencer, knowing that he was the reason why you were currently the happiest you had been in two days, that meant the world to him.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @iluvreid @notn4t

If you want to be a part of my taglist go here!

You can find my masterlist here!

My requests are open so feel free to send one in! (SFW only)

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silentscrying · 4 days ago

Text

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track two: kowalski, status report

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, toge bullying, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

"I SHOULDN'T CUSS in this, right?"

It’s the day before the other four artists premiere their sets at Battle of the Bands, and you haven’t been home since six in the morning. You’re running on caffeine and spite and the pursuit of the story, parked on a high stool across the bar from the one and only Ieiri Shoko.

Toge leans on the counter beside you, opting to stand. He’s agreed to pay for the next snack run in return for you letting him be your partner. You both know you’re going to end up doing most of the writing, but you don’t really mind. Toge would if you asked him to, but you love this kind of thing in a way he just doesn’t. Plus, he’s better with a camera than you, and he’s taking photos tomorrow night.

You laugh, pulling out your phone to record. “You can say whatever you want as long as it’s honest. Be candid.”

“You might regret saying that!” Gojo calls from the back, and Shoko silences him with a glare.

“Are you coming or not?”

Gojo grins and finishes up whatever he’s putting away in the storage room, then strides out and leans his elbows on the counter.

“Do you mind if I record?” You point to the open voice memo app. “Makes it easier to quote you correctly.” You also just hate running interviews when you’re scribbling hand-written notes the whole time. You’d much rather have a genuine conversation and worry about the details later.

Shoko waves a hand airily. “No problem.”

“Absolutely,” Gojo says. “You can probably sell that for thousands.”

You set the phone on the counter, next to one of the tiny pumpkins scattered across it in celebration of the beginning of October. You and Toge bounce back and forth as you run through the standard start-of-interview checklist, having them spell out their names, getting their ages, hometowns, degrees, all that jazz. And then you launch into the stuff you really care about.

“So, you opened The Fix about ten years ago now, correct?”

Shoko nods. “Yeah, a little over two years after we graduated.”

You look at Gojo, whose eyes are even more alarmingly blue in the daylight. “And you were hired right away?”

“Utahime first, then me,” he nods. “Best for last, y’know.”

Shoko snorts. “We knew each other in school. I just took pity on him.” She smirks as Gojo’s jaw drops. “You can quote that.”

“Right, so all of you were friends in college. And you came together to start this place—what was the idea behind it?” Toge chimes in. “You said you studied nursing, Shoko?”

And you sit and listen as Shoko explains. Back in college, she was at the top of her class. By graduation, she’d been accepted to basically all the best med schools. She had her pick. She could do whatever she wanted. But she realized that what she wanted wasn’t that at all.

The medical field is brutal, she tells you. It’s all late nights and emotional burnout. People yelling at you, misplaced anger when you give them the bad news. Getting attached to people only to watch them waste away.

“I needed to get out before I got too far in. Maybe it was selfish,” she admits. “But I wasn’t cut out for it. I have so much admiration for medical professionals, but I couldn’t be one of them. A few clinicals and I was already feeling the consequences of giving too much of myself and getting nothing back.” She shrugs. “So I named it The Fix, as some kind of homage to the medical background. And I figured I’d just make sure it’s safe.”

Something sits heavy in her gaze as she stares at something behind you, middle distance, like she’s remembering.

“Why a college bar?” you ask, nudging the phone across the counter to pick up her voice better. “I mean, the extra security, thinking about underage drinking, dealing with a bunch of broke university kids. You could’ve just as easily opened a different bar in a more lucrative area. What was the appeal?”

She smiles crookedly. “Appeal. Well. My senior year, I was working in the local ER. And I saw… god. So many kids came in there needing their stomachs pumped, or kids who’d done laced drugs, gotten roofied, harassed, it was… I mean, it was a city university club scene. They weren’t safe. And I just felt like I needed to give them that. I couldn’t stay there as a nurse or a doctor. But I could do this.” She shrugs. “Sorry. That was probably way too much.”

“No,” you say quickly, smiling at her. “That was—that’s what we came here for. Shoko, that’s amazing. And it’s not selfish, taking care of yourself. You’re still here taking care of others.”

You don’t know Gojo well. Most of your stories about him come secondhand from Nobara, who knows him through Megumi. She paints the picture of a flamboyant, obnoxious bartender who’s more like a weird uncle to her than anything. From what you’ve seen of him at The Fix, you know this to be mostly accurate—he’s rarely serious, always taking flack from the students and giving it right back, ragging on Utahime, begging Shoko to play his playlist instead of Geto’s and knowing she’ll never cave. But now, as he listens intently to Shoko, you think you’re seeing another side of him.

There’s something troubled on his face as she speaks, like he wishes he could reach into the past and help. Like he regrets it.

The bar’s not the only thing that has a different side in the daylight.

“She’s right,” Gojo tells Shoko. It’s not much, but she looks up at him a bit surprised, something in her expression softening. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, not quite there but not quite not. “You’ve got a pretty big heart under all that RBF.” Shoko rolls her eyes, the moment over.

“What about you?” You turn to Gojo, nudging the phone his way. “Why a college bar?”

Shoko turns toward him, leaning a hip against the bar, just as curious as you are. “I think kids deserve to be kids,” he shrugs. “And if I—if we—can create a space where it’s actually safe for them to do that, it feels important.” His gaze shifts from you and Toge to the empty bar, the stage and floor and high-top tables that tomorrow will be full of music and laughter and students knowing they’re allowed to let loose here.

“There aren’t a lot of places out there that are exclusively for students,” he continues. “It’s this weird phase, college, where you’re figuring out who you are, trying to take risks without losing too much. It’s a lot. And you look at the crime rates, date rape drugs, theft, DUIs, in the city, and it’s just—this place gives them the room to learn and grow and mess around and have a good time without the danger of the… I don’t know. The outside world. Does that make sense?”

He drums his fingers on the countertop, then seems to abruptly remember the recording and stops. “I think it’s just… well, no one’s allowed to take youth away from young people. So that’s why I’m here.”

You wonder what Gojo was like in school. He majored in gender studies, which you’re pretty sure is what Todo is at least minoring in, too—you’re not sure how it’s applicable to anything, but Nobara says he likes to pull his diploma out from behind the bar and say he’s an expert in women. It seems a far cry from this rare, more subdued version of Gojo you’re seeing right now. You’d guess he’s grown quite a bit in the time he’s been here. And Shoko’s been here to witness it.

He’s not a business owner, like Shoko or Geto. And according to Nobara, he definitely doesn’t need this gig to make a living. He’s here because he wants to be.

“These last few years have been nice, in particular,” he offers. “Just ‘cause some of us have kids going here. I mean, you know the Fushiguros. Suguru’s got the twins. And I know Ino’s not Nanami’s kid, but they’re tight.”

“Wait, what?” Nanami is the bar’s primary security guy, a bouncer who never lets a fake ID fool him. He’s part of the reason this place is so safe. Toge spins to look at you as you blurt out the question, caught off guard. “Uh, sorry. I just didn’t—I didn’t know they knew each other.”

Shoko studies you with tired, intelligent eyes, and you can’t help but feel the tables have been entirely flipped. You’re the one being interrogated, wordlessly, by the woman across the counter. You feel like every thought in your head is scrawled across your face for her to read.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, unaffected. “Ino looks up to him a lot, I think. Even though he’s an old man who reads the newspaper for fun.” He snorts. “He’s a good guy, though. And Ino’s a good kid.” He finally clocks the way Shoko’s looking at you and cocks his head, appraising.

Thankfully, Toge cuts in with another question. “So, we’ll be around tomorrow for the bands and to take some photos and observe,” he explains, glancing at you to make sure he’s got the information right. “Will Geto be around?” You’d wanted both owners’ perspectives, and now that Gojo’s reminded you of the twins, you’re even more curious.

“Yeah, Suguru and Utahime will be here tomorrow night,” Shoko says. “And Nanami. Geto would totally be down to talk to you some other time, too, when it’s a bit quieter.”

“Amazing,” you say, pulling the phone back toward you. You’ll need details, follow-ups, but you need to process this first, write some things down while they’re fresh in your mind. ‘Thank you so much for this. We appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid,” Shoko says, waving you off. “See you tomorrow.”

As you turn off the recording, Gojo and Toge have already devolved into conversation about the bands and predictions about tomorrow night. A few posters are scattered across a low table near the door, and you pick one up, smiling at the blocky lettering advertising Black Flash. There are posters advertising all of the artists, and they look amazing, straight out of one of the alt rock venues in the wider city.

“They’re sick, right?” Gojo calls, nodding to the posters. “I gotta hang those up, actually. Thanks for the reminder.”

You wave goodbye to Shoko and Gojo and lead the way out, Toge just behind you.

“Man,” he says, and you brace yourself, recognizing his teasing tone for what it is. “They said Ino’s name and you look like scared Bambi or some shit.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, elbowing him.

He holds his hands up. “I’m just living in pursuit of the truth! Like Kusakabe would want.”

“Is your camera battery charged for tomorrow?” you say in a blatant attempt at a topic change.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Toge Inumaki, chronically irresponsible student and—”

“Okay, sorry I asked, holy shit.” He sticks his tongue out at you. Then he hesitates, frowning, and then he’s pulling out his phone and calling someone in his favorites list before you can see who it is. “Hey,” he greets. “What? No, she didn’t kick me out. Hey. Hey.” You snicker and Toge glares at you, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Yutaaa,” he whines. “Do you know where my camera battery is?”

—

Even when you’re not the one on stage, you live for Fridays at The Fix. Tonight you’re doing double duty—because of the dual elimination at the end of the round, all of the competing artists are here. It’s not a requirement, but you want to see what you’re up against, and the sentiment seems to have carried. You and Toge are also in reporting mode for your project story.

The band on stage right now is… well, you can’t say new wave metal is really your thing, but it’s definitely theirs, and the audience is loving it. The Cull, you write in your notes. Look up names.

You couldn’t make out the lyrics if your life depended on it. It’s three guys and a girl, vaguely familiar, but you’re fairly certain they’re seniors and absolutely certain they’re baked right now.

“God, this is loud.” Yuta winces, turning to face you, and then his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. You divert your attention from the stage and just catch the brief commotion in your periphery. Nanami has a kid by the elbow, and he’s escorting him out the side door, expressionless. The kid’s obviously drunk out of his mind, tripping over himself, shouting something that Nanami doesn’t bother to respond to.

Maki follows your gaze and wrinkles her nose up in distaste.

“Who’s that?”

“My cousin,” she says flatly. You glance quizzically at Megumi, who is definitely standing five feet away and not being escorted out of the bar.

“Dude, how much family do you have at this school?”

She sighs. “Just Mai and Megumi and him. Naoya. He’s a piece of shit.”

“Clearly,” Toge says. “He broke the M theme. No respect for the family alliteration.” Maki kicks him in the shin.

“One last round for The Cull!” Panda calls from the stage, and your ears slowly, very gradually stop ringing with the raging new wave music. The stage techs get to work behind Panda as he introduces the next group.

“Up next, making their debut, we’ve got a sophomore girl pop trio. Give it up for MOTION CAPTURE!”

There’s a big cheer from the bar, and you turn to see Geto grinning. Three girls take the stage, the blonde one grabbing the mic and adding, “All caps!” The girl beside her is very obviously her twin sister, though her hair is straight and dark while the blonde’s is tugged into pigtails. Light and dark. The girl on keys has a long, black bubble braid that she pushes out of the way as she settles in to play.

The blonde plugs in her electric and calls out, “Alright, I’m Nanako.” She tests out a chord, the sound reverberating, filling the bar all the way up to its high ceilings. “That’s Mimiko, that’s Remi, and we’re just here to have a good time.”

“Hey,” a voice says behind you, and you jump. You turn to find Takuma holding two drinks, offering one to you.

“Oh! Aw, thanks, you didn’t have to do that. How much do I owe you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“Takuma—”

“Nothing,” he reiterates. “Anyway, The Cull. Thoughts?”

You take the drink and try it while you think on your answer—it’s the same thing Nobara got you last week. How did he know?

“I didn’t really understand any of the lyrics,” you admit, shrugging. “They weren’t bad. Not really my genre. Do you know them?”

Takuma shakes his head. “I had a gen ed once with that Rin kid, but I don’t know the other ones. These girls aren’t bad, though.” He’s right—they’ve launched into an Olivia Rodrigo cover that’s actually decent. They could work on their voice control, but they’re young and fun and having a good time and working the crowd, and that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

You sing along, alternating between your drink and exchanging quips with Toge and talking with Takuma. You like this new balance between your band and his, the easy camaraderie.

When the girls wrap up their set, you whoop and cheer and Kirara shamelessly watches Hakari move things off the stage, arms bare in his cut-off tank.

“You’re subtle,” Takuma tells her, and she tugs his beanie down over his face.

“Hey!”

You grab his drink before he can spill it and grin as he yanks his hat off and readjusts it. His hair is a fluffy mess underneath, and it’s kind of endearing.

When the girl pop trio is done, two guys take the stage, one in white and one in black. They’re clearly related, dark hair and pale skin and piercing eyes, and Panda introduces them as the Kamos. You don’t know if they’re brothers or cousins or what. But they’re good—they sing a few alt rock covers, play guitar.

“Damn,” Nobara sighs, a little longingly, her gaze settling on Choso as he takes over the chorus. “They’re…”

Beside her, Yuji wrinkles his nose. “Dude. That’s my half-brother.”

Nobara hums noncommittally. “And?”

He groans, tipping his head back and staring at the exposed beams of the ceiling, run through with colored lights. “Why does this always happen?”

Toge is taking more photos of them than is strictly necessary, considering your story is about the bar and not the band, but you let him have this. Scattered throughout the crowd are more kids with cameras, freshmen from the entry-level reporting classes with big underage stamps on the backs of their hands. Somebody mistook Toge for one of them earlier, and Maki hasn’t let it go all night.

You jot down atmospheric notes on your phone, little things that’ll help set the scene for your project lede, keeping an eye on the bar as much as you can. Geto has jumped in at the bar, which he usually does when the place gets busy, and Gojo is terrorizing Utahime again.

“How’d your interview go?” Takuma asks, nodding at your notes. It shouldn’t faze you so much that he remembers what you told him about your story, but you can’t help the little kick of your heart in your chest at the reminder.

“Good! Really good.” And then you catch sight of Nanami, back at the door after calling a cab for Maki’s asshat cousin. “Actually, Gojo mentioned you.”

Takuma’s brows shoot up. “Gojo? Why?”

Nanami has always seemed incredibly reserved, stony and silent in a way Takuma has never been. You don’t want to pry, but you’re also curious about the relationship between them, how they met, what they are to each other. The journalist in you wants to know.

And then there’s the part of you that just wants to know Takuma.

“Well, he was talking about the twins and the Fushiguros, and he kind of mentioned something about you knowing Nanami?” You try to sound casual, jerking your chin toward the door where Nanami is posted, like a tall, blond guard dog.

“Oh,” he says, surprised, but he shrugs, not seeming too alarmed by the question. “Yeah, I’ve known Nanami for… a long time. He’s kind of a mentor. He’s the reason I met Fushiguro in the first place, actually, ‘cause of him knowing Gojo.”

You’re considering asking how exactly they did meet when the Kamos wrap up, Nobara staring up at them dreamily, and the stage clears out for the final artist.

Whatever questions you had are thrown out the window, because you know who this is. Everyone knows who this is.

Fifth-year student and resident SoundCloud rapper, Ryomen Sukuna. Or D!SH0NORED1, according to the posters.

“Oh, here we go,” Megumi groans.

Despite his reputation on campus, you don’t know anyone who’s actually close to Sukuna, except Uruame. You mostly know that he deals at the skate park and that he’s clean about it.

And that his raps are truly, genuinely horrible.

He lets Panda give a stilted introduction and launches into a verse, mic too close to his mouth, making hand gestures or stepping to the beat of his backing track. His tattoos are even more stark and bold under the stage lights.

