#i have to put the whole weight of the world on his shoulders

[magnagaruzenmon]

Fit For A King

A little follow up to a day to remember

Breaking the Mirror

The training hall echoed with the steady sound of Tiberius’s strikes against a wooden practice dummy. Sweat dripped from his brow as he moved with precision, alternating between slashes, strikes, and spinning flourishes with his naginata in its shortened blade form. His focus was absolute, his breathing steady.

That focus shattered the moment the doors burst open, and an energetic voice rang out.

“Tiberius, the man of the hour!”

Tiberius froze mid-swing, his head snapping toward the intruder. There she was, Ive’s Yujin, striding into the training hall like she owned the place. She was all confident and bright, her athletic build and infectious smile giving her an air of effortless charm.

“What the—” Tiberius muttered, lowering his weapon.

Yujin pointed a finger at him, grinning like she’d just caught him doing something embarrassing. “You’re really working up a sweat, huh? Training for Lucion, I bet. Mind if I watch? Or, better yet, join in?”

Tiberius blinked, thrown by her sudden appearance. “Uh… do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” she replied cheerily, plopping down onto a nearby bench without waiting for an invitation.

Tiberius sighed, wiping his brow with a towel. “Alright, what’s the deal? Did someone send you here?”

Yujin put on her best innocent face. “Me? Sent? Nah, I just thought you might want some company. You’ve got that lone wolf vibe going on, and trust me, it’s overrated.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

She laughed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “Fine, fine. Maybe I was encouraged to swing by. But can you blame them? You’ve been taking this whole ‘tournament’ thing way too seriously. Ever heard of balance, Tiberius?”

Tiberius shook his head, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about balance.”

Yujin gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I am the epitome of balance. Watch this.” She stood and immediately attempted a high kick, but the motion sent her tumbling backward into a roll. She sprang up as if nothing happened, brushing herself off with a grin. “See? Perfect recovery. Balance.”

Tiberius couldn’t help but chuckle, despite himself. “Okay, I’ll give you points for effort.”

“Darn right you will,” she said, plopping back down. “But seriously, you need to lighten up. You’re going to burn yourself out before the fight even starts.”

Tiberius glanced at his weapon, twirling it absentmindedly. “I don’t have time to lighten up. Lucion isn’t someone I can just mess around with.”

“Maybe not,” Yujin said, her voice softening slightly. “But you don’t have to take the whole world on your shoulders either. You’ve got people rooting for you, you know. You’re not alone in this.”

The sincerity in her tone caught Tiberius off guard. He looked at her, expecting to see the same teasing expression, but there was warmth in her gaze.

He sighed, setting his naginata down. “Fine. Let’s say I take a break. What exactly do you suggest?”

Yujin’s grin returned in full force. “Glad you asked. First, we eat. You can’t fight on an empty stomach. Then, we hang out. I’ll even let you teach me how to use that fancy weapon of yours. And who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

Tiberius arched an eyebrow. “Surprise me how?”

She winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He groaned, but there was no malice in it. “Alright, fine. Just try not to trip over yourself too much.”

“Deal,” Yujin said, hopping to her feet. She extended a hand toward him. “Come on, let’s go grab something good.”

As Tiberius reluctantly followed her out of the training hall, he realized that Yujin’s presence, as overwhelming as it was, had managed to lift a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected distraction wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Tiberius and Yujin left the training hall and wandered into town, Yujin leading the way like she’d lived there her whole life. She chattered nonstop, pointing out little details of the marketplace and cheerfully engaging with vendors as if she were on a sightseeing trip.

Tiberius trailed behind, his weapon tucked securely in its sheath. “Do you always talk this much?” he asked, feigning irritation.

“Only when I’m trying to drag a stick-in-the-mud like you out of their funk,” Yujin teased. “Come on, live a little!” She darted toward a food stall and returned holding two steaming skewers of grilled meat. “Here, eat.”

Tiberius accepted the skewer, eyeing it suspiciously before taking a bite. It was surprisingly good, and Yujin’s smug expression made him roll his eyes.

“I can’t believe this is all it takes to get you smiling,” she said, laughing.

“I’m not smiling,” Tiberius countered, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

“Sure, sure,” she said, dragging him toward a cluster of small restaurants. “Let’s find a spot to sit. This next part of the ‘Tiberius Rehab Plan’ involves a proper meal.”

As they walked into a cozy pizzeria, the warm smell of melted cheese and baked dough greeted them. Yujin didn’t wait for Tiberius’s opinion and ordered a large pepperoni pizza for the two of them.

“Pepperoni?” Tiberius asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s classic,” she replied. “Trust me, you’ll love it. Besides, you look like you could use carbs.”

As they waited for their order, the door jingled open, and Chowon walked in. She froze when she spotted them, her gaze flicking between Tiberius and Yujin.

“Chowon?” Tiberius said, surprised.

“Hey, uh… hi,” Chowon said, hesitating by the door. Her eyes lingered on Yujin, who was grinning as if she’d just found a new playmate.

“Oh, is this your girlfriend?” Yujin asked, leaning toward Tiberius with a mischievous smirk.

Tiberius sputtered, but Chowon recovered first. “No! I mean, we’re friends. Just friends.”

“Good,” Yujin said, standing and grabbing Chowon’s hand. “Then you can join us. I can’t be the only one dragging this guy out of his shell.”

Chowon hesitated, unsure how to react to Yujin’s boldness. But Yujin didn’t give her a chance to decline, pulling her into the booth.

“Yujin,” Tiberius said, rubbing his temples. “Can you not overwhelm everyone you meet?”

“Overwhelm? Please, I’m just being friendly,” Yujin said, handing Chowon a menu. “So, what’s your favorite pizza topping?”

Chowon blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… mushrooms?”

“Mushrooms?” Yujin wrinkled her nose in mock horror. “Alright, we’ll order another pizza for you. You’re not touching my pepperoni masterpiece.”

Despite herself, Chowon chuckled. Her usual reserved nature started to slip as Yujin’s relentless energy pulled her into the conversation. Within minutes, the trio was laughing over the most ridiculous topics—Yujin’s failed attempts at learning to cook, Chowon’s stories from the hostel, and Tiberius’s deadpan reactions to their antics.

When the pizzas arrived, the table fell quiet as they devoured the food. Yujin, unsurprisingly, was the loudest, praising the chef between bites. Chowon found herself smiling more than she had in days, and Tiberius, despite his initial reluctance, seemed to relax in their company.

As they finished their meal, Yujin leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, new plan. After Tiberius beats Lucion, the three of us celebrate with karaoke. Chowon, you’re coming, right?”

Chowon hesitated, but Yujin nudged her with an encouraging smile.

“Sure,” Chowon said softly, glancing at Tiberius. “As long as Tiberius agrees.”

Tiberius sighed, a small but genuine smile breaking through. “Fine. But only if you two stop ganging up on me.”

“No promises,” Yujin said with a laugh.

Chowon laughed, too, surprising herself at how easily Yujin had drawn her out of her shell. Maybe this loud, overbearing girl wasn’t so bad after all.

As the trio left the pizzeria, walking together under the soft glow of streetlights, Chowon felt lighter, her worries about Tiberius’s next fight momentarily forgotten. And Tiberius, for the first time in a while, felt like he wasn’t facing the tournament alone.

Later that night, Yujin burst into her apartment, still buzzing with energy from her impromptu pizza outing. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag onto the couch, not noticing Gaeul and Wonyoung seated at the dining table, sipping tea and waiting expectantly.

“There you are,” Wonyoung said, her sharp gaze fixed on Yujin. “Took you long enough. How’d it go?”

Yujin flopped into a chair with dramatic flair, her grin nearly splitting her face. “Oh my gosh, you won’t believe the day I had!”

Gaeul arched an eyebrow. “We’re waiting.”

“Well,” Yujin began, leaning forward conspiratorially, “first of all, Tiberius is so much cooler than I thought. I mean, he’s still got that grumpy vibe going on, but once you get past the walls? He’s actually really funny in a dry, sarcastic kind of way. And Chowon showed up—she’s so sweet, by the way—and the three of us had the best time!”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a quick glance, their expressions neutral despite the flicker of interest in their eyes.

“We got pizza, talked about the tournament, joked around—it was honestly the most fun I’ve had in weeks. And Chowon? Oh, I think she might secretly be as competitive as Tiberius. She just hides it better.”

“Interesting,” Gaeul said, resting her chin on her hand. “So… what’s your take on Tiberius? Think he’s distracted?”

Yujin tilted her head, considering the question. “Hmm… I wouldn’t say he’s distracted. But he’s definitely opening up a bit. I mean, the guy’s been under a lot of pressure. Maybe having people to talk to is good for him?”

“Good for him,” Wonyoung repeated, her voice laced with a subtle sarcasm. “Or good for us?”

Yujin laughed. “Oh, come on, you two! You’re acting like I went there to sabotage him or something.”

Gaeul gave a tight-lipped smile. “Of course not.”

“Anyway, I think Tiberius’s gonna be just fine,” Yujin continued, oblivious to the calculated expressions of her roommates. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes down Lucion. The guy’s got serious potential. And Chowon? She’s totally his secret weapon. I swear, she’s got this calming effect on him.”

Wonyoung sipped her tea thoughtfully, hiding the slight upward twitch of her lips. “That’s… great to hear, Yujin. Really.”

“Yeah,” Gaeul added, her tone deceptively casual. “It sounds like you’re doing a great job, keeping him… engaged.”

“Thanks!” Yujin said brightly, completely missing the subtext. “I’m telling you, we’re gonna be besties by the end of this tournament!”

As Yujin bounded off to her room, humming a cheerful tune, Gaeul, and Wonyoung leaned closer, their voices dropping to a whisper.

“She has no idea,” Wonyoung said, shaking her head.

“Nope,” Gaeul agreed, a sly smile forming on her lips. “But it’s working. If Yujin keeps this up, Tiberius won’t know what hit him. By the time he realizes how much time he’s spent bonding, Lucion will have the upper hand.”

Wonyoung smirked, clinking her tea cup against Gaeul’s. “Cheers to that.”

As Yujin’s laughter echoed faintly from her room, the two schemers settled back in their chairs, quietly pleased with how their plan was unfolding.

The sun had barely set when Yujin burst into Tiberius’s room at the hostel, followed closely by Chowon. Tiberius, who had been sitting cross-legged on his bed with his eyes closed, pretending to meditate, cracked one eye open and frowned.

“You two again,” he muttered. “What now?”

“Karaoke!” Yujin announced with a grin that could power a city. She was already pulling on his arm.

Tiberius didn’t budge. “No.”

Chowon crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t make me team up with her, Tiberius. You won’t win.”

“I have a fight tomorrow,” he replied flatly, shrugging off Yujin’s insistent tugging.

“Exactly!” Yujin shot back, hands on her hips. “You need to loosen up. You’re wound tighter than Chowon’s farm accounts at tax season.”

“Wow,” Chowon said, giving Yujin a sidelong glance. “Thanks for that.”

Yujin waved her off. “The point is, you’re overthinking. A little fun won’t kill you. Come on, Tiberius, live a little!”

Chowon softened her tone, stepping closer. “You’ve been working hard, Tiberius. Maybe Yujin’s right. One night won’t ruin you. And who knows? It might even help.”

Tiberius sighed, glancing between their hopeful faces. “Fine. But one hour.”

“Four hours,” Yujin countered immediately.

“Two,” he said.

“Deal!” Yujin grabbed his hand, practically dragging him toward the door. Chowon followed, hiding her amused smile.

Karaoke Chaos

The small, neon-lit karaoke room buzzed with energy. Yujin was in her element, belting out a high-energy pop song, her voice occasionally cracking from laughing too hard. Chowon cheered her on, clutching a tambourine she wielded like a weapon, adding rhythm to the chaos.

Tiberius sat in the corner, arms crossed, watching them with a bemused expression. But when Yujin handed him the microphone during the next song, he surprised everyone by not only singing but absolutely nailing the deep, soulful ballad.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Yujin shouted, nearly dropping her drink. “Since when can you sing like that?”

“I can’t,” Tiberius said, deadpan, handing the mic back.

“You literally just sang like a pro!” Chowon exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“It’s the same as focus training,” he replied with a small shrug. “You channel energy into precision.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” Yujin groaned, but she was grinning. “Do another one!”

By the end of the night, all three of them were hoarse from laughing and singing. Tiberius, despite his earlier reluctance, couldn’t deny he was having fun. He even allowed Yujin to teach him a ridiculous dance to accompany one of her songs, much to Chowon’s delight.

After their little incursion, Yujin heads back to her apartment where Gaeul and Wonyoung await Yujin leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, her lips pursed in thought. Across from her, Gaeul and Wonyoung stood, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and amusement as they listened to her recount the latest developments.

“So,” Gaeul started, raising an eyebrow, “how was it? Your little hangout with your new besties Tiberius and Chowon?”

Yujin rolled her eyes at the teasing tone but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “It was… fun, actually. Like, 's surprisingly fun. I mean, I thought dragging Tiberius out of his stoic bubble would be the hard part, but Chowon? She’s the real surprise.”

“Oh?” Wonyoung’s eyes glinted with interest as she leaned forward. “Do tell.”

Yujin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Chowon’s so different when she opens up. She’s sharp, but not in a mean way. She gets Tiberius in a way I don’t think many people do, but she’s also kind of awkward and shy in the cutest way.” She paused, her cheeks warming slightly. “It’s, uh, kind of endearing.”

Gaeul smirked knowingly. “Endearing, huh? Sounds like someone’s got a little crush.”

“On Chowon?” Wonyoung added, her tone playful. “Or Tiberius? Or… both?”

Yujin groaned, pushing herself off the wall and pacing the room. “That’s the problem! I don’t know! At first, I was just messing around, you know, flirting with Tiberius to throw him off his game. But then he turned out to be… actually really cool. And Chowon? She’s so different from me, but we clicked in a way I didn’t expect.”

Gaeul exchanged a glance with Wonyoung, both of them struggling to hide their grins. “So, let me get this straight,” Gaeul said, folding her arms. “You spent time with Tiberius and Chowon, and now you’re standing here confessing that you might have a thing for both of them?”

“Ugh, don’t say it like that,” Yujin muttered, her face flushing. “I’m just… confused, okay? They’re both amazing in their own ways, and I don’t know what to do with these feelings.”

“Sounds like you’re living your own little love triangle,” Wonyoung teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Who knew our Yujin had such a soft spot for the quiet and brooding types?”

“I’m serious!” Yujin snapped, though there was no real bite in her tone. “This isn’t some joke. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like… when I’m with them, everything feels lighter. Like I can just be myself.”

Gaeul’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “Okay, fine. We’ll stop teasing. But, Yujin, you’re going to have to figure out what you really want. If you keep leading this on, you’re going to hurt someone—maybe even yourself.”

Yujin sighed, flopping down onto a nearby bench. “I know. I just… I didn’t expect this to happen, you know? I was supposed to be helping you two throw Tiberius off his game, not falling for him—or Chowon.”

Wonyoung crouched beside her, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Feelings are messy, but that’s what makes them real. You don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Gaeul nodded in agreement. “Just… don’t lose sight of who you are in all this, Yujin. Whether it’s Tiberius, Chowon, or neither of them, you’re still you. That’s what matters.”

Yujin looked up at her friends, a small, grateful smile breaking through her conflicted expression. “Thanks, guys. I’ll figure it out… eventually. Until then, I’ll just try to survive being around them without making a total fool of myself.”

“Good luck with that,” Wonyoung quipped, her grin returning. “Because if what you’re saying is true, it sounds like they’ve both already got you wrapped around their fingers.”

Yujin groaned again, throwing her head back dramatically. “Why do I even talk to you two?”

“Because we’re the only ones who’ll call you out on your nonsense,” Gaeul replied, grinning.

As the three of them laughed, Yujin felt a little lighter. Her feelings for Tiberius and Chowon might still be a tangled mess, but at least she wasn’t facing it alone.

The next morning, the change in Tiberius was impossible to ignore. He strode into the arena with a relaxed, almost cocky confidence that had been absent before. His steps were light, his shoulders loose, and his eyes gleamed with a focused intensity that caught everyone’s attention.

The reporters swarmed him during the pre-fight interviews.

“Tiberius, you seem... different today. Did something happen?” one asked, leaning in eagerly.

“Different how?” Tiberius asked a hint of mischief in his tone.

“You’re... brighter,” another reporter said, searching for the right word. “More lively. What’s your secret?”

Tiberius smirked slightly. “No secret. Just good company.”

From the sidelines, Chowon and Yujin watched with proud smiles.

“He’s glowing,” Yujin whispered to Chowon. “That’s because of us.”

Chowon rolled her eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

As Tiberius walked toward the preparation area, the buzz among the crowd and media was clear: this wasn’t the same Tiberius they’d seen before. Whatever he had done the night before had transformed him into a fighter who wasn’t just ready—he was eager to take on the challenge.

And for the first time, Tiberius allowed himself to enjoy the anticipation.

In the quiet, private lounge overlooking the arena, Gaeul and Wonyoung watched Tiberius’s interviews play out on the large screen. Tiberius’s relaxed demeanor and sharp, confident answers immediately caught their attention.

“This... this isn’t right,” Wonyoung said, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms. “He’s supposed to be frazzled! Stressed! Overthinking himself into a loss.”

“Instead, he looks better,” Gaeul muttered, leaning forward on the couch, her expression growing colder with every passing second. “What happened last night?”

Wonyoung turned to her. “You sent Yujin to distract him. How did that backfire?”

Gaeul’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. I told her to annoy him, get under his skin, and keep him off balance. She wasn’t supposed to... I don’t know, inspire him.”

Wonyoung groaned, throwing herself dramatically back into the cushions. “Yujin probably did her usual thing—being overbearing, loud, and somehow impossible not to like.”

“She always turns everything into a party,” Gaeul said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I should’ve known better than to trust her to follow a plan.”

They watched as Tiberius finished his interview with a smirk, casually brushing off the reporters’ questions about his training. He walked away with a spring in his step that made it clear he was feeling better than ever.

“He’s glowing,” Wonyoung said, her voice filled with disbelief.

“That’s not just confidence,” Gaeul said, her tone sharp with annoyance. “He’s... happy.”

Wonyoung sat up, eyes wide. “Do you think Yujin helped him? Like, accidentally gave him the boost he needed to perform better?”

Gaeul’s silence spoke volumes.

“Oh no,” Wonyoung whispered.

“Oh no is right,” Gaeul muttered. She stood and began pacing. “We’ve got to think of something else. If Tiberius goes into this fight feeling like this, Lucion won’t stand a chance.”

Wonyoung frowned, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “But... if he’s this strong now, maybe we should switch gears. Instead of trying to stop him, maybe we should try to... I don’t know, guide him?”

Gaeul stopped pacing, turning to her with an incredulous look. “Guide him?”

Wonyoung shrugged. “Think about it. If he’s destined to win, wouldn’t it be better to be on his side when he does? We could steer him toward something beneficial for us.”

Gaeul didn’t respond immediately, her mind clearly racing.

“Fine,” she said finally, sitting back down. “Let’s see how this fight goes. If he wins, we’ll reevaluate.”

“And if he loses?” Wonyoung asked.

Gaeul smirked faintly. “Then we won’t need to worry about him anymore.”

The two leaned back, their expressions shifting from frustration to calculation. For now, they would watch and wait, their next move hinging on the outcome of Tiberius’s battle with Lucion.

Momotaro stood in the training hall, his blade resting against his shoulder as he watched the replay of Tiberius’s latest interview on the holographic screen. The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the polished floor as he leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. His usual stoic demeanor was firmly in place, but his eyes narrowed with every word Tiberius spoke.

“He’s... different,” Momotaro muttered to himself, frowning.

The Tiberius on the screen was nothing like the opponent Momotaro had fought. This version of Tiberius was sharper, more collected, and undeniably confident. It wasn’t arrogance, but a calm, centered assurance that radiated strength.

The door creaked open behind him, and Hulk stepped in, his massive frame barely fitting through the entryway. “You’ve been watching that for a while, Taro. What do you think?”

Momotaro turned his head slightly, acknowledging Hulk but keeping his focus on the screen. “He’s grown,” he admitted, his voice low. “Whatever happened after our fight, it’s made him stronger. More dangerous.”

Hulk grinned, stepping forward to join him. “That’s what competition does. Pushes people to evolve. You didn’t think he’d stay the same, did you?”

Momotaro clenched his jaw. “I expected him to improve. I didn’t expect him to become... this.” He gestured at the screen, where Tiberius’s playful smirk lingered after another sharp answer.

Hulk chuckled, folding his arms. “He’s got fire now. Looks like someone reminded him why he’s fighting. That’s the kind of thing that makes a warrior unstoppable.”

Momotaro turned fully toward him, his expression unreadable. “I’ve seen fire like that before. It burns bright... but it’s reckless.”

“You sure about that?” Hulk asked, raising an eyebrow. “He doesn’t look reckless to me. He looks like he’s having fun. That’s a dangerous place to be for someone who knows how to fight.”

Momotaro’s grip on his sword tightened slightly, but his face remained calm. “It doesn’t matter how much he’s improved. He’s still going to lose. Lucion won’t let him get through this fight unscathed.”

“And if he does?” Hulk pressed, watching him carefully.

Momotaro’s eyes flickered with something—determination, perhaps, or something darker. “Then he’ll come for me again,” he said flatly. “And next time, I won’t make the same mistakes.”

Hulk nodded slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good. I was starting to think you weren’t taking this tournament seriously enough. Let him push you, Taro. Let him remind you why you’re here, too.”

Momotaro didn’t respond immediately, his gaze returning to the screen. Tiberius’s confidence was unnerving, but it also lit a fire within him—a need to prove himself, to reclaim the focus and dominance he’d once held.

“He can grow as much as he wants,” Momotaro said at last, his voice low and resolute. “It won’t change the outcome. He’s still beneath me.”

Hulk grinned, clapping him on the back. “We’ll see, kid. We’ll see.”

As the door closed behind Hulk, Momotaro remained in the training hall, staring at the screen. He watched Tiberius’s final words before the interview ended:

"I’m ready for whatever comes next. Bring it on.”

Momotaro smirked faintly, his hand tightening on his blade. “Careful what you wish for, Tiberius.”

The arena was electric with energy, the crowd roaring as Tiberius stepped into the ring for his fight against Lucion. The clash was set to be one for the ages—both warriors had made names for themselves with their unique fighting styles and unrelenting determination. In the stands, Yujin and Chowon sat side by side, their eyes glued to the combat below.

Tiberius entered the ring with his usual calm confidence, his movements deliberate and precise. His katana glinted under the harsh arena lights, and the quiet intensity in his eyes was enough to silence even the most skeptical audience member.

“He looks… different,” Yujin remarked, leaning slightly toward Chowon as the fight began. “More focused, but also… I don’t know. Lighter?”

Chowon nodded, her gaze never leaving Tiberius. “That’s because he’s more in tune with himself. He’s not just fighting to win anymore. He’s fighting for something deeper.”

Yujin raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You’re pretty poetic about him, you know. Maybe you should be the one interviewing him after the fight.”

Chowon’s cheeks flushed, but she kept her eyes on the ring. “I’m just stating the truth. Look at him. Every move is deliberate. He’s reading Lucion’s every intention before he even makes a move.”

As if to prove her point, Tiberius effortlessly dodged one of Lucion’s powerful strikes, his counterattack swift and almost too precise to follow. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Yujin and Chowon stayed silent, both watching with growing admiration.

“You think he practices that smirk in the mirror?” Yujin asked suddenly, her tone teasing but her voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity. “The one he just did after dodging Lucion’s attack?”

Chowon bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “It’s not a smirk. It’s just… confidence. He’s earned it.”

Yujin tilted her head, studying Tiberius as he parried another blow. “Confidence looks good on him, though.”

Chowon turned to glance at Yujin, her expression softening. “You really think so?”

Yujin caught the tone in her voice and smirked. “Wait a second. Are you crushing on him, Chowon?”