“My blood type’s B, your type is me, my zodiac Caprisun, it might be controversial but you’re still lookin’ at me, son!”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Kirara mutters. “I’m gonna bleach my eardrums.”

“Caprisun?” Nobara whispers. “Oh, dude.”

You might be a terrible person for thinking it, but watching this guy’s performance makes you feel infinitely better about your odds of advancing in the tournament.

His final song is a new one he introduces as Frosted Flexin’, and Maki looks like she’s about ready to keel over dead.

“Frosted flexin’, I'm the cereal king, pourin' oat milk in the mix, yeah, I'm doin' my thing,” Sukuna spits in his low voice, swaggering up to the front of the stage. You are trying so hard not to lose it.

“Sukuna being an oat milk truther wasn’t on my bingo card,” Toge says.

“Got the swag of a squirrel and the brain of a dove, call me trash, but you're still showin' me love.”

“Thoughts on the amount of swag a given squirrel possesses?” you ask Takuma. He laughs, loud and bright, and then seems to very seriously consider the question.

“I don’t know if campus squirrels have swag. They live in luxury. They probably eat better than we do,” he says. You can’t argue that—you did once see a squirrel outside your sociology class run by with a full bagel in its mouth. “The wilderness squirrels, though, I think they got a scrappy kind of swag. Like, I wouldn’t cross them.”

You nod sagely. “I want them on my team in the apocalypse.”

He nudges you with a shoulder. “Am I on your team?”

You glance at him, make a show of looking him up and down. Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think he’s blushing a little. “I don’t know. How fast can you climb a tree?”

Sukuna is nearing the end of his song, now, saying, “Off-tune, out of sync, yeah, I know it's a sin, but you'll play it back twice 'cause I still might win.”

He actually, physically drops the mic and Hakari swoops in and catches it, clearing his throat and saying into it, “Yep, friendly reminder that equipment’s expensive! Everyone give our last artist of the night a hand, yeah?”

There’s scattered applause and more than a few confused faces as Sukuna lopes off stage, and Panda hops back up to explain the voting system for anyone who wasn’t here last week. “QR codes to the Google form are posted around the bar,” he says.

Out of all eight artists, the bottom two will be eliminated. You’re nervous. But voting was open last week too. You can’t vote as a member of the band, and it’s all done through school Google accounts to avoid double votes or the link getting sent out to non-students.

“Open until tomorrow morning,” Panda reminds the audience. “Results and second round schedules will be posted on the Instagram at some point tomorrow! That’s it for this Friday at The Fix. Have a great night, folks. Get home safe.”

Gojo whoops dramatically from the bar, and Panda gives him a weird look before getting off stage.

Your friends start heading toward the door, and you grab Toge and excuse yourself to catch Geto at the bar. Gojo sees you first. “The newsies!” he calls.

“Like the musical?” you say in lieu of a greeting. “Banger soundtrack.”

“I could dance on newspapers,” Toge says.

“Geto!” The Fix’s other owner smiles at you, soft and genuine. Part of his dark hair is pulled back and the rest hangs loose over his shoulders, a stark contrast to Gojo—like the Kamos, you think, or like Nanako and Mimiko. Light and dark. “We were wondering if you’d be down to set up a time to talk. Has Gojo told you about our story at all?”

Geto smiles, drying a glass and leaning against the bar. “He told me he’s gonna be the front page of every paper in the city, which I assume is a horrid exaggeration,” he says. Gojo looks affronted. “Shoko mentioned you’re doing a feature for class, though. I’d be happy to.”

“We have our Monday night class time open for field reporting the week after this one,” Toge offers. “Will you be around?”

“I will indeed. Utahime, too, if you want to speak to both of us. And Gojo won’t be here, which might be beneficial for you.”

“Suguru,” Gojo gasps, pretending to stagger back. “You wound me.”

“Mhm,” he says, unaffected. “What time works best for you two?”

You set up a time to interview Geto and Utahime, then say goodbye to him and Gojo and run to catch up to your friends. It’s a nice night, and since you didn’t have to deal with instruments, you all decided to walk.

“How goes the… journalisming? Journaling?” Takuma asks when you fall into step beside him.

“Good, all good. Reporting is maybe a better word, but valiant effort.”

“I like journalisming. Can you just submit words to the official dictionary? I’m gonna do it.”

“No,” Toge says, and you blink. He shrugs. “What? I tried once. But the only submission form I could find was for the Bureau of Linguistical Reality and it wasn’t like, a legitimate dictionary form. There’s all these requirements, it’s horrible.”

“What word did you try to submit?” you ask warily, not sure if you actually want to know.

“Some things,” Toge says solemnly, “are better kept secret.”

The night is hazy, only small rays of moonlight piercing through the cloud cover, and you make your way through the campus roads guided only by the streetlamps and Maki’s reliable sense of direction.

Part of you wants to ask Takuma to come over, or Yuji to insist the band come over to his place again, just so you can keep talking. But you have work to do, things to write and transcribe, lists of follow-up questions to make, and that’s only your workload for this one class. You still have exams this week, and you need to study now so you can balance it with rehearsals. Assuming you actually advanced to round two, that is.

And part of you worries you might be taking this too fast, too. You don’t typically integrate people into your life so quickly. You like spending time with Takuma and Kirara and Yuji and even Megumi, though he’s pretty quiet. You just don’t want to jump in too far too fast.

At your place, you say your goodbyes and head up to your room to get some work done. Toge uploads his photos and puts them in your project folder on Drive. And you spend the night doing what you do best, aside from drumming—writing.

Youth for the young: JU alumni run safest live music bar in city limits

You don’t even notice the time until it’s past one in the morning, and you’re nearly asleep at your desk. The dark has crept across your room, the only source of light the desk lamp and your laptop screen. Finally, you push the computer shut and flick off the light, flopping into your bed. A few missed messages pop up when you hold your phone up, wincing at the bright screen.

takuma: just letting you know i made the treacherous journey home safely takuma: many miles of hardship takuma: thought i was gonna die halfway there

You smirk and type out a reply.

you: did kirara have to save you takuma: i resent that takuma: (yes) takuma: wait why are you up it’s so late you: journalisming you: why are YOU up takuma: travel adrenaline takuma: (coding project due monday that i just started) you: TAKUMA

The next text to come through is a voice note, and you can’t help smiling as you hit play and his voice fills the open air of your bedroom.

“Okay, in my defense, I thought it was due next Monday. Which maybe isn’t my defense because it means I just can’t read due dates, or maybe I just can’t read, but I thought I had a lot more time and then one of my classmates texted me asking for help on this block of code and I told him I hadn’t started and he was like oh my god, Ino, it’s due in three days, and I was like no it’s not, we have so much time—turns out we don’t have so much time, so I’m over here staring at my screen until the vessels in my eyes pop—”

He yawns, and it makes you yawn too, despite the screen separating you. “Sorry, agh. Anyway, I have to write this program that uses some kind of randomized generator…”

You find your eyelids fighting gravity, exhaustion washing over you as he explains the project and all the reasons he’s not that worried about getting it done by Monday because actually he’s on a roll and it turns out the code isn’t that different from a similar project he did last year so he can just lift the main blocks over and wow, he’s tired, and you stifle a laugh as the voice memo comes to an end and he says, “Okay, gosh, I should go to bed. You should go to bed. Stop journalisming, Skip, get some sleep. G’night.”

You grin, plugging your phone in and sending him a voice memo of your own.

“I’m done journalisming. Still haven’t written that story on you, though. Night, Takuma.”

The last thing you see before you fall asleep is his reaction to your text. It’s a thumbs up, but after a few seconds, it disappears, replaced with a heart.

—

“I’m gonna die,” Nobara groans.

You’ve been checking Instagram every hour on the hour for the bracket results, but to no avail. The five of you are sprawled out in the living room, a Fleetwood Mac record spinning in the corner, cups of coffee and tea and scattered remnants of breakfast dotting the table and the floor and the windowsill.

You have post notifications on for the Battle of the Bands Instagram page, but you check anyway, as if you somehow missed it.

“Okay,” Maki says. “Cut it out. No phones.”

“Maki,” Toge groans. “How do we live with the suspense?”

“Go around and give a rundown of your week?” Yuta suggests.

“Aw, highs and lows, it’s like elementary school,” Nobara says happily. “I’ll go first! High: annoying slacker guy in my marketing class got a shit grade on the group project and the rest of us got As. Low: Skipper won’t give me Ino lore.”

“Lore,” you mimic. “I don’t have any lore. We’ve known each other for like, two weeks.”

“That’s enough time for lore,” she insists. “What’s your high? Ino?”

“Okay, jeez,” you say. “Maybe it’s that Toge and I had a really good first interview for our project story.”

Toge blinks at you.

“Fine, maybe it’s Takuma.”

Nobara grins in a way you can only describe as malicious. “Okay,” you say, pointing at her. “Low: whatever that is.” She sticks her tongue out at you.

“My low is Skipper bullying me in class,” Toge says. “And my high is she said she’d be my partner, so I’m not gonna fail.”

Yuta nods sagely. “Maki?”

“Uhh,” she says eloquently. “My parents won’t stop pestering me about fall break. But I aced a test on Thursday in anthro, so there’s that.”

“You’re not going home, right?” you ask. She shakes her head resolutely. Maki doesn’t go home unless she absolutely has to—one thing she and Mai actually have in common.

All of your phones go off at once, a mix of buzzes and beeps and Apple watchfaces lighting up, and Nobara screams. “I can’t look!” she cries. “Someone tell me!”

You click on the notification and pull up the post, heart racing.

The first slide is a generic Battle of the Bands announcement with the cool ass graphics you’ve been seeing on the posters. Whoever designs those needs a raise. The second image is the bracket for next Friday, with the first knockout round of three—only one group will move on to the finals. “Who is it?” Nobara asks anxiously, pacing the room. “Oh god, I’m gonna die.”

“Shibuya Incident,” you read off, unable to keep the smile from your face. “Angel.” Nobara groans overdramatically. “And the Kamos.”

You swipe to the next screen, heart in your throat. OCTOBER 18, it reads. THE CULL. CURSED TECHNIQUE. BLACK FLASH.

“Oh my god!” you scream. “Oh my god, we made it!”

Toge yanks you to your feet and starts hopping around the living room, and Nobara shrieks with joy as you pull her into the celebration. Even Maki and Yuta are sporting wide smiles as they watch the three of you bounce around like kids on a sugar rush.

“What, no Sukuna?” Maki teases when you’ve calmed down. Toge clears his throat and does his best impression, going as far as to make his pants sag a little around his waist.

“Frosted flexin’, I’m the cereal king, pourin’… uh, duh nuh nuh, something doin’ my thing,” he says in a deep voice. “Uh… squirrel? Somethin’ fuego, that’s Spanish, uhhh…”

“Oh my god, let me look it up,” Nobara cackles, pulling up SoundCloud. “It’s I’m the king of bad decisions, got a throne made of Legos, took a bite of my mic and said these bars are fuego.”

Yuta physically winces. “Does he really sag his pants like that?”

Toge shrugs. “It felt right in the moment.”

“Wait, who’s the other one eliminated, then?” you ask, running through the bands in your head. Yours, Takuma’s, Black Flash, the Kamos…

“Motion Capture,” Maki says.

“No, it’s all caps. You have to shout it. MOTION CAPTURE!” Toge hollers. Nobara snorts.

You aren’t entirely surprised, but you have a feeling the girls aren’t too put out about it. They’re young, too—they’ll have their time to shine eventually.

You grin, flopping back onto the couch. “Okay, rehearsal when? Tonight?”

“Yeah, I have to go to a friend’s to figure some stuff out for a project, but I’ll be back at like… five?” Yuta says.

“Oh, fuck, I gotta go too!” Nobara says, darting toward the stairs.

“Group project?” Maki asks.

“Shopping! I gotta pick Miwa up in like, ten minutes!”

Maki rolls her eyes fondly. Yuta stands up and grabs his bag, heading toward the entryway, and the rest of you gravitate instinctually to the kitchen. Nobara is out the door moments later with a wave and a shout, and Toge grins.

“What,” Maki deadpans, not a question.

“I printed memes to hide on her Polaroid wall. Be right back.”

You snort, turning your attention to the window to watch Nobara cruise down the block. The view of her sleek, small car is interrupted by Yuta’s jungle of plants.

“I hope they’re not too cold,” he says, frowning as he tugs a jacket on over his white hoodie. “Do they look okay to you?”

“Yeah,” you say, pointing to the one in the white, ovular pot. “Especially this one, it’s getting so big! What’s his name, Snorlax?” Yuta had a phase where he named at least six plants in a row after Pokèmon.

“No, that one’s Rika, after that TV show,” Maki corrects, not looking up. Yuta blinks, looks between her and the plant, whose vines have started to creep up the window. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Both of your eyes on her have her looking up from her phone, expression flat and unaffected. “What?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I didn’t know… anyone paid attention.”

Maki shrugs. “You talk to them out loud.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Yuta laughs and waves one last time before he walks out, closing the door behind him. You count to five in your head and then whirl on Maki, entirely unable to keep the shit-eating grin off your face.

“Kowalski, status report.”

She blinks at you. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I know, just—on what? What happened?”

You groan, dragging the heels of your hands down your face. “Maki. Please.” You gesture wildly between her and the door, wondering if she’s genuinely this oblivious or if she’s just as good a liar as Mai. “Are you—did we not just witness the same interaction? Jesus, Maki, put the boy out of his misery!”

Seeing Maki frazzled is not a common occurrence. The most agitated you ever see her is talking about her family or trading passive aggressive jabs with Mai. This is an entirely new sort of disarray—she’s flustered.

“I—what?! I can’t do that! And he’s not miserable. He’s that nice to everyone.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands with your elbows on the counter. “Maki! He likes you. And your face is telling me you like him back.”

She scoffs, turning her head down and crossing her arms defensively. “I’m not messing things up by dating my bandmate. We live together, Skip, he’s my best friend, if things got messy—”

You hold up a hand. “First of all, offensive. I’m your best friend. Second of all, I hear no denial. Also, it won’t get messy. You are the two most mature people in this house and you know how to separate personal from practical. If anything, it’s gonna kill the vibes of the band and the house if you just keep stewing in the sexual tension.”

“Oh my god,” Maki groans. “There. Is. No. Sexual. Tension.”

“There’s always sexual tension,” Toge announces, walking in and jumping up onto the countertop, legs swinging. He looks between the two of you innocently. “What are we talking about?”

“You might be of some help, actually,” you say, turning to Toge with your hands clasped.

“Uh, actually? Not oh, Toge, you’re always so helpful, thank god you live with me and keep my life interesting—”

“Nevermind.”

“No, pleeease,” Toge insists, sticking out his lower lip. “What?” His gaze shifts to Maki, who’s blushing a furious red. His mouth turns into a small O. “This is about Yuta?”

You didn’t think she could get any more scarlet, but here she is.

“Does everyone think that?” she groans, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Toge shrugs. “I thought we were all just quietly skirting around it until you both snapped.”

“Nobara doesn’t skirt around anything,” Maki says.

“Well, there’s no way she doesn’t know,” you point out. “Maybe she just respects both of you enough to leave it alone.”

“Hah!” Toge snorts, poking you in the ribs. “That means she doesn’t respect you. She wants the Ino lore.”

“I’m gonna tell Nobara about the memes.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Abruptly, you realize you never got around to Yuta for highs and lows, what with the chaos of the brackets dropping. “Ah, guys,” you say. “We missed Yuta.” You pull up the house group chat.

you: YUTA DROP YOUR HIGH AND LOW IN THE CHAT you: YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN freak no. 1: yes you are utah: haha aw that’s nice utah disliked a message from freak no. 1 utah: uhh low is maybe that toge keeps leaving memes all over our room. like i keep finding them tucked in my notebooks and everything freak no. 1: SLANDER freak no. 1: LIBEL you: not the same thing freak no. 1: SHUT UP utah: high is someone remembers the names of my plants!! :) nobara: Sorry, using voice text while I drive. Who knows the names of your plants? You and God? utah: maki! :)

“Okay, well, respond,” Toge says, poking Maki in the side. She glares at him and likes Yuta’s message.