Chowon froze, her composure cracking for a split second. “What? No! I mean… maybe? I don’t know!”

Yujin’s eyes widened, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “This is hilarious. You totally like him!”

“Shh!” Chowon hissed, her face turning red as she looked around to make sure no one else had overheard. “You’re one to talk! You’ve been practically swooning over him this entire time.”

Yujin leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a playful pout. “Fine, I’ll admit it. He’s… intriguing. And yeah, he’s got that whole ‘mysterious swordsman’ vibe going for him. But I’m not swooning.”

Chowon raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You literally gasped when he took off his jacket at the start of the fight.”

Yujin waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, that was objectively a moment worth gasping over. Have you seen his shoulders?”

Chowon laughed despite herself, her tension easing slightly. “I’ll give you that. But it’s not just that for me. There’s something… grounding about him. He’s been through so much, but he’s still standing. Still fighting.”

Yujin’s expression softened as she looked back at the fight. “Yeah. I get what you mean. He’s… inspiring. In a weird, annoyingly attractive way.”

The two women fell into a comfortable silence, their eyes once again fixed on Tiberius as he landed a decisive strike against Lucion. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Yujin and Chowon found themselves exchanging a glance, both realizing they felt the same thing.

“Well,” Yujin said with a sly smile, “this just got interesting.”

Chowon sighed, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” Yujin replied, her grin widening. “May the best woman win.”

Chowon rolled her eyes, but there was a playful spark in her gaze. “We’ll see.”

As Tiberius stood in the center of the ring, victorious, neither of them could deny the growing feelings stirring in their hearts. For now, though, they focused on cheering him on, knowing that the path ahead—for all of them—was bound to get even more complicated.

The two watch as Tiberius masterfully dodges Lucion’s attacks. Lucion’s bow provided little effectiveness as Tiberius closed the distance between them subtly and efficiently. Having studied all of Tiberius’s last fights Lucion was unprepared when Tiberius began throwing spells and attack patterns he had never seen before.

The fight continues as Yujin and Chowon watch pleased as Tiberius effortlessly defeats Lucion. The crowd is silent as they watch before erupting into cheers.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Tiberius stood in the arena, his arm raised in victory. His latest fight had been nothing short of spectacular, a masterclass in strategy and precision that left his opponent on the ground and the spectators on their feet. From the stands, Yujin’s excitement was practically bursting out of her.

“That’s my guy!” Yujin shouted, her voice cutting through the noise as she jumped up and down, fists pumping the air. “I knew he could do it! That’s my Tiberius!”

Beside her, Chowon clapped and cheered as well, her smile wide but more reserved compared to Yujin’s boundless energy. She glanced at Yujin, who was practically vibrating with pride and excitement and couldn’t help but feel her heart swell at how much Tiberius’s success meant to her.

Before Chowon could say anything, Yujin spun toward her, her eyes bright and sparkling with adrenaline and happiness. Without thinking, Yujin grabbed Chowon’s face and planted a quick but firm kiss on her lips.

Chowon froze, her eyes wide in shock as Yujin pulled back, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “Oh my gosh, I—uh—wow, I didn’t mean to just do that!” Yujin stammered, suddenly aware of what she had just done. “I was just so excited and you were right there, and—uh, okay, don’t hate me, but I think I might have a crush on Tiberius… and you.”

Chowon blinked, processing Yujin’s words, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd seemed to fade into the background. Then, to Yujin’s surprise, Chowon let out a soft laugh, her face breaking into a warm smile.

“Well, that’s… surprising,” Chowon admitted, her voice quiet but steady. She reached up and gently took Yujin’s hands in hers. “But it’s not a bad thing.”

Yujin looked at her nervously. “Really? You don’t think I’m, like, completely out of my mind?”

Chowon shook her head, her smile growing. “No, because… I think I have a crush on you too. And, um, on Tiberius.”

Now it was Yujin’s turn to be surprised. “Wait—what? You like both of us?”

Chowon nodded, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve kind of been trying to figure it out myself, but seeing how you reacted just now… I think we’re kind of in the same boat.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the noise of the arena fading away as the realization settled between them. Then, Chowon leaned forward and returned Yujin’s earlier kiss, this time with more certainty and warmth.

When they pulled apart, Yujin was grinning like a fool. “Okay, wow, this day just keeps getting better and better.”

Chowon laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess it does. But, um, we should probably talk about this more… later. After we figure out what to say to Tiberius.”

Yujin groaned dramatically. “Ugh, do we have to talk about feelings? Can’t we just cheer him on and let him keep being oblivious for a little longer?”

Chowon gave her a playful shove. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” Yujin teased, her grin widening.

Chowon rolled her eyes, but her smile never faded. As the two of them turned their attention back to the arena, the energy of the crowd surged around them, but at that moment, all they felt was the warmth of each other’s company—and the excitement of what might come next.

The duo approaches Tiberius after the fight and confesses. Obviously, confused Tiberius says, “Wait me really?”

The girls nod and say, “We make such a good team I think that we should stick together,” Chowon starts.

“Besides this way, we can protect you from the crazies,” Yujin finished.

Tiberius thinks for a moment and then says, “Okay let’s do this,”

Locked in My Head

The arena was silent as Burai’s massive frame hit the ground, the dust swirling around him in the dim light. His sword lay broken a few feet away, glinting faintly in the aftermath of the battle. The once-boisterous crowd, who had been roaring his name mere moments ago, now sat stunned, their cheers replaced by an uneasy silence.

Paladin loomed over Burai, his armored silhouette casting a long shadow across the defeated warrior. His Ikkakalaka, a monstrous weapon forged from an unholy alloy of Vibranium, Dragonite, and Uru, rested lightly on Burai’s chest. The jagged edges of the weapon seemed to hum with restrained energy, crackling faintly as if eager for more destruction.

Burai, battered and broken, forced himself to lift his head. The pain in his limbs screamed for him to stay down, but his pride as a warrior compelled him to meet his opponent’s gaze. What he saw, or rather didn’t see, unnerved him.

Behind the featureless mask that obscured Paladin’s face, there was no anger, no triumph, no humanity—just a chilling, predatory calm. The same quiet malice that had defined every strike of their fight. Paladin leaned down slightly, his voice low and barely audible over the faint murmurs of the crowd.

“Don’t get up,” he whispered, each word dripping with icy finality.

Burai’s instincts told him to resist, to rise, to fight back. But he knew. Paladin wasn’t making a threat—he was making a promise. Burai glanced down at the Ikkakalaka, its edge glowing faintly with the remnants of some destructive magic. One wrong move, one twitch of defiance, and Paladin would finish what he’d started.

For the first time in his storied career, Burai made the choice he had always sworn never to make. He slammed his fist against the ground in submission, his voice hoarse as he called out, “I yield.”

The crowd, initially stunned, erupted into boos and jeers. The air was thick with their dissatisfaction as they vented their frustration. Burai, the fan favorite, their golden warrior, had been dismantled by someone they didn’t understand and didn’t want to embrace.

Paladin stood straight, lowering his weapon. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd, didn’t bask in the victory like so many others. Instead, he turned silently and began walking back to the tunnel that led to the prep rooms.

As he disappeared into the shadows, the audience’s boos only grew louder, a deafening cacophony of anger and disapproval. It wasn’t just Burai’s loss they mourned; it was Paladin’s impenetrable aura, his refusal to play into their expectations.

The private viewing room was dimly lit, the trio sitting in tense silence as the fight between Paladin and Burai replayed on the large screen before them. The aftermath of the battle had shaken the tournament to its core, but it was the way Paladin had dismantled Burai that truly disturbed them.

Wonyoung leaned forward, her hands gripping the armrest of her chair as Paladin delivered the final blow with cold precision. The crowd’s boos echoed faintly through the speakers, but Paladin’s expression never changed. His face remained obscured, his movements methodical, almost mechanical.

“That was…” Gaeul trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Efficient,” Momotaro finished, his voice low. His sharp eyes never left the screen as the replay cut to the slow-motion highlights. “Too efficient. He wasn’t just fighting Burai—he was dissecting him.”

Wonyoung frowned, her brows furrowed. “Burai was supposed to win. He’s one of the strongest fighters in this tournament. How does someone like Paladin come out of nowhere and take him down like that?”

“It wasn’t just strength,” Gaeul said, her voice steady despite the unease creeping into her tone. “Look at the way he moves. He’s reading Burai like a book—countering every habit, exploiting every flaw. It’s like he’s studied him for years.”

Momotaro replayed the fight again, slower this time. Paladin’s movements were precise, almost surgical. Every step he took seemed calculated to draw Burai into making a mistake. The final blow wasn’t just powerful—it was perfectly timed, delivered with a level of control that bordered on terrifying.

“I’ve seen enough,” Momotaro said, pausing the footage. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “We need to know who this guy is.”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a glance before nodding. “Let’s dig,” Wonyoung said, pulling out her tablet.

Hours later, the trio sat in silence once again, their expressions grim as they stared at the information they had uncovered.

“Dargo “Dragon” Brando,” Gaeul said, breaking the silence. “Mutant Nephew of storm. Formerly affiliated with the Fantastic Four/ Future Foundation.”

“And fought Hulk,” Wonyoung added, scrolling through an article. “Back when he first returned from Sakaar. High ranking agent of the Wakanda Future Alianxe ”

Momotaro narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. “That alliance—between the Wakandans and Future Foundation. They were the ones who helped Reed and T’Challa escape when the war started turning against them.”

“Paladin—Dargo—was part of that,” Gaeul said. “He wasn’t just some foot soldier, either. He was a key player. Look at this—he helped design the extraction plan that got them off-planet.”

“And he fought Hulk,” Wonyoung repeated, her tone laced with disbelief. “Do you know what kind of power it takes to stand against him, even for a moment? And now he’s here, in this tournament, taking down people like Burai with ease.”

Momotaro’s jaw tightened. “He’s not just a fighter. He’s a tactician. A predator. He doesn’t just beat his opponents—he breaks them. Takes everything they’re good at and turns it against them.”

“Which means,” Gaeul said, her voice quiet, “he’s already watching us. Studying us.”

Wonyoung shivered, her grip tightening on her tablet. “How do we stop someone like that?”

Momotaro stood, his eyes hard with determination. “We don’t let him control the fight. If we ever face him, we have to make him fight on our terms. Force him to adapt. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise, we’re just his next prey,” Gaeul finished grimly.

The three exchanged a heavy look, the weight of what they had uncovered settling over them like a storm cloud.

From the champion’s box, Hulk leaned back in his seat, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He’d watched the fight closely, analyzing every move. Paladin’s precision, his cold efficiency—it was brilliant, undeniable. And yet, the crowd hated him.

“He’s too silent,” Hulk muttered to himself, his massive hands resting on the arms of his chair. “They can’t connect to him. He doesn’t give them anything to hold onto.”

Paladin’s face was always hidden, his body language guarded, his fights devoid of showmanship or flair. To the crowd, he was a phantom—a shadow of destruction they couldn’t cheer for or against. And yet, Hulk couldn’t help but admire him. His mystery intrigued the hulk and reminded him much of himself when he was on Sakaar.

In the prep room, Paladin stripped off his armor in silence. His movements were deliberate, methodical, as he folded the pieces into his locker. He swapped his battle gear for plain, dark clothing, pulling up a hood that shadowed his already obscured face.

As he finished, he caught his reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall. His hands lingered for a moment, brushing against the edge of the hood. Beneath the fabric, beneath the mask, his expression remained unreadable.

Hulk entered the room without knocking, his massive frame filling the doorway. The dim light of the prep room cast long shadows, making the space feel smaller. Paladin sat at the far end of the room, still in the process of cleaning the blood and dust off his Ikkakalaka, its jagged edges gleaming faintly. The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension.

“That was some fight,” Hulk began, his voice even but weighted. He folded his arms across his chest, the muscles in his forearms bulging. “But the crowd… they’re not with you.”

Paladin didn’t look up, his focus remaining on the weapon in his hands. “I’m not one for pageantry,” he said flatly, his voice cold and indifferent.

Hulk stared at the young contestant, his brow furrowing as he took a few steps closer. “But why? The crowd’s cheer plays a very important part in wins and losses,” he pressed, his tone edging into frustration.

Paladin stiffened at the comment, the cloth in his hands pausing mid-motion. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured but laced with quiet defiance. “The same crowd that cheered when you were exiled without a trial? The same crowd that cheered when Blue Marvel was forced to retire because no one was ready for a ‘Black superhero’? The same crowd that cheered for the Registration Act, sending heroes into a civil war? The same crowd that cheered when the Illuminati raised an army against you?”

Each word landed like a hammer, forcing Hulk to confront memories he’d tried to bury. His massive fists clenched involuntarily at his sides as he remembered the betrayals, the pain, the hypocrisy of those who had once cheered for him and then turned on him without hesitation.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Hulk said finally, his voice softer now, almost weary. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Paladin, searching for something behind the mask that covered the young fighter’s face. “But can’t you give the crowd something? A little nod, a smirk, even a damn fist pump? You’re not making it easy for anyone to root for you.”

Paladin didn’t respond immediately. He resumed cleaning his weapon, the quiet scrape of the cloth against metal filling the room. After a moment, he placed the Ikkakalaka down with care and rose to his feet, his full height almost matching Hulk’s imposing frame. He turned his head slightly, his voice low and steady as it echoed in the small room. “I don’t fight for them.”

Hulk frowned, his frustration bubbling up again. He stepped closer, his towering form casting a shadow over Paladin. “Then what are you fighting for?” he demanded, his voice firm but tinged with curiosity.

Paladin hesitated, his gloved hand brushing against the edge of the hood that obscured most of his face. For a moment, it seemed as though he might answer, as if the armor around his words might crack. But then he shook his head, his voice colder than ever. “That’s not your concern.”

Hulk exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re good—too good to ignore,” he said, his tone softer now. “But talent only takes you so far. You want to win this? You want to matter? You need to connect. Otherwise, you’re just another fighter in the arena. No one remembers the ghost who doesn’t leave a mark.”

Paladin’s mask tilted slightly, as though he were considering the words, but he gave no reply. Instead, he turned back to his locker, unhooking a plain black jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. Without another word, he picked up the Ikkakalaka, slinging it across his back, and strode toward the exit.

“Think about it,” Hulk called after him, his voice carrying an edge of desperation. “The crowd isn’t your enemy. They don’t have to be.”

Paladin paused at the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest hint of his voice escaping from beneath the mask. “They were never my enemy. But they’ll never be my reason, either.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Hulk alone in the silence of the prep room. The towering hero stared at the empty doorway, his thoughts a jumble of admiration, frustration, and concern. Paladin was a fighter like no other, but Hulk couldn’t shake the feeling that the young man’s silence wasn’t just a shield—it was a burden. One that could either make him unstoppable or be the very thing that broke him.

Paladin didn’t answer. Instead, he sheathed his Ikkakalaka and slung it across his back, walking past Hulk without another word.

As the door closed behind him, Hulk stared after him, a mix of frustration and respect in his gaze. Paladin’s silence was his strength, but it was also his weakness. And in a tournament where winning wasn’t just about skill but about leaving a legacy, Hulk wondered if Paladin’s approach would ultimately cost him.

In the tunnel leading out of the arena, Paladin moved like a shadow, the noise of the crowd fading into the distance. Whatever they thought of him didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to entertain them—he was here to win.

Paladin stepped into the dimly lit room, the faint smell of oil and metal lingering in the air. It wasn’t much—a repurposed office space in the abandoned factory he called home—but it was quiet, secure, and his. Or at least it had been until tonight.

His eyes fell on the group of armored women scattered across the room. The air was tense, heavy with a silent challenge. They weren’t ordinary intruders. Their stances, their weapons, the faint glow of otherworldly energy surrounding some of them—this was a team of killers. His gaze stopped on the leader, her blonde hair glowing faintly under the flickering light.

“Magik,” he said flatly, recognizing her immediately.

The other women turned their heads sharply at his tone. Magik stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to know that name.”

Paladin shrugged, casually tossing his bag onto a nearby table. “I don’t care what you do, just don’t make a mess. You can use the place for now.”

Magik didn’t flinch, but her voice carried a dangerous edge. “You know, now that you’ve seen us, we have to kill you.”

“Um, no, you don’t,” Paladin replied, his tone bored.

A tall, tan woman with a sharp glare stepped forward, the weight of her presence almost tangible. “Actually, yes, we do.”

Paladin sighed, his body language calm as he unsheathed his blade. He moved with precision, readying himself for a fight. But then, as if reconsidering, he sheathed the weapon again, giving the group a disinterested look.

“Is this it? Is this all you’ve got?” he asked, his tone tinged with faint mockery.

Magik’s lips curved into a smirk, though her eyes remained hard. “You think I’m afraid of the Hulk?”

Paladin rolled his eyes and stepped closer, his tone softening. “Illyana, please don’t do this.”

Her smirk faltered. The room grew still. The Hellions exchanged uneasy glances, and Magik tilted her head slightly. “How do you know my name?”

Paladin raised a hand and slowly removed his mask, revealing a face marred by scars but undeniably familiar. Magik’s eyes widened as recognition struck her.

“Dragon?” she whispered, her voice almost trembling.

He gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, Magik stared, her tough exterior cracking. Then, without hesitation, she crossed the space between them and pulled him into a tight hug. The Hellions lowered their weapons, watching the unexpected reunion unfold.

“I thought you died,” Magik said quietly, her voice tinged with guilt.

“I almost did,” Paladin—Dragon—replied simply.

Magik pulled back, her hands gripping his shoulders. “You’re so dramatic,” she muttered, though there was a flicker of relief in her eyes.

He gestured to the space around them. “My home is your refuge for now,” he said, his tone softer.

Magik gave him a small smile, motioning for her team to stand down. As the Hellions began to disperse, two of them lingered—Jihyo and Jeewon.

Jeewon, her face a mix of emotions, stepped closer. She looked at Dragon hesitantly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her armor. “Dragon… are you okay?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. But before he could speak, Jeewon closed the distance between them, her hands reaching up to gently remove the faceplate from his armor. She stood on her toes and kissed him, her lips soft but filled with urgency.

For a moment, Dragon froze, caught off guard. Then, as if a dam had broken, he returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around her. When they finally broke apart, Jeewon’s voice was breathless but steady.

“I’m never leaving you again, my hurricane,” she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as they rested against his chest.

From the corner of the room, Magik let out a soft laugh, her arms crossed as she watched the scene. “You two are so sappy,” she teased, though there was warmth in her tone.

Jihyo, still standing nearby, cleared her throat. “Dragon, what about Greyhound? Is he…”

Dragon looked at her, his expression softening. “He’s okay. He’s with Charles and the rest of the Illuminati.”

Jihyo’s face brightened with a smile. “Good,” she said simply, stepping back to let Jeewon have her moment.

Jeewon grabbed Dragon’s hand and led him toward the makeshift room he had built in the factory’s old office. Inside, the space was sparse but functional, with a bed pushed against one wall and a small table cluttered with maps and tools.

Jeewon sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning his face with a mix of relief and concern. “What happened after we left you on Earth?” she asked softly, her gaze lingering on the scars that crisscrossed his skin.

Dragon hesitated, his expression darkening. “A lot,” he admitted finally. “More than I can explain in one night.”

Jeewon reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “Then we’ll take it one night at a time,” she said gently.

For the first time in what felt like years, Dragon allowed himself to relax, the weight of his past momentarily lifting as he sat beside her.

“Well I guess it starts when i decided to go through with Hulk’s realm champion tournament.” Dargo began

The sounds of the forge filled the air—hammer on steel, the hiss of cooling water, and the low hum of machinery working in unison. The heat was oppressive, but it felt like home to Paladin—no, to Dargo. It had been years since he’d stepped into a forge like this, but the familiarity of it all tugged at memories he’d tried to bury.

Near the anvil stood the Forge Master, a stout yet commanding figure with arms thick from decades of crafting weapons for the strongest warriors and heroes across the realms. His beard was streaked with gray, his eyes sharp beneath bushy brows as they flicked up at the figure entering the room.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Dargo the Dragon,” the Forge Master said, his gruff voice tinged with amusement. “Back from the dead, eh?”

Dargo pulled back his hood, revealing his scarred face. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Miss me, old man?”

The Forge Master let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the chamber. “Miss you? Boy, you were always too stubborn to miss. Thought you’d finally kicked it for good, though. Guess the rumors were exaggerated.”

Dargo chuckled lightly, his gaze drifting toward the molten metal glowing in the forge. “I’ve heard that one before.”

The Forge Master shook his head, still grinning. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here. What’s your game this time? Looking to make trouble, or are you finally trying to get yourself killed?”

Dargo’s smile faded, replaced by a more solemn expression. He leaned against a workbench, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m here because I’m tired of watching everything fall apart. I’m tired of wars. I’m tired of heroes fighting each other. I want to bring back the peace that existed before the Registration Act. Before everything turned into chaos.”

The Forge Master let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “That’s wishful thinking, boy. But…” He sighed, his tone softening. “It’s a noble goal. Someone’s gotta try, I suppose.”

Dargo’s gaze hardened, his resolve unshakable. “If no one else will, I will.”

The Forge Master studied him for a long moment before nodding. “If you’re serious about this, you’re gonna need more than just resolve. You need a weapon worthy of your fight.”

He turned and moved to a large chest at the back of the forge, its surface blackened from years of heat and soot. With a grunt, he opened it to reveal a pair of weapons that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

“This,” the Forge Master said, pulling out a massive ikakalaka—a hybrid weapon that functioned as both a club and a blade—“is Achilles. Forged from vibranium, dragonite, and uru. It absorbs energy from every blow it lands, making it stronger with each strike.”

He then held up a shield, its surface etched with intricate runes. “And this shield? Same alloy. It’ll take whatever energy it absorbs and send it right back at your enemy.”

Dargo stepped forward, his hand brushing over the weapons. They hummed with power, as though alive, resonating with his very soul.

“These are yours,” the Forge Master said. “Weapons for a warrior with a purpose. Just don’t forget—power like this doesn’t come without a price. The stronger they get, the more they’ll demand of you.”

Dargo took the ikakalaka and shield, testing their weight. They felt perfect, as if they’d been waiting for him.

He turned to the Forge Master, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

The Forge Master waved him off. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of you, Dragon. Let’s see if you can live up to those scars.”

Dargo strapped the weapons to his back, his smirk returning faintly. For the first time in years, he felt ready—not just to fight, but to stand for something worth fighting for. The weight of the weapons on his shoulders was nothing compared to the weight of his resolve. This wasn’t about revenge or glory; it was about restoring the balance he once believed in.

Jeewon listened intently as Paladin recounted his story. His voice was steady but distant, as if he was narrating the life of someone else rather than his own. She could sense the hesitation behind his words, the deliberate omissions as he danced around the full truth. He was holding back, shielding himself from fully opening up to her, and it broke her heart. This wasn’t the Dragon she remembered. The man she had known was unflinchingly honest, brimming with passion, and carrying a spark of hope that could ignite an entire room.

Now, that spark was gone. The light that once defined him was buried beneath layers of pain and isolation. Jeewon’s heart ached as she watched him, his eyes heavy with the weight of his burdens, his movements careful and restrained, as if he was afraid to let himself feel anything.

Without thinking, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his tense frame and pressing her head to his chest. She let her warmth flow through her, hoping it would reach him. Paladin stiffened at first, unused to such closeness, but slowly, almost reluctantly, he relaxed into her embrace. It was one of the first genuine moments of comfort he’d allowed himself in years.

“Dragon,” Jeewon whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Please come back.”

Paladin didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. She could feel the walls he’d built around himself, thick and unyielding, but she wasn’t ready to give up.

“This stoic act, it’s not you,” she continued, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “You’re easygoing and happy, not guarded and cold. You used to laugh, even when things seemed impossible. You used to believe in people, in us.”