“Guys,” she says exasperatedly. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Does he know?”

And you’re not sure, honestly. You don’t know that Yuta is even aware of his own feelings, let alone aware that Maki reciprocates them. You shrug helplessly. “How about… ask?”

“Jesus,” Maki says.

“Not him, Yuta.”

Maki socks Toge in the shoulder and levels him with a disdainful look. “You are the bane of my existence.”

“And the object of all your desires,” Toge proclaims in a horrendous Bridgerton accent. He made you watch all of it with him in two days. Maki refused.

Now, she just shoves him, and he squeals as he falls off the kitchen counter.

“Children,” you sigh. “Do you need to be separated?”

“Yes!”

—

“Why is this so hard?” You stand with your feet planted on Takuma’s skateboard, which is confoundingly, entirely different than balancing atop your longboard. “Oh my god.” You lurch forward as the board rolls a bit to the left, unable to stifle the squeal that comes out of your mouth.

Takuma stops it with one foot.

“Your center of balance is lower on a longboard,” he laughs. “Like, here.” His hands wrap around your waist and you tense under his grip, and he immediately freezes, jerking his arms back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No! No, it’s okay,” you blurt, sheepish. “I just wasn’t expecting it, I—here.” You try to fight the blush furiously rising in your cheeks as you take his wrists in both hands, putting them back where they were. You clear your throat, suddenly too warm. “Um. Okay, so—do you turn the same way?”

“Pretty much. You just lean,” Takuma says, and you shift your weight to your heels, letting him steady you. “It’s a bit harsher than you would on a longboard, though. Unless you want me to send you right into kickturns?” His tone is teasing and you pretend to consider, tapping a finger against your chin.

“Mm. Maybe later.”

You’ve been at the skate park for a while now, and you’ve only recently ditched your longboard for the skateboard. Takuma brought the extra board you saw hanging on his wall the other day, and he uses it to demonstrate while you practice riding back and forth, getting a hold on your balance. After you feel like you can make it a good distance without pinwheeling your arms, you come to a staggered stop beside him.

A flash of blue-green hair grabs your attention, and you watch a kid in a lightning bolt hoodie slip under the ramps. The park has been pretty deserted today aside from a few guys doing tricks in the pit, a chilly Sunday with the sunlight muted by the clouds.

“Ooh, drug deal in action.” You poke Takuma in the side.

“Ah, probably Sukuna. He deals here all the time.” Sukuna’s business is one of those things everyone’s aware of but nobody talks about. He’s consistent and pretty safe, as far as drug dealers go, but he’ll deny any involvement while smoking a joint if he has to.

“Who’s space buns?”

“Uhh…” Takuma narrows his eyes, and the guy slips out again. “Damn, that was fast. Oh, that’s Hajime. Another senior, I think. They hate each other. Fastest deals I’ve ever seen.”

“I wonder how much of his songwriting is just… while he’s really, really high,” you muse. Swag of a squirrel doesn’t strike you as a particularly levelheaded thought, but hey, it’s certainly memorable.

Takuma leans in and says conspiratorially, “I’m pretty sure I heard him dropping bars here the other day when I was with Yuji.”

You snort and look up at one of the smallest ramps, one you think you could handle without falling on your face, and point to it with a raised brow.

“Oh, moving up in the world?” Takuma kicks his board up and starts walking over, and you do the same. Before you put the board down at the top of the ramp, though, you hold it up to the light, noticing a few short, white hairs caught on the surface.

“Is this… fur?” Maybe there was a cat hiding out somewhere when you were over. Kirara seems like she’d have a cat.

Takuma sighs. “Yeah, the dogs shed like crazy. It gets everywhere. I don’t think I even left that on the ground.”

Your jaw drops, and you stare at him until he looks back at you. “Dogs?”

“What? Yeah, Fushiguro’s—”

“Fushiguro has dogs? Dogs plural? In the house?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” you cry. “What? Oh my god! Where were they on Wednesday? How many? What are their names?”

Takuma leans back on the rail next to the ramp, grinning. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. Oh my god. They’re so cute. Tsumiki had them Wednesday, I think. Mandated auntie time. Do you wanna meet ‘em?”

“Do I want to meet them?” you repeat, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Uh, yeah. Are they home? Oh my god. I love dogs.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he deadpans, but he’s smiling still. “Yeah, they’re home. And you can meet them if you go down this ramp without dying.”

“You’re cruel,” you say, situating yourself on the board. “But I will. And then I’ll meet the dogs and become their best friend and they’ll love me more than you and Megumi combined.”

“Confident.” He comes up beside you, checking your stance. The ramp didn’t look steep or long at all from your vantage point across the park, but now that you’re atop the board, it feels suddenly very steep and very long. “You got it. Just don’t panic, keep your stance.” He drops his own board and cruises down the ramp, hardly even trying.

“Okay, go!” he calls from the bottom. “C’mon, Skip, the dogs are waiting.”

“Oh, god,” you murmur, the wind catching your words and whisking them away. You ball your hands into fists and push off, planting your foot back on the board and trying to keep your knees bent, but not too stiff, as you careen down the ramp. Don’t panic, keep your stance. You’re at the bottom in what feels like nanoseconds, and the sudden shift from ramp to flat ground has you stumbling off the board with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak of alarm.

“Nice!” Takuma laughs as he catches you, the board rolling a few more feet ahead. His arm is wrapped around your front, the other holding you up by the shoulder, and this time you don’t tense under his hands.

“Thanks,” you say a little breathlessly, grinning, the tiny spike of adrenaline making you almost lightheaded. He lets his hands drop when you’re steady on your feet, and part of you mourns the warmth a little. But there are more pressing matters at hand. “So, about those dogs?”

You opt for your longboard on the way back down your street, cruising along beside Takuma, who has his extra board tucked under his arm. You’ve got a lot to do tonight, all the last-minute preparation for another crazy week, but you can and will drop everything to pet a puppy. Or two. Always.

And they’re actual angels. Big, fluffy angels on earth, one white and one black, and they’re all over you the second you open the door.

“Hi!” you say happily, sinking down to their level. The white one immediately tries to burrow into your lap. “Oh, hello! You’re so nice, aren’t you?” You glance up at Takuma. “Where’s Megumi?” You grab the white one’s collar and check the tag—Shiro.

“Shiro thinks she’s a tiny dog,” he says, bending down to ruffle the fur behind her ears. “Uh, Fushiguro’s at the animal clinic. He works there Sundays. And Tuesdays, I think.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, he’s a vet student. You didn’t know?”

“I did not.” The black one is licking your face, and you giggle and check his tag, too. Kuro.��“Hi, Kuro. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“He’s got such a soft spot for animals,” Takuma says as he kicks off his shoes. “You should see when they both try to sleep in his little twin bed. It’s ridiculous.”

“I love them,” you say, burying your face in Kuro’s scruff. “Hi, doggies. You’re awful cute, you know that? Mhm. Yes you are.”

When you finally look up again, Kuro’s cold nose nudging insistently at your palm, Takuma is leaning against the wall, looking down at you with his phone discreetly angled your way. “Takuma!”

He laughs, not bothering to hide it anymore, very clearly taking photos of you with the dogs. “It’s cute!” he insists. “I’ll send them to you. Proof for Fushiguro of your master plan to make them like you more than him.”

“And you,” you remind him.

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

You gesture pointedly to the two dogs, who are all over you and not him. It’ll be a nightmare trying to get all of Shiro’s white fur off your black jacket later, but it’s worth it.

“You’re new,” he says. “New scent. It’s the novelty factor. I am their favorite.”

“You sure? I’m pretty hard to compete with.”

He smiles, looking from you to the photos he took of you and the dogs. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”

—

The first half of the new week goes by in a rushed routine of classes, homework, and rehearsals, each night ending with you collapsing into bed, new and old lyrics fighting for dominance in the back of your mind. Sticks re-taped and drum heads re-tuned, assignments turned in and drafts edited. Your classes are ramping up as midterms approach, and Yuta bounces between his own work and poking his head into everyone’s rooms, making sure they don’t forget about dinner.

Toge follows through on his snack run promise, and the two of you spend hours on Tuesday afternoon trading two different flavored bags of Doritos back and forth, Toge writing photo captions while you edit your story lede.

Takuma, Hakari, and Kirara have offered to help Cursed Technique record a single on Wednesday night, and the five of you have been drilling the new song you wrote up, down, and sideways.

Finally, Wednesday arrives, and you’re all crammed into the recording studio space, instruments set up and headsets tuned in.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nobara says to Hakari on the other side of the glass. She taps a finger on the mic in demonstration, and you hear it in your own headphones.

“Great,” he says. “Skipper?”

“Skipper? I hardly know her,” Toge says, earning a harmless smack upside the head from Yuta and a not harmless smack upside the head from Maki.

“I will throw these at you,” you tell him, holding up your sticks. Toge sticks his bottom lip out, pouting.

A snicker from beside you draws your attention back to Takuma, kneeling just beside the throne as he adjusts the kick mic. He has you hit it a few times while Hakari monitors the levels. You feel oddly self-conscious like this, him looking up at you, but then he smiles and it’s not strange at all. It’s stupid how fast he can put you at ease with a look.

“Nice,” he says. “Okay, that should work, yeah, Hakari?”

It’s Kirara who answers, “Yeah, you’re good.”

Takuma stands up, claps his hands together once, and looks at you. “Okay. Kill it, Skip.”

“Yessir.” You salute him with a stick and he makes his way to the other room, closing the door behind him.

“All good?” Yuta asks, glancing at each of you in turn before giving Hakari a thumbs up. It’s strange to be on this side of the glass, to think about your music being played back, to think about it on Spotify, out in the world.

“Next Fix,” Takuma says into the mic, locking eyes with you through the window. “Take one in three, two…”

The song starts out simple. You click your sticks together near the mic, on two and four, while Maki lays down a four-bar loop.

Yuta keeps glancing at Maki while she plays, utterly unaware, and the look on his face is so soft you want to shake Maki by the shoulders until she does something about it.

Nobara’s got her eyes closed with the headset over her ears and her hands around the mic, entirely engrossed in the song.

“It’s comin’ on, comin’ strong, spinnin’ up out of the blue, mmm,” she sings, stretching out the vowels. “And I’m on the ground, bleedin’ out, until my next fix of you, ooh.”

Now you start up with a light rock beat, closed hat and a bit of a dragging buzz on the snare hits. Just as you transition into the beat, Toge comes in with some low chords and Yuta moves down the line in syncopated sixteenths.

Hakari is nodding approvingly and Takuma has a wide grin on his face, and you can’t help smiling back.

“I need it like a lung,” Nobara sings, swaying a bit. “I need it like a light. It’s got me twisted up. I need you here tonight, tonight, tonight, oh, oh, I wanna—”

And this part is your favorite—Nobara sings each two-syllable phrase while you pound on the toms twice, emphasizing it with the kick, and then the backup vocals echo her. Get my (get my) next fix (next fix) of you (of you, of you, of you.)

Kirara pumps her fist in the air twice, in time with the beat, and your bandmates can’t keep the smiles off their faces. You’ve got something here, you really do. This might be your best one yet.

When the song’s over, Nobara whoops and tugs off the headphones, jumping around the cramped studio space with a grin on her face. “That was so cool! Oh my god. Guys, we sound good. We actually sound good.”

“Damn,” Kirara calls. “Okay, girl drummer. Good shit.”

“Not bad for a first run,” Maki admits, adjusting her bass strap over her shoulder. “Do we wanna try recording backups separately at all?”

“Good call.” Takuma nods. “Let’s run that again without the backups and record them over, see what happens.” He’s in full producer mode, flipping switches, colored lights reflecting in his eyes as he and Hakari talk shop away from the mic. He’s good at this, you realize, running sessions like this, making sure things go where they need to go, that everyone’s heard, that things get done. It’s a little bit like watching him skateboard, or seeing him on stage. There’s a confidence to him here, a smooth, easy energy. He’s in his element.

“Alright,” he says after a minute. “Let’s hear that again.”

And you play it again. And again. And again. And you are so in love with this moment, with your band, with a couple rowdy kids on the other side of the window, the rasp in Nobara’s voice and the expression on Yuta’s face and Maki’s obliviousness and Toge’s consistent, head-banging keys, and your drums and your words and the music, and the lyrics feel right to you.

You need this like a lung.

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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32

a/n: GUYS. loml @shutuppeter is so downbad for soundcloud rapper sukuna that she's writing fanfic of my fanfic😭 credits for frosted flexin' are all hers LMFAO so go check that out (MDNI for that one though).

yutamaki nation rise. also, i kinda love this fic. there may be spinoffs for other characters in the works...

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sleepingnova · 2 years ago

Note

imagine miles morales confessing to you that he is spider man after he saves you from something idk I love him

sure thing anon :) I don't know if you wanted this to be a pre - established relationship, so I'm just gonna go on a limb here and do that. sorry this took so long, I had a sudden burst of motivation. it's 1 am, so this isn't proofread

wc : I don't have a fucking clue, how do you check your word count if you're mobile?? I wanna do that 😭

Friendly neighborhood spider - man

pairing: miles morales x journalist reader

summary : being new york's top journalist has its perks, but it always seems to attract the wrong type of attention.

Journalism. It's not for the faint of heart. When you have deadlines to make, interviews to take care of, and people constantly yelling either at you or around you 24 / 7, everything can be a bit time consuming.

That also means you get a lot of attention. Some good, while others..not so much. Sure, its nice to have a free coffee or cake pop every now and then for the articles and the interviews you do; people have always said you have a way with words.

You really don't even know how you got into this situation. The caffeine kicked in, which made you jumpy to everyone and everything, really. Your eyebags were not very nice to look at and to be honest, you looked a mess.

You woke up late for class, you weren't really feeling like getting out of bed anyways but you did it anyway. No makeup, no nice and preppy clothing, just you; and boy did that bite you in the ass. You were 95% sure that all the things you had in life were handed to you because you were pretty. For instance, the guy who hired you literally took one look at you and said "congratulations, you're hired. we could use a pretty girl like you for coffee runs, right sweetheart?"

With balancing college and your career as a journalist, it's not too difficult. So then why'd you end up in this situation? Getting cornered by 3 guys in a dark ass alleyway, and it's 3:05 am.

No one at your job comes close to you when it comes to performance. Every single time. The newest topic of discussion is Brooklyn's number one trending for 7 years straight : spider - man.

"Who was he?" is your focus. The CEO of your job was retiring, and he held a competition to see who would take his spot. He obviously had you in mind, but he wanted to make things fair and you told him you wanted to earn it, not have it given to you.

The challenge was fairly simple: Get an exclusive interview with spider - man and have him answer a couple questions.

You've done exclusives before, not a problem. Until you realized, major problem. He swings around the city 24/7 how in fucks name were you going to catch him? Until an idea came to you. You stayed up all night, then you got hungry, so you left your dorm and walked down the street to the 24 hour convenience store. You liked documenting what you do, so you were recording on your phone where you were going.

After getting some snacks, you left and couldn't shake the feeling you were being followed. You were. By 4 different people. One of whom was none other than the infamous Miles Morales or, well, spider - man. He saw the guys five minutes ago and didn't want to do anything until he knew for sure you were getting followed.

A bit of time passes and miles realizes, he lost you. He hears a muffled shout from down the street so he runs towards it, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

Now your mind comes back to this exact moment. You can't really make out what the guy in front of you is saying, but you think he's trying to rob you, but why would he need two other guys to rob someone? Especially in the middle of the night. You look dazed and totally not scared at all, Miles thinks, as he's literally invisible right in front of you.

You come out of your trance to one of them forcing you onto the ground. You wiggle and worm your way away, but it's not enough. Fear settled in as you realized what they were doing.

"Hey! Let her go." A voice shouts. You reach into your pocket to grab your pepper spray as you see a bunch of webs and hear hard blows hitting, but it's really dark and you can't see in the dark for shit.

You start running out of the alley and back towards your building, you look back and see the three of them running after you. So you run a little faster, and faster, until you're full on sprinting down the street.

'Thank god my parents forced me into track and field.' you thought, as you got closer and closer to the building. As luck would have it, the doors were locked, and your key was in that bag full of snacks.

They finally catch you, and in a split second, you brace for impact, but it never comes. You're in the air.

You look up and there it is. This is the story that'll get you CEO position, you'll be CEO for the rest of your life. A thought pops into your head as he drops you off at his apartment.

'Was my phone recording everything? Oh shit it was.' you think to yourself as you pull out your phone, your eyes widening.

Another thought pops up. 'oh my god, I'm in spider - man's apartment. it's not even that far from my building.' you wonder as you stop the recording.

"you do know you're going to have to delete that footage, right?" he asks as he lifts up his mask and puts something in his mouth.

"I get your job as a journalist is important, but sweetheart, I gotta keep you safe."

You raise your eyebrow, "how do you know about my job?"

he shrugs as he removes his mask.

"Miles? What the fuck is this? Don't tell me you're.. You're spider - man?" You whisper yell as you back up towards his desk.

"The one and only, love. surprised to see me?" he chuckles.

it was then that everything started to piece together. he always bails on plans, he's always late and has sudden injuries. hell, you even saw his suit in his bag once, but you didn't think anything of it.

"wait.. what does my interview with you have anything to do with keeping me safe?" you raised a brow at him as he plops down on his bed.

"think about it, baby. Me swinging around being spider - man gets pretty complicated when there's an article released by my girlfriend about how she got saved, by me. It puts you in jeopardy, because criminals can find you and use you as bait, and because I don't know that you won't put my identity out there." he explained.

"but you know I'm not like that." you replied.

"yes, I know baby. it's just complicated." he said.

you sighed with a defeated look, knowing that your boss wasn't going to be pleased, but it was for the best.

"if it's alright with you, do you mind if I just stay here for the night? in the morning, on my way to work, I can ask for another key." you asked, softly, him catching your disappointed change in octave.

"yeah sure, that's fine." he replied, walking into his room.

"do you have a spare blanket? I can just sleep out here on the couch." you called to him.

"hm? uh yeah, I think I have a spare. unless you'd like to sleep in my room, with me? the couch is kinda uncomfortable, and it gets kinda cold in here throughout the night." he offered, shyly.

"what about your roommate?" you questioned quietly.

"he won't be back for another week or so, as far as I'm concerned, he'll text if something goes south." he answered.

you thought for a moment, then nodded as you followed him into his room and climbed into his soft bed.

"woah, this is way softer than I thought it would be. what softener do you use when you wash your blankets?" you wondered aloud, cuddling all in his blankets and he chuckled.

"uhhh, I don't know. my roommate does laundry. I don't ever go with him unless he needs me to, which isn't often." he responded.

'ah.' you thought.

"aren't you going to spoon me? c'mon miles, please?" you pleaded with the tired, little puppy dog eyes miles swore he hated, because he could never say no to you when you made that face.

"I'm sorry, I have a couple of essays to write still. Why don't you get the bed nice and warm, then I'll be in bed before you know it." he cooed.

your eyelids started to get heavy as you let out a small hum as you started to fall asleep.

when you woke up the next day, it was 8 am and there was a small basket in the chair next to you.

the basket was filled with your snacks from the night before all wrapped up in the bag still, a hoodie and some clothes to wear to class, a water bottle and a nice book for you to read. on the desk, there was your favorite iced coffee and a note with absolutely beautiful penmanship.

you smiled as you read the letter.

[ hello,

spider man here!

I only have time to answer one of your questions right now, so here it is.

Being a hero isn't about being famous or rich, it's about your own morals and how you stick to them. I started the whole "spiderman" thing when I was 14 years old. It was hard, I had just lost a family member and I felt isolated from my family. You wouldn't believe me if I said that under the mask, I'm just an ordinary person, just like all of you, but I am, really.

I chose to be a hero because I believed in helping others. I really have to leave, so I can't say much more.

Remember, anyone can wear the mask.

Until next time,

—your friendly neighborhood spider man. ]

while you knew that you couldn't tell anyone about who was really under the mask, a part of you felt proud that he trusted you with his secret.

should I make another part to this? likes and reblogs are always appreciated :>

#miles morales x reader #miles morales #into the spider verse #spiderman

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simpforboys · 2 years ago

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your jealousy is showing

xavier thorpe x fem!reader

summary: when ajax and you get partnered up for a project, it leaves xavier to realize his feelings

warnings: jealousy, some angst (barely), fluffy ending, swearing

she’s kinda a long one🙏🙏

“alright class, today we’re going to switch it up a little bit. we’re going to do a partner project,” ms thornhill announced.

everyone smiled at their friends, including you. you and xavier made eye contact with smirks, but the energy quickly fell.

“i will be picking your partners.”

you frowned at your best friend as ms thornhill continued to explain the project.

“you and your partner are going to be using this seed.” ms thornhill showed the tiny brown seed around.

kent and some other sirens snickered.

“you two will have to get the plant to sprout by the end of the week. if there is no sprout, you guys fail. the project is due in class by friday. other then that, no homework for the rave’n!”

everyone shifted in their seat as you listened intrigued. bianca raised her hand.

“and is sprouting the seed supposed to be challenging?” she asked.

“this is a devil’s spawn. very challenging to grow, yet alone sprout. there is a specific way for it to sprout, the answer lies somewhere in this riddle. but that’s for you and your partner to figure out. now, here’s your partners.”

“are you ready to be a detective?” xavier mumbled to you with a smile on his face. you shrugged in response.

“i’ll be the best damn detective nevermore has ever seen. i just hope to be put with someone i know.”

“xavier and yoko, y/n and ajax.” ms thornhill kept reading off names.

ajax smiled at you and you returned the gesture. you and ajax were friends, not as close as you and xavier or even xavier and ajax, but you guys could talk without it being awkward.

“if i find out you guys cheat, use technology, or any outside source i will fail you!” thornhill announced.

“so, how do you suppose we do this?” ajax asked you.

“we can meet up at the weathervane later?” you suggested. he nodded.

xavier couldn’t help but feel his stomach twist in knots. the girl he’s practically been in love with for years working with his best friend.

“yeah, how about two?” ajax checked the time.

“sounds perfect.” xavier watched as you flashed your beautiful smile at ajax.

“where do you wanna work on this?” yoko asked xavier.

“how about... the weathervane? at two?”

yoko nodded.

➽─────────────────❥

when xavier walked into the café he immediately noticed you and ajax sitting in a booth together, the seed in a tiny pot you probably purchased. he huffed as he sat down at another booth as he waited for yoko to show.

you noticed xavier walk into the café out of the corner of your eye, but you were too busy brainstorming to say anything.

“maybe we sing to it?” ajax suggested which made you let out a laugh.

“you can sing and dance to it, maybe it’ll sprout out and say hey,” you joked. ajax couldn’t help but laugh.

“well, what other idea do you have?” he questioned.

“this riddle just isn’t clicking in my head. ‘for me to sprout, you must not pout. for my friend grows, while i continue to foe. put me in light, and i’ll be a sight’” you read off the paper thornhill gave you all.

“so the plant makes enemies?” ajax asked sarcastically.

“maybe the whole purpose of the plant is to reveal your true self? i mean, why else would it be called devil’s spawn? some people are secretly assholes.”

yoko finally showed up while xavier’s head was empty. the riddle just didn’t make sense.

what else didn’t make sense to him, was what the hell ajax was saying that had you laughing so much. he hadn’t even noticed his jaw was clenched until tyler stopped by to take his order.

“what can i get you guys?” tyler asked as nonchalantly as possible (considering the drama between the two).

yoko ordered an espresso while xavier just settled for a water. he didn’t need caffeine messing with his head (because you were already messing it up).

once tyler walked away yoko noticed xavier’s discomfort as he stared at you.

“will you stop staring at your girlfriend and focus on our project?” she asked suddenly.

xavier snapped out of whatever world he was in.

“she’s not my girlfriend,” xavier frowned slightly.

“really? everyone assumes you two are together, considering the way you both look at each other.”

you took a sip of your hot chocolate as you and ajax continued making theories.

“i think maybe it’s a metaphor. a plant obviously cannot make an enemy, but people can. and as far as the light, maybe once the problem is resolved there will be growth?”

ajax nodded. “that might be it, actually.”

“but the thing is, what problem?”

you and ajax sat in silence. “let me go ask xavier.”

you stood up in your baggy jeans, black tank top, and jacket. xavier watched as you walked over to him and yoko.

“have you guys figured out anything?” you questioned.

“yes, and quite frankly i don’t think other partners are supposed to be discussing with each other,” xavier snapped at you.

you were taken back by your best friend’s hostile behavior. “damn. well thanks for that, dickhead.” you scoffed and walked away.

yoko stared at xavier. “your jealousy is showing.”

➽─────────────────❥

days passed by with xavier avoiding you. you didn’t understand why he was acting like this.

but your main focus was the sprout and finding a dress for the rave’n. enid had invited you out with her since wednesday failed to make any set plans.

you filled enid in on the sprout project with ajax, knowing how much she liked him.

“oh my gosh, this would look so good on you!” enid gasped as she pulled out a long white dress with a corset top.

your eyes lit up at the dress. enid handed you the dress before she turned around.

“i’m in love, y/n!” she gestured to another white dress with fur on the collar and sleeves.

enid and you purchased your dresses and shoes before walking out of the store. on the way back to nevermore, you guys looked in the suit shop to see xavier and ajax getting fitted for suits.

“i think i’m going to pass out,” enid awed. you laughed at her fangirling, but couldn’t deny you weren’t doing your own.

xavier looked good. his all white suit made your stomach fill with butterflies.

“has ajax asked you to the dance yet?” you asked enid as the two of you kept walking.

“no, we haven’t really spoken since he stood me up the other night.” she frowned.

“i still think there was some sort of mishap. i don’t believe ajax would purposely stand you up, especially since he talks about you sometimes.”

enid’s gasp made you burst out laughing. “does he really?” she asked excitedly.

“girl, yeah. he wants you so bad.”

enid was practically squealing.

“i can say the same about xavier to you. that boy has it bad for you, y/n.”

“enid, we’re just best friends. but i don’t know, he’s being a dick ever since that stupid seed project.”

“maybe he’s jealous you’re hanging out more with ajax.”

you didn’t answer enid. maybe she was right, but who knows.

“omg! what if the problem you need to solve is you guys confessing your feelings!” enid squealed once more.

you stared at your friend, blinking at her a few times.

“absolutely not. he does not like me.”

“so you like him?” enid wiggled her eyebrows at you.

you couldn’t help but sarcastically roll your eyes as you felt your face warm up.

“you’re not denying it!”

“it doesn’t matter, okay? he doesn’t like me like that. despite how badly i want him to ask me to the dance, his stupid attitude is getting in the way.”

➽─────────────────❥

never in a million years did you think you would fail at getting a stupid plant to sprout. but the look on thornhill’s face when you and ajax showed up with an unsprouted seed was enough to make you want to sob.

“i’m going to have to give you guys a zero for this,” she frowned.

you and ajax nodded sadly, however, you guys weren’t the only ones to show up empty handed.

xavier avoided your gaze as yoko showed thornhill the unsprouted seed.

you sighed defeatedly.

“i’m sure whatever that stupid riddle meant was so obvious.” ajax said in frustration.

“i guess. i just don’t know what we did wrong.”

➽─────────────────❥

later that night, enid, yoko, and you all got ready for the dance together.

“i’m so excited!” enid said happily as she finished putting on her glitter.

you finished your makeup and sprayed your favorite perfume.

taking selfies of yourself for instagram, your stomach began to turn in anticipation.

“okay, everyone smile!” enid said. she took a selfie with you and yoko, uploading it to her social media.

“let’s go show everyone that we’re boss ass bitches,” yoko nodded. you and enid both cheered to that.

the dance hall was filled with white decorations. snowflakes, a giant yeti, fake snow, it looked like mount everest had an avalanche in the room.

enid and yoko met up with their dates as you went to get punch. when you turned around, you almost dropped your drink at the sight of xavier and bianca walking in together.

xavier quickly met your eye contact and you couldn’t help but feel rage fill your body and overtake your emotions.

for the sake of everyone at the dance and yourself, you decided to put your punch down before you did something absurd.

you walked over to enid to who was living her best life on the dance floor and just decided to dance.

letting the anger flow out of your body, trying to pretend like you didn’t want to punch xavier in his stupidly gorgeous face.

however, xavier couldn’t keep his eyes off you. the way you moved your body so freely, the way the dress hugged your skin, it was driving him mad.

and he instantly regretted not asking you to the dance and letting his jealousy getting the better of him.

that is until a boy came up to you, starting to dance with you. at that point you didn’t care and just let the dude dance. his jaw clenched and his leg bounced with the rush of adrenaline.

“hello? xavier?” bianca waved her hand in front of his face. he snapped back to reality and looked at her.

“what?” he asked.

“are you done staring at y/n? can we go dance now?” bianca rolled her eyes.

xavier picked at his finger nails. bianca huffed and got up to find her friends.

deciding he needed some fresh air, xavier left. he walked all the way until the music disappeared, finding himself in thornhill’s classroom.

he grabbed a pencil and blank sheet of paper, sitting down at his desk as he began doodling.

he didn’t even notice the sound of your heels clicking as you came around the corner. “are you done avoiding me?”

xavier jumped slightly as he covered his drawing from you.

“i haven’t been avoiding you.”

“right, because not texting me back or hanging out with me all week is definitely not avoiding. got it.”

“i don’t need to be around you all the time, y/n.” he snapped.

“i didn’t say that, did i?”

xavier rolled his eyes.

“don’t act like you weren’t so preoccupied with ajax.”

“are you being for real? xavier, we literally were trying to find out how to open this seed all week.” you held the tiny seed in your hand.

“didn’t know flirting came with opening a seed,” he mumbled.

“so that’s what this is about? you thought i was flirting with ajax all week and you got jealous?”

“i’m not jealous!”

“then why did you invite bianca to the dance?”

“what’s it matter to you? who i wanna go to the dance with is my choice.”

“because, you idiot! i wanted to go with you! i spent all week trying to get the fucking seed to open so you could ask me!”

“what?” he asked in disbelief.

“oh my god-“ you grabbed xavier by his tie and pulled him in. he immediately kissed you back, his hands gripping your waist.

the kiss was rough, sloppy, yet passionate. xavier walked you backwards until your back hit the desk.

one of his hands went down to your thigh, lifting it up as you played with his hair.

after a few minutes, you finally pulled away to catch your breath.

“i’ve liked you ever since i’ve met you, xavier.”

xavier grinned.

“good, because i’ve liked you since i first saw you. i’m sorry i let my jealousy get in the way.”

xavier pressed another kiss to your lips as you hummed against him.

“you look gorgeous, by the way.”

you smiled. “thank you, baby.”

“baby, huh?” xavier smirked.

“yes, baby. because you’re my boyfriend now, right?” you asked.

xavier nodded with the biggest grin on his face. “yes, you’re my girlfriend now.”

suddenly, you heard a little crack come from behind you on the desk. you both turned to watch as the devil’s spawn seed began to sprout.

“for my friend grows, while i foe. put me in light, and i’ll be a sight.” you recited.

xavier put his chin on your shoulder as you watched the pretty plant flourish.

“i guess solving your problems is the riddle.” xavier laughed.

you grinned, kissing your new boyfriend once more.

#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #wednesday #percy hynes white #percy #netflix #the addams family #xavier #i want him so bad #one chance #simpforboys

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diremoone · 4 months ago

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churning tides

a/n ;; gonna be honest, this ficlet is just a dump of all the ideas i’ve got for my hydro husband, so if it flops that’s why. idk what mare jivari has secrets of but I’m assuming some heavy lore there when we get to it! ;; slight lore and fontaine archon quest spoilers. also didn’t know how to end it so *shrugs* reader has a geo vision!

Neuvillette never knew how outwardly possessive he could become… so… so emotional.

The people of Fontaine knew him as a stoic Iudex, a truly unbiased judge with nerves of steel to match. And while that was true, that persona remained to the public.

For the most part.

But with you, he feared word would get around that he’s more than just the calm and collected Iudex of Fontaine.