Jeewon reached up, her fingers trembling slightly as she unhooked the metal plate obscuring his face. The action was gentle, deliberate, as if she was peeling away the mask he had hidden behind for so long. When the plate fell away, she saw the face she remembered—the face of the man she had loved before war and responsibility had carved so many scars into his soul. His eyes, though weary, still held a flicker of the fire she knew was buried deep within.

“I want my Hurricane back,” she said, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes.

Paladin’s gaze softened for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping him as he struggled to respond.

“You don’t understand, Jeewon,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The man you knew… he doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve seen too much, done too much. I can’t be him again.”

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, her hands cupping his face. “That man is still in there. I see him, even if you can’t. He’s in the way you hesitate to hurt others unnecessarily, the way you protect those who can’t protect themselves. You might not feel it, but he’s still here, Dargo. And I’m not giving up on him.”

Paladin shook his head, his jaw tightening as he tried to pull away, but Jeewon wouldn’t let him. She pressed her forehead to his, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“You’re not alone, Dargo. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself. Please, let me in. Let me help you.”

For a long moment, the room was filled with silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Paladin’s hands slowly came up to rest on her wrists, his touch hesitant, unsure.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I’m afraid of letting you see how broken I’ve become. Of letting anyone see.”

“You’re not broken,” Jeewon said softly. “You’re hurt. But hurt can heal. It just takes time… and people who care about you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she continued, her voice trembling. “I care about you, Dragon. I always have. And I’ll be here, no matter how long it takes. I’ll wait for you to find your way back, but please… please don’t shut me out.”

Paladin’s shoulders sagged, the weight of her words breaking through his defenses. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to feel something other than numbness. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Jeewon tightened her embrace, her heart swelling with hope. She could feel it—the first cracks in the walls he had built around himself. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, Jeewon remained by Dargo’s side, her arms wrapped protectively around him. The tension that had been etched into his every movement began to ease, his breathing slowing into a steady rhythm. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to surrender, to let go of the constant vigilance that had kept him alive but had also worn him down.

Jeewon held him close, gently stroking his hair as his head rested against her shoulder. She could feel his exhaustion, not just physically but emotionally, and it broke her heart to think of all he had endured. Yet, for now, he was at peace.

“Sleep,” she whispered softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re safe here.”

Dargo’s lips moved slightly, a faint murmur escaping as he drifted into a deep sleep. Jeewon stayed awake, watching over him, a small smile playing on her lips as she felt the faintest glimmer of hope for the man she loved.

The early morning light filtered through the cracks in the factory’s walls, illuminating the makeshift bedroom with a soft, golden glow. Dargo stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. For a moment, he was disoriented, the memories of the previous night flooding back.

“Good morning, Hurricane,” Jeewon murmured, her voice laced with affection.

Dargo blinked, turning his head to see her still sitting beside him, a gentle smile on her face. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door to the room creaked open.

“Well, well,” came a familiar voice, sharp and teasing. “The great Dragon finally wakes up.”

Dargo sat up quickly, his body tense as Magik stepped into the room, her arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips. She was dressed in her battle attire, her soul sword resting against her shoulder.

“Ilyanna,” he said, his voice still groggy.

“Don’t ‘Ilyanna’ me,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been sulking in this place long enough. Time to see if you’ve still got it, protégé.”

Dargo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Magik said with a grin, tossing him a wooden practice sword. “I want to see if all that brooding has dulled your skills.”

Jeewon gave Dargo an encouraging look, gently squeezing his hand. “You should go. She won’t let up until you do.”

With a resigned groan, Dargo stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed the practice sword. “Fine,” he said, glancing at Magik. “But don’t blame me if you regret this.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Magik replied, her grin widening as she led him to the sparring area.

The two faced off in the wide, open space of the factory floor. Magik twirled her sword with practiced ease, her movements fluid and precise. Dargo, now fully awake and focused, settled into a ready stance, the wooden sword held firmly in his grip. He set his armor back in place and he was Paladin once more. Both Jeewon and Magik noticed his change in countenance as he armored up. It saddened them to see him so guarded and mechanical

“Show me what you’ve got,” Magik said, her tone challenging. Paladin nodded before getting in a ready stance. He faced her with a malicious silence that put the rest of Magik’s Hellions on edge. Magik charged. Using her stepping disc she tried to get the edge on Dragon but found it difficult due to his hardened reflexes. He anticipated her every move and the one after that leaving her on the ropes.

Jeewon watched from afar saddened by Dragon’s almost mechanical movements and stiff attacks. His fluidity was gone which she noticed is probably from all of the scar tissue covering his body. She made the mental not to try rejuvenation on Dragon later tonight to hopefully mend more of him.

After Paladin’s fight with Burai. Leviathan began running some calculations with his girlfriend as to who his next opponent would be. Had Burai bested Paladin it would have been Burai but due to his loss and Paladin’s new seating after his most recent fight his schedule was in flux.

Eventually the math checked out to be a fighter named Diobronto

The preparation chambers were dimly lit, the echoes of the arena still faintly audible through the stone walls. Leviathan leaned against a pillar, his face a mask of quiet contemplation. Across from him, Heejin sat cross-legged on a bench, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that matched her concern.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Heejin said, breaking the silence. “Something tells me it’s not just the fight you’re thinking about.”

Leviathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not just any fight, Heejin. It’s Diobronto.”

Heejin arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Diobronto? The crowd favorite? The one who cracks jokes mid-fight and has the whole arena eating out of his hand?”

“Yeah, that Diobronto,” Leviathan replied, his voice heavy. “It’s not just the crowd that makes him a problem. It’s who he is—and what he’s fighting for.”

Heejin leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Go on.”

Leviathan hesitated, his fingers drumming against the pillar. “You’ve seen how the crowd loves him. They adore his charm, his humor. But what most people don’t know is that he’s not here for glory or fame. He’s here for revenge.”

Heejin tilted her head, intrigued. “Revenge? Against who?”

“Burai,” Leviathan said, his jaw tightening. “Apparently, they were allies once, partners in the field. But Burai… stabbed him in the back. Literally. All for a shot at success. Diobronto barely survived, and now? He’s made it his mission to fight his way through this tournament just to face Burai again.”

Heejin whistled softly. “That’s… intense. No wonder the crowd loves him. A personal vendetta makes for a great story.”

“It’s more than that,” Leviathan said, his voice lowering. “Diobronto not just a skilled fighter—he’s unpredictable. He uses his humor to throw you off, but underneath it all, he’s calculating. Every move he makes is designed to exploit weaknesses. And after what Burai did to him, he fights like someone who has nothing to lose.”

Heejin studied Leviathan’s expression, noting the tension in his shoulders and the shadow of unease in his eyes. “You’re scared of him,” she said softly, not as an accusation but as an observation.

Leviathan didn’t deny it. “I’d be stupid not to be. He’s got the crowd on his side, a grudge fueling his every step, and skills that rival anyone in this tournament. He’s dangerous, Heejin. And what’s worse? He’s smart. He’ll study me, find every flaw in my technique, and use it against me.”

Heejin stood and crossed the room, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve faced dangerous opponents before, Leviathan. What makes Diobronto so different?”

Leviathan met her gaze, his voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. “Because he’s not just fighting to win. He’s fighting for something he believes in. And that kind of conviction? It makes people unstoppable.”

Heejin nodded slowly, processing his words. “But you’ve got something too, Levi. You’ve got your own reasons for being here. Don’t let his story overshadow yours.”

Leviathan gave her a small, appreciative smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Part of the job,” Heejin teased, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “But seriously, Levi, you’ve got this. Diobronto may be a crowd favorite, but you’re not fighting for their approval. You’re fighting for you. And that’s just as powerful.”

Leviathan exhaled deeply, some of the tension leaving his body. “Thanks, Heejin. I needed that.”

“Anytime,” she said with a grin. “Now, how about we strategize a little? If Diobronto’s as unpredictable as you say, you’ll need a game plan.”

“Good idea,” Leviathan agreed, his determination returning. “Let’s figure this out. Together.”

Vendetta

After my most recent fight, I headed home. It was another win—another opponent defeated, another step closer to what I really wanted. But it wasn’t Burai. Again. For the fourth time, I’d asked to face him directly, but Hulk had been adamant that I needed to earn my way there. “The right way,” he’d called it. He said my petty vengeance wasn’t fair, that it undermined the tournament’s purpose.

Unfair? It wasn’t like I planned to stick around afterward. My goal was simple: beat Burai, settle the score, and disappear back to my little corner of the world. But no. Instead of wrapping things up quickly, I’d been forced to climb this ridiculous ladder. The more I fought, the more my fame and legend grew, and the more tangled I became in the tournament’s narrative. Now people were rooting for me like I was some sort of hero. It was exhausting.

When adapting Mei to Mei Washio, her introduction gains a layer of serpentine mystique and a duality of nurturing and danger that fits her unique presence. Mei’s snake-like features and confident aura would shift the focus of her character, emphasizing her as someone both alluring and potentially treacherous. Here’s how this could adjust her introduction:

When I finally reached my door, I stopped short. A young woman stood waiting for me, leaning casually against the frame. Her presence was magnetic, her confidence almost tangible. She had an aura that was both motherly and serpentine—a strange combination of sultry allure and gentle composure that left my thoughts scattered.

Her body was undeniably captivating, but it was her subtle, reptilian features that caught my attention. Scales adorned her collarbone, shimmering faintly under the light, and her golden eyes were slitted like a snake’s. A mutant, I thought, my gaze traveling over her. I tried to keep my appraisal focused and respectful, but it wasn’t easy.

“Diobronto?” she asked, her voice smooth, with a teasing lilt that made it impossible to ignore her.

I nodded slowly, unsure what to make of her. Her smile widened as she stepped forward, moving with a grace that felt both deliberate and effortless. “I’m Mei Washio,” she introduced herself, her tone light yet tinged with intrigue. Her piercing eyes locked onto mine, and I felt like she could see straight through me.

As I hesitated, she tilted her head, her scales catching the faintest glimmer of light. “Like what you see?” she asked, her voice a soft purr.

I nodded again, unsure how else to respond. Her chuckle was low and melodic, sending a shiver down my spine. Without waiting for an invitation, she opened the door and stepped inside, her movements as smooth as flowing water.

Once the door closed behind us, I found my voice. “Why are you here?” I asked, my tone wary. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She turned back to me, her expression playful yet enigmatic. Raising a finger to her lips, she shushed me gently before stepping closer. “Oh, but I do,” she said, her smile revealing the faintest hint of sharp teeth. “You’re the funniest and most interesting part of this entire tournament’s story. You and Burai? That whole drama? It’s like something out of a myth. Two creators of great stories and characters… and then Burai stabs you in the back, both literally and metaphorically. And now you’re out for revenge? It’s perfect. You couldn’t write a better narrative.”

I sighed, her words cutting deeper than I expected. “That’s not entirely true,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Burai and I were good friends—or at least, I thought we were. Then something happened. I don’t even know what. Maybe I said something he didn’t like, or maybe I pissed off the wrong person. Whatever it was, he stopped talking to me out of nowhere.

“I could’ve handled that,” I continued, my voice growing sharper. “But then he goes around airing his grievances to everyone but me. And then—then—he stabs me in the back. I’m not letting that slide. It’s bullshit, and I hate it.”

Mei’s laughter burst forth, loud and unrestrained, as if I’d just delivered the punchline to the world’s funniest joke. She doubled over, clutching her sides, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s even funnier,” she said between breaths. “So let me get this straight—you’re facing off against some of the world’s best fighters just to be petty?”

I shrugged, feeling a little defensive. “Pretty much.”

She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, a smirk still playing on her lips. “You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?”

“Oh, I know,” I replied, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “In my defense, I told Hulk to just put me in against Burai early on so I wouldn’t screw up the tournament for everyone else. But no, he wouldn’t do it. And now I’m four victories in, and more than half the contestants are out. So yeah, I look like even more of a jackass.”

Mei shook her head, her laughter fading into a softer chuckle. Her eyes, however, remained sharp, as if she was reading deeper into me than I was comfortable with.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said, though there was a strange note of admiration in her voice.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered, slumping into a chair.

She studied me in silence for a moment, her playful demeanor softening into something gentler. “You know, Dio,” she began, her voice quieter now, “you might think this is all about vengeance, but maybe it’s about something more. Something you haven’t admitted to yourself yet.”

I frowned, her words catching me off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She leaned forward, her movements deliberate, her golden eyes locking onto mine. “Revenge might be your excuse, but it’s not your purpose.” She smiled again, enigmatic and knowing. “You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

Mei then got up and approached me before kissed me as she did she wrapped her plush thighs around my waist and all semblance of self-control or restraint left as soon as she put my hands on her ass. We broke the kiss and she slid her panties down from her skirt.

“Naughty boy,”Mei cooed as I took her top off, before bringing me in for a sloppy kiss. Her tongue wrapped around mine like an anaconda trying to suffocate mine and I was totally into it. When she broke the kiss she elegantly uncoiled from around me and began to strip fully. She smiled as she led me to my bedroom as if she had done a thousand times.

We were both fully nude by the time we both entered the room. Mei pranced around my room wearing only her teasing smirk. Her body was even more insane bare. Full ripe breasts, a plump ass you could bounce coins off and the plushest thighs I have ever seen. My dick throbbed witnessing such a vixen. I closed the distance with another kiss. She purred at the control she had over me. I wrap a hesitant hand around her thigh and Mei goes berserk as she spreads her legs and coils her hands around me like a snake and pulls me in closer. “Fuck I gasp as she coils herself around me tighter and tighter. She whispers in my ear.

“Im not letting go until you pass out.” she smiles as she leglocks me before having my cock embedded in her pussy. I groan as I bottom out. Mei moans before grinding against my crotch. I lift her from the bed and her coils tighten around me as I thrust in and out of her. She is ungodly tight but so fucking wet. Her pussy drools almost hungrily as she takes me in and out of her lower gluttonous gullet. Her body snakes around mine as she whispers more and more filth into my ears. She smiles as I thrust in and out of her.

Somehow she seems to get tighter I groaned as her pussy constricts my cock.

“Fuck you're suffocatingly tight,” I groan. Mei smiles then says

“I am! Now Cum!” her voice was commanding and I acquiesce exploding inside of her. Mei’s greedy pussy milks me for all I'm worth. She forces my mouth on her full tits and oh my fucking god she tastes amazing the salt of her sweat congrats the sweetness of whatever thing she’s wearing. It’s spicy and reminds me of cinnamon. As I devour her breasts I can’t enough, so I suck and I suck. As she coils tighter around me she moans in ecstasy. I groan as I flip her over to get a view of that plump ass. Mei yelps

“Oh how brutish… more!” she pleads so I give her more. I bend her over before spanking her.

I barely can hold on as we spend the rest of the night fucking, and fucking, until I black out.

I woke up in a mild haze. Mei’s body strewn against mine. As I stirred Mei smiled at me and said, “Fuck babe you were an animal last night,” my mind raced as Mei kissed me on my cheek before saying, “lets get ready.”

I nodded and we were off.

After getting breakfast, Mei and I sat on a bench overlooking the arena grounds. The morning sun painted the sky in hues of orange and gold, and the chatter of early spectators drifted in the air. Mei had insisted we come here, claiming it was the perfect spot to “reflect.” Whatever that meant.

She took a long sip from her drink, her eyes watching the arena as if sizing it up. “So,” she began, her voice light but probing, “what’s the plan? If you make it to the last battle, and it’s you versus Burai… and you win?”

I leaned back, stretching my legs out in front of me. “That’s the plan. I win. End of story.”

Mei turned to face me, raising an eyebrow. “End of story? Come on, Dio, you can’t honestly believe that.”

“Why not?” I countered. “I get my revenge, put him in his place, and then I’m done. No more tournaments, no more fighting. I go back to my quiet little life, just like I planned.”

She tilted her head, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle she was trying to solve. “You really think it’s going to be that simple?”

“It’s not complicated,” I said, shrugging. “He betrayed me. He deserves to pay for it. Once that’s done, there’s nothing keeping me here.”

Mei set her drink down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Okay, but what happens after you beat him? You think all this—” she gestured broadly at the arena, the crowds, the tournament—“just goes away? People already see you as this larger-than-life figure. If you take down Burai, you’ll be a legend. You think they’ll let you disappear after that?”

I frowned, her words sinking in. I didn’t want to be a legend. I didn’t want the fame, the attention, or any of it. All I wanted was to settle the score and move on. But deep down, I knew she had a point.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I muttered. “I just wanted to fight Burai. That’s it.”

Mei smiled softly, her tone gentler now. “I know. But the world doesn’t work like that. You can’t control what people see in you, Dio. And if you win… well, you’re going to have to decide what kind of legend you want to be.”

I looked away, the weight of her words settling over me. “I don’t care about being a legend,” I said quietly. “I just want to be free of all this.”

She reached out and placed a hand on my arm, her touch grounding me. “Maybe you should think about what ‘freedom’ really means to you. Because right now, it sounds like you’re running from something. And I don’t think beating Burai is going to fix that.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. She wasn’t wrong. As much as I hated to admit it, this wasn’t just about Burai. It was about everything that had led me here—everything I’d lost, everything I’d buried.

Mei gave me a small, knowing smile, as if she could see the gears turning in my head. “Take it from someone who’s watched you fight, Dio. You’ve got more in you than just anger. Maybe it’s time you figure out what else is driving you.”

I sighed, leaning back on the bench. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who just met me.”

She grinned, a playful glint in her eye. “What can I say? I’m invested in the story. And you, my friend, are the most interesting character in it.”

Despite myself, I chuckled. “You really think this is all just some big story, huh?”

“Of course,” she said, her grin widening. “And the best stories? They’re the ones where the hero figures out who they really are.”

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m no hero, Mei.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms with a confident smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

Mei leaned into my shoulder, her breathing slowing to a soft, steady rhythm. It didn’t take long for me to realize she had fallen asleep. The warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the silence of the room worked their magic, and soon enough, I drifted off as well.

The next thing I distinctly remember is waking up to the sensation of a massive hand lightly shaking my shoulder. Blinking groggily, I opened my eyes to see Hulk looming over me, his expression a mix of sternness and warmth. His sheer size filled the space, but it was his knowing look that caught my attention. He wasn’t angry; if anything, his eyes carried a strange kindness that felt out of place, given my usual interactions with him.

“Good to see you so relaxed, Diobronto,” he said, his deep voice tinged with amusement. “You’re usually so uptight.”

I groaned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Mei stirred next to me but didn’t wake immediately. Stretching, I looked up at him and muttered, “Sorry for falling asleep in the arena.”

Hulk waved off my apology with a chuckle. “No need to apologize. You’re one of the few fighters here who understands the point of this whole thing. You get what this tournament is really about.”

I squinted at him, trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. “And what exactly is it about, big guy?”

He gave me a look that was both knowing and paternal, crossing his massive arms as he spoke. “This tournament isn’t just about who can throw the hardest punch or land the flashiest move. It’s about building something bigger—creating the next generation of heroes. And whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve become the aspirational everyman. The crowd loves you because you represent something they can believe in.”

I frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on me. “I’m not a hero,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I’m here for revenge. That’s it.”

Hulk laughed, the sound booming and filling the room. Mei, now fully awake, joined in with a chuckle as she leaned back against the wall, her sharp eyes watching the exchange with interest.

“Whether you think you’re a hero or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you act like one,” Hulk countered. “Despite your whole ‘revenge plot,’ you carry yourself with integrity. You’re upstanding, moral—well, mostly—and you respect your opponents. You understand what this tournament is trying to achieve, and you lean into it. You play the part of a hero without even realizing it.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “How? How exactly am I playing the part of a hero?”

He grinned, pointing a massive finger at me. “Remember that kid who came up to you after your last fight? He asked you how he could be like you, and you didn’t brush him off or tell him something dumb. You told him to eat his vegetables, exercise, brush his teeth, and finish his homework. That’s the kind of stuff heroes do, even when they don’t have to. You inspire people, Dio. Families come to watch your fights because they see someone worth rooting for.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Really? That many people care?”

Hulk nodded. “You’re the kind of fighter they bring their kids to see. You’ve got the strength, sure, but more importantly, you’ve got the heart. That’s why the crowd loves you.”

Mei chose that moment to chime in, her voice sultry as she leaned forward. “It’s also why I can’t get enough of you,” she purred, her tone teasing yet laced with sincerity. Her piercing gaze locked onto mine, making her intentions abundantly clear.

Hulk barked out a laugh, clearly amused by her boldness. “See? Even she knows you’re a hero. And I need you to stay in this tournament, Dio. You’re too good at this to throw it all away for some petty revenge. Heroes like you don’t just win fights—they give people something to believe in.”

I sighed, leaning back against the wall as I processed his words. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I admitted. “I just wanted to fight Burai and be done with it.”

“And yet here you are,” Hulk said, clapping a massive hand on my shoulder with surprising gentleness. “You’re here for more than just yourself, whether you like it or not. Don’t waste it.”

Mei smirked, tilting her head as she watched me. “Guess that means you’ve got to stick around, hero.”

I glanced between the two of them—Hulk’s unwavering belief and Mei’s playful admiration—and sighed. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was more to this than I wanted to admit. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. After hulk’s little pep talk he got up and said,

“Youre next fight is Burai. I do hope you make the right choice after,”

A rush of emotions and thoughts go through my head as Hulk and Mei laugh while Hulk leaves.

Here was everything I ever wanted but at what cost?

As the door closed behind Hulk, the room fell silent. Mei shifted closer to me, her gaze soft yet inquisitive. I could feel the weight of the moment settling over us. Burai. The name echoed in my head like a drumbeat. I had fought so hard, clawed my way through this tournament, just for a shot at him. And now, the fight was finally within reach.

“You okay?” Mei’s voice broke the quiet, her tone gentle but probing.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know. I mean… this is what I wanted, right? Burai’s next. Everything I’ve done so far has been for this moment. But now…” My voice trailed off as I stared at the floor, trying to piece together what I was feeling.

“But now you’re wondering if it’s worth it?” she finished for me, her expression unreadable.

I looked up at her, surprised. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

She shrugged with a small smile. “You’re not as hard to read as you think, Dio. You might act all tough and brooding, but deep down, you’re a lot more thoughtful than you let on. You care, even when you pretend you don’t.”

Her words struck a chord, and I found myself nodding slowly. “It’s just… Hulk said some things that I can’t shake. About being a hero, about people looking up to me. I didn’t ask for any of that. I’m not trying to inspire anyone. I just want to settle the score with Burai and move on with my life. Is that so bad?”

Mei tilted her head, studying me intently. “It’s not bad, but maybe it’s not that simple anymore. Whether you like it or not, you’ve become something bigger than yourself. People see you as a symbol, Dio. A guy who stands up, fights hard, and doesn’t back down—even when the odds are stacked against him. That matters to people. It matters to me.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she leaned back, resting her head against the wall, her eyes thoughtful.

“What happens after you fight him?” she asked quietly.

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s your plan? Let’s say you beat Burai. You get your revenge, the crowd goes wild, and the tournament wraps up. What happens next? Do you just disappear? Go back to your ‘little corner of the world,’ as you put it?”

Her words hit harder than I expected. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. All my focus had been on reaching this point, on confronting Burai. What came after was a blank slate.

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I thought beating him would be enough. That it would give me closure.”

“And now?” she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

I exhaled heavily, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “Now I’m not so sure. Hulk’s right—this tournament has become something bigger than me and Burai. I don’t know if I can just walk away from it all without feeling like I let everyone down.”

Mei reached out and placed a hand on mine, her touch warm and steady. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she said softly. “But when the time comes, just remember that you’re more than your grudge. You’re more than what Burai did to you. You’ve already proven that.”

I looked at her, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt or insincerity. But all I saw was genuine belief—belief in me.

“Thanks,” I said after a long pause. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but… it helps to hear that.”

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Through time and space; you're Mine.

Summary; Alt end to 'The girl who shattered time!' instead of staying, (y/n) goes back to her time, only everything is different. Way different.

warnings; Tom Riddle(way more on point in this version), obsessive Tom, possessive Tom, referenced murder and implied murder, horcruxes used to make 'kids' so Tom can have 'you.'

i like how this came out, its not long! hardly even 2,500 words! but it feels good so i left it where it was~ the requester of the girl who shattered time did request an alt end but their idea was different and i wasnt, really into it? so i did this instead because this feels...more like Tom. enjoy!