The man before him was sweating bullets in his presence. The air was thick and heavy with authority… or maybe a slight rage blended with jealousy. Either way, the man knew that Neuvillette was in no mood for small talk.

“E-E-Excuse me, Monsieur Neuvillette. I’ll be on my way now.”

Neuvillette’s reply is nothing short of flat. “Sure.”

As the man scurries off in a fast walk, you stifle your laughs with a hand over your mouth. Your shoulders shake with each giggle, and finally the Iudex can feel himself calming down.

“Jealous?”

Neuvillette gazed at you like you have three heads.

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you weren’t mad by another man keeping me company.”

“Of course not.”

“Liar,” you tut, waggling your finger. You take a sip of the coffee, humming as the caffeine and warmth spread through you. “But you’re off the hook, for now. I haven’t seen you in months. And I’m sure that you’ve missed me, too.”

“Tis the life of a famed adventurer like yourself, I suppose,” he responds, sitting down in the chair next to you in the court of the cafe.

“I suppose,” you sigh. “So; I heard about the prophecy. It came to pass then?”

Neuvillette sighs, nodding in confirmation. He’s simple with telling you what happened, utilizing enough detail that you can figure out specific events without him having to speak about them.

When he’s done, you lean back in your seat. Your eyes are blown open with bewilderment.

“So, your powers as the Hydro Sovereign are fully restored then?”

“That’s correct.”

“Celestia is gonna be pissed.”

“Let them simmer then. I will return their rage tenfold.”

You chuckle. “Hope you’ll let me know when the war starts. I’d like to help.”

Neuvillette’s brows furrow. He looks down to your Geo Vision, then to your left arm and right leg, their secrets hidden behind nothing more than cloth.

“A Vision doesn’t mean much except a representation of one’s type of wish at a certain time, Neuvillette. That… and I know more about this world than I care to.”

He’s silent for a moment, then realizes. “Mare Jivari?”

“There, and much more.” You shake your head. “But let’s not think about that. Any new riveting cases? How are the Melusines? Have you finally given Charlotte her interview?”

Neuvillette chuckles. Yes, he’s indeed missed you.

Ah, now he’s wondering how to ask you on a date.

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette #neuvillette genshin #genshin neuvillette #this might become a series over time idk #depends on how this does ig haha

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howling-medic · 9 days ago

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I have had no Adderall and too much caffeine, and I have been thinking. A dangerous combination, but a very fun one. I have reached many conclusions about many things, but the thing I have become most convinced of is that almost every single character JRRT has ever written is some form of little shit and/or chaotic gremlin. Here are a few outlined. Please add more:

* Aragorn: *gestures wildly at the entirety of the Prancing Pony chapter* *points emphatically at the houses of healing exchange with Merry* need I say more? The man may be Isildur’s heir, but he is a little shit. I love him for it.

* Gandalf: my man straight up just had no real reason for choosing Bilbo to be the thief for thorin’s company. He could not explain himself even once. Then there’s the whole Beorn debacle. Then there’s the dramatics with how he returned to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Chaotic gremlin. Little shit.

* Merry and Pippin: they’re getting clumped together. I don’t think I need to explain.

* Sam: he may be the most sane of all of these fuckers. Truly. He’s the most pure hearted and least chaotic. He still was trimming the verge a little late, and he was in cahoots with Merry and Pippin. Chaotic gremlin adjacent

* Bilbo: do I need to explain this one? He used the One Ring to hide from annoying relatives. Little shit and chaotic gremlin are his defining characteristic traits

* Legolas: danced atop the snow while everyone was drowning in it. Declared he would attempt to get the sun to come help them. Let Aragorn listen for horses he could literally see and describe. Built his own boat 120 years after the last one sailed and BROUGHT A DWARF

* Gimli: his entire personality is silver tongued snark with a large side of intelligence and violence. He was going to be mad at Merry and Pippin for dying because of the energy he put into finding them. I’m pretty sure he proposed counting kills to Legolas.

* Frodo: chaos. Thinks he’s going to just venture off into the woods by himself. Little shit. Thinks nobody is going to realize something is up. Love him. He’s bad at both

* Boromir: tries to oppose the wisdom of people literally over 150 times his ago. Kinda little shit energy, but he didn’t do it to be contrarian, so it’s the weakest entry so far

* Faramir: let’s talk about henneth annun. Let’s talk about the way he let Sam freak out only to start laughing. Dude is a little punk, and I love it

* Eomer: declares Aragorn not Strider but Wingfoot. I can’t explain his placement on this list really. He’s just chaos gremlin vibes

* Eowyn: my sweet horse girl. My caged warrior. She is chaos gremlin incarnate as driven by wanderlust and desperation. Truly my kindred spirit. I will die for her. You know she was wonderfully insufferable and a pain in her brother’s ass - in the best way.

* Melkor: literally the original little shit. Everything started going sideways because he was a petulant child and then it got worse the more jealous he got. Because the OG chaos gremlin. It just so happens that there are cosmic level consequences when he acts out

* Denethor: falls more under petty bitch than little shit or chaos gremlin. My man was so threatened by Thorongil that he was glad when he left and turned men against Gandalf because Aragorn counseled that Gandalf should be trusted. Just….fuck Denethor…with a cactus.

* Saruman: the ploy with Radagast to get Gandalf to Isengard was 10/10 chaos gremlin energy. Evil chaos gremlin energy, but chaos gremlin energy nonetheless

Alright, with that, I’m out of ideas. I’m certain I can come up with stuff for Galadriel at the very least, but I lack the requisite focus at the moment.

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inwhosereverie · 9 months ago

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gn!reader x kyle ‘gaz’ garrick

description: you have a hard time falling asleep.

an: ion like this one lmao

you have been squirming and turning all night, haven’t gotten any sleep longer than an hour since last week- always found yourself stood groggily against the countertop making coffee you didn’t even like the taste of but strong enough to keep you awake for 12 hours at work. heavy lids yet you couldn’t keep them closed and even if you managed you would have jolted up anyway before you fully dozed off, it was a mental struggle and it did nothing but infuriate you.

you had noticed a massive decline on your concentration, fatigue weighs heavier, headache’s become your best friend, and you were jumpy- real jumpy. you pour your hot coffee into your favorite mug with a silent sigh and a frown. 4am in the morning, only a blink of sleep and a lot to do before night comes around again. thinking about it already made you tired.

you wrap both hands around the heated mug to warm up your palms then you brought it up to your lips when kyle immediately reacted “woah, no, no, no..” he tuts, causing you to jump and spill half of the hot liquid over your shirt, thankfully it wasn’t too much, raspy grumble drew out from his chest as you watched him jog over to you, taking the mug off your hands “the hell you think you’re doing, sweet?” kyle scolds ripping some tissues off a roll and wiping off the coffee you’ve spilled.

“drinking coffee..?” you question him, concern over your eyes that mirrored his. “you shouldn’t be.” kyle frowns, leaning his side against the counter with a palm placed on top, the other hand on his waist, firm brown eyes looking down at you. you raised a brow at the sight “why not?” you continue to question the obvious, yet you remained oblivious as to why you weren’t allowed to drink something to keep yourself awake. “you my missus,” poked the tip of your nose to empathize as if scolding a child, drawing a frown from you “haven’t slept a single wink, yeah?”

it appears he didn’t really need any insights to know you had sleeping problems. you did tell him, of course, though you also added that it wasn’t that serious and that you could still ‘sleep’ a few good hours.. that is when it was still a minor problem. it’s gotten worse since.

you purse your lips, guilt painting over your features “and?” a sassy tone undeniably mixed into your small voice “and you think drinkin�� caffeine would be a good idea?” he asks, a question that didn’t bother an answer because ‘no’ is the only right one, the others: an excuse.

“i’m fine. i need to get to work.” you huff, an attempt to reach over the mug he’d placed back on the counter but your hand froze when he spoke again “it’s the weekends, love.” a gentle reminder yet a cheeky, teasing attitude among his concern. you suddenly paused, what? he nearly snickered watching you realize, how adorable your tired features were but he knew you’re struggling- knew your days felt longer now that you can’t sleep at all. he cracks a smile before gently sliding the mug further from you, “get back to bed.” he demands sweetly, tapping a finger beneath your chin to get you out from your zoned state.

it didn’t take him much effort to put you back to bed, he only had to sling you over his shoulder and tuck you back in. now you were back in bed, underneath the duvet you two share, scooped and guarded by his arms that are so gently wrapped around you, your own arm draped over his side, his warmth transfering itself to your rather cold skin humming some song softly over your ears, so much more better than the way your mug and a coffee could ever warm you up.

you were nuzzled into his neck, sniffing his morning scent that made you relax and you could tell he too was falling back to slumber when his lullaby started becoming quiet and rasp, then the subtle kiss that were placed on your shoulder when he exhaled. you found yourself with half-lidded eyes, you could barely keep them open when he started running his fingers through your hair, tracing shapes over your back. it felt like home

you slept like a baby that day and don’t be surprised to be awoken by a nice aroma of meals being cooked in the kitchen.

#kyle gaz garrick #gaz imagine #gaz fluff #cod fluff #gaz x reader #gaz x you #gaz x gn!reader #gaz cod #gaz garrick #cod drabble

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neuroprincess · 1 year ago

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Abbott Elementary - Having a second baby with Melissa Schemmenti (Headcanon)

Melissa Schemmenti/Female Reader

Classification: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: High-risk pregnancy, slight smut reference

Word count: +4100

Part One | Part Two (soon)

- The idea of a second baby wasn't in your original plans and both of you are so caught up in being first time mothers that at no point does it cross your mind, but surprisingly it does Melissa's mind. During Luca's one-year anniversary party she comments on how only one of them doesn't seem enough, a thought that returns in the quiet of the night a couple of weeks later after she watches you breastfeed your son while she reads him bedtime stories. The feeling of domesticity and joy doesn't leave her mind, so the redhead knows she definitely wants to have a second Schemmenti baby;

- She is a little nervous to bring up this topic, after all, you did it the first time and there is a background of fear that she is burdening you with the desire for another baby so early, LuLu is still between comings and goings in weaning, now he can run, speak small sentences and has the whole process of defraying the child, in addition to the routine of working mothers, the ups and downs that can yield a great night's sleep or a next day with an extra dose of caffeine. However the idea of your children being close in age and being best friends speaks louder, scenarios are formed of you walking with them, how Luca would be with his younger sibling, etc;

- This is what the teacher keeps in mind as a source of courage to bring up the topic while you are doing the nightly routine, she has all the pros and cons on the tip of the tongue, presenting everything eagerly, if she had given you time to speak she would have heard a simple "Yes, I do!", which happens after half an hour of speech;

- LuLu is about to complete his third semester of life when you finally make a first attempt after going through the whole process of hormones, consultations and procedures again. There aren't many expectations considering that the happy news of the coming of the firstborn came only on the third attempt and you thought you would have to go through the whole emotional roller coaster of negatives because unlike the previous pregnancy there was no nausea, swelling, mood swings and period came down before the 14 days to take the test. But one day before the boy's first daycare presentation you felt sick while Mel was helping him practice the dance, holding on to a thread of hope you do a pharmacy test, not believing the results, another four are done, and finally a call to the obstetrician because you don't understand the lack of symptoms, finding out it's normal to still have periods in the beginning. You let a tear of joy fall, the Schemmenti family is growing;

- The next day you suffer trying to hide the excitement and after leaving work early do a blood test, just confirming the pregnancy. It's too much to keep to yourself, you can't wait to tell your wife and almost cry while watching your son dancing in a lion costume, reminding you how small and cute he still is, realizing that soon there will be another one, if fate decides another mini Melissa. And he seems to feel, as some theories on the internet say, suddenly running up to you after the presentation, not wanting to leave you until arriving home and when the redhead realizes she starts joking about it (because she is the favorite so far), at the same moment you throw into the air any plans to make an elaborate surprise, mentioning that babies feel when their moms are pregnant again. She can barely contain emotion as she hugs you, thanking you for the family you are giving her, and Luca, even not knowing exactly what it means, is the "big bwudda";

- Then you have to explain to him in a ludic way about how the family would grow and soon there would be a baby, which you represent with a teddy bear, the boy doesn't understand the concepts very well, but seems like a good thing so he smiles joining in the cheer, which you understand as a good sign while hugging him lovingly;

- It was just finding out about the pregnancy that the baby started to show it was there, in the first trimester morning sickness hits you one to three times during the day, more than in the other pregnancy, in compensation there are fewer trips to the bathroom, nausea is selective to very sweet or strong smells, contradicting all the maternity books you feel more energetic and to everyone's delight you don't reject any food, in fact your appetite increases, your wife constantly feeds you, happy to say you eat for two;

- Barb is the first to know, even before the Schemmenti family, and it's LuLu who unwittingly tells her about the pregnancy. It's one of the Friday dinners you have with the Howard couple, the boy is on her lap eating some tortellis when Gerald talks about his older brother, the wife getting excited about some story about the same and of course your son was jealous of that, trying to get her attention back to himself, so he lets out the news excitedly "I'm a big bwudda!". The table goes silent and the best friends stare at each other, Gerald stares at you, then everyone stares at Luca and you sigh, trying to explain that the plan was to tell them in a different way, standing up to show the little 10 week bulge. The couple rushes to congratulate you, hugging your family ecstatic and happy to be a part of this new phase, just as Melissa was with them when they had Taylor and Gina;

- The next to know were your family members, you waited until the first trimester to tell them considering it was safer due to the possibility of miscarriage in this period. First is your family and then the Schemmenti, they can't believe that their daughter is giving them two grandchildren in a row when they had already given up on having just one come from her, so no surprise that her mother cries with happiness when she receives a cardigan and crocheted little shoes, while her father receives a mini Philadelphia Phillies uniform printed with the number 9, along with a note saying that now he has a baseball team (his favorite sport) of grandchildren. There are lots of hugs, kisses, expert parenting advice and a new trip through the photo album, now focusing on your wife with the siblings, especially with Kristin Marie because they are for sure the most chaotic duo and have the best photos, LuLu loves to see everything pointing out who is who repeating with Nonna;

- Kristin only gets a t-shirt written "Worst Auntie" thrown at her, it's kind of fun to watch the two insult each other and the blonde dropping the worst stuff about Melissa while telling you to pray that the child, who she already calls Gizmo #2, isn't born identical. Like the fact that her sister threw a chair at her before they turned 10. And the fact that she lives covered in bites in the shared nursery. This is confirmed by their mom. A week later she is proudly wearing the t-shirt while Luca wears a small one with "Worst Nephew" written on it, which she herself ordered to match. Melissa's nightmare becomes more and more reality, the two are joined at the hip, after all, they are two Gremlins;

- The team is not so surprised by the news, living with you every day they notice little signs that remind them of the first pregnancy, the limitations, the nausea, the glow and all the extra care that Melissa has around. On your day off you show up at school, your son in one arm and a box of decorated cupcakes in the other, you are wearing a light and loose dress, like the other clothes for keeping the pregnancy hidden. She approaches and scolds you for carrying so much weight, which is contraindicated by the doctor, how it can harm you and the baby as well, Barb joins in and the two of them make you sit in the common room waiting for the rest of the staff. They soon show up, without any surprise going to attack the box, except for Gregory, and open big smiles when seeing the theme of the decoration. Janine is the first to run to hug you, followed by Jacob and then the rest of them in a big group hug, all joking as they already knew;

- As soon as she found out that you are pregnant, the redhead bet the baby's gender, being absolutely sure that you are having a little daughter, she always uses the fact that the Schemmenti have a good intuition and are good at betting in her favor. LuLu seems to agree. This time you also enter the bet, believing faithfully that you will have another boy, just like Mr. Johnson, Gregory and Barb. Alongside Melissa are Janine and Jacob, Ava is the one who mediates the bet. And she is the one who is responsible for the revelation for the matter of impartiality, at 16 weeks the gender can finally be seen in an ultrasound, the result is passed to her. It's a weekend event, all of them and family members are gathered in the home garden, each one is dressed in the color of their bet, you look anxiously at the big balloon (which may be filled with light green = boy or lilac = girl) that Ava is carrying and you choke with surprise when your son approaches with the little plastic fork, poking the latex with curiosity. Dust falling on both of them, leaving him covered in lilac. Mel got it right... again;