=

“Please stay,” he said, achingly, pleadingly, his jaw clenching horribly as he stepped towards her-she stepped back-he stopped.

“What?” she asked, and she watched as the sound of her voice made his eyes flutter and he took a deep breath, holding the diary with both hands.

“Stay. Please.” He said again, begging. “Don’t go back to your time-don’t go back to…that war. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” He whispered, looking up at her.

“How can you ask that?” she whispered, clenching her jaw, fists tight at her sides. “You saw it all, you know why I can't stay, you know why I’ve been avoiding you-why I want to go back.”

Tom’s eyes were hard yet sad-anger, not at her, filling his face.

“I won't stay with someone who becomes…him.” (y/n) said, not even daring to say the name and Tom nearly flinches, his eyes going back down to his diary, trembling.

“If you go back. I’ll find you.” he says, voice low and dark with promise, looking up at her-his gaze intense. “I'll find you, no matter what-I’ll track you down.” He steps closer and (y/n) backs away, gasping as he grabs her wrist and pulls her close- the diary falling to the floor, his eyes locked onto hers.

“I’ll make you mine again, I don’t care what I have to do, who I have to get through-I will find you, and we will be together again.” (y/n) shakes her head,  panic filling her whole body, she does not want to be with Voldemort, she didn’t want him-she didn’t want this.

She slaps him with her free hand and his head snaps to the side-his eyes going wide, before turning back on her as she runs back towards the dorms. “You can’t escape me (y/n)!” he roars, knowing he couldn’t chase her into the girls dorms, the barrier keeping him away from her. “I will find you! you will be mine again! Dark lord or not-I will have you!”

He loved her. And he would never let her go.

-

She rushes out of the Slytherin common room before sunrise, panting heavily as she books it down the hall towards Dumbledore’s office, tears in her eyes as she rapidly knocks on the door and he opens it. “ah-I have yet to leave for the ministry Ms-are you okay?” Dumbledore's voice turns to concern as (y/n)’s shoulders jump with a sob and she slumps into him as the weight of everything crashes into her.

Tom’s ‘promise’, the threat of the war, returning to a world where she’d be hunted down-it’s all too much.

But still-she wants to go home. She wants to see her friends again, and if need by-die next to them.

Dumbledore hugs her and after the sun rises, he goes to the ministry through the floo network, (y/n) curled up on the seat in front of his desk until he and a ministry worker returned-holding the time turner that would send her back. “Okay, you traveled back in the defense class room right?” the ministry worker asked, following Dumbledore to the DADA classroom.

(y/n) nods, quietly standing beside Dumbledore as he unlocked the DADA classroom and the three entered, the ministry worker handing her the time turner. “All right, here you go, just finish the loop and it’ll send you to your time, and then to send it back to us-just take it off and leave it in a safe spot and the time turners fail safe will send it back to us. Understood?”

(y/n) nodded again, putting on the time turner and lifting the two ends in her fingers, twisting it to complete the loops and she felt her stomach turn as she was sent forward in time-May 2nd, 1998. She landed in the DADA classroom-it was untouched by the chaos that sent her here in the first place so she quickly took the time turner off and put it in a safe spot-near the book cases, far away from where she’d gone back the first time.

She looks at the desk that she’d knocked over that held the original time turner, sneaking over and opening all the drawers-eventually finding the time turner that had sent her back. She looks up as she hears someone approach the door and quickly hides. Except…there's no blast of magic or chaos of battle.

Instead, there’s hushed whispers, and light laughter. “Go go-“ a voice whispers, one that is vaguely familiar. (y/n) peeks around her hiding spot, seeing herself sneaking into the DADA classroom, a group of girls-her friends from this era, including Luna, oh goodness it’s so good to see her-all watching her sneak in. (y/n)’s brows furrow, why was this so different? It should’ve been the same, right?

She’d expected to return to the battle of Hogwarts but…there seemed to be no battle…What changed?

She looked back at her past…alternate self and she tripped in the darkness, knocking open the desk drawer and it slid out completely-making a loud noise and then things began to whirl around-past/alt (y/n) gasping and then she was gone-the broken time turner sending her to the past.

…HUH?!

(y/n) stared in shock-this was not how it happened at all! She’d been chased and blasted into the room by snatchers! Not dared to sneak around and then accidently knocked the desk over!? What happened?! What changed so much! Her friends all rushed into the room-whispering out her name in worry and (y/n) winced, coming out of her hiding space.

“uh-something went wrong.” She said and the girls all screamed and jumped-eyes wide as they looked at her.

After a long moment, and some panic-(y/n) was able to explain, sorta. She explained that she’d been sent back in time by a broken time turner and she’d just gotten back from the 1940s, only to see how she got sent back in time but-differently.

It was a bit confusing to explain but her friends, especially Luna, took it in stride and soon (y/n) was back in her dorm, lying her ravenclaw bed-finally her bed.

Things had changed in this world.

After some digging from her friends-who took her questioning in stride since the timeline (y/n) knew was now gone.

There was no Boy who lived. That was a shock to see her friends be confused when asked about Harry Potter-to them, Harry was just a regular boy, no lightning scar, no dead parents-captain of the quidditch team and all.

“what-what about-death eaters?” (y/n) asked and her friends looked terribly confused.

“What In the world was happening in your timeline?” her friend Ruby asked and (y/n) slumped back onto her bed, eyes wide.

No death eaters. No boy who lived.

…no…Voldemort? She sat up, asking if they heard that name before-their reaction this time was different.

“oh yeah-Minister Voldemort? He’s been minister for magic for nearly 30 years now,” Irene said and (y/n) nearly fell out of her bed.

Minister for Magic Voldemort-not dark lord. What in the actual fuck?!

“I need to sleep.” (y/n) croaked and her friends agreed, Luna giving her a hug and a necklace to keep the wackspurts away. “Thanks Luna, I missed you.” (y/n) said softly, hugging her friend back and Luna hummed, floating back over to her bed, brushing through her wavy hair.

(y/n) laid back in her bed, struggling to sleep.

What had changed? Tom had said he’d find her-and yet it seemed this world was so much better. Voldemort now minister for magic-but she’d have to find out if this was a good thing or not in the morning.

She needed sleep.

-

She heads right for the library in the morning, clad in her Ravenclaw uniform once more and her bracelet from Julia feeling strangely heavy on her wrists. She pours over recent history textbooks, finding newspapers from the last 50 years in search of finding what changed.

1943-a girl dies in the Hogwarts bathroom; rumored to be killed by the Chamber of secrets monster, a student is expelled-blamed for the girls death, an accident. Prefect Tom Riddle is praised for his heroism in finding the culprit.

(y/n) swallows harshly, looking at the picture of Tom, he looks angry, beneath the proud look on his face that seems forced. Anger that simmers beneath the surface, heartbreak.

She looks through more newspapers.

1945-world war 2 ends, Grindelwald is defeated by Dumbledore.

1950- a woman named Hepzibah Smith is poisoned by her elf

1954- Tom Riddle-youngest to run for ministry for Magic, supported by the rich and famous pureblood families-such as the Malfoy’s, Black’s, Lestrange’s, Flint’s, and Rosier’s.

1955- Youngest Minister for Magic; Tom Riddle.

1960- Minister Tom Riddle; while no interest in marriage, reveals newborn son, named after him. Tom Riddle Jr.

1961-Tom Riddle once again elected for Minister of Magic.

1970-Youngest Minister for Magic changes name to Voldemort, support from purebloods is great for Voldemort ‘abandoning’ his Muggle birth name.

1968- Voldemort is elected as Minister once again.

And so on and so forth.

(y/n) rips through newspapers like a wild animal-searching for anything that can tell her why things changed so much. Had Tom really given up on the whole ‘dark lord’ thing? Instead going for a more diplomatic way of taking power? Becoming the minister for magic?

She pulls up another newspaper. 1982- Minister for Magic proudly announces his Grandson, Tom Riddle the third. She looks at the picture, it’s Voldemort, uncomfortably human looking-a silver fox if one to describe him, though he has a slight…oddness to him-standing beside him was his ‘son’ Tom Riddle Jr; who was in his early 20’s, hardly even 21 actually-holding a newborn boy.

All three looked exactly the same-like they weren’t truly born, but copies.

(y/n) looks at the date again. 1982. January.

Something nags at the back of her head-telling her something was wrong.

She looks through the papers again. Her heart freezes.

1982-Headmaster Dumbledore passes away, Deputy Headmaster McGonagall to take his place. Cause of death unknown, found dead in office on the morning of June 15th-only days before the school year ended.

That was the exact day Dumbledore died in the original time line-except more than 10 years earlier. Voldemort had been the one to order his death before-he must’ve waited until Dumbledore's guard was down to kill him-this time also having a new vendetta against him-for sending her back.

She leaned back on her heels, newspapers everywhere around her, the one about Dumbledore's death tight in her hands.

Voldemort was minister for magic-he’d had two copies, one son and one grandson, the grandson her age.

She didn’t know how, but this was all a way to get to her-to find her and have her. He knew she’d never accept her as Voldemort, but if he had copies-younger versions of himself, one the exact same as she left him-then she’d have no choice.

“You seem antsy,” A chillingly familiar voice came from just next to her and she glanced-yelping at the sight of Tom’s face in hers; almost the exact same as she left it not a day before-but for him? Almost 50 years ago. “Woah, jumpy much darling?”

Tom teased, picking up newspapers with a flick of his wand-this one dark brown in color, snakes and (fav flowers) carved into the wood.

“Wha-how-you-“ (y/n) panted, back pressed against the table edge of a bookcase as Tom stalked towards her, his eyes almost…red under the dim lighting.

“Oh, my love-did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” Tom said softly, almost eerie-he traps her against the table, arms on either side of you. “You’ve read it all, haven’t you? Seen what we’ve done for you?”

Tom whispers, forehead against hers, his eyes intense and terrifying as he slowly grips her face in his hand-it’s cold. “You feared the dark lord, feared to return to war and death-I stopped it all. Can't you see? You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Not of me.”

“How are you here?” She asks-voice cracking from the swell of emotions she feels and Tom smiles-its unsettling- pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips, his arm wrapping around her to keep her close.

“Oh, my dear, Horcruxes can be used for so much more than immortality.  I was the first.” He pulled out the diary from his uniform inner pocket, pressing it to her upper chest, his eyes still intense on her. “I made this, so when I found you again-I had all my memories of you. Voldemort, or as everyone thinks him to be-my grandfather, birthed me from a simple-allowed me to be born with you.”

He kissed her cheek, soft but it felt wrong and (y/n) pushed at him, but he didn’t budge. “Don’t you see my love?” he whispered against her ear, the diary achingly cold against her neck as he pushes it up against her throat. “I did this for you. I split my soul for you-to be with you. You don’t have to fear me, or Voldemort-we did it all for you.”

“You’re insane.” (y/n) spits at him and he coldly smiles, thumb brushing over her lip-pulling at it slightly.

“I’m a man in love, insanity is only the tip of it.” he whispered, eyes on her lips, flickering between deep brown and red. Snake-like. “we did it for you-there is no war, there is no boy who lived-I kept peace, for you.” he said, his lips connecting with hers in a cold kiss, his hand leaving the diary to cup her head, not letting her pull away.

Her eyes snapped closed-tears burning-her hands fisting into the fabric of his uniform sleeves.

She hates that it still feels so good to kiss him. He pulls away, feeling her tears on his face and he wipes them gently with his thumb, kissing them away. “Don’t be afraid my love-there's nothing more to fear. There is no dark lord, only me.” Tom murmurs and (y/n) sniffled, allowing him to brush her bangs back-both her eyes now on him. His thumb runs over his scar-which was growing fainter as time went on.

“He never touched you.” Tom whispers, her brows furrow-unsure of what he meant and Tom smiles-still intense. “Your uncle, he never touched you-i-or well ‘my father’, killed him before he could even think about touching you.”

(y/n)’s breath stutters in her chest as Tom holds her close-now in a hug, his head tucked against hers. “no one will hurt you again. Including me.” He whispers, clutching tight to her robes and she gasps for breath, unsure of how to handle-anything that was going on.

“I’ll never let you go.” He whispers, a finality to it.

She knows that he’d make sure to keep that promise, whether she wanted it or not.

-end of alt end-

[libingan]

—no questions asked.

you’ve always been his, even before the words were ever said—no labels needed when everything else speaks for itself.

i remember candace and jeremy's relationship in phineas and ferb. i liked how jeremy assumed they were already dating and thought to myself "simon riley" so here it is.

it’s always been this way with simon.

the little things you’ve shared, those moments that nobody else gets to see, have slowly built up over time. long drives where the silence is comfortable, quiet moments when you’re wrapped up in a blanket together, his arm draped around your shoulders. you’ve shared soft kisses in the early morning light, whispered words when you think no one’s listening, and occasional touches that linger just a second too long to be deemed innocent. his gruff voice calling you his—just “his,” as if you’re already a part of something bigger, something unspoken.

but the question always lingers in the back of your mind: what are we?

because in your head, you’re not his girlfriend. you never really were. sure, you’ve done couple things—spent hours together, laughed over inside jokes, shared moments that feel like they belong to only the two of you. but whenever you think about it, you can’t quite place a label on what you are. you never had that conversation, the one where he asks you out, where you define what this thing between you is.

and deep down, you’ve always known. maybe it’s not meant to last. maybe simon’s just passing through your life like a storm, wild and unpredictable, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever feel whole again once the dust settles. you’ve never asked for a commitment. it was enough for you to just be close, to keep things easy and fluid, without any promises that might eventually break.

but then, everything changes the moment you decide to confront him.

it’s a quiet night, the kind where the world outside seems to stop, and you’re sitting in the living room, the only sound being the soft hum of the kitchen light. simon’s sprawled across the couch, eyes half-lidded as he scrolls through his phone. you’re sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning your back against the coffee table, and you can’t stop your thoughts from swirling.

the truth has been eating at you for weeks now, months maybe. you have to ask. you need to know if this is really what you want, and more importantly, if it’s what simon wants. so, you let the question slip, unsure of how it’ll come out, but it tumbles from your lips all the same.

“simon,” you begin, your voice quiet but firm, “what are we?”

he doesn’t immediately look up from his phone. it’s as if the question barely registers, but you know he’s heard it. you can feel his attention slowly turning your way, as if his brain needs a second to process the weight of your words.

he puts the phone down, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at you, his gaze soft but intense. he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk.

“what do you mean?” his voice is low, almost like he’s testing the waters.

you swallow, feeling a tightness in your chest, and you try to make your words come out right. “i mean… we do all this stuff, simon. you call me yours, and i… i don’t even know where i stand. we’ve never really talked about what this is. are we… are we dating, or what?”

he blinks at you for a moment, clearly taken aback by your words. it’s almost funny, how much you’ve thought about it, how much you’ve analyzed your every interaction, while simon has likely never questioned it. it’s simple to him. and that’s when it hits you—he’s never even considered that this could be anything other than what it is.

he sighs, a deep, exasperated sound, and leans back into the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. “what are you on about, woman? you’re my girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you can’t quite process them. you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him right. it almost sounds like he’s stating a fact, like it’s something as simple as breathing. his voice is firm, unwavering, as if this was always meant to be the case.

you feel your breath catch, the weight of his words sinking in, and then—just like that—all your worries melt away. you don’t even know why you were so worried in the first place. the uncertainty, the anxiety, it all seems so silly now. you’re not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all. simon is, as always, so simon about it. there’s no drama, no overthinking, no need for big conversations or declarations.

you’re his. you’re his girlfriend. and there’s no debate.

the relief hits first, followed closely by a mix of amusement and a small flash of annoyance. you try to hold back the grin tugging at your lips. “wait... just like that? no question, no ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ just… you’re my girlfriend?”

he meets your gaze, nonchalant, and shrugs. “that’s right. you’re mine. no need for any of that nonsense. i’ve already decided.”

you stare at him, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. it’s the way he speaks, like he’s already certain, already claimed you. and it feels… good. reassuring, even. but also, just a little bit frustrating. because, honestly, how do you even argue with that?

“god, you’re impossible,” you mutter, a grin breaking through as you roll your eyes. “seriously. you’re so damn sure about everything.”

he just smirks back, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “you should be glad i am, sweetheart. now, come here.”

he pats his lap, and before you can protest, you’re already moving toward him, the tension from moments before completely gone. his arms pull you close, and you settle against him, feeling his familiar warmth. you don’t even need the words anymore. somehow, just being with him like this is enough.

and that, you realize, is exactly what simon’s always known.

[fiendish-illos]

some Clay art i made while i was listening to a friend rant about an intricate and well-woven culture she and a comrade of ours made

i dont think the doodle had anything to do with the conversation but i was in the delirious mood to make something unhinged.

so i did.

agency is a beautiful thing

[amatres]

what if part of hawke hated malcolm for leaving the family behind (he died) and leaving the role behind that they had to fill in

[meticulousmaker]

another random thing that stands out to me rewatching Steven Universe as an adult:

throughout the show there's this clear Vibe that Steven has inherited some big magical destiny, right? and it makes sense narratively: he's the son of Rose Quartz, leader of the rebellion, now being raised by her friends who were the last remaining survivors of an interstellar war. he's like a human child in most ways, except he has magical powers that start to become more obvious as he's getting older. no one like him has ever existed before. it's a big deal. raising him and figuring out how he's going to grow is its own unique challenge, because nobody knows what to expect. so of course there's this magical destiny vibe, given all that.

What's interesting to me, though, is that this magical destiny is in no way literally, physically present in the story, it's just something everyone kinda feels. Like, there's not some ancient prophecy about a half-gem, half-human savior. He's not the Chosen One in any literal sense, he just happens to give off Chosen One vibes. And I say that's interesting because it means that the fact he was kinda raised with this Chosen One vibe is completely a decision everyone around him made, for better or for worse. And the show is aware of this, because the weight of Rose's legacy and everyone's expectations of him is a constant theme, and as Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl all grow and develop, they also realize the downsides of them putting those expectations on a child. Like, Steven spends his whole childhood being told about how great Rose was, and how because he's inherited her gem he will probably inherit her powers - and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Imagine how awful things could have been if Steven had no exposure to the Gems and no knowledge of what they were or how they worked, and then his powers started coming in? It was hard enough even when he was surrounded by the most qualified Gem Experts on Earth. But being primed for all of this "you're going to have your mother's magical powers" stuff put a heavy weight on his shoulders, and then the fact that nobody else quite knew how his abilities worked meant he was constantly faced with the adults in his life looking to him with concern because they didn't know what was happening with him. That's gotta leave an impression on a kid - and, well, throughout the show and especially in SU Future we definitely see that it does.

I like the way the show handles the pressure that's put on him, and the fact that everyone is just... trying their best in a completely unprecedented situation. Nobody knows what to do or how to raise this kid, and that inevitably causes problems but everyone is trying. And Steven can feel that everyone is trying without knowing what to do and he just wants to help and not be a burden and none of his caretakers have said that he's a burden but he can feel everyone's confusion and concern and the expectations he's not living up to and he cares so much, about everyone, about everything. He's in an extremely unique position that grants him opportunities to help that nobody else has, and he feels like he's failing everyone if he can't fulfill that, and in the end it never should have been his job to fix things but somebody had to try. Somebody had to try, and he was one of the only people with the ability to stop the Diamonds, stop the war, stop the lies, stop his world and everyone on it from being destroyed... and he was just a kid.

[eufezco]

LIKE THE FIRST TIME

it has been a long time since you and logan had sex. you should show him that despite everything he hated about himself, you still craved him.

logan x afab!reader (smut, angst) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!). gif credit to @/asgardswinter

it was a shitty place where you were living with logan. it was always dirty, no matter how many times you cleaned it, it was noisy, because despite being in the middle of nowhere, the train tracks were very close to it, and it was the least home-like thing in the world. both of you were working your asses off to get out of there as soon as possible.

in your free time, you helped caliban with the housework and took care of old charles xavier while logan spent the whole day out, driving and having to deal with one of the things he hated most in the world, people.

he always came home late, tired, with his whole body aching. some nights you would fall asleep while waiting for him and even though logan asked you to do it, to not to wait up for him, most times you stayed up so just to make sure he arrived safely. you waited for him curled up in bed. when he was a minute late, your heart began to beat faster and you imagined the worst. but then he would come into the room, dragging his feet and with his head bowed down.

—how was your day?

logan grunted as he sat at the foot of your bed, you felt how the mattress sagged with his weight.

—did something happen?

you crawled to him and rested your chin on his shoulder. he let out a sigh of relief when your arms wrapped around his body and you hugged him from the back.

—just a tired fuckin' day, that's all.

you hummed, understanding. —well, now you are home so you can finally relax. would you like something to eat?

logan shook his head as he let it fall back and rest on your shoulder. he just wanted to stay like that a little longer with his body between your legs and his eyes closed. he placed one of his hands over yours resting on his stomach as you hugged him. one of his big hands was enough to cover both of yours.

—i've missed you, lo. i always miss you when you are away.

you placed a kiss on his neck. the first thing he did when he entered the house was to get rid of his shirt, keeping only the white tank top he was wearing underneath. his broad shoulders were at your disposal, his muscular arms and warm skin as well.

logan swallowed when he felt your lips on his neck. you noticed so you placed another kiss there.

—i miss you too. every second i spend away from you, i miss you.

you hummed, your heart gave a small jump of joy. while your love language was words of affirmation and you were always reminding him how much he was loved by you, logan was more of an act of service man. removing makeup from your face when you got home and were too tired to do it yourself, washing your hair and massaging your head when you showered, and leaving your coffee ready when he went to work earlier than you. hearing those words come out of logan's mouth meant the whole world.

your hands traveled down his abdomen until they reached the hem of his tshirt and easily slipped under the fabric. you felt his perfect abs under your fingertips and the hairs growing below his belly button as well. he took a deep breath, it had been so long since the last time he had allowed you to touch him like that.

you took your hands out of his tshirt and moved one of them to his neck to make logan turn his head resting on your shoulder and look at you. you connected your lips with his, his bushy beard pricked your face as you kissed him, but you didn't mind, it had been so long since you and logan had kissed so passionately that you could take it.

your tongue slipped past his lips and logan moaned, allowing his to go inside your mouth as well. you moved on the bed, putting one leg on each side of logan's body and sitting on his lap, all this without stopping kissing for a second. his hands now rested on your lower back, yours were on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

his cock got rock hard the moment you sat on his thighs and you started to roll your hips timidly against his crotch. you felt his growing bulge rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. god, how bad you needed to feel him.

your hands slid down from his neck, caressing his entire torso, until they reached again the hem of his tshirt. you tried to pull the white tank top over his head, but logan stopped you. his lips parted from yours and he shook his head.

—it's okay. i want you, logan. i promise everything is fine.

you held his cheeks so he would look you in the eyes.

he was getting old, there was nothing left of the young and charming boy you met at charles' academy. his body had changed, his hair and beard were becoming whiter every day, and you were still young and full of light while he was fading away. yet you still loved and desired him, like the first day you craved his body. you found him just as hot, even hotter now, but you didn't want to force him to do something he wasn't going to enjoy.

you kissed him so he could stop worrying. —let me take care of you. i want you, lo, i need to feel you —.you mumbled against his lips. he let out a grunt when he felt you pressing your pussy harder on his bulge.

your hands traveled the same path down his chest one more time until you reached the edge of his tshirt again. you expected him to take your hands off him again but he not only allowed you to keep going but he also lifted his arms so you could pull the white tank top over his head.