- She is called "Tesoro", "Piccola", "Dolce" and "Cara Mia", all nicknames in Italian referring to how small and calm the baby is, almost no trouble at all, delicate face and fingers whenever appearing on the ultrasound, the little girl doesn't step on your internal organs that often and seems to sleep most of the time. She is also her "Sweetheart", this seems to be the favorite because even though your daughter is calm she has temperamental days and your back suffers the consequences for the change of mood, being called by her Mama like this seems to be the only thing that makes her stop moving;

- Music is another thing that calms her down, while Luca liked to listen to children's books and long talks, she likes music, any kind of music that Mel, and only Mel, sings makes her a good girl for the rest of the day;

- The second trimester starts out peaceful, she doesn't show up as much as her brother did and you still don't have to change clothes sizes, even though you eat twice what you did before, with a great appetite that extends to the beginning of strange cravings, a preference for sour and crunchy things, sometimes mixing both, luckily this seems to make the nausea cease. There is still some dizziness, headaches and although not gaining as much weight you feel the legs are swollen. Emotions stabilize after weeks of mood swings, libido increases, you become more physically affectionate. The breasts increase significantly and this is Melissa's doom, you catch her staring at them brazenly many times, after the initial shyness she asks to touch them too, barely being able to hide how this excites and delights her;

- She knows very well how stretch marks from giving birth can still bother you, so imagine how much you suffer in anticipation with the body changes happening, before it starts to bother you more or make you feel insecure the redhead shows up at home with a dozen specific body creams for stretch marks and massage. You try to argue that these marks only appear in the third trimester, without success, she argues how prevention and moisturizing the skin are great allies for when this moment arrives, but you both know it's just an excuse for her to give you long and tender massages;

- Of course you have experienced the effect of pregnancy on your sexual life before, when you were expecting Luca you barely had sex for months and when it happened was just intense. But this time your libido is at an all time high, every massage or simple touch can make you extremely excited. Melissa is more than happy to satisfy your desires, even if it means morning sex for a whole week or you waking her up in the middle of the night to tell that you are too horny and want her to work it out;

- This is what goes through her mind when you wake her up in the middle of the night, instinctively turning to kiss you and green eyes twitching in confusion at the sight of the scared expression on your face, pointing to the sheets where a bloodstain is forming between the legs. She gets up waking up immediately, looking for warm clothes and towels to take you to the hospital, Barb and Gerald arrive in less than 15 minutes to stay with Luca, the great friend praying for you the second you walk out the door, your wife having to practically carry you as the abdominal and lower back pain is too much to handle. Neither of you cry on the quick car ride, but Melissa tries to reassure you that everything will be okay, that the daughter is strong, words she herself tries to believe struggling not to let fear and panic take over her as well. She wants to be strong for you. When the nurses rush you to the emergency room, she lets her tears come out;

- After a series of exams, which the teacher accompanies without letting your hand go, the doctor reassures you that it is not a miscarriage, as everyone feared when they saw your situation, but that you have a high risk pregnancy due to preeclampsia that developed from the fourth month on, which you didn't even realize, thinking that the occasional dizziness, headaches and swelling were part of the package. This condition provide high risks for placental abruption, the cause of the pain and bleeding. She ends by saying how lucky you are that it was a minor episode, otherwise there would have been a high possibility of losing your baby girl, which she calls a miracle;

- From this moment the pregnancy is treated as high risk, besides the complications of the condition there is the constant danger of a very premature birth that would put both of your lives at risk, medications are administered to prevent contractions and the worst from happening. A birth plan is drawn up in which the priority is that you carry the baby the longest time your body allows. Just the idea and all the complex medical terms scare you to death, Melissa is freaking out inside and as much as she tries to hide you feel it in every touch or word, she is 10x more delicate and protective than she ever was before;

- Your diet is completely adapted with low salt and foods that do not contribute to the increase in blood pressure, you have to measure pressure every day to check if it is under control, after all, the only cure is childbirth. She is super supportive and shares the same meals, no matter how much both hate it because you are used to heavy and full of spices dishes. LuLu is the only one who continues to eat normally, with a lot of tantrums he refuses to eat the same thing, but deep down you know that your wife helps him to finish the dish, the intention is what counts;

- And the main recommendation is absolute rest, it drives you completely crazy, not for having to stay in bed most of the time or sitting outside, but for Mel watching you like a hawk 24/7. She accompanies you to all the appointments, monitors the medication, gives you massages every night, makes sure you don't make any unnecessary effort, that you get all the love and care. Melissa becomes more protective than ever and does everything to make sure you are well, the first thing is to convince you concentrate exclusively on taking care of yourself and focus on the pregnancy, which makes you a full-time housemom/housewife, without the housework part. Do you want to mop the floor? She can do it while you sit in the armchair. Luca is running around the house having a tantrum? Don't stress, she can handle it. If you asked the moon, be sure that she would give it to you, symbolically or otherwise. She is a naturally overprotective person with those she loves, but when you got pregnant with LuLu you saw the worst side of this trait, which only got worse with the second pregnancy. The redhead is clearly stressed, not surprisingly as a working mom and wife, added to the fact that she won't let you do anything to help;

- This situation only improves when you reach seven months, which was almost impossible according to the doctors' expectations, you have a history that only contributes to negative predictions, the previous birth having been premature too, even if only by two weeks, preeclampsia and placental abruption are the triad of your risky pregnancy. Melissa lies down next to you after her biweekly appointment, head resting gently against your 28-week belly, she mentally notes that she still has to do a nightly massage, but the tiredness is just too much. Sleep almost takes over until she jumps up when feels something, the always calm and quiet little girl kicks for the first time, right in her face. It's not very strong, just enough for both of you to feel and see the small foot move against skin, it's frighteningly enchanting for both of you, she is so involved that even forgets to record it immediately, finally managing to record a few seconds of movement. Of course the baby had moved several times before, but never kicked like this, it's as if she wants to reassure her moms that everything will be okay. This is the first time in months that you sleep peacefully and well;

- Luca didn't understand what being pregnant and being a big brother meant until the beginning of the last trimester, right after his two year old birthday. At the party Sofia's mother, the girl who is his best friend and also second cousin, shows up at the party with a baby in arms, he had seen her pregnant with a huge belly and suddenly the dots connected in his little childish mind. You are going to have one of those smaller creatures and he cried a lot during the event in realization feeling deceived, he really believed that you were going to give him a teddy bear, explaining why he constantly asked about when the baby was going to come home. What you do the next day, a small bribe to explain to him again about the baby sister's arrival, LuLu is a little upset about having to share moms with someone else, but soon cheers up when you talk about him having someone to play and make a mess with every day;

- The little girl will have her own room, initially you thought of making the siblings share the nursery, but you gave up after Kristin Marie's revelations and the possibilities of them disturbing each other's sleeping routine, it also seems easier to take care of them separately. The extra room, for a long time used as storage for the hundreds of toys and educational supplies, is soon renovated, her cousins assume the function, giving you a lilac room, the furniture is in gray and Ipe wood, a large closet full of clothes you bought and won. Just like the firstborn's, there is no specific theme chosen. Days later you realize that some stuffed animals have disappeared from his room, the search for the lost toys leads you to the newly assembled nursery where most of them are, lying around, sloppily decorating the lower shelves, and the one you gave him for birthday is in the crib. "My sissy gonna like Romy!" Luca says excitedly pointing to the bunny, which has been named Romy. You and Melissa face each other, a big tender smile, deeply touched by the cuteness and lovability of your son, delighted at how he is going to be a good big brother;

- You read dozens of name idea books, in the end being between Carina and Olivia, the first considered for the meaning "Pure, Beloved" and Olivia for being a name Mel has always liked, plus it means "Peace". As a good big brother, LuLu wants to be part of the choice of his sister's name, upon hearing the options he immediately falls in love with Olivia. Little hands touch your belly lovingly as he talks to her, calling her Liv all the time, because he can't speak the whole name, and asks if sissy Liv, as he now calls her, can hear him, she kicks against the little hand as an answer. He stands delightedly celebrating and when you look to the side you find your wife in tears watching their interaction;

- Olivia's entire pregnancy was a big roller coaster, no matter how much you planned the process in anticipation everything seems to have gotten out of hand in many ways, she was an initially asymptomatic baby, had a disastrous baby shower, then the development of preeclampsia and the placental abruption that scared you to death, from that point on there was so much worry that you almost forgot to enjoy the pregnancy. Of course she would make her arrival another scary roller coaster ride. The day after you are completed 33 weeks of pregnancy and the day before the appointment with the obstetrician you feel a pain so intense that you can hardly get out of bed, the redhead immediately comes to rescue. Everything is very fast, she runs around the house gathering items and Luca on the way to take you to the hospital, first leaving the child with the grandparents, before you notice you are already in the hospital bed with the doctor saying that labor is too advanced to be delayed. Liv decided this is a good day to come into the world;

- Melissa holds your hand the whole time and says a hundred encouraging words, trying to reassure you that everything will be okay, it's almost 8 intense hours of powerful contractions and lots of swearing until dilation allows you to have the baby. You've had a baby before, taken classes, already knew what to expect and you're still scared at the moment of pushing, a hundred possibilities running through mind while the nurse tells you to push again. Your wife looks you in the eye, a proud smile on the face and whispers "You can do it Amore mio, she's almost here, just one more...", this gives you the strength to keep facing the fear and pain. Minutes later she kisses your forehead telling you how proud she is when you both see the little human in the doctor's hands, but the happiness is immediately replaced by extreme worry, there is no crying, no movement and the staff moves to do the Apgar score on the newborn, you are freaking out inside waiting for someone to tell what is going on. Soon the nurse appears with the little bundle of joy wrapped in a blanket and a smile on her lips, you and Melissa look at each other relieved;

- There is a reason why the birth was so exhausting for you and worrying for the doctor, why she didn't even cry, Liv literally was born sleeping, making absolutely no effort to help you through the process. Which is a reason to laugh after all the tension. The little girl is so small, calm and fragile that you are too afraid to touch her. Olivia Ann Schemmenti came into the world at 6pm, just one month after her brother's birthday, 4 pounds and 17 inches consistent with prematurity, a copy of you with Melissa's eyes, the opposite of LuLu in personality, perfect in every way, your little miracle.

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farfromstrange · 10 months ago

Text

Do No Harm

CHAPTER SEVEN: Downward Spiral

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After agreeing to go on a date with Matt, you start realizing the weight of your decision, and your thoughts begin spiraling. In a moment of need, you turn to the only close friend you have in Hell's Kitchen, hoping she can pull you away from the edge of the very steep cliff your trauma is trying to throw you into.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST (the caps feel appropriate here), mentions of domestic violence, suicidal thoughts, allusions to a suicide attempt, allusions to sexual assault, mentions of being taken advantage of by a superior, (I guess you could say) mentions of hypersexuality, self-loathing, PTSD, some foreshadowing, mental breakdown, alcohol, Season 1 related plot (spoilers)

Word Count: 6.4k

A/n: Surprise! I'm posting early because I'm going to see my family this weekend, and after I had an epiphany at two in the morning and spent 3 days writing this, I got it done, and I'm actually quite proud of this (or maybe it's the caffeine). Anyway, heed the warnings because the topics of conversation in this are pretty dark. That's why I highlighted the angst. And if you haven't watched past episode 1 of Season 1, this might spoil some things for you. (Also, I have no idea how this turned into a beast with a word count over 6k. Sorry in advance.)

Read Chapter 7: Downward Spiral here on AO3

You don’t know what came over you.

You typed in Matt’s number in a moment of weakness, and once you heard his voice through the line, you gave up on being careful. You gave up on denying yourself what you’re so desperately craving, and you abandoned all rational thought.

For him.

You promised not to get attached to someone ever again—let alone a man. You started a new life in Hell’s Kitchen to find your way back to normalcy. You took all the necessary precautions, and even though you look back at the shreds of your old life every day, you are never going back.

Two years. That is the longest you have managed to stay in one place ever since you left California. But you still haven’t found your way back into the real world.

You have been guarding yourself, afraid of having your heart broken, afraid of losing this chance at a new life, and afraid of the man who ruined you.

Every time you close your eyes, you see his face. You hear his voice in the back of your mind. He’s everywhere, even when you don’t want him to be.

It’s easier to put a wall between yourself and everyone else. A wall no one can break through, not even yourself. You trapped your soul for the sole purpose of keeping yourself alive after you made the hardest decision of your life. When you ran, you believed your life was over, but you have always been too much of a coward to end your misery. God knows you’ve tried, but even a trained doctor can’t fully understand death, and some things just don’t work out the way we want them to.

Drunken one-night stands can’t possibly compare to a meaningful emotional connection, but they satisfy the need for physical intimacy. At least for a little while. It killed you; slowly, almost pathetically, but sleeping with strangers in dirty motel rooms did a better job than you ever could.

For the longest time, you used sex as a coping mechanism. You let strange men use you because that is the only way you know how to be with someone else. You let them hurt you to feel something, anything because pain is better than feeling nothing at all. But when you finally got settled in Hell’s Kitchen, thanks to Claire, you stopped.

You locked up your heart and threw away the key. You started to shield your body the same way you have shielded your soul. You retreated into a shell of restlessness and constant fear of every little sliver of hope you feel being taken away from you.

You have nowhere else to run, which is why keeping a low profile is so important to you, but after two years, don’t you deserve to finally live?

We don’t exist to just survive; we exist to live the life we were given. You are Olivia Clarke now, not the broken girl you left behind, but every time you think about it, his voice returns and backs you into a corner that you can’t escape from.

Every time you see the scars on your body, all you want to do is rip the skin off your bones and feed it to the dogs.

The men you slept with while you were running from your past saw you as a mere object, and you are used to being seen that way, but it was isolating nonetheless. They didn’t care about your scars, they only cared about what you could give them. They treated you like he did without lifting a finger.

Even though you don’t do that anymore, it still weighs heavy on your wounded soul.

Matt treats you like a person. He can’t physically see, but he still sees you. He sees you in a way no one has ever seen you before. And he is gentle, and patient, and—

You scream into your pillow. Your nose still hurts, but it is nothing compared to how fast your heart is beating.

To you, Matt is perfect. You know that no one can be perfect, and you should be careful, but he makes you feel things you have long denied yourself. He makes you feel wanted. Desired. Like you can be yourself around him and still be worthy of his attention. Like you matter. And he has a certain way of being around you that makes you feel protected, almost.

You don’t need protection. You have made it this far without a bodyguard by your side. You know how to fight your own battles better than most, but you can’t deny that you wouldn’t mind being saved by him.

You wouldn’t mind those hands he always wraps around his cane to wrap around you instead. He can’t see your scars, but he can feel them, and as terrifying as that thought sounds, it also excites you.

You’re treading dangerous territory, but God, he won’t leave you alone, not even when you’re trying to sleep. He could offer you a sense of normal that you have long missed. He could teach you how to be a person again. And maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself be cared for by him.

You roll back onto your back when you need to breathe, one of your hairs getting stuck to your lip. You let out an annoyed huff. There won’t be much sleeping tonight, you’re sure. Not when you keep thinking about tomorrow.

“You’re not fifteen anymore,” you mutter to yourself. “What is wrong with you? God!”

It’s almost too surreal to believe that this magnetic force of a man managed to retrieve some of your long-lost hope, and he only had to call you beautiful once for you to be completely smitten.

When he allowed you to take care of his injuries on the first day you met, you didn’t think a person could be this guarded yet so vulnerable at the same time. He’s breaking under an invisible weight that must have been on his shoulders for years, maybe even decades. You’re painfully aware of other people’s feelings, and it wasn’t hard to tell that Matt carries a lot of unresolved pain with him. Always. He reminds you so much of yourself, it’s like staring into a mirror. Two broken halves of a whole.

Your thoughts won’t stand still, no matter how hard you try. You’re stuck inside an invisible hourglass. Not even heaven knows what will happen once time runs out. You don’t understand why you’re overthinking this while, at the same time, knowing exactly why. And you hate it.

There is a part of you that you can never get back. A little girl who grew up too fast. A girl who didn’t know any better. A broken teenager who wanted nothing more than to escape and live a better life than her parents could ever give her, and when she did manage to escape one hell, she found herself in a new quarter of purgatory built just for you.

You used to think that maybe you just bring the worst out in people, but after seeing the worst of humanity outside of your broken relationships, too, you’re not so sure about that anymore.

The fact that you don’t understand why you can’t stop your usually so intelligent brain from spinning out of control makes you want to claw at the walls of your apartment that threaten to cave in on you.

Part of you wants nothing more than to run and never look back, but you can’t run forever. This time, you wouldn’t be running from the Devil; you would be running from a fear of your own feelings. Human feelings. Feelings that have a high likelihood of recurring, and then you will have to run again.

You can’t run from reality forever. It’s a different reality now, but it’s a better reality. That is a rational thought, but being rational currently has no place in your mind, so you��re spiraling, and all because a nice guy asked you out for coffee.

You find yourself in a cab a few minutes later, wearing a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized shirt, with an untouched bottle of wine in your bag. Your worn-down sneakers are not the appropriate footwear for today’s weather, but you couldn’t be bothered to pick another pair.

You’re aware that it’s late and maybe you should have texted, but you’re already here, and Claire told you that you could always come to her, even if it happens to be the middle of the night. If the rule still stands after she suddenly decided to stay at your co-worker’s place without a proper explanation, you’re not quite sure though.

You knock. At first, no response. You knock again. The floorboards creak on the other side of the door.

“Claire, it’s Liv,” you call out.

You can hear the exact moment the person inside the apartment starts to panic. The floorboards creak again, more frequent this time, and it sounds almost as if Claire is turning the room upside down. You raise your eyebrows.

Before you can knock again, the lock finally clicks, and she opens the door. She’s more of a mess than you are, and that is put lightly.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Claire greets you. “What are you doing here?”

You blink a few times. “Hello to you too?”

She sighs. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night.”

“I can see that,” you answer. “Are you alright?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She looks you up and down. “What happened to your nose?”

“It’s a long story.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Can I, uh, come in?”

She hesitates before stepping aside to let you in. “Sure.”

You take a quick look around the apartment. Nothing seems out of place. A bowl of cat food stands in the corner by the kitchen. The window in the living room is open, but it seems intentional.

The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air. You’re not sure if your nose is betraying you as you breathe in, but the smell is familiar. Bandages, disinfectant, and salve. You don’t want to question it, but you can’t help it.

“Did you hurt yourself?” you ask.

Claire blows her nose behind you. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was actually sick. She shakes her head upon hearing your question, but there is a faint blush on her cheeks.

“What makes you think that?” she retorts.

“Oh, no particular reason. It just smells very… hospital-y. That’s why I asked.”

“I, uh, I had to put a bandage on my leg earlier ‘cause this stupid cat decided to scratch me after peeing everywhere.” She sniffs. “Had to clean the wound, that thing—“ she nods toward the cat sitting in the cat tree, “and then the apartment. Maybe that’s why.”

You follow her gaze toward the little furball resting on his cat tree. You approach him, but Claire seems less pleased at the prospect.

“Be careful. He’s pissed.”

“At you,” you correct her. “Also, you’re having an allergic reaction, and—if he really, honest-to-God scratched you—very probably an infection. Why are you even staying here?”

Your voice rises in pitch when you reach the sleeping cat. “Hello, you.” You stroke his fur. He only opens one eye to sniff you, but once he recognizes you, he starts purring. For a moment, you forget the reason why you even came here.

Claire exhales loudly. She scratches her neck, her skin threatening to break out into hives. “It’s a long story,” she says.

You glare at her over your shoulder, your hand still stroking up and down the cat’s back as he settles back into a deep sleep. “I’m worried about you."

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.”

“You called out of work and told Shelly you were sick.” You straighten up and turn back to face her. “You’re not sick, Claire.”

She sniffs as if to prove her point.

“Your immune system is overreacting by producing Immunoglobulin E. The antibodies are traveling to the cells responsible for releasing chemicals into your body, causing you to get a stuffy nose and break out into hives. You’re not sick. You’re allergic to cats and sharing an apartment with one. There’s a big difference,” you state. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but you have to admit that, from where I’m standing, your behavior looks a little suspicious.”

“I’m going through some shit, alright?” she says. “And it’s a lot easier to deal with them here than back at my place. That’s why I called in sick.”

You don’t know what to make of her answer. It’s vague. You don’t like vague answers because they often indicate a bigger problem. It is one thing for you to deal with your demons on your own and refuse to talk about it with your best friend; it’s another thing entirely to keep a dangerous truth from the person you’re closest with, one that could potentially lead to worse consequences. If Claire were a naturally secretive person, maybe you would understand, but she isn’t like that. She isn’t you.

She’s the only person who knows your entire story. She saved your life. You can’t imagine her keeping secrets from you that might end up hurting her.

You dare to ask, “Are you in danger?”

She shakes her head a little too fast. “I’m fine, Liv. Really.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that.”

“It’s…personal.”

“Personal? Oh, my. Are you sleeping with Luke again?”

Claire stammers. The look on her face suggests that she didn’t expect you to jump to that conclusion. “What? How did you even–”

“Are you?” you repeat your question.

The last time she slept with Luke Cage, she lied to you about it. She knew you would worry. It’s only natural for you to come to that conclusion now. Except that Luke is in prison, serving his sentence, and it doesn’t make sense.

“How would I sleep with an incarcerated man?” Claire deadpans.

“I’m sure you have your ways,” you say.

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“That’s… true, but it’s coming from a place of love.”

She responds with a sigh. “I don’t wanna fight.”

You join in. You exhale, slowly lowering yourself down on the couch. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “Just tell me you’re okay, please.”

She offers you a gentle smile. “I’m okay,” she says.

“Thank you.”

You choose to believe her. For the time being, at least.

The silence tugs at your brain cells. You obsessed over Claire’s situation because you didn’t want to face your own, but now that your thoughts have regained the freedom to roam and cause irreversible destruction, you start spiraling again.

You reach into your bag.

“You brought wine,” Claire points out.

“Yep,” you say. The bottle weighs heavily in your hand.

“You need a glass?”

You unscrew the top. “No.”

She doesn’t listen. Claire makes her way into the kitchen, reaching for the wine glasses in the cupboard. “Does this have anything to do with why your nose is all blue and swollen?”

You shake your head at her question. “That was a patient I tried to sedate. No, I, uh… I have a date,” your voice falls flat.

The wine glasses move back into the cupboard. Claire turns around, her eyebrows moving up to her hairline. “Come again?”

“I have a date.”

Saying it out loud makes it real. Something so surreal cannot be real, but it is. You have a date with Matt Murdock. Your heart begins racing again, and you feel the same desperate urge to scream into the nearest pillow again.

You take a sip of wine straight from the bottle. You have a date with a nice man who, for the first time in two years, made you see some resemblance of light at the end of this endless tunnel of despair, and the thought alone is terrifying. Because how are you supposed to live after just existing for the longest time? After you dedicated your life to the act of survival?

Claire steps out of the kitchen and in front of you. “Liv, that’s… that’s amazing!” she says. She sounds like a proud mother. Maybe she is.

You want to shake your head, but you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than put the bottle back against your lips and take another sip. The alcohol burns down your esophagus into your stomach, spreading a warm feeling through your fragile body, and into your broken soul.

“Or not,” she corrects herself upon seeing the expression you’re carrying. Your eyes are empty. “I’m confused,” She pauses, “Are we not happy about the fact that you’ve finally got a date after two years of being miserable?”

If she puts it like that, you feel even more miserable. Another sip of wine finds its way down your throat.

“Okay, maybe you should put the bottle down. I’m sorry if I said something wrong–”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” You put the bottle down.

Claire sits down next to you, but you get up before she can take your hand and look at you with that caring look she always gives you when she’s worried. You’re not even mad that she played your concerns down when you expressed them and now she is expressing concerns about you; you’re mad at yourself.

She watches you. “You have a date. That’s a good thing. It means you allowed yourself to finally say yes to someone interested in you, right?”

“No,” you shake your head.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You’re pacing over the creaky floorboards. “The last time I went on a date with someone was after my intern year.”

Her gaze softens. “You told me that,” she murmurs.

“He took me to a restaurant,” you tell her. Your lip quivers as you speak, and your nails dig into your palms until they draw blood. You can barely feel it. His face is right in front of you. “It was a nice restaurant. He paid for me, even offered me his jacket while we were walking home. It was the best date I ever had. And then he kissed me on the doorstep before wishing me a good night.”

“I know. You told me all of that before. But you couldn’t have known that he would turn out to be who he turned out to be. He was your boss. He had no right—”

“That is precisely the problem, Claire!” your voice breaks. “The guy I met, he’s… his name is Matthew. He’s… he is so nice to me. He cares. He treats me like a human being. He… he’s respectful. He called me beautiful. I don’t even know how he knows that. He just… he was so nice to me, and I feel so comfortable around him. I haven’t felt this comfortable around a man in so long. I… I wanted to go out with him. I flirted with him, for fuck’s sake! And when I’m with him, I finally feel wanted again.”

“But you know who else was nice to me when I first met him?” you say. “Who was respectful? Who said I was the only real thing in this world, the only important thing in his life, and that he loved me? You know who made me feel safe and wanted, and who said he cared about me? John said that I was the most beautiful woman on this planet, and I fell for it because he was nice to me. He–”

“But that guy isn’t John,” Claire cuts you off. She raises her voice only slightly—only enough to make you stop and stare at her, tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re miserable. You’re a mess. It is truly embarrassing. But she doesn’t look at you any differently.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap back.

“Liv–”

“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I’m 32, and I can’t sleep without a nightlight most nights because I wake up in a cold sweat. I can’t drop a glass without going into shock. I can’t look in the mirror without feeling his hands on me. Without feeling disgusting and worthless, and…” You can feel the shiver traveling up your spine from the thought alone. “I can’t exist without feeling like he should have killed me when he got the chance.”

“Liv, I know you’re upset, but please, don’t say that,” Claire says, her voice gentle yet assertive.

“Why? It’s true. I wish he would’ve killed me. He took four years of my life that I can never get back. At least if he’d killed me I wouldn’t have to suffer now.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want you saying things like that.”

“You don’t get it,” you say. “Every time I look in the mirror, I want to vomit because I see what he made of me. I can’t even meet a nice guy and allow myself to like him without seeing his face and hearing his stupid voice in my ear, telling me—telling me that no one will ever love me, that he tainted me, and that I will never be free of him because I can’t exist without him.” You break into a sob.

“And he was right, you know,” you cry. “I ran from him. I made the hardest decision of my life after years of living in his shadow, and I almost died. Because of him, I can’t trust a kind and respectful man who treats me like a person to actually be kind, and I recoil at the thought of someone being gentle with me. Something is seriously broken inside of me, Claire. Very, very broken.”

Claire opens her mouth, but all she can do is bear your tirade. She knows that if she speaks now, you will find another reason to shut her down. This is your pain talking. It’s a powerful avalanche set out to cause destruction on a global scale.

“With Matt, I—” you exhale. “I was myself around him for the first time since I ran away, and he didn’t shy away. I had hope, Claire. I felt like I could finally step into normal life again after settling down here, and I thought I’d have a chance,” you say. “But I just have to close my eyes, and John is right there to ruin everything for me. He is always right there, and I can’t fucking escape him. That’s the problem. That’s why I can’t be happy about this date because I’m fucking terrified. I can’t go through this again. I—I can’t give myself to someone again because there is hardly anything left of me. He took everything, including my ability to love another man ever again, and that thought is fucking with my head.”

You fall silent. The tears continue running down your cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands. Your knees are so weak. You don’t have it in you to hold yourself up any longer. You drop to the carpet, crying into your hands, but you don’t sob. You stay silent because your pain is so great, you don’t know whether to scream or shut down, so you scream internally and shut down from the world around you because you can’t face it. You can’t face Claire.

The couch creaks. Her feet brush against the carpet. “He abused you,” her voice borders above a whisper.

She kneels beside you, her hand reaching out—but not touching you. She knows what lines to cross and which to better leave untouched.

“What he did to you wasn’t your fault. He’s a cruel man with cruel intentions.” When you don’t shy away from her proximity, she finally places her hand on your shoulder. “You did the impossible. You survived. You’re here now because you chose to save yourself, and that is so admirable,” she says. “It’s been two years. You’re safe here, you’re not alone anymore, and I know it hurts and it is terrifying, but it’s a good sign that you want to feel more of what this guy made you feel.”

“But I can’t,” you choke out.

“I know, and I wish I could help you, but I’m not a professional. The truth is, John may have made you feel like there is nothing left of you, but you’re not Olivia Clarke. You’re still you. You’re still…” Claire takes a deep breath before she utters your name. Your real name. The one you were given when you were born.

The mention of your name makes you shiver. “She’s gone,” you say. “He killed her, but he left her body alive.”

“She’s not gone, she’s just buried very fucking deep. I mean, you said it yourself. You could be yourself around this other guy, and he took you for who you are. That isn’t Olivia, that’s you. And it’s such a good sign that you want to go out with him. That you like him. John hurt you, but he didn’t break you beyond repair. Please, you have to remember that.”

Your tears slowly subside. Her words finally manage to reach your rebelling mind through your ears. Even though everything feels like it has been wrapped in cotton, she manages to get through to you like no one else. It was a subconscious decision to come to her, but perhaps your soul knew something that you didn’t, and you can’t say that opening up didn’t help.

The mess slowly subsides. Left behind is nothing but hot air, and the words Claire decided to share with you.

You look up to meet her eyes. She smiles down at you. “I just… I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whisper.

“That’s why I think you should go on that date,” she tells you.

“Yeah, but who wants to sign up for a mess like me?”

“Seems like he does. And if he’s a good guy, he’ll like you regardless of your mess.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

She shrugs. “I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pretend it never happened. And you can’t give John the satisfaction of putting your life on hold because of him. That’s just giving him what he wants.”

“I don’t want to give him what he wants,” you’re quick to answer.

Claire hands you a tissue, and you take it gratefully, wiping your runny nose and the salty tears stuck to your dry skin.

Her words stir something within you; even though you don’t want her to be right, she is. Matt may not deserve a mess like you, but if he’s truly a good guy, it can’t hurt to see if it would work between you. And when your past comes out eventually, there is a chance that he won’t abandon you. A slight chance, but a chance nonetheless. That’s a positive outlook you still have to learn how to adapt.

“C’mon.” Claire helps you off the floor and onto the couch.

You reach for the bottle of wine instantly, but she takes it away from you. She screws the top back on and places it aside, far out of your desperate reach.

“This is not the answer,” she says, “talking is.”

“Can’t we talk and have wine?” you counter.

“Not when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

You sniff, wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks with the tissue.

“We need to take care of you, and alcohol won’t fix your problems.”

Once again, she isn’t wrong. You let out a defeated sigh before dropping your head in her lap.

A long time ago, you used to be an affectionate person. The fear of being hurt again, of someone raising their hand against you, took that away from you. With Claire though, it’s different. You know she won’t hurt you. She’s not that kind of person, and you can say that with complete certainty.

Claire Temple is not a violent human being, except for when the people she loves are in danger, but only then.

She gently brushes the hair out of your face and crumbles it into a messy bun at the back of your head. She wipes at your nose and the last of your tears before they can dry out your skin more than it already is. The past couple of days have taken an emotional and physical toll on you.

You wince slightly when you notice how sore your nose is. It isn’t broken, but you still got hit. You’re not quite healed yet. A shiver rolls down your spine.

Shaking her head, Claire gently removes her hand. “You always get yourself in trouble when I’m not around,” she mutters.

You scoff softly. “Maybe that’s a sign.”

“A sign for you to be more careful, yeah,” she says.

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” You try to joke, but your voice falls flat with the weight of your exhaustion.