—fuck —. you let out in a mix of moan and gasp. his body was breathtaking. your hands were quickly attached to his chest, hairy, hard under your touch, warm, with each of its muscles perfectly defined. abs, pecs, perfect broad and muscular shoulders, and wide strong arms, with veins running from his shoulder down his arms to the back of his hands. you ran your fingers along the thick scars that marked his body. —fuck, you're so hot.

with his hands on your back, logan gently pushed you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you moaned, he was harder if possible and you were so wet that you knew that your panties would be completely soaked. you kissed the crook of his neck while his fists clenched, clutching at the tshirt of his that you were wearing as your pajamas. logan fought against his instinct, against the animalistic way you were making him feel, but his grip became so tight that he ended up ripping the fabric.

—it was one of your favorite tshirts.

—don't care.

and logan kissed your lips as he ended up tearing the fabric completely and threw it on the floor. you grabbed the back of his head when his lips moved down your neck and collarbone. your nipples were already painfully hard when logan cupped one of your tits and wrapped his mouth around your sensitive bud.

all of a sudden you got up from his lap and he had to let your nipple go. he was worried about the way you had moved away from him, had he done something wrong?

now you were standing in the middle of the room, in front of him, only wearing your panties. your body was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever witnessed, with scars very similar to his, with all those things you hated about yourself. was that how you felt about him? if it had not been for the pain in his whole body he would have fallen off the bed on his knees in front of you.

he huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes once you started swaying your hips from side to side while you slid your underwear down your legs. you laughed too, you felt stupid, but at least you had managed to make him smile. you two weren't the type to do those things, things were always more animalistic, more passionate, rougher. you walked towards him and leaned in to kiss him as your hands worked on the zipper of his jeans.

—you're beautiful —. he whispered.

logan helped you to straddle him again. you held your body over his thanks to your knees on the bed. with one hand you grabbed his hard cock resting impatiently against his stomach. he gasped because of your firm grip and squeezed your hips when you lined it up against your aching entrance.

you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan. you never forgot how big he was, the thickness of his cock, the patch of hair on its base, and the veins running along his shaft, but you did forget about the way it stretched you open, about the sting that his dick going deeper inside you caused.

—careful —. logan mumbled against your lips.

you kept taking him, closing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip, hissing every time you took a centimeter more inside of you. you rested your forehead against his and whined when his cock finally bottomed you. —i need a moment.

logan nodded. one of your hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit while his hands lovingly caressed your back. it had been so long since you had sex. logan wouldn't let you touch him, he was disgusted by his own body and he was afraid that you would see him the way he saw himself. that's why that night you decided that you would make him feel so good that he would never doubt the way you felt about him or his body.

you started by slowly rolling your hips as your fingers worked on your clit. his jaw tightened while he felt your body moving with his whole cock inside. his big hands on your hips helped you to move, setting a pace and keeping you from going faster so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

—that's it, take your time —. he said. young logan wouldn't have given you a second to get used to it, he would have fucked you mercilessly and you would have loved every second of it. but now, his eyes were focused on where your bodies became one, enjoying how your pussy adjusted to his size thanks to your fingers rubbing your clit.

he moaned once you lifted your body just a little and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again. your cries and his moans mixed in your mouths. all his body jerked every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

—you make me feel so good, logan. always have, fuck—. you purred in his ear. his hands, previously resting on your hips, slid all the way to your ass your hands and squeezed it. in those little details you could see how he was gaining confidence, which encouraged you to keep moving without changing your pace. it was slow, passionate, intense and intimate.

between moans and cries, you kept worshiping him, telling him how much you had missed feeling him inside you, how your fingers were no comparison to his cock, how you didn't want to share these moments with anyone other than him. there was no one like him. you didn't care about his scars, his moodiness, the gray of his hair, there would never be another one for you but logan, you did not want another one.

you were close, he could feel it in the way your walls were squeezing his cock and he knew he wouldn't last longer. logan wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you against his hard chest, and your fingers knotted into his hair. he groaned, your little jumps became irregular, your legs began to shake. logan hugged you tighter and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, getting a little choked cry from you.

—cum inside me, lo. fill me up, please, i need it. let me have it, please.

oh god, your words were driving him insane and after how well you had treated him, who was he to deny your wishes?

logan held your body down on his cock as he came, hugging you tighter against him. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin while your legs shook and your pussy clenched around him. it was too much. as he released himself inside you, his claws came out and trapped you between them and logan's body, you had no escape. he groaned when he felt the pain of the adamantium ripping the skin off his knuckles mixed with all the pleasure of cumming inside you.

—shit —. he immediately put the claws away when he realized. —i haven't hurt you, have i?

you shook your head, still coming down from your high. he exhaled with relief. once you had caught your breath, you straightened your back, still sitting on his lap and feeling his cock getting soft inside you. you brought his hands to the front.

—are you okay? that probably hurt —. you caressed his knuckles.

—felt too good to even think about it.

you smiled proudly and kissed him. when you broke away, he noticed the mark of his teeth on the skin of your shoulder. —'m so sorry, fuck.

—don't be. i wish you had bitten me harder.

he shook his head, keeping himself from laughing. —you're a freak.

[levandright]

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 ‹𝟹

their favorite way to show their love for you is through — physical touchꜝꜝ

if you enjoyed reading this consider leaving a like or reblog ᐢ..ᐢ

pairing ⋆ ot7 enhypen x gn reader! ʬʬ content / warning(s) ⋆ fluff, est relationship ꕀ word count : 1082 ʬʬ go back to the start? ・ archive

ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : i had a lot of fun making this! the whole wyll drabble is my advanced celebration for (almost) 50 followers!! hope you guys like this <3

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

heesung loves to hold your waist. his hands will somehow always find a way there. but can you blame him? his hands fit perfectly around your waist, like pieces of a puzzle.

after a long day, your feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. heesung notices your quiet sighs and the way your shoulders seem to carry a little extra weight.

as you both stand in the hallway, he gently pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you snugly against him.

you relax into his embrace, resting your head on his shoulder as he whispers softly, “i’m here, okay? you don’t have to go through this alone.”

his hands rest lightly but securely on your waist, grounding you. in that moment, his steady warmth eases your worries, and you feel safe, surrounded by his love and support.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

jay loves random touches, like brushing a stray hair away from your face or letting his hands linger on your cheek for a moment. these little actions convey so much affection and intimacy that words can't replicate.

you're sitting together in a sunlit park, surrounded by the gentle sounds of nature. as you share stories and laughter, you suddenly become quiet, lost in thought.

sensing your shift in mood, jay turns to you with a concerned look. instead of asking directly, he reaches over and lightly places his hand on yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles softly.

the warmth of his touch pulls you back from your thoughts, and you meet his eyes. in that simple gesture, he conveys his support and understanding without needing to say anything.

you squeeze his hand in response, a silent acknowledgment of your connection, feeling comforted by his presence and the care behind his touch.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

jake loves to carry you. he finds the little noise you make when he picks you up to be absolutely adorable, so any chance he gets, he’ll try to lift you off your feet without warning just to hear your surprised reaction.

you’re walking home together after a movie, laughing and talking, when suddenly, it starts pouring rain.

without an umbrella, you both start to run, but you slip on a puddle and stumble.

jake quickly catches you, grinning, and before you can protest, he sweeps you up into his arms to keep your feet out of the water.

you laugh, playfully telling him to put you down, but jake just smiles and says, “not a chance—i’ve got you now.”

you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you through the rain, both of you laughing as the world blurs around you.

in his arms, you feel like the only thing that matters, and he’s happy to keep you safe and close, rain and all.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

sunghoon loves to pat your head. he thinks it’s the perfect balance of playful and intimate, and what more could he want than that?

you were trying your hand at making a new dessert—a mousse cake. the recipe called for eggs, sugar, all-purpose flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt for the cake part.

you checked your ingredients and realized you were missing just the flour. you looked everywhere around the kitchen for it, but no luck you couldn’t find it.

the last place you didn't check was the high cabinets, and you couldn’t reach there—unless you wanted to climb onto the kitchen counter. you just cleaned it so doing that was a big no. so, you had to get help from sunghoon.

"hoon!" you called for your boyfriend, then you hear his familliar footsteps echo around your shared apartment.

"what does my little lady need from me this time?" he teases.

"can you reach the flour for me, please?" he grins at your request.

"why, of course~ anything for my lovely lady." he reached the container of flour with ease, and hands it over to you.

"thank you, hoon."

"anything for you," he says with a gentle smile, lifting his hand to your head and gently patting your hair.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

sunoo loves to cuddle you! just lying in bed cuddling is the perfect way to spend your morning with him.

it's the weekend again, you spent all night watching movies with sunoo. your little movie night ended up going untill 3 am.

you peacefully sleeping until the light coming from your windows end up waking you. you let out a sound of complain as you groggly open your eyes and move your arms to cover your face.

your sudden movement ended up waking your sleeping boyfriend.

"mhm, what're you doing?" sunoo's morning voice greeted you.

"the light from the windows woke me up," you mutter sleepily.

"come closer and get back to sleep."

you scoot closer to him, and sunoo wraps his arms around you, moving your head closer to his chest.

"now go back to sleep, i don't wanna get up yet."

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

jungwon loves to hold your hand! when you're on dates, he always make sure he's holding your hand while you both walk to your destination. even when you're both doing nothing in particular — just idling by on the couch or laying in bed together — his hands will always be intertwined with yours.

you and jungwon are laying on a couch in comfortable silence with hands intertwined. you're on your phone, scrolling through the internet, when you see something that reminds you of your cat-like boyfriend.

"jungwon, look!" you say excitedly, showing him a picture of a cute pair of kittens.

"they're adorable," he says smiling, rubbing the thumb of his on the back of yours.

"they are! reminds me of you," you say with a grin. "mhmm, we do look pretty similar"

"i'm cuter, though," he smirks.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

riki loves to kiss your face. whether it's a quick peck on your forehead while you're tired or a light kiss on your cheeks when you aren't paying attention to him, he absolutely adores smothering your face with kisses.

you're busy looking around the snack aisle of the conveniece store, with riki behind you, pouting as he watches you ignore him— all your attention taken by the assortment of chips.

as you reach out to grab the bbq-flavored chips, you feel something soft make contact with your cheeks.

you turn to face your boyfriend, who looks at you with a cocky smile.

"can't have you ignoring me for some chips, can i?"

you roll your eyes playfully at his words. "well, now you have all my attention."

"as it should be," he says confidently.

taglist. @honeychocos

©levandright

[maybanksbaby]

summary: oh, poor drew has to lose his big biceps while filming queer. and oh, poor drew, is victim of his girlfriend's teasing :(

warnings: none, pretty light and fluffy 👌

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling idly through your phone, when the sound of a key turning in the lock catches your attention. Glancing up, you see Drew walk through the door, looking a bit slimmer but still smiling in that warm way that lights up his whole face. He came home only for a few days, and you still couldn't get over the fact that they didn't gave you a small copy of your boyfriend, it was actually Drew. Even if you were there in his whole process of weight losing, it felt weird.

You missed those pretty big things so much it was painful.

He’s wearing a loose T-shirt and faded jeans, his hair tousled from a long day on set, and something about him seems softer around the edges—almost like he’s let his guard down after weeks of intense filming.

You sit up, an exaggerated frown on your face. “Oh, no way.” Your tone is teasing, but you can’t resist it as you give him a once-over. “What happened to those big, strong biceps of yours, Starkey? Am I seeing things, or did you trade them in for some noodles?”

Drew raises an eyebrow, pausing mid-step as he gives you a look of mock offense. “Noodles? Seriously?”

You grin and shrug, crossing your arms. “I don’t know, babe. They’re looking a little… deflated.” You stretch out an arm, giving his bicep a playful poke as he comes closer. “Am I supposed to start lifting the groceries now?”

Drew lets out a chuckle and drops his bag on the floor before plopping down on the couch next to you. “I’ll have you know that my ‘noodle arms’ still work just fine,” he says, feigning indignation as he flexes, the bicep muscle tightening under his sleeve even if it’s smaller than you’re used to. “Had to lose some weight for Queer, remember? Luca didn’t want me looking like some action hero on this.”

You put on a look of exaggerated sympathy, patting his shoulder. “Aww, poor noodle-armed Drew. Must be so hard, not being the Hulk for once.”

He scoffs, but you can see the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Oh, no way,” you tease, leaning in and poking his arm again. “If you lose even one more ounce of muscle, I’m buying out the protein aisle and bringing it to set.” You pretend to squeeze his arm, making a show of struggling as if it’s the weakest thing in the world. “Seriously, who’s gonna protect me now? Or open all the jars?”

Drew smirks, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is that right?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his tone a playful challenge.

In one quick motion, he wraps an arm around your waist and effortlessly pulls you onto his lap, his fingers tightening around your hips as you let out a small squeal of surprise, laughing. “See? Noodles or not, I think I can still handle you just fine,” he says, a smug grin on his face as he holds you close.

You try to keep a straight face but can’t help the smile that’s tugging at your lips. “Hmm,” you say, tilting your head as if contemplating. “Maybe you’ve still got a little strength left in you. But I’m gonna keep a close watch. Just in case.”

Drew raises an eyebrow, feigning exasperation. “Oh, great. A personal bicep inspector. Exactly what I needed.”

You laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “Someone has to make sure you stay up to code, Starkey. You’re still my big, strong boyfriend, right? Don’t want anyone thinking I’m dating some scrawny little noodle boy.”

He lets out a laugh, his arm still firmly around you as his hand traces slow, comforting circles along your back. “Would it make you feel better if I promised to go back to the gym as soon as filming’s done? Maybe even lift double just to prove I’m still ‘your big, strong boyfriend’?”

“Maybe,” you say, narrowing your eyes with a smile. “But in the meantime, don’t be surprised if I start calling you ‘spaghetti arms.’”

Drew groans, dramatically rolling his eyes, but he’s laughing too, unable to keep a straight face. “Fine, fine, make fun of me all you want. Just remember who’s still carrying you around all day if he has to.” With that, he shifts his grip and effortlessly hoists you up, standing and cradling you against his chest as he walks toward the kitchen.

You burst out laughing, arms looping around his neck. “Oh, okay, maybe there’s still a little muscle left!” you say, gasping between giggles as he gently sets you down on the counter, his hands resting on either side of you.

“Exactly,” he says, leaning in close, his face just inches from yours, his voice softer now, teasing but affectionate. “No matter what, you’re still stuck with me.”

Your laughter fades as you look up at him, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Good,” you whisper, fingers gently brushing his cheek. “Because I wouldn’t want anyone else, noodle arms and all.”

Drew’s expression softens, his gaze lingering on yours as he cups your face, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips. His hand trails down to your shoulder, pulling you closer until you’re wrapped up in his embrace, your laughter replaced by a comfortable, warm silence.

As he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he chuckles, fingers idly tracing your arm. “I’ll get my biceps back,” he promises, his voice barely a whisper. “But for now, I guess you’ll just have to deal with ‘scrawny’ me.”

You grin, sliding your hands up his chest. “I’ll manage,” you say softly. “But just know I’m keeping an eye on those biceps. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll even give you a few compliments along the way.”

Drew laughs, kissing you again, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, with no need for words. Because no matter how many muscles he has—or doesn’t—you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, with him.

[okwonyo]

LOVE ANTHEM, 或 𓈒𓈒 cuddling with them.

( 𝒷 ) INTRODUC𝓲NG 𖥔 엔하이픈 ୨୧ f .. r 7OO fluff established relationship cautions ˚ non-idol au kissing skinship

jiah says : it has been a while since i last wrote headcanons huehue ㅠㅠ hope you enjoy 🪽

( ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK )

HEESEUNG

would smoothly slide his hand in yours when you passe by— eyes still focused on the game he is playing. would then tug closer to him, gently and slowly, before resting his hand on your waist and making sit on his lap.

would wrap his arms around your form, stroking your thigh gently, fingertips brushing on your skin as his free hand’s fingers dance on the keyboard. and when he wins; would hug you tight while relaxing on his chair with a proud smile, even turning around with his chair.

him : “i deserve some reward for my hard work, right?” you : “of course, baby”

JONGSEONG

after landing a playful slap on your butt—to which you would yelp—whereupon he sees you laying on your stomach, would come lay on top of you instead of the mattress. ignoring your pleading for air, would rest his whole weight on you.

would at some point start landing wet kisses on your cheeks, sliding next to you so he can have a better angle and can free you from your agony. would then pull you in his embrace, still kissing your cheeks repeatedly.

him : “i want to eat your cheeks” you : “please don’t, i kinda need that”

JAEYUN

would already be following you around the house for a while. with his starry eyes and kicked puppy expression staring right at your back while you do the most random things ever. telepathically asking you for some cuddles.

his face would enlighten when you finally give him some attention. would open his arms for you to hide in and would sinm his nose in the crook of your neck— smelling your comforting scent. an embrace that will eventually end into long cuddles.

you : “jake, i need to pee” him : “just 5 more minutes, please”

SUNGHOON

would look for comfort in your arms after a long day away from you. it would be heard in the way he sighs in relief as soon as he steps foot in your house, his hurried steps approaching to the bedroom you would be laying in.

would love to be on top of you, his head resting on your chest while your fingers wrap around his hair strands. his hand would often take yours and put your hand palm on his cheek, then would turn his head to kiss it— all over.

him : “i missed you so much” you : “you are such a big baby”

SUNOO

would be really good at making you feel like you are the one who wants to cuddle— when you are, in theory, not. would know that if he stays next to you long enough, shoulder brushing yours but not really, you would soon ache for his touch and end up pressed against him.

would have such a cute smile on his face whenever you cuddle with him. would hold you on top of him as if you were an immense plushie with his arms squeezing your waist tightly while your face is in his neck.

you : “you could just ask instead of putting up a whole act” him : “where is the fun in that?”

JUNGWON

would have no shame or restraint in literally jumping on you the second he sees you lying somewhere without him. his laugh would resonate in the whole room when you let out a loud ‘oof’ and try to push him off of you. putting up a fight for anything with him would become a habit.

would love to tease you whenever you are locked in each other’s embrace: tickling you or pinching your sides when he feels like it— you would not even react at some point. but, would also calm down when you rub his back gently, purring like a cat.

you : “jungwon, i will kick you if you don’t stop” him : “you love me too much to do that”

RIKI

would prefer to cuddle during bedtime, when you are both on the verge of drifting to the dream world and your eyes are too heavy to stay open— when he doesn’t have to verbally ask. his shyness would wear off as soon as the tiredness would show it’s nose.

gently pulling the cover over both of your bodies, would scoot closer and put a single arm around you. then, would pull you close to him, to his chest, to his heart. like a real koala, would cling into you like that during the whole night— even if you end up in the weirdest positions, he would be holding you.

him : “wh’ d’you hate me?” you : “i just need some water”

💌 taglist ─── open, mwah ♡

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

141 as your drug dealer boyfriend

Ghost- Let's be real with ourselves, Ghost is not a good man. He doesn't care who he hurts, as long as he gets his. He will do anything to get what he wants and there is no stopping him. It's what made him a great soldier, and it's what makes him a great kingpin. He moves weight to put it lightly. There isn't a moment where an uncut key is unmoving; from a warehouse, to a plane (or car, or train), to a distributor, to a pusher, to up someone's nose. He'll try to do some damage control, make sure things aren't cut with fent, but that's only to make sure customers keep coming back. He likes to keep his hands clean, in the sense that he'll never be the one to pull the trigger on anyone that's out of line. Living up to his name, no one knows what he looks like. Hell, a lot of people don't even think he's real.

But when it comes to you, Simon's a different man. No talk about work, just you and him. Other than the multiple hidden guns around the house and Glock he sleeps with, life is normal with you. Holiday homes in the French countryside and Bahamas. Designer everything. Sports cars in all your favorite colors. You want for nothing. It's the life he wanted for you. After all those years of crying and hurt when he was away for weeks or months, you deserved the world. Want the new Hermès bag? You got it. Can't choose between the black or white louboutins? Get both. Stop eating you out because you can't feel your toes anymore? Sorry love, only thing he can't do for you.

Soap- Johnny is a small business owner. Weighs everything out by his own hand. Presses his own pills. Let's you help baggie everything up. A social butterfly, this man is at every concert, rave, or music festival. Sometimes he has a friend help push his stuff when he just wants to stay home with you, but for the most part he's his own salesman. And a damn good one. Never has overstock. No matter how much he brings with him, he'll always sellout.

Has a supernatural sense of being shorted. Can tell if a bag is even a few grams off just by holding it.

"Ye'r an idiot if ye think ye kin short me."

And when the other party denies, he always keeps a pocket scale on him, setting the parcel on it. And sure enough, he's always right.

He'll come home with a few grand, the only job you have is to sit there and look pretty. And roll his spliffs. Sitting in his lap, tucking the rolling paper into itself and licking it closed while he counts out a fat wad of cash. He hands you a fat stack,

"A've never bin good wi' money. Ye know how to spend it better than me."

He never touches the stuff he sells, no need to when all the dopamine he needs is right between your legs.

"Ten times better than any o tha' shite, anyways."

He pants in your ear while folding you in half, firm grip on your throat.

Gaz- When it comes to psychedelics, Kyle is your go-to man. He's a fucking genius, synthesizes his own DMT and LSD in a lab. It's a state of the art facility, clean with the latest and greatest equipment available. He supplies the whole Northeast. If it's a hallucinogen, it's most likely Gaz's product. And if it's good, it's definitely his. He has a cozy set up with some "organization" that he cooks for. Steers clear of actually selling to people, no need to when his clients line his pockets so well. Never brings work home, he even wears different clothes when he's in the lab.

He has a set schedule he has to adhere to but sometimes he's able to take vacations with you. And that's how you ended up bent over a balcony watching the sunset in Punta Cana,

"I work so hard to make you happy, now it's my turn yeah?"

A breeze sends a shiver up your spine while he kisses your shoulder,

"I know a private beach where you can even out those tan lines,"

Of course he doesn't give a shit about that, he just wants to fuck you silly on the seaside (and show off to anyone who might be watching.)

Price- Caring and nurturing, the man naturally has a green thumb. And alongside his prized heirloom tomatoes, he grows really, really good weed. Has a whole growroom in his basement, decked out with proper ventilation, ACs, UV lights, the works. The man grows medical grade weed that private clinics buy from him. He's legit. And of course he serves the public as well under the table, sells only to people he knows and established clients can refer others to him. He treats his plants like his babies, even going as far as to play music for them (according to him classical music helps them grow better???). You don't know where he finds the time, but he also made you rose garden for your anniversary. He brings up the idea of a family every so often. He'll finish as deep inside of you as possible,

"Let's replace that plant nursery for a real one, yeah love?"

Gonna write actual stories for each one if y'all like this ( . * 3 * . )/`

[aliteralsemicolon]

Wait until you like me again - 18+

See part 1 | Part 2 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 3

The decision to resign puts a lot of weight on your shoulders. A takedown gone wrong makes it the least of anyone's concerns, especially Spencer’s. You’re not willing to let him back in; it feels too little, too late.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Part 2 was highly requested and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to finish.

WARNING Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, drugs (GHB), Case details (very poorly thought out). Violence: canon typical - strangulation, drugging, guns/gunshots. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The most annoying part about making a decision in haste is the clarity of the situation when the dust settles. It’d taken Hotch just over two minutes to message you after you’d sent your email. 

From: Boss Man 🕶 👔 My office, first thing tomorrow. 

You didn’t take into account that you’d have to explain your sudden resignation to your unit chief, or that you’d need to think of a good enough goodbye to lessen the hurt of abandoning your friends. These are people you consider your found family; you’re leaving behind years worth of bonds with no proper warning or closure, in a measly few weeks. Your reasoning had to be good enough to convince them that this was for the best. 

To convince you that this was for the best. 

You’d spent the whole night in tears, racking your brain for an excuse, because ‘the person you care most about in this world and unrequited love of your life telling you that he didn’t want to see your face was a pathetic reason for discarding your life’s work. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think of adequate justification. Even as the sun rose and you made your way through your pre-work routine, nothing came to mind. 

“You can’t love me.”

Any time you tried to conjure up a defence your thoughts would wander back to Spencer. Too many words had been exchanged between you and your former best friend in the span of four months and not a single one of them properly explained why he was so butt-hurt. He loves you too much, but doesn’t want you to love him? That’s your understanding, at least. 

“Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

Since you’d left his apartment the previous night, you’d been cycling through all the stages of grief in record time. Spencer once told you that people tend to remember more negative memories than positive. He was right. You couldn’t recall a lot of your happier memories with him. All you could think about was the two conversations where he’d hurt you in ways you never imagined he would. 

You’re not sure exactly what part of you snapped at that moment, all you knew was that you were done making him the centre of your universe. Spencer Reid played no part in your decisions moving forward. He was not the reason for your departure with the BAU, a lie you made sure to relay to Hotch during your meeting with him.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Where is this even coming from?” He inquired from across you, hands folded neatly against his desk.

“I just think it’s time for me to try new things, you know?” It was a pathetic excuse, but less pathetic than the actual reasoning. 

“I try not to interfere with the personal lives of the team, but this is just so…sudden. I have to wonder if this has to do with Spencer?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” You go out of your way to avoid saying his name, suspecting you might taste poison. 

Hotch’s brow raises, as if his brain has been alerted to key information, head marginally tilting to the side like it does when he catches a lie. He doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing in on you in stoic fashion. You feel like a petulant child that’s about to receive a scolding from their father. 

“Hon–Honestly…Hotch, I just–”

Three rapid knocks cut you off, the door to the office swinging open without waiting for a reply. 

“Sir, Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s an emergency. That case we were consulting on for Anchorage PD?” Garcia bursts into the room, slightly discoloured and more panicked than normal. “Well, five more bodies were discovered. Two of them pre-date who we initially thought was the first victim.”

“Garcia, tell everybody to meet on the jet ASAP. We’ll debrief on the flight.” Hotch orders abruptly standing from his seat. “You and I can finish this meeting later. This case is now our top priority, wheels up.” 

Emily, Rossi and Derek were already in their seats when you boarded. You secured your go bag in one of the overhead compartments and temporarily took a seat next to Derek. 

“How bad do you think this one is gonna be?” Derek sighs, dreading the horrors that await your arrival. 

“We’re up to thirty six bodies and counting. Whoever this unsub is, they’ve been at it a while. So, bad.” You answer honestly. 

“Speaking of bad, is everything okay?”

“That was not even remotely smooth.” You scoff. 

“I’m just asking as a concerned friend.” He shoots his hands up in defence.

“What happened to the days where we at least tried to mind our business. You know, at least asked each other about our weekend plans before jumping into interrogation mode.” You roll your eyes and smirk. 

“Heyyy, woah– no one’s interrogating anyone.” Derek chuckles. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

It wasn’t long before everybody had made their way on the jet, Spencer being the last one. You didn’t notice his arrival, too engulfed in your conversation. He definitely noticed you though. The sound of your giggles caught his attention the second he was in ear shot. He didn’t like how warm he felt at the sight of your smiling face. What he disliked more was that he could instantly tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile. 

He quietly made his way to his self assigned seat on the couch, trying his hardest to focus on anything but you. Every laugh that Morgan coaxed out of you bothered him. Spencer’s agony only ended once the jet had successfully taken off. 

“Alright let’s get started.” Hotch declared and everybody moved to gather around. 

With all the details laid out by Garcia through the monitor, everybody began stating facts and suggestions. You wrapped up soon enough and retreated to an isolated seat in the back of the jet. It was an almost eight hour flight, seven of which you were planning to use to come up with a solid plan to announce your departure. Life always has to throw a wrench in your plans though, because the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to you and you dozed off almost immediately. Had you any energy left in your body, you might have been privy to the eyes that were on you. 

“She didn’t say anything as to what the meeting was about?” JJ hushedly pries from her raven haired co worker in the cramped kitchenette.  

“No, but Garcia said that ‘the air in his office was really tense’.” Emily relays, her fingers mimicking quotation marks. “Did Hotch say anything?”

“No. He just gave me his usual dry look and told me to focus on the case.” JJ rolls her eyes at the thought and leans back against the counter. 

Despite being the FBI’s most decorated task force, the agents of the BAU weren’t strangers to workplace gossip. You’d just entered the bullpen this morning when Hotch frantically summoned you to his office, not even giving you time to set your things down at your desk. Witnessing the events sparked a guessing game sparked amongst the team. 

“Is it something we should know about?” Sitting across from Hotch, even Rossi succumbed to his curiosity. 

“Dave you’re not normally one to pry.” Hotch smirks, keeping his eyes on the case-file laid out in front of him. 

“No I’m not. But with the events of the past few months...” Rossi sips his coffee, staring at his younger superior expectantly. “...there’s been some talk Aaron.”

“Talk?” Hotch meets Rossi’s eyes.

“Mhm.” Rossi nods. “Apparently you’re transferring one of our two youngest members because they haven’t been able to put their differences aside.”

“I’m not transferring anyone. Where did this come from?” The alarm in his tone makes Rossi snicker.

“Office drama. You know how it is. And while you may not be transferring anybody,” he sets his mug down and looks towards where you’re sound asleep. “I’m guessing somebody is leaving. Hence this morning's meeting.”

“We’re not supposed to profile each other, you know.” Hotch sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep this contained. I haven’t had a chance to properly discuss this with her yet and I think she’d prefer to break the news herself.” 

As you had predicted the case was by no means an easy one. On the first day everybody was split into groups to follow up with the M.E, victims’ families and examine the crime scenes. All the evidence and information gathered wasn’t enough to narrow the profile any more than the generic: male, mid thirties to early forties, hates women. You were now three days in with no viable leads. 

You were especially frustrated because you felt that you weren’t working as well as you could. The stress of your announcement was taking its toll, you were unable to properly converse with your team out of guilt. Hotch sent everyone back to their hotel rooms with the idea that you would start fresh tomorrow. Normally you would room with Spencer, but lately JJ and Emily have been taking turns rooming with both of you. This time you were with Emily.

“I think this may be the first night we’ve gotten to turn in early.” Emily yawns as she dramatically stretches her limbs.

“I’m just glad we got to turn in at all, for a while there it looked like we may have to pull another all nighter.” You force a giggle, exasperated.  

“You okay?” She doesn’t miss a beat, taking the opportunity to ask about your uneasiness. 

“Yeah, fine.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“You’re going to snap at some point, you know?” She examines your closed off posture, trying to figure out a way to get you to open up. “Something’s clearly wrong. Talk to me.”

“We’re all on edge right now. It’s this case.” You hope that you’re being convincing enough. 

“It's more than that. You’ve been distant from everybody.” Emily briefly thought back to the Ian Doyle debacle, recognising all the signs of somebody preparing to run away at any given moment. 

“I’m aware that I’m not working to my full potential–”

“That’s not what I mean and you know that.” She steps closer to you. “I can’t force you to tell me whatever’s actually on your mind, but I would really appreciate it if you would. I hate seeing you so…detached. Not just from us, but from yourself.”

It’s the empathy in her voice instead of the usual sympathy that finally cracks you. Tears pool your eyes and you sink to the floor. Emily sits down next to you without a word. She tries to pull you in for a hug but you push away. 

“Please don’t.” You sob. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezes your knee to relay that she understands and retracts her hand. Your discomfort with physical touch was another thing you had in common with Spencer. It was just a personal preference for you, unlike his germophobia. He was the only person you were actually comfortable with in terms of touch, but you couldn’t fault others for not respecting that boundary when you’d never verbalised it. 

“I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you guys, but I don’t think there’s any way this gets easier.” You recompose yourself after a moment. “I’m, um, leaving.”

You expect her to get upset with you, but find her unfazed. 

“You don’t look surprised.” 

“Well it’s not entirely surprising. I mean given everything that’s happened.” 

“So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” She leans back with her mouth slightly open. 

“Because I feel like I’m abandoning you guys.” You heavily exhale. 

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re doing what you feel is right for you. I mean, am I happy about it? Definitely not. But I know better than anyone why you feel like you need to do this. And it’s not a decision you have to justify to anybody.” Emily reassures you. 

“How do I tell everybody else?” You push for more advice.

“However you feel most comfortable doing it. It doesn’t have to be some big announcement. You can casually break it to them whenever you get the opportunity. They’ll understand.” 

“Thank you, Em.” You genuinely smile this time, eternally grateful that she’s managed to take some pressure off your shoulders.

“Now while you’re in a mood to share…if you wanna talk about something else–” She attempts one last time to get you to talk about Spencer, sensing that the mood lightened a bit. 

“Nice try.” You laugh as you rise to your feet, offering your arms out to her to help her stand.

The following two days were a lot easier on you, mentally. You took Emily’s advice and disclosed your news individually to each team member, each of them more understanding than you’d anticipated. You were surprised to learn that Rossi was already aware, assuming that it came with being a profiler for as long as he had. Derek and JJ did try to talk you out of it initially, but accepted your decision in the end. You still had to talk about this with Garcia, but felt a lot more at ease with mostly everybody knowing.

Except Spencer.

That thought lingered in the back of your mind. You still love him, it’s not something you can just turn off. You shake it off and divert your full attention to the case. Four more bodies had been discovered and with them, a new pattern to the killings. The unsub was devolving. You and Spencer were the only ones at the precinct when the last murder was called in. Meaning you were stuck working on the geographical profile with him while the others were out chasing new leads. 

Realistically, only one of you was needed to build the profile and decided you were going to let him do it. You quietly sat in the furthest seat possible, trying to make yourself invisible and hoping that this would keep him busy enough to not talk to you. The whole week, you hadn’t uttered a single word to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the case. It was as if he didn’t exist, even if he was standing right infront of you. Spencer, on the other hand, spent the whole week prodding you for any reaction he could get. Anytime you made suggestions and he happened to be in the area, he tried to one up you.

At times it felt like he was purposely seeking you out, despite his brutal proclamation five days ago. Every attempt to rile you up failed. The most acknowledgement he got from you was a few scoffs and glares. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it, until Derek asked him point blank what his problem was. He didn’t have an answer, but now that he was aware of it he tried to go out of his way to avoid it. 

That didn’t last more than a few hours. The fact that he had to consciously avoid talking to you pissed him off, especially because he couldn’t stop. You pretending like he didn’t exist pissed him off even more. The one time he took his eyes off the board in front of him they landed on you. You were busy scribbling words in a file, trying to get a head start on your paperwork. 

“Do you plan to help at all?” He sneers, noticing that you looked a lot more relaxed than you did at the start of the case. 

You snap your head towards the board behind him. A rough venn diagram was drawn on a map of the city, small tacked notes labelling prominent buildings in the area. 

“How am I meant to help?” You question, darting your eyes between him and the board out of confusion.

“You’re asking me how to do your job?” He taunts, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

You dramatically groan, throwing your head back. 

It’s hard to believe that he’s a man of logic in moments like these. There have been far too many in the last few months. You bounce off your seat and head over to the board. Spencer stays glued in his spot and your body accidentally brushes against his as you try to get past. He watches you take off some notes and add on new ones but doesn’t register what you’re doing at first. He’s too intoxicated by your scent. His hand runs through his hair as he steps back in an effort to regain his composure. His teeth grit and his jaw tenses momentarily, he hates that you have the ability to do this to him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” The pitch of his voice raises and his ears are burning.

“What do you mean?” You roll your eyes, shrugging your arms, sarcasm laced in your words. 

“Don’t try to act all dumb!” He berates, shaking his head. 

“Don’t try to act all smart.” Your eyes roll again. Spencer was slowly starting to wear down your apathy. 

“I am smart.” He scoffs. Your blood boils, this trump card is becoming too repetitive.

“Savour that, it’s the one good thing you’ve got going for you!” You finally snap. 

“You’re UNBELIEVABLE! The first time you bother to answer me all week and it’s just to argue?” He’s trying his best to refrain from yelling.

“Oh! You’ve been trying to start an argument all week and now that I’m giving in you can’t take it?! Actually, why have you been trying so hard, Doctor? I was under the impression that you can’t even stand to look at my face!”

He dryly swallows, unable to respond immediately. The reminder of his words makes him internally cringe. He never meant to say them. It was the most efficient way he could think of at that time to hurt you. Spencer hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of will power it would take to stay away from you. You seeking him out made it infinitely harder. His fake disdain was a defence mechanism, he was hiding behind hatred to get the job done. 

“YOU–”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hotch loudly cuts him off. 

Neither you nor Spencer noticed the teams return during your squabble. You’re slightly embarrassed, wondering how much they’ve witnessed. Spencer turns away from you and looks to the blank wall on the other side of the room. You look to the floor and bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Care to explain what’s going on?” He grills and you feel like a petulant child receiving a lecture from your father. 

“She wasn’t doing her job!” Spencer complains. “And when I brought it up she messed up my profile!”

“God you’re insufferable! It’s called ‘narrowing the profile’, Spencer. Maybe if you did it properly, I wouldn’t have to.” You retort. 

“Hey!” Hotch scolds.

It falls silent for a second, awkward glances finding their way around the room. Rossi breaks it first. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were bickering toddlers instead of FBI agents.”

You make eye contact with Morgan trying to hold in a laugh and it makes you snort. 

“We will discuss this later. Let’s focus on the updates we’ve gathered.” Hotch dismisses due to more pressing matters at hand. 

“After talking to friends of the latest victims, I can confirm that they were all last seen in the same club.” JJ pipes up first.

“And the dumpsites are all less than twenty minutes away from there. He’s definitely not holding them anymore.” Morgan adds.

“That has to be where he’s choosing his victims. Did the medical examiner find anything new?” Hotch asks.

“Traces of GHB.” Emily replies. “We don’t know how he’s administering it into their systems, but my guess would be through the drinks.”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, mostly known as GHB, is a party drug that produces feelings of euphoria, confidence, relaxation and sociability. Side effects of GHB can include drowsiness, vomiting, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness. When mixed with alcohol the risk of overdose increases as it can cause respiratory collapse leading to coma or in extreme cases death.” Spencer’s about to continue but quickly recognises that it’s a tangent he needs to cut short. 

“Wait JJ what club were the victims last seen in?” You inquire, walking closer to the map.

When she relays the name it clicks. 

“That’s smack in the middle of the comfort zone.” You point at a small red note labelling the building. 

“So how do we catch this guy? I mean the club would be packed and we don’t know what this guy looks like. The profile tells us that he would blend in, nothing would stand out about him.” Morgan subtly suggests a string operation.

“Except for when he’s alone with the object of his rage. Which in our case would be the women he’s using as surrogates. He'd be possessive, become clingy, hold on too tight and once those advances are rejected he’d fly into blind rage.” Spencer exclaims without realising the weight of his input. 

“Yeah…but he has a very specific type.” Rossi hesitates. 

A fact that everybody had been avoiding the case because of how close it hit to home. 

You’re his exact type.

“No.” Hotch shuts down.

“Hotch, think about it. I mean this guy is not slowing down. A sting might be our best bet to stop him before he kills again.” JJ shares Rossi’s hesitation.

“It’s too risky!” Spencer blurts, making it clear he’s against the idea. 

Everyone begins to chime in with their input, but you stay silent and think it over. None of them wanted to put you in this position, but you’d seen the bodies and what he’d done to those women. What he’ll continue to do to other women if he isn’t stopped. It was a no brainer on your end. 

“I’ll do it!” You announce amidst the chatter.

It comes to an immediate halt, all eyes shifting on you.

“What?” Spencer scoffs.

You can tell that he’s genuinely surprised by the small hitch in his voice. Emily sceptically calls your name, posing it as a question. 

“I’ll do it.” You reiterate, taking care to seem as confident as possible.

“Absolutely not! The odds of this going wrong are way too high!” Spencer howls with a little too much passion. 

“Reid’s right. The unsub is way too unpredictable.” Hotch debates.

“JJ has a point, think about it!” You argue. “We know for a fact that he’s going to strike tonight. Sending me undercover as bait is better than staking out the place and waiting for him to target a civilian!” 

“Okay so let’s send somebody else!” Spencer contests, his tone prayerful. 

For a split second, you see your best friend again. He’s showing more regard for you now than he has in months and it makes your heart sink knowing it won’t be forever. Still, you try to reason with him while he’s there.

“There’s no time! I fit his type. This is our best option.”

“No, this is stupid and dangerous. You’re not going in there!” He’s gone again. 

“That’s not your call to make!” You snap. 

“Hotch no!” Spencer tries again.

“Kid, relax! This isn’t her first undercover mission.” Morgan attempts to calm Reid. “Plus we’ll all be there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Statistically–”

“For God’s sake forget the fucking statistics! People’s lives are at stake!” You loudly end his tangent before it can begin. 

“Alright, everybody calm down!” Hotch speaks up, making it a point to stare down Spencer. 

He’d made his decision and Spencer can only stare back in disbelief, too breathless to argue. 

‘Like Morgan said, we’ll be there watching over you, along with some local law enforcement. You won’t be wired, but we’ll have a fail safe just in case you need backup earlier than expected. We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to work.” The unit chief asserts. 

Before anyone can make any further moves, Spencer storms out of the room. JJ runs after him, assuring Hotch that she’ll take care of it. The rest of you break off to your assigned tasks, preparing for the operation that night. 

“Spence! Slow down!” She yells, chasing him all the way outside the precinct. 

He’s breathing too fast, practically on the edge of hyperventilating. He pushes his hair back with both of his hands, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. 

“Spence what the hell is going on with you?” JJ pants, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Me?!” Spencer yanks himself away from her. “What the hell is going on with all of you?! You’re all insane for allowing her to do this!”

“She’s a grown woman and a trained agent! This is her decision. She knows what she’s getting herself into.” JJ reminds him. 

“Well it’s not a very smart decision! She shouldn’t be making decisions this…this reckless!” He shrieks. 

“Okay you need to calm down!” JJ sternly states. 

“Jennifer, do not tell me to calm down! She’s about to make herself a direct target for a psychopathic sadist and you’re all just letting it happen!”

“So what? Should we let some innocent woman become his next target?” 

“No! I’m not saying we should– just– why does it have to be her?!” The emphasis on his last word gives him away, JJ picks up on it instantly. 

“That’s what this is about? C’mon you know better than this.” She relaxes her shoulders. “Spencer, we all care about her. We all want her to be safe. And she will be as long as we separate out feelings from–”

“Feelings? This has nothing to do with how I feel–”

“Okay stop! Stop! God!” JJ huffs with pauses between her words. “I am so sick of this! This is clearly about your feelings. The past four months have all been about–”

She smacks her hands against her face as she takes a deep breath, a display of frustration. 

“Listen to me.” She commands, exhausted from the back and forth. “It’s clear that you two care deeply for each other, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Neither of you will talk about whatever it is that’s caused this rift– fine! But don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet now that she’s leaving?”

Spencer freezes. 

“...Leaving?” He repeats, taken off guard. 

JJ takes a moment to read his expression. 

“She didn’t tell you?” JJ mutters, still scanning his face. 

“What– what are you…” He can’t find the words, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to process her words.

“She’s resigning, Spencer. She’s leaving the FBI.” JJ can’t hide how she’s surprised that you haven’t shared this with him. 

“No, that's not possible. She loves this job. Why would she leave?” Denial is his first response.

Spencer thinks over your possible motivations and can only land on the obvious. You’d only leave if you grew to hate the job. 

Did he do this? Did he make you hate it?

“We were all surprised when she first told us, I mean, it came out of nowhere.”

“We?” He rubs his temple, anticipating a possible migraine from the bomb that just dropped on him. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you guys known?” He balefully sighs, trying his hardest to not misplace his anger. 

“It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

He had no one to be angry at, but himself.

“A day? Maybe two? She told us individually. Honestly with this case I haven’t had time to wrap my head around it.” JJ honestly reveals. 

So not long. Maybe you were still making your way around to telling him? You wouldn’t just leave without so much as telling him, would you?

A few months ago, Spencer would’ve confidently answered no. Today he was sure that you would. He so badly hoped that he was wrong. 

“Spence, look, we can talk about this later. But right now, you need to make sure you’re able to stay objective. Can you do that?”

He nods relentlessly, tucking his hair behind his ears. A habit he adapted early in life. It was an indicator of the gears turning in his head. JJ gives him a few more minutes outside before guiding him back in to help with preparations. Spencer absentmindedly performed his tasks, but all he could think about was you. 

You’re leaving and he’s the only person you hadn’t disclosed this information to. Abandonment was a feeling he was all too used to, but he never imagined that you’d abandon him. He knows that he can only blame himself, but he still can’t help the irritation that’s creeping in his veins. 

Even as he straps up his hidden bullet proof vest hours later, he can’t push the sentiment away. You were setting yourself up as bait for one of the most dangerous types of serial killers. On top of purposely putting yourself in direct line danger, you were leaving without telling him. He would’ve showed up to work one day and you’d be gone.

Right now he stands just a few feet away from you and you don’t look toward him once. No one would be able to guess that you’re undercover. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to transform yourself from supervisory special agent to a regular socialite and party girl in a couple of hours.

If he could overcome the hurt he feels at the moment, he might see how breathtaking you look. Then again, you always appear breathtaking to him. Before he knows it, he’s walked right up to you. You don’t feel his presence looming behind you until you bump into him when you turn around. 

“Shit Spencer!” You jump, mostly because of the nerves from the upcoming night. 

He’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Don’t start! I’m not in the mood.” You brush him off and disappear out of sight.

It was like that for much of the preparations. He’d muster the courage to try and talk to you, and you’d walk away. Much like how Spencer would avoid you when your friendship first fell apart. 

“Everybody in position?” Hotch inquires through his ear piece. 

“Affirmative.” Morgan gives the greenlight for your entry into the club. 

You made your way to the bar, making it a point to sit alone. You didn’t have to wait long. Archie Carter, 36, cheated on by his ex fiance before their wedding. She ran away with another man because Archie failed to keep his sadistic traits hidden and it scared her off. Torturing and murdering women who looked like her was his way of giving her a real reason to be scared. 

This was all information Garcia found after it was nearly too late. He’d managed to get you on the dance floor, subtly injecting you with the GHB. You didn’t even feel him do it. To everybody else it just seemed like you were playing your part really well on the dance floor, when in reality you were struggling to stand up. You couldn’t give out any signals and he was able to slip you away into the back alley under the noses of five FBI agents. 

It was Spencer who’d found you fighting for your life against Archie’s grip around your throat. Spencer, who put the bullet in Archie’s head after being unable to talk him down. Spencer who kneeled above you, begging you to come back as he began CPR. If he’d found you any later you might’ve been gone for good. 

Pissed was an understatement.

At the piece of shit that almost ripped you away from the world. At Hotch and the team for not listening. At himself for being right. Not you though, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t pissed at you. He was terrified. Both for you and for almost losing you. 

You had to stay a few extra days in Anchorage, bound to your hospital room. The team refused to fly back without you, each of them taking turns to keep you company. They all felt an immense amount of guilt but you reassured them that it wasn’t their fault. Your tongue grew tired of reminding them that this was a part of the job. Rossi joked that it was a good thing you were leaving it all behind in that case and it stung more than you were willing to admit. 

In your brush with death you came to the revelation that you didn’t want to leave, but hearing Spencer’s voice lull you back to him confirmed that you needed to. You couldn’t bring yourself to hear him talk everyday and not be the person he was talking to. It was why you had basically barred him from visiting you during your recovery there. Seeing his face was more than you could handle at the time. Not seeing yours weighed on him, because he needed to see if you were okay.

Physically, he knew you’d be fine once the doctors confirmed it. Mentally, he knew all too well of the repercussions that came with almost dying directly by the hands of an unsub. You’d been discharged and cleared fifty eight hours after you were admitted, and the team was ready to fly back a few hours later. All the signs of being less than okay were there. He recognised them as soon as he saw you board the jet. 

Besides the obvious bruises collaring your neck, there was some minor swelling that lingered. That wasn’t his biggest concern. It was the smile plastered on you when you put on your ‘I’m okay’ act for the others. Your eyes, like always, gave you away. You were already trying to sweep everything under the rug. Less than a few minutes after take off you isolated yourself in the back. You’d been doing that a lot in your recent cases. 

It irked him how everybody just let you. He decided right then that he wasn’t going to. He didn’t care how much you hate him, he was going to ensure that you came out of this truly okay. You were mindlessly staring out the window, counting the clouds, listening to the music playing through your headphones. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. You’d felt like that since you came to, in the alley. 

It took you a second to understand that you were actually being watched, turning to find Spencer in the previously empty seat across from you. 

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me.” You snark, ripping off your headphones, still recovering from the small jump scare.

“Sorry.” He chuckles out of habit.

You unintentionally smile at the sound and find yourself staring in his eyes. 

“Are–” He falters as he thinks the question over in his head. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You’re taken aback, not expecting those words. You had a script prepared to waive off questions about your well being. He knows you better than that, throwing you off course as usual.

“What do you want?” You grumble, accepting that you couldn’t get past him.

“I want to know if there’s anything I can get you.” He repeats in a low tone. 

There he is again. The Spencer you know and love. Your heart threatens to leap.

“If this is to clear some guilty conscience, don’t bother.” You verbally guard yourself. “I’m fine.”

It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didn’t last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon. 

Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldn’t live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle. 

“I know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.” He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you. 

Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together. 

“You know.” You whisper. 

“Were you going to tell me?” He gulps after a beat of silence. 

“Does it matter?” You're quick to respond.

“I wanna hear it from you.” He’s just as fast. 

You look up from the leaf of pills, he’s already surveilling you. It’s a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, who’s observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadn’t officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.

“Don’t go.” Spencer pleads when you take your first step.

Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didn’t bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either. 

You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. It’s been four days since your return from Anchorage and you’ve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. He’s ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait. 

You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. You’ve convinced yourself that you can’t do any of it until the forms are filled out. 

The ‘universe’ isn’t the only thing delaying you. 

If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; you’re not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. You’ve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job. 

The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you don’t want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’s more self care than anything. Your body’s telling you it needs to rest and you’re simply obliging. Plus, it couldn’t be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if you’re able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really weren’t that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits. 

And it’s not like you’re truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. It’s not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know that’s not how it works, but you can’t stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing until–

You’re okay.

No, you’re irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door won’t stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasn’t any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all. 

You can’t live in fear all the time. 

The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you don’t get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasn’t healing like he expected it to. 

“Spencer…what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse. 

“I brought take out.” He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet. 

You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days he’d come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.

“I already ate.” You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.

Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him. 

“We can do something else until you’re hungry again.” He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like he’s pleading for you to accept his offer.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry anytime soon.” You awkwardly laugh– well it’s close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords. 

“Can I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.” He’s using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. It’s a stark contrast to the voice you’ve been hearing for the last ten days. 

Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.

Tears threaten the composure you’re working so hard to maintain.

“Why are you really here?” You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries. 

“I told you.” He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. “Take out. Maybe a movie–”

“Cut the shit.” You assert, harshly. “You can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.”

“That’s…is that why you think I’m here?” His shoulders drop.

“Isn’t it?” You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again. 

“No.” His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Why? There’s nothing in it for you.” You scoff, blinking from confusion. “Unless…is this some sick game? Seeing me like this– knowing that I’m– are you trying to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.

“Relish, rejoice, rub it in, I don’t know. You’re the walking thesaurus.”

He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and you’re leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.

Is this how low you think he is?

“Why would I be enjoying this?” His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you. 

“Call it epicaricacy.” You shrug. 

“Epicaricacy?” He mumbles in a whispered tone, like he’s trying to process what you said.

Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.

Your eyes roll from how slow he’s acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.

“Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?” The change in pitch stings a bit. 

“No, I don’t think you like seeing me at all.” You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. “Which brings us back to…why are you here Doc?”

“That’s not true.” He cringes, ignoring the second part.

“Not true?” You wiggle your brows sarcastically. 

“Not true.” He reaffirms, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry.” You scoff again, shaking your head.

“I know that I’ve been unreasonable–”

“Unreasonable?” The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity. 

“A dick! I’ve been a dick.” He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out. 

You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go. 

“I was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, I–” He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. “I know that I’ve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back there…I just…I know what you’re going through, even if you won’t admit it. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. It’s jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly. 

“Spencer, go home.” You say with the same bitterness. 

“Please–”

“Go home! I don’t want your pity!” You yell. It feels alleviating. “Do you honestly think that  anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything that’s happened in the past few months? Because it doesn’t! Things can’t go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. It’s not a flip you can switch. You don’t just get to start caring!” 

You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows you’re right, except for the one crucial error in your speech. 

“I never stopped caring.” He mumbles.

This fucking idiot.

Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions you’ve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that he’s holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you don’t let it go to waste.

“Don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work to see your face at work, I don’t want to see it in my personal time too.” 

You can’t stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heart’s threatening to burst from how fast it’s racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but it’s still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You don’t make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob. 

That didn’t make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of you’re feeling, you’d hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything he’s done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didn’t make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt. 

He didn’t come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you ‘get well soon’ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didn’t have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until you’d be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencer’s days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door. 

You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didn’t plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer. 

“You’re back! Ooh, it’s so good to see you!” Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability. 

“Good to have you back, Pretty Girl.” Derek’s second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotch’s office.

“Enjoy it while you can.” You giggle in reply. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“I see someone can’t wait to leave us.” Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you.” JJ laughs, slapping Emily’s arm playfully. 

“Thanks JJ!” You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door. 

“So it’s official? She’s really leaving?” JJ questions through a half-hearted smile. 

“I asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.” Emily replies, still eyeing the door. 

“How did you get Rossi to admit that?” JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response. 

“Am I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know she’s leaving because of him, right?” Morgan looks at Spencer, who’s nose deep in a file at his desk. 

“Yeah, but we can’t help if they refuse to talk to us about it.” Emily sighs, hanging her head back. 

The three dive deeper into their discussion and you’re none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotch’s office. As per protocol, he’s just finished informing you of what’s next and you’re kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the team’s transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave. 

“Just return this to me once you’ve filled it out.” He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms. 

“Thanks Hotch.” You smile, grabbing the file. 

You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name. 

“I understand that you’re set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.” It’s insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. “However, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” 

“Thanks Hotch.” You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once. 

If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasn’t easy, pretending that you weren’t crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesn’t make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. 

“Coffee?” Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage. 

“Thanks Pen.” You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands. 

“No problem.” She smirks mischievously and trots off. 

A strange lady, but your strange lady.

Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you weren’t a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did. 

You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldn’t help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it. 

You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you aren’t wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once. 

When he’s sure you’re no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, you’d throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out. 

“Kid, are you even listening?” Rossi scolds in an incredulous way. 

As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldn’t get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.

“Need some help?” Spencer asks, spawning next to you.

“Christ, Reid!” You blurt, startled. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

“Sorry.” He chuckles as if on cue. 

You glare at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer. 

“No thanks.” You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint. 

“Let me know if you do.” He doesn’t. 

“You wouldn’t even be the last person I’d ask if I did.” You snark. 

“But you would eventually?” He stays calm, almost playful. 

Smart ass. 

You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasn’t antagonising you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” It’s forceful gratitude. You weren’t feeling grateful, but you still had manners. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t make it again.” 

“I will not.” He grins and walks away to his desk. 

You act like you don’t know he’s watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didn’t plan to stop. What he does know is that you’d never directly let him help you. He doesn’t care. There weren’t any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. It’s taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. You’re too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours. 

What you didn’t miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before. 

“I thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.” You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencer’s desk. 

He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk. 

“And I did. That’s not from me.” He’s earnest with his response.

“Oh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?” You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.

“No.” He crosses his fingers across his lap. “I told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.”

“And why did you do that?” You play along, unenthusiastically. 

“Because you told me to stop doing it.” He states in the most casual way possible. 

This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think he’d let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch that– he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?

“Stop. It.” The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised. 

“Stop doing exactly what you’ve told me to?”

You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You can’t even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents. 

After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered you’d decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, you’d respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didn’t deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to. 

This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that you’d ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that there’s little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred. 

Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner. 

Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life. 

You didn’t comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you weren’t in the alley. You were in Spencer’s arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe. 

When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrow’s flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of today’s events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencer’s saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time he’s put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier you’d become. You were also wearing a vest, you would’ve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless. 

What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?

You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You aren’t going to let your guard down just because he’s an idiot.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc they’re so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.

AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. It’ll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. There’s only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, it’s not my fault!!! Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (I’m not liable if this never happens), think about that... 

Thank you for reading!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

WE CAN DIP IF YOU’RE READY ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your dreams of a peaceful summer are rudely shattered by the presence of your best friend’s older brother; the same brother who rejected you five years ago. the same brother you’re still hopelessly, uselessly in love with.

word count; 7.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, best friend’s brother!gojo (he’s the hottest man in the stratosphere imo), mild age gap (five years!), unrequited love, but with a hopeful ending kind of, bittersweet fluff, mostly summer shenanigans and pining, riko is satoru’s younger sister and i would give her the stars, sugu makes a guest appearance, (they’re both just there to bully gojo), he’s fairly mature in this i think, reader is very stubborn and very down bad, [name] is used exactly once

a/n; personally i would let him use me as workout gear (tagging @teddybeartoji @dollsuguru @hayakawalove @stellamancer @vagabond-umlaut !! tysm for the help and encouragement ily 🥺🥺)

one mellow summer morning, over a breakfast of pancake and toast, the puppy-love you’ve nurtured for the past three years finally reaches its conclusion.

you’re seventeen years old. in three months you’ll be eighteen, standing on your own two feet, headed in a new direction — the whole world within your reach.

but right now you’re still only seventeen, and lovesick, and sleeping on a mattress in your best friend’s room; listening to the sound of the nearby sea. you’re seventeen, and dreaming about things you can’t have. you’re seventeen, and foolishly wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

you’re seventeen, and hopelessly, uselessly in love with a certain satoru gojo.

it’s early. your veins are sleepy and your heart is heavy, and you wake up at the crack of dawn just to catch a glimpse of him before he leaves for work. he’s leaning against the kitchen island when you trot down the stairs, and the smell of syrupy pancakes hangs heavy in the air; his bare chest is exposed, pajama pants clinging to the curve of his hips, and he rejects you with an easygoing kindness you wish he wouldn’t grant you.

”you’re more like a younger sibling to me. you understand, right?”

(suddenly, without mercy; a finality to his voice.)

he ruffles your hair, and you’re still sleepy, and you wish you could grasp the strings of your heartbeat to stop it from fluttering like this. wish you could pull yourself out of whatever trance he put you in, all those years ago, when you stumbled over the threshold to your best friend’s house and crashed headfirst into his chest.

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.”

he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this?

it’s a specific kind of torture. 

(i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know.

but i want you.)

“don’t get hung up on a schoolgirl crush, hm?”

when you finally raise your head, satoru is looking at you, looking through you. kindly, patiently, like a benevolent god; his blue eyes flecked with dots of white, fluffy clouds on a summer sky. tilting his head to the right, as if searching for confirmation, waiting for your response. you muster up the will to nod, smiling in a way that must seem pitiful.

but he just pinches your cheek, throws a backpack over his broad shoulders, and asks you to let his sister know he’ll be home later than usual today.

then he leaves. he leaves you alone with two plates of pancakes on the kitchen table, sugary and sweet, one for you and one for riko. he put whipped cream on top, and chocolate chips in the batter. it smells good. it smells like an apology.

and that’s how it ends. 

there’s no great climax, no real resolution. you bite down on your lip, and spend about an hour pitifully sniffling into a fluffy pillow, even though none of it comes as a surprise. it still hurts, though. your best friend comforts you, tells you that at least you have some kind of closure now — an absolute rejection to make your feelings go away. about time, she thinks, though she’s far too kind to say it outloud.

… except they don’t.

the moral of the story is: satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he’s known you since you were fourteen, since he was nineteen, and he could never see you as anything more than a naive little kid. you’re his sister’s best friend, and he loves you, but not in the way you love him. it’s not surprising, or shocking. it’s exactly how it should be.

satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he never will.

(you really, really wish your stupid heartbeat cared.)

five years later, on a breezy summer evening, you step onto a bustling train platform with your luggage in tow — breathing in the scent of a familiar seaside.

above you, seagulls chatter and cry. you look up at them, and then back down; everything feels familiar, despite the time that’s passed since the last summer you visited. the same flowers, peach blossoms and hydrangeas and tulips in all kinds of shades, the same street vendors and aroma of freshly grilled fish. the same cute and quaint port town, quiet during winter and autumn, pleasantly noisy during the warmer seasons. right now, on the cusp of june, there are enough tourists around to make finding the right face in the crowd a difficult task.

luckily, she’s quick to find you. 

there she is. with her long, dark locks of hair, neatly braided, a yellow sundress and matching headband; sunflowers embroidered into the fabric. barreling towards you with a speed that would scare you a little if you weren’t so used to it, so used to her.

riko. your one and only best friend.

she’s nestled into your embrace before you can get any greetings out, and squeezing you so tightly that you have no choice but to let her beat you to it. she’s warm, like a bundle of sunshine. the same as always.

with a low whine of your name, she nuzzles into your chest. “i missed youuuu…”

a chuckle bubbles up in your throat. and even though it hasn’t been very long at all, even though you talk on the phone almost every day and saw each other just a month ago — you indulge her.

“i missed you too, riko…”

another whine, and then she’s pulling back. squishing your cheeks together and pouting petulantly. “you better have! don’t ever make me spend summer all alone again, okay?”

”you’re still mad about that?” you match her expression, sulking. “it’s not my fault i got sick.”

“too sick to see your best friend? too sick to continue our most important tradition?” she shakes her head, letting go of you. struggling not to smile. “awful. just awful!”

“drama queen.” her lips break out into a grin, and yours follow. “i’m here now, aren’t i?”

“you are,” she agrees, quick to link her arm with yours. you follow her steps, leading you towards a familiar house, resting in the distance. you can see it from here, a roof burdened with morning glories, those expensive white walls. “no, but seriously. i’m really happy to see you.” her voice drips with joy, giddy and sweet. “i don’t think i’d survive two months alone with that old man.” 

(… ah. right.)

the girl on your right chatters on and on, clinging to you, gradually melting away your skittish nerves. she tells you about her morning, what she ate for breakfast, the new show she’s been binging — it’s just as familiar as the house that soon comes fully into view. big and expensive, but still cozy, overgrown with flora. you don’t think either of the siblings really bother to take care of it, but it’s a pretty kind of neglect. a cute veranda, a beautiful garden. the apple tree you used to climb.

from within an opened window, translucent curtains swaying with the breeze, the buzz of an old radio spills out. when you strain your ears, you think you hear humming — gentle and sweet.

riko grins, dragging you with her through the opened gate. the yellow paint on the fence is starting to peel, and someone from inside has started pushing the door open, and the butterflies in your stomach can do nothing but sputter and squirm.

it’s summer, and you're back. back in that cute, quaint port town.

(and so is he.)

“why, hello there! if it isn’t my cute little [name].”

time stills, for just a single moment.

he looks the same as you remember. a little taller, you think, but he was always tall enough to tower over you; broad shoulders and long legs, sharp blue eyes gazing down at you. he’s wearing black shades, but you can still feel the weight of his pupils, crumble under the knowledge that his attention is entirely on you. wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tight black shirt, showing off every dip and ridge of his chest.

a pleasantly cool breeze ruffles his white hair, short and trimmed, healthy locks to match his bright and sunny grin.

he looks happy to see you.

“don’t be weird,” comes riko’s voice, breaking you out of your little spell. all while she’s ushering you both towards the door, beyond the threshold, into the hallway. satoru clicks his tongue.

“so hostile today. shouldn't you be in a good mood?”

then he’s turning towards you, tilting his head just enough for his eyes to peek out. they’re crinkled at the edges, and his smile is fond. “how was your trip?”

more butterflies. his voice flows from his glossy lips, smooth and melted, pleasantly deep. you can only hang on to riko’s arm, mustering a small smile of your own. “good,” you chirp. a little stiff, but polite, like you’re greeting an old friend; it’s been so long since you last spoke to him. ”… i’m tired, though.”

your reply is met with a chuckle, a raspy tremor of his vocal cords. it sends a shiver down your spine. the weight on your arm disappears, as riko stumbles forward and kicks her sandals off, muttering something about gum getting stuck on the sole. you’re left standing right across from satoru, suddenly very aware of how much space he takes up all on his own — leaning against the wall, making himself comfortable. and chuckling, with that stupidly sexy voice.

”i bet,” he hums. ”take a nap if you need to, yeah?”

a moment of silence. riko curses in the background, and you shift from foot to foot, unable to properly look into his eyes. for a second, his smile drops — eyes obscured by the black glass of his frames, betraying no emotion. it only lasts a second.

then he’s moving forward.

one large stride towards you, as sudden as a lightning bolt, before he leans down to wrap his arms around you. squeezing your waist, with his biceps, not quite as tight as you remember his hugs being; you wonder if he’s holding back.

(his touch burns your skin, all the same.)

one of his palms finds solace on the top of your head, ruffling your hair. you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, terribly sincere.

“i missed you, kiddo.”

a quiet squeak tumbles from your lips, and you pray to every god you can think of that he doesn’t hear it. his chest is pressed right against you, firm, radiating body heat. his limbs wrap you up in it, a cocoon of warmth that makes it hard to breathe. you can smell his cologne from where your cheek meets his collarbone; sandalwood invading your senses.

“i m-missed you too,” is all you can croak out, voice breaking pitifully. at this rate you might actually faint.

just out of view, riko narrows her eyes. before you can plead for help, she’s tugging you away from the embrace, pushing her brother away, and you inhale as much of the fresh summer air as you can. 

“alright, that’s enough,” she huffs, pulling you closer. “c’mon! we should unpack your stuff right away!”

“want me to carry it?” satoru asks, already eyeing your luggage like a predator about to lunge at his prey. even if you say no, you know he’s not going to listen. 

so you let him. and within the next few minutes, you’re seated on riko’s bed, suitcase on the floor, a glass of lemonade in your hand. blinking sluggishly. 

“are you sure you’ll be alright?”

you raise your head. your best friend is looking at you with a questioning glance, head tilted and brows furrowed. now you’re all alone, and it’s quiet, peaceful. her brother went out to buy snacks for you. all you can hear is the low buzz of the radio downstairs, and faraway waves. 

“huh?”

“i mean, with, y’know…” she moves her hands haphazardly, making some kind of gesture you don’t understand. “with my brother. and your… condition.”

you blink.

“… did you just refer to my crush as a condition?”

“well, it might as well be!” she groans, muffled, faceplanting onto the mattress. “don’t think i didn’t see you checking out his biceps just now. you’re so obvious.” 

heat rushes to your cheeks. you try to shoo it away with a furrow of your brows and a too-loud exhale, but it lingers underneath your skin. “look — i —“ you scramble for the right words, brain tied up into fatigued knots. “did you see that shirt? is he buying them a size too small, or what?”

“oh, come on! that’s all it takes?”

another pair of exhales. you cross your legs, and she rolls onto her back. the silence is comfortable, grounding, and all you can do is gnaw at your bottom lip until she speaks up again.

“… you could really, really do better, you know?”

her voice is quiet, now. soft and sincere, delicate as a sheet of glass. you know she’s just looking out for you, that she doesn’t want you pining for a guy who’ll never return those feelings — she’s kind like that, always has been. you love her for it.

but…

“… i just like him.”

you take a tentative sip of your lemonade. sour and sweet. the cubes of ice clink against the glass, fresh condensation cooling down the tips of your fingers. her gaze lingers on your skin. it’s heavy, just like his.

you meet it with a sheepish smile, a little self-deprecating — but not embarrassed. she already knows all about your predicament. 

(you just like him. that’s all there is to it.)

and she pulls herself into a sitting position.

“i know, i know,” she finally sighs, slumping against you, cheek smushed over your shoulder. “just don’t give him more attention than me, ‘kay?”

you let out giggle. “well, duh.”

she gives you a sunny grin.

“okay, good.” 

you put the glass down on the windowsill beside you. just so you can stretch your arms out, falling backwards; a mountain of pillows cushioning your fall. a yawn spills past your lips, and riko sits up.

“wanna take a nap?” she tilts her head, dark locks framing her pretty blue eyes, deep as the sea. “that’s probably good. we’re going straight to the beach tomorrow, you know!”

“mm…” your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on that faraway sound. waves crashing against sand, the whistling of seagulls, the salty scent of the ocean. “that sounds nice.”

despite your exhaustion, you end up tossing and turning that night. not because of your best friend’s snores, or the feeling of a mattress you haven’t slept on in two years — but from the quiet sounds downstairs. glasses clinking, a chuckle here and there. the tv being turned on. tossing and turning from the knowledge that your childhood heartthrob, current heartthrob, is in the same house as you. a little older, a little less childish, even more charming than you remember him being.

you’re older, too. more mature, you like to think, even if the gain is small.

(maybe there’s a chance?)

shaking the thoughts from your head, mind still spinning along to the tune of his humming, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to fall asleep.

you’ll be okay.

okay, nevermind. you’re completely screwed.

“oh, there you are!”

satoru is already waiting up ahead when you step onto the beach, feeling the sand between your toes, a pleasantly cool breeze giving you respite from the sweltering heat.

the sun beats down on you, fervent sunlight warming the water up ahead, calm waves and a sparkling blue to match the hue of the sky; cobalts and ceruleans, melting together like watercolour on a canvas. people crowd around the food stands, shaved ice and churros and grilled fish, scents mingling together with the joyous chatter all around you. vibrant sensations, enough to excite but not to overwhelm. 

a picture-perfect summer day.

your heart tingles with something giddy, skipping happily as you follow riko’s lead; she’s wearing a cute bikini set, frilly and floral, hair styled into a pair of braided pigtails, kept together by her favorite scrunchies. leading you towards her older brother, waiting patiently, having already grabbed a nice spot for you. a parasol, a blanket, a picnic basket. you see bottles of pink lemonade, wrapped sandwiches, strawberries in a plastic container.

more than anything, you see him. you see him, and realize just how screwed you are.

he’s smiling, when you approach. as always. hair tousled by the ocean breeze, blue eyes gleaming with mirth, exposed by the sunglasses close to slipping down the bridge of his nose. he’s wearing a hawaiian shirt, black in colour, white floral patterns to tie it all together. just unbuttoned enough to show off his collarbone, a sliver of his chest, the short sleeves exposing his biceps; patches of pale skin, shining with the beginnings of sweat. 

(you’re about to fucking explode.)

as soon as you’re in sight, satoru lights up, aiming the flash of his phone in your direction. his other hand stays tucked into the pocket of his shorts. “aw, look at you two!” he coos, grinning brightly, teasing and sweet. “pose for the camera, okay?”

you’re still too hypnotized to react, but riko scurries ahead, ready to steal it from his grasp.

“no pictures!”

“oh, don’t be like that!” he takes a step back, dodging her attack by a hair, still wearing the same grin. “you’re gonna thank me ten years from now, trust me. it’s for the memories!”

a new voice spills into the air, suddenly, and you’re brought back into reality. it’s silky and low, smooth and nice, honeysuckle nectar turned into sound. interrupting the siblings.

“it’s been ten seconds. how are you already bickering?” 

you turn towards its source, and spot a familiar face — right next to satoru. were you seriously too mesmerized to notice him? black hair, another hawaiian shirt, slightly lidded eyes… 

suguru. 

he meets your surprised stare with a relaxed smile, and takes a step forward; meeting you for a quick hug. he looks the same as he did when you were younger, odd bangs, hair tied up into a bun.

“hi there,” he hums, right by your ear, a light squeeze before he lets go. “it’s been a while.”

you part your lips, smiling through your words. a little stunned. “i didn’t know you’d be here too!”

he chuckles, a light shrug of his shoulders. “me neither. satoru called me last night and asked me to drop by... i had time to kill.”

“you missed me.”

a dubious look. suguru gives a lazy roll of his eyes, avoiding the smug voice to his right. “i saw you last week,” he tuts, an unimpressed expression on his face. “how could i miss you?”