Claire offers you a chuckle, but it’s more of a pity laugh than anything else.

You sigh. You know that you’re not an example when it comes to the significance of making the right decisions. Not at all.

“Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” you ask her then, breaking the silence between you in two.

She leans back against the cushions. “Once or twice.”

“Not nearly enough then.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, if you hadn’t come into Metro General with your hand in a man’s chest cavity, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to help you. You chose to stay.”

“Well, I had my hand on his vena cava, so, letting go would have been unfortunate for the poor guy.”

“That’s true.”

“But if you hadn’t disobeyed protocol, risking your job by putting your trust in me, I wouldn’t have had a reason to stay.”

Claire looks down at you, and you meet her eyes. “That sounded a lot like a love confession,” she nudges you.

You roll your eyes playfully. “You wish.”

“Hey, I’d understand it if you were in love with me. I’m hot.”

She never fails to make you laugh, even when you feel like a truck has rolled you over and broken every bone in your body. That is one of the many qualities you value about her. She’s a good person with a good heart, and she is the kind of person you could trust with your life and she would always make sure that you come out on the other side unharmed, mentally and physically.

If she hadn’t taken you under her wing, you’re not sure where you would be, but it surely wouldn’t be where you are now.

When your laughter quiets down, you nod. “I can’t argue with that. You are hot. If you weren’t my friend,” you say, “I’d ask you out.”

“And if I were into women, I’d say yes,” she says.

“I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of dates though–” She stops when you sigh a little too loudly. Claire shoots you a stern glare before she continues, “Promise me you won’t cancel.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. She wants you to mean it. You won’t lie; canceling your plans with Matt did cross your mind, but after Claire worked her magic on you, you can see a little clearer. The fog that kept your mind clouded has started to lift slowly but steadily. You’re no longer spiraling as fast as you have before.

If you could wash your hands and wash him off of you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem as it is, but you’ve tried. You have tried washing all memory of him off of your body, out of your mind, but he’s a resilient son of a bitch. John will always try to drive a wedge between you and a normal, happy life, the question is just if you will allow him to do so without even being near you, or if you will finally allow yourself to crawl out of the dark hole he tossed you into.

You can’t do it alone, and asking for help is terrifying. You have spent the past two years trying to push through. Unfortunately, your healthy coping mechanisms won’t work forever.

You sigh again, a little quieter. “I won’t cancel,” you tell her, your voice barely above a whisper, yet still so very certain. As certain as you can be, anyway.

“Thank you.” Claire reaches for the wine bottle next to the couch. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Hm,” you can only murmur.

“What?”

“What are you doing with the bottle?” you ask.

“Drinking,” she says.

“Now I feel betrayed.”

“You should celebrate the fact that you found a Matt, or whatever his name is, and not another Mike.”

You promptly sit up. “Hold up. Pause. Rewind. Mike, like your ex?”

Claire takes a sip of the bottle. A storm rages behind her hazel eyes. You have never seen her that conflicted before.

“Is he the personal reason why you’re subjecting yourself to a constant allergic reaction by staying here?” you ask.

The pieces slowly start falling into place. She nods. “Not Mike Mike, but yeah. It’s always the Mike’s.”

Your jaw drops. “I feel like you skipped some chapters there. You met a guy and you didn’t tell me? What–”

“He met me,” she corrects you. “I didn’t tell you because we’re not a thing. Let’s just say there’s a reason his name is Mike. That’s why I’m here.”

Claire takes another sip. You watch her closely, trying to catch her in a lie, but it seems like she’s telling the truth—or a version of the actual truth, but that still makes it true. She’s giving you as much as she can after you cried your eyes out to her.

You clear your throat, lowering your voice. “But you’re not in danger?” you ask to clarify.

She shakes her head. “I just have shitty taste in men, even if it's platonic, apparently. It’s like… I’m trying to exist, and then I find a stray cat in a dumpster, but the stray cat has been stabbed and needs medical attention.”

“But you’re allergic to cats and you’re not a vet?” you try to make sense of her analogy.

When she lets out a sigh and nods, you figure you came as close as possible. It still doesn’t make sense to you, but when does anything? At least when it comes to romance and people’s love lives.

You decide to push a little more, “Did you actually find an injured guy in a dumpster?”

She shakes her head. The reaction comes a little fast, but you don’t question it. “No, that–that was just an analogy,” Claire says.

“And Mike is the stray cat in that analogy? But not your Mike, another Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, you’re frying my brain cells.”

“The single one you still have, or did you buy new ones?”

You try not to laugh, trying to look like you are genuinely offended, but your lips still curl up into a smile. “Shut up,” you mutter. You reach for the bottle, against better judgment, and take a sip.

Claire shakes her head. “What I’m trying to tell you is that, if he’s a good guy, you can’t let him slip away. You can’t let a good thing slip away and possibly end up with a–a Mike kinda guy for the rest of your life.”

“I know.” You look down at your hands, your broken fingernails, and sore knuckles from the constant scrubbing. “I just wish I could understand what he’s doing to me without questioning my entire existence.”

“Some people are just that enigmatic,” and she sounds as if she knows exactly what she’s talking about.

You wonder about Mike. Not her ex-boyfriend but the one she mentioned. He sounds like he has no sense of self-preservation, and he may not even be a good influence. He reminds you of yourself, and that’s creepy—you don’t even know him.

And then there is Matt, who is also so eerily similar to you, but in different ways. It’s more of an emotional connection. His heart is in the right place. And unlike the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he doesn’t have a savior complex.

Why did he even come to your mind? His existence should not be playing into the equation. You brush the picture of his chiseled chest in that tight shirt away, or the way he looked even more dangerous with that smirk below the the mask.

You hand the wine bottle back to Claire. If you don’t cut yourself off now, you will melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

Your focus should be on Matt and Matt alone. You have to try. Claire was right. You can’t sacrifice your happiness because you’re scared—you can’t give the man who dedicated his life to breaking you and your confidence down the satisfaction of cowering in fear every time a man shows an interest in you. A good man. A man who could make you happier than he ever had.

You won’t run this time. You will face the situation head-on. You owe that much to the little girl who dreamed of a life beyond the hell she grew up in, the same girl who was obsessed with finding her soulmate and still believed in true love. Above everyone, you owe it to yourself. No one else matters quite as much as you do.

And for the sake of seeing what could be instead of wondering what could have been, you have to try.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #reader insert #charlie cox #doctor!reader #do no harm

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kkanabel · 3 months ago

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caffeine addiction ❃ at first sight ❃ chapter 1

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU

directory/m.list

next chapter ⇨

words: ~2.1k

It was love at first sight.

Bakugou remembers his first encounter with his first love like it was yesterday. He met her at a local café; it was small but quiet and cozy. The string lights in the small space were what caught his eye at first, meticulously placed to create ambient lighting. It was as if someone took the stars out of the sky and placed them around the café. But that was before he met her.

It’s weird for Bakugou to admit it, but she smelled so good.

Better than anything he’d ever smelled before. He was intoxicated. It was an aroma he’d experienced before, but it was so much more intense here. It was such a sweet smell that was warm and slightly bitter, with notes of roasted beans that carried a subtle hint of caramel. It was earthy and comforting with a touch of sweetness that lingered, wrapping the room in its cozy, familiar embrace. The scent was also both energizing and calming, a blend of warmth and depth that made the café feel even more intimate.

He knew he’d never love another after experiencing his first love.

Though, he was only four years old.

The name of his first love was coffee.

Bakugou had never been to this café before this. He knew either his mom or his dad would always visit this place before a particularly busy day–- especially days before a show. He explicitly noticed the way his dad would have two or three of these empty cups by his desk while sketching out his ideas or spending hours at his sewing table.

He saw the brown stains where the seam of the cup met the lid, and it was unlike anything he’d seen before. Bakugou likened it to how he’d imagine gasoline to look; he’d seen it recently, and it was clear. Highly disappointing. He lost his interest in cars after that fiasco.

It looked different from the milk he’d drink with his breakfast in the morning (for strong bones, his mom would repeat) and from the orange juice he drank with his lunch (for vitamin C, his dad would insist). He didn’t even know what vitamin C was. All he knew was that it was good for you. In what way? He had no clue.

As a kid, when Bakugou first smelled the dark concoction, he was in love. He asked his mom if he could take a sip, seeing this strange black liquid in the paper takeout cups his mom grabbed for herself and his dad.

His mom had agreed, but only let him have a little bit, knowing that it would make him become an even more of the irritating gremlin that he already was; his spiky tufts of blonde hair and red eyes that looked like they were ready to take over the world at his tender age. She didn’t think he’d like it– the brew she ordered was black. No sugar, no cream, nothing. Nothing that a typical kid would enjoy.

But when he took a sip of the coffee after his mother uttered a “Careful, it’s hot,” his eyes lit up like Newton realizing that gravity exists.

The apple that dropped onto the ground became a mild obsession for the four-year-old. The taste was unlike anything he’d ever had! The taste was bitter but acidic, and the smell of it alone was so beautiful–so aromatic, so relaxing.

When he asked his mom for more and she responded, “No, this is an adult drink. it’ll make you bounce off the walls too much,” he pouted for the rest of the day, sitting on the stool next to his dad with his cheeks puffed and tiny little arms crossed in a baby rebellion. His mom furrowed her brows, thinking about how weird it is for a kid to like coffee. When she’d ask her friends about it, they’d be like, “Ha! I let my daughter try some coffee, and her face wrinkled up like when she tried a lemon for the first time!”

But she just excused it to Bakugou being a weird kid. She wasn’t wrong– he was a weird child.

As he grew older, he was allowed to drink more and more coffee. His mom held the ability to drink coffee over his head like a hostage. He’d relent to taking more photos in the cute children’s version of designer clothes just for another tiny sip. However, his parents had to pay the price later when he was bouncing off the walls, ceilings, and every nearby human being.

Thus, he knew he’d be here today. In a café, brewing cups of coffee for random people. In his words, he’d say, “None of these shit cafés do it right. If I don’t do it, all the coffee ‘round here would be shit.” When hearing this answer, his friends laughed in his face and exposed his real reason to open a café. In reality, he put his time and effort into opening a coffee shop because he wanted to see people’s faces light up after taking their first sip of coffee– just like his face did.

Bakuou Katsuki had early, early mornings, waking up at 4 am to go to the gym before taking a quick shower and opening up his café on one of the less busy streets in the town. The place always opened up at 6:00 am sharp with his pride depending on it.

Today was a cold November weekday morning, a day like usual. His regulars came in asking for their usual order, but with coats sprinkled with melting snow and with slightly red noses. Rudolph would be proud. This morning, he was the only one working. It wasn’t a problem– not like it’s gonna be too busy, anyway. (It was going to be very busy. Bakugou is just insanely competent.)

He sat at his stool with a black beanie sat atop his head, a black ribbed sweater turtleneck stretched across his chest and muscled arms. He wore this under his café apron along with a pair of well-fitted slacks that spanned across his legs perfectly. The way he looked was a huge selling point in the café. Men and women would come just to flirt with him and grab a cup of coffee. Great for business. He waited for people to start waking up and coming in for a cup-- around 8 AM.

Bakugou scrubbed through the photos of coat designs his dad sent to his family group chat, putting a thumbs-up reaction to the ones that caught his eye. Recently, it seemed like his dad was getting new inspiration from Finding Dory. He wondered how a movie about a confused blue fish inspired his father, but he learned not to question the fashion industry too much as a child. Artists are insane.

Even as he thought this, his father responded to one of his messages in the chat, apparently confused by one of his suggestions as a change to one of the designs. He sighed and grabbed his sketchbook that was placed conveniently under the register along with a pencil and quickly sketched out the changes to the design with a practiced and experienced hand. He took a photo and sent it to the group chat, admiring his drawing before turning his phone off and slipping his sketchbook into its rightful place. He’d drawn it next to multiple other sketches of suggestions he had for his parents, pages and pages filled with sketches of croquis.

Artists are insane, indeed. But Bakugou was one of them, himself.

As soon as the ‘sent!’ notification noise of the sketch photo hit his ears, so did the ring of the door. In walked a woman who looked like she’d been through some shit.

She pushed down her mask, further revealing deep dark circles and teeth that were definitely chattering because of the cold. “Triple shot espresso over ice,” came out her voice, which also sounded like she’d been through it. Bakugou likened it to the grating of a skin's garbage disposal. A thin line of snot slowly dripped down her nose, and she quickly pulled up her mask in embarrassment.

Bakugou’s eyes avoided her face in politeness (and also because it was gross) and thus were drawn to her ears instead. Her earrings were a distinct design from one of Gucci’s lines–one of the more subtle ones. But he noticed it right away, seeing the long thread design with a pearl dropped at the bottom. Her open cream-colored trench coat also looked very familiar, but Bakugou couldn’t place his finger on it. He subtly raked his eyes over the coat to find a logo anywhere. He couldn’t find one. Her turtleneck looked nearly identical to his own.

But why the heck did she buy an espresso over ice if she was already freezing? He did it anyway. He’s seen weirder orders.

He didn’t let his analysis of her and her clothing interrupt his work, however. “Can I get a name for this order?” He asked, unnecessarily. There was nobody else in the café. He asked to satisfy his own curiosity.

She told him, shuffling through her book bag to grab her wallet. Her brows slightly raised in surprise upon hearing the price, and she handed him her credit card. This was when he saw the logo on her coat. Kindeki.

He immediately got to brewing her espresso.

In the corner of his eye, Bakugou saw you place all of your items on a window-side table. You brushed your fingers through your hair a little before twisting it and securing it into a claw clip. You’d taken off the mask completely, and he fully took in how tired you looked.

You placed your laptop on the table, but took a moment to bury your face in your hands. You took in and let out a deep breath before opening up your laptop to get ready to work.

Bakugou could almost feel your pain from the counter. The espresso was finished after a couple seconds, and he poured the hot liquid over some ice and placed it into a mug for you. He called your name, grabbing your attention. When you went to the counter to grab your coffee, Bakugou felt your hands slightly brush up against his. There was one thought in his mind: “Her hands are dry as fuck.”

Apart from your put-together outfit, the rest of you was visibly going through the wringer. In his mind, it looked like you drank one too many shots of vodka last night because one of your favorite characters in a TV show died, and you had a test the next day. Your tiredness was palpable. It made him feel like he was tired even though he had a full eight hours of sleep.

He watched you out of the corner of his eye for the next six hours you sat and worked in his café. He watched as you typed up a storm on your laptop, and sighed loudly before reading over your work. It was cute how you tapped your foot on the ground while thinking, lips tucked under your teeth whilst thinking. Or was it annoying? Bakugou couldn’t choose. At least it was in rhythm to the quiet lofi playing in the café.

About midway through your long stay in the café, Bakugou was in the current daily rush. People were coming in fast, and he was the only worker. Somehow, he was still able to give people their coffee in less than five minutes each. He definitely did not time himself and mentally shit on big coffee chains every time he finished working through an entire crowd by himself. And he absolutely did not gloat about his prowess and ability each time. Fuck you, Starbucks.

A couple minutes after the rush hour, as if it were planned (it was– you didn’t want to bother him even more during his rush hour), you went up to the counter to return the mug and ask for a cup of water. At this time, you also looked different. Bakugou’s eyes visibly widened and his eyebrows shot up his forehead.

Your hair was different, and you’d put on makeup that concealed your very dark under eyes. You even had the eyeshadow? highlighter? or something (Bakugou forgot what it was called) in the corner of your eyes. Your hair–did it always have those red streaks? Maybe he was just imagining it. It’s impossible for you to have dyed your hair in his café. Did you put in extensions or something? His mind flooded with questions as his eyes scanned your figure.

He didn’t verbally question it. He just gave you your cup of water and basked in his confusion. Where the fuck did you do your hair? When were you doing your makeup? He’s pretty sure he checked up on you every ten minutes or so, even during rush hour.

This woman’s efficiency is insane. She’s also pretty cute.

a/n: taglist is open for this series! just let me know <3

also, stay hydrated, folks!

directory/m.list next chapter ⇨

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #reader insert #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #coffee shop au #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #bnha x reader #bnha fluff

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