“do you need a reason to miss your best friend?” he shakes his head, slowly, side to side. white locks swaying back and forth. “awful. just awful.”

you stifle a smile, completely unsuccessful. the sun feels nice on your skin, and the scent of the sea is nostalgic, and they’re all the same as ever. it’s like you can feel your nerves melting away, slowly but surely, like grains of sand slipping through the gaps between your fingers. 

“the matching shirts are cute,” you point out, wanting to partake in the conversation, only to be met with a pair of furrowed brows.

suguru sighs. “that…” he mutters, massaging his temple, not before shooting satoru a dirty glance. “wasn't planned.”

said man only grins, unperturbed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. thoroughly amused. “he’s mad that i stole his fit,” he chirps, stretching his arms idly. it makes his shirt ride up, ever so slightly, and you swallow a gulp.

“well… you look good in it.”

at that, satoru stills. gazing at you, silently, before breaking out into another grin. self-satisfied, a smooth curve, sunlight against the white of his teeth. you glance away, suddenly a little shy.

“does he?” the other two deadpan, completely in sync. it shoos away the smile on his lips, making way for a displeased frown.

“oh, come on. would it kill you to call me handsome now and then?”

“handsome?” riko places her hands on her hips, raising an unimpressed brow, a sassy lilt to her voice. “you look like a single father down on his luck.”

“seconded,” suguru quips, hiding the beginnings of a smirk. picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. “honestly, i’m surprised you’re wearing any layers at all. not gonna flaunt your abs this time?”

satoru brightens, suddenly. wiggling his brows, a sweet coo on the tip of his tongue. “oh? want me to loosen up a couple buttons?” he purrs, and you hate yourself a little for the instant yes that resounds through your mind. “you know you can always just ask, suguru.”

his teasing goes ignored, but you don’t miss the amusement that flits through the scope of suguru’s eyes, even as he tries to maintain that deadpan expression.

finally, he exhales. “well, see you later,” he hums, directed to you and riko, checking the time on his wristwatch. “i should probably get going.”

“you’re not staying?” you ask, lashes fluttering with a confused blink. he smiles.

“i am,” he reassures you. “just gonna go fishing for a while. i thought i’d give it a try.”

“fishing?” riko exclaims, covering her amused grin with the palm of her hand. stifling laughter, you can tell, a bout of giggles begging to push past her lips. “what are you, fifty?”

satoru lets out a snort. to his left, suguru goes eerily silent — ominous, staring into your best friend’s eyes with no visible emotion. enough to make her smile fall. you feel a sense of deja vu.

“wait, i’m just kidding!” she suddenly squeaks, clinging to your arm and hiding behind you. she’s always had good survival instincts. ”don’t put me in a headlock!”

(they’re so stupid. 

gosh, you missed them.)

“oh, by the way — do you want some shaved ice?” she turns to you, eyes crinkled at the edges, voice syrupy and sweet. “i can go get us some. what flavour do you want?”

“ah, great idea!” satoru matches her tone, tongue flitting out to lick his lips, glossy with chapstick. “i was just craving something sweet.”

“you’re paying, by the way.”

“…”

“so? any preference?” she tilts her head, waiting patiently for your reply. smiling once she gets it. “alright, got it. you, suguru?”

“i’m good. thanks, though.”

“okie-dokie,” she puts her palm out, facing satoru. “money, please.”

he only tuts, digging through his pocket and pulling out a black wallet. you think you spot a photocard, but he’s pulled out a credit card and tucked it back into his pocket before you can get a closer look. 

“get me watermelon, okay? strawberry is fine too. if push comes to shove, go for anything other than lemon.” he hands her the card with a click of his tongue. “and watch out for creeps. if anyone hits on you, you know where to aim.”

she pockets it with a huff, exasperation on her features. “i’m twenty-three, toru. i can take care of myself.”

“aww, don’t be like that,” he coos, hands reaching out to squish her cheeks. she tries to squirm away, to no avail. “you’ll always be my little baby sister, you know. and, as your dependable big bro, i —“

“ugh, whatever.” she shoots him an unimpressed glance, finally escaping his hold. ”are you gonna go all men are wolves on us, or something?”

”they are! just look at suguru.”

”hey.”

you hide a growing smile behind your hand, watching them bicker and banter, feeling that sense of peace again. the summer day feels a little like a hazy daydream, a heavy nostalgia that sticks to your bones like gum on the sole of your shoe. 

and, once again — you end up alone with a certain someone. suguru walks towards the faraway pier, riko strolls up to the stand selling shaved ice, and satoru lingers behind. you think he looks relaxed, at ease, but you can’t really look at him for too long without feeling nervous. without feeling as if you’re both ignoring the elephant in the room. 

it still feels a little like there’s an invisible wall between you.

he’s the first to speak up, craning his neck and stretching like a big cat, a tiny groan flowing from his throat. “well, there they go,” he hums. “what do you feel like doing first?”

“ummm…” you rack your brain for ideas, coming up empty. a little fried by his presence. you could go into the water, and escape the heat — sunbathing with him doesn’t sound so bad, though…

lost deep in thought, you barely notice him inching closer. still weighing your options, water or land, a relaxing nap or a splash war. you don’t notice until you feel his arm sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer, just by a hair. stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.

(you think your brain shuts down a little.)

his touch burns, as always. bare skin on bare skin. electric, a trail of sparks rushing through your veins. he’s warm, and solid, effortlessly composed — guiding you right where he wants you, which is by his chest, where you can practically hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat —

and then he’s pulling away.

you raise your head to meet his gaze, completely flushed, unsure if you were hallucinating or not. he’s looking somewhere behind you, with a distinctly cold gaze, one you aren’t accustomed to seeing. you crane your neck, catching a glimpse of a man turning his back on you both before walking away.

… was he staring at you, or what?

when you search for satoru’s eyes again, they’re already on you. he’s smiling, a little sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck.

“sorry,” he chuckles. “i got paranoid.”

oh.

your skin still feels like it’s on fire. a lingering heat, blossoming where his skin touched yours, rendering you speechless. embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. he was just looking out for you.

finally, you gain control over your vocal chords, dry and charred. just enough to croak out a response.

“i — it’s fine.”

your eyes stay glued to the sand beneath you, staring at a crushed seashell, unable to look him in the eye. feeling the back of your neck grow hotter. you miss the dirty glance riko sends his way, having just returned with the shaved ice, and the way satoru mouths out a silent what?

it’s easier after that. she grounds you, a little, leading you out into the sea. the water is pleasantly mild, licking at your ankles, coaxing you further, until it’s reaching up to your waist. it cools you down considerably, and before you know it you’re splashing her with all you’ve got, giggles filling the salty air — seagull cries above you and wet sand beneath your feet, a glimmer or two of tiny fish, loud laughter. sensations all around you. satoru watches you with a smile, munching on a sandwich, not joining you both until riko beckons him over.

the day stretches on, melting away into evening. people leave the beach behind them, suguru heads back to the house with a bucket of fish and a smug smile, riko dries herself off with a towel and rushes to a nearby convenience store when she notices that it’s about to close. murmuring something about dinner, shooting you an anxious glance, a silent will you be alright on your own? with him? 

you wave her off with a smile. hoping it’ll come off as convincing, even though you’re anything but.

one way or another, you end up under a parasol with a certain satoru gojo; putting empty bottles of lemonade back into the picnic basket, rolling up the blanket, stuck with cleaning duty. satoru carries it all, unwilling to let you help, the basket hanging off his arm. you walk away from the beach, stepping onto solid asphalt again, beginning your trekk up towards the main street — not too long of a walk, but you’re tired, even though satoru doesn’t seem tuckered out in the slightest. walking a step or two ahead of you.

the sun is beginning to set, melting like a sundae on the boundary of the horizon, rays of golden sunshine dripping down your wrist. satoru looks good in it, the pink and orange; peaceful, somehow. when the breeze licks a stripe across his cheek, he closes his eyes and exhales. there’s a smile on those lips, a smile of contentment.

he turns towards you and waits until you catch up.

“tired?” he coos, tilting his head, absently tucking his shades into the breast pocket of his shirt. blinking slowly, eyes shimmering in the summery hue of evening. 

“kinda,” you smile, trying to muster a pep in your step. another hum buzzes in his throat, and then he’s facing forward again.

“c’mon. let’s get you something from the vending machine, okay? ‘s just up ahead.” he pats your head, once, twice. “that’ll give you some energy.”

you can only nod, following his lead. hydrangeas bloom all around you, a thick syrupy scent, paired with apple blossoms from the backyards you pass. then you spot the vending machine. satoru takes out his wallet, finding his card — it’s not the same one as before. riko still has it.

and this time, you’re close enough to see it. in his wallet is a photocard, clearly visible; of a baby, sleeping soundly, with short tufts of hair. a dark colour unlike his own.

(your heart melts, a little.)

“cola or sprite?”

you raise your head, looking through the barrier of glass in front of you. then you’re stepping forward, fingertip pressing against it, pointing towards a green can of sprite. not looking at him, as you make your choice. ”this one.”

— suddenly, you feel his skin on yours.

you’re sleepy, and pliant, jaw caught between his fingers. he lifts it up, turns it towards him, just so that you’ll meet his gaze. two seas of blue, flecks of pure white, summer skies and summer clouds.

“there,” he exhales, pleased. giving you a reassuring smile before pulling away. “you’ve barely looked me in the eye today. ‘s gonna break my heart, y’know.”

a pause. you gulp, on instinct, shying away from his unbridled attention — eyes moving from those summer skies down to the curve of his glossy lips, and then back up again. a mistake, because when you glance down once more — unable to help yourself — you see it.

that apologetic smile.

(you really are obvious, aren’t you?

how embarrassing.)

silence splits the scene in half, only the faraway sounds of seagulls as background noise. they sound a little like they’re laughing, mocking you.

satoru presses a button on the vending machine, followed by a quiet beep. he doesn’t look at you when he broaches the subject, and you wonder if it’s out of respect or discomfort.

“still not over that schoolgirl crush, huh?”

…

something twists inside your gut. a little ugly, a little sentimental. now that he’s made the first move, it’s easier to move the pieces.

“… it’s not a crush,” you murmur, kicking at a pebble on the ground. surprised by how clear your voice comes out. “i’m in love with you.”

a sigh. another beep, and the sound of a sodacan falling against metal flooring. he crouches down.

“… you could really, really do better.”

you watch as he fumbles with the pick-up box, eyes trained on the back of his neck, the buzzed hair of his undercut. letting out a quiet breath. “riko said the same thing.”

a snort pushes past his lips, ripe with fondness. he pulls himself up from the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to another, reaching for his wallet again. “oh, i’m sure.” he tucks the card back, slipping it into his pocket. a stray cat strolls by you, unburdened, waving its tail in the air. “really, though. you should listen to her.”

something cold meets your cheek. metal, condensation, a pleasant shiver down your spine. he presses the aluminium can against you, and you receive it with a murmur of thanks.

“i’m too old for you, for one.” he continues, and suddenly you feel a little like you’re being lectured. you break open the lid of the sprite can.

“you’re five years older.” a fizzy sound crackles like static in your ears, carbonation bubbling up, sticking to your fingertips. “and we’re both adults.”

he huffs out a breath, only mildly amused. “i’m pushing thirty, y’know?”

you take a sip, lips against cold aluminum, melting sunrays lapping at your skin. it tastes sweet. 

“i know.” a pause, your bottom lip trapped between two sharp teeth. gnawing at the flesh. ”i can’t control how i feel, though.”

…

“yeah,” he sighs, leaning back against the glass. crossing one leg over the other, fiddling with something in his pocket. “i know.”

a moment passes. then he parts his lips, again.

“hey, how about you join me on a mixer someday?” he searches for your gaze, smiling, another one of those charming tilts of his head. “i know some cute guys. and girls, if that’s your thing.”

your answer is instantaneous.

“i’ll pass.”

…

another exhale, breathed out into the summer air. it’s dripping with exasperation, ripe with fatigue, but there’s still something fond there. unmistakable.

“fine, fine. just… think about it, okay?” his palm finds its way to your head, ruffling your hair with a gentle caress. that comforting weight. “c’mon, let’s go back. riri’s making dinner tonight.”

and then he’s taking a step forward. you watch his back for only a moment, still deep in thought. a fizzy, syrupy sweetness sticking to your teeth, a sense of nostalgia invading all your senses. and, as always, that silent adoration.

deep down, you know it’s true. there’s no changing this, whatever this is. in the same way riko will always be his baby sister, you’ll always just be the brat that sniffled into his chest after your first fight with her. 

he’ll never quite see you the way you’d like him to.

(but, then again, isn’t that a part of it? that subtle, subtle kindness of his. the sense of maturity that asks for nothing in return.)

satoru is a good guy. that’s why you can’t help but adore him, despite everything. can’t help but watch his back as he leaves you behind, wishing you could catch up. that your legs were long enough.

it feels nice, to open yourself up like this. crack the lid of your heart, and have him wade through the carbonation. it feels nice to have your feelings be acknowledged, even if they aren’t reciprocated, even if you’re completely delusional and high on summer joy. it feels nice just to watch him shine.

you gulp down the rest of your sprite, toss it into a trash can across the street, and stumble after him. veins sleepy, heart heavy, overwhelmed by adoration. you’ve already cracked the lid open; everything else comes easy. you just want to make a move, any move. want to see how he’ll react.

“satoru,” you call, and he comes to a standstill. when he turns around your arms are outstretched. “can i have a piggyback ride?”

the man before you blinks. once, then twice, fluttering like angel wings, or pretty clouds. 

and then his smile grows. you catch a glimpse of his dimples, for just a moment, and then he’s beckoning you closer with a chuckle.

“yeah? now you’re suddenly all brave?” he shakes his head, no real discontentment behind it. “or are you really that exhausted?”

he studies you intently, ripe with fondness, and you think your sluggish blinks must be enough to convince him. because he crouches down, back facing you, and chirps out a hop on. a little teasing, of course, but still nice. his arms underneath your thighs, lifting you up like it’s nothing. making sure you’re comfortable. he’s strong. very strong.

the butterflies in your stomach flutter around again.

and, honestly, you really are very exhausted. bones buzzing with something sleepy and fatigued, sore after all the running around you did in the water. completely tuckered out, resting your cheek against his back. like this, you can feel his muscles, the solidity of his body. it’s a little bit distracting.

“— remember?”

a series of blinks. you grasp onto his shoulders, holding back a yawn. “huh?”

“you falling asleep on me?” he chuckles, walking forward. one step after another, the soles of his sandals hitting the asphalt. “i was saying — how i remember doing this back then.”

you tilt your head.

“when you fell and twisted your ankle. i think it was nearby, actually… some park?”

“... oh.” when you really concentrate, you think you do recall it; the feeling of his back against your chest, a dull ache in your foot. “yeah, i remember.”

satoru hums, a little buzz of amusement. “after that, you and riri would ask me for it all the time. carry us, big bro!” his imitation makes you smile, voice high and squeaky. “so childish, i swear. i could barely carry one of you.”

a chuckle tumbles from your lips, and it seems to spur him on; because he continues. nostalgia pouring out his throat.

“don’t tell her, okay? but, see — i started going to the gym after that. lifting weights. training, and stuff,” he huffs out an amused exhale, grinning softly. “suguru made me carry boulders on the beach. it was kind of our thing.”

…

“we almost got arrested once.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding in the smooth fabric of his shirt, in between those printed white flowers. shoulders shaking slightly, giddy and amused. “you did that just ‘cause you were embarrassed?”

“no,” he murmurs, softly, the slightest shake of his head. ”because i wanted to be prepared. in case the two of you ever happened to fall over at the same time, or something…” a sheepish little chuckle. ”i wanted to be able to carry you both back.”

satoru continues to walk, facing away from you. always smiling, you’re sure. even if you can’t see it.

“you’re both precious to me,” he says, making sure to keep a steady hold around your legs. “that’s why i don’t want either of you wasting yourselves on some random guy. i hope you can understand that.”

silence. then, a displeased huff.

“… you’re not some random guy, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“well, of course not. i’m the guy,” he stands a little straighter, and you can practically see the smug smirk on his lips. “but i’m not a very good person.”

you blink.

silence fills the open air.

he says it so casually that you almost don't catch it. matter-of-factly, like it’s just another obvious realization, something so deeply ingrained that it isn’t even worthy of a tonal shift. satoru, who makes pancakes for the people he loves, who carries your bags and buys you soda and keeps a picture of his baby sister in his wallet. satoru, your first love.

that satoru isn’t a good person?

(how could he ever, ever think that?)

“you are.”

a low hum buzzes in his throat. you’re not sure he heard you. if he did, he simply doesn’t care enough to respond. the scene flickers by, the moment comes and goes — you want to protest again, but something about this silence makes you hesitate.

the only thing you can do is —

“satoru.”

another little hum. acknowledging, this time. 

“do you… i mean,” you choke down a bundle of words, replacing them with new ones. gnawing at the flesh of your bottom lip. “is there really no chance… you’ll ever feel the same? none at all?”

…

a mirthless chuckle. he sounds a little tired, you think, more than a little exasperated. but the amusement is still there, laced into his voice, and you drink it in the same way you’ve always done. a little root, soaking in the light of the sun.

“after all that,” he mutters, “you’re still asking?”

a moment’s pause. you listen intently, as if you could hear the gears of his mind shift if you focus enough. as if just being stubborn enough could coax him into opening up the way you have. 

finally, he parts his lips.

“well,” comes a sigh, a click of his tongue. he breathes in the summer breeze. “maybe in a couple decades or so.”

you stare. those white tufts of hair sway with every step he takes, and his voice has a finality to it that isn’t lost on you. solemn, steady, a pillar of salt.

“… okay.”

a pause. then he’s barking out a short laugh, shoulders shaking with the sound. you tighten your grip around them. “okay?” he repeats, pinching the skin of your thigh. “can’t you read between the lines, you little troublemaker?”

a huff. you kick your legs, a little, just stretching them contentedly. wet hair sticking to his skin, your cheek still smushed against him, enveloped in his neverending warmth. “i don’t mind,” you whisper, choking down a yawn. “i’ve already waited eight years. a couple decades more isn’t too bad.”

silence, again. you wonder what he’s thinking, if you’ll ever come close to cracking open the lid of his heart. he parts his lips, and oxygen spills out.

(you think it’s a start.)

“… has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully stubborn?”

you’re quick to nod, nuzzling into his undercut. wearing a satisfied smile. “riko tells me all the time.”

“does she?” there’s silent laughter hiding between his teeth, eager to spill out. “that’s good. listen to her, alright? you might learn a thing or two.”

now he’s just teasing you. the sun is setting, and the air smells like saltwater, and satoru’s back is warm; his voice set to a melodic lilt, as if tempting you to close your eyes. it’s summer, in a quiet port town.

and you adore him again. 

that’s right, you muse, belatedly. loving him was never a choice, and waiting wasn’t ever an issue. getting over him is the tall hurdle, the root of the problem, a root you intend you trip over as many times as it takes for this something to bloom.

because he’s beautiful, and comfortable, and kind. because it’s his back you always end up clinging to. because he knows how you like your pancakes, how you take your coffee, what you look like when you cry. because you like this feeling, the swarm of butterflies in your stomach. even if they’re completely meaningless in the long run.

satoru is right, and so is riko. you’re stubborn, terribly so. if only you could see that as a bad thing.

if only you were physically capable of giving this something up.

unlike the siblings and their overgrown yard, you just can’t seem to look away from an ugly bud yet to bloom — just in case it ends up blossoming, this summer, or the next. just in case it turns into something worth plucking from the ground. it’s fine if it withers away; at least it’ll give way to better soil.

you just like him. you just want to see where it leads you. that’s all, that’s it. that was always it.

“but promise you’ll go with me to that mixer, okay?” his voice calls, breaking you out of your thoughts, unrelenting. ”i’ll find you someone who’ll get your mind off little ol’ me.”

ah. that’s right. 

(you’re terribly, horribly stubborn —

and satoru is too.)

you grin, soft and giddy, thinking of the years ahead of you both. what they’ll be like. where’s the fun in a certain future?

“fine,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. inhaling that familiar scent of sandalwood. “do your worst.”

[lilislegacy]

i think that when annabeth and percy move to california for college, they start having dinner with annabeth’s family once every 1-2 weeks. it’s probably a little tense at first, and annabeth is likely anxious about it. percy could either be pissed off and angry with them about how they treated her, or he could be really nice and trying to diffuse the tension to make things easier for annabeth.

but either way, i think one thing would be abundantly clear: percy is her family. not them. at least, not in the ways that matter.

mr. and mrs. chase have probably only ever seen annabeth with her walls up. never letting her guard down. she’s always tough around them, and never lets herself become trusting of them. because she has to protect herself from letting them hurt her again. as a young child, she felt unloved and resented by them enough that she preferred the cold dangerous streets to being with them. so even if their relationship begins to grow better - and i really do think it gets good eventually - she’s careful around them. she protects herself, and therefore isn’t super warm and fuzzy around them. since she’s grown up, there’s a good chance they’ve never seen her show true emotion. they’ve probably never seen a true smile from her. they’ve probably never seen her lean on someone.

but then she brings percy. they would see that the 14 year old little boy who they once met grew up into a tall, striking, intimidating young man. he has the same look in his unique sea green eyes that makes you know he’s been through horrible trauma. he’s carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. (literally). the rest of him may appear 18, but his eyes look 100 years old. he’s the first person they’ve really known who is like annabeth in that way.

and here’s the thing: percy and annabeth are a team. there’s an unbreakable bond between them. they move and fight as one. they are best friends in the whole world, and it’s clear to anyone who sees them. but they are also hopelessly in love, and that’s also clear to anyone who sees them. so imagine annabeth’s family, who’ve only ever known her to be distinctly independent and closed off, seeing her and percy holding hands. seeing them sit so close together that they’re nearly on top of each other. seeing her put her hand on his arm and kiss his cheek, or seeing him wrap his arms around her and gently kiss her forehead. and nevermind the touches, imagine them seeing her just look at him. a look full of vulnerability and adoration and complete trust. full of love and warmth and emotion. because that’s who annabeth really is. she’s emotional and sensitive and warm. but she’s always had to be someone else around her family, because in her mind, the true her wasn’t good enough for them.

but now they see her, all grown up, and with this young man by her side who is clearly her everything. and i think it would be a punch to the gut seeing them together. because it would be the first time they realize that she doesn’t think of them as her family. percy is her family, and percy alone. annabeth does not regard them - her own dad and step-mom and brothers - as her real family. percy fills that role all by himself. and it’s entirely their own fault.

[omgeto]

☆ GHOSTING — GETO SUGURU X READER

summary: after being made aware of your long term ex boyfriends plans to 'fix' the world, you knew that you had to try and stop him. but seeing him for the first time in a decade; all the love, the hate, the heartbreak comes right back to you both and you realise you care about him a lot more than you thought.

wc: 4.7k (of pure goodness....)

cw: afab!reader, mdni, angst to fluff (kinda) cult leader ex boyfriend!geto, kinda sorta canon (its the day that geto yk...) he eats you out like its his last meal, half hate fucking, full making love, and a whole lot of geto being culty and cunty. this one has a plot people!!

authors note: guys yk I love a good exes to lovers fic so the argument in this one hits different and the whole idea of you and suguru breaking up just before he runs off to run his cult really gets to me, so I hope you enjoy this one.

geto suguru hasn’t seen you in years, in almost a decade, and is still reeling harshly from how you left him when he needed you. but somehow he finds himself rushing to meet you when he gets the four word text from your number—which is still saved in his phone under ‘my girl’— saying, ‘we need to talk.’

he knows exactly what you want to speak about, he could easily put together why today of all days you’d want to see —after vanishing him for just over a decade. he figured gojo probably gave word to you, as from when you’ve been young and growing up together, you’ve all known that if gojo couldn’t get through to him, you could.

he opens the door to your apartment, knowing that you wouldn’t have locked it—you always had a habit of leaving it open for him. and there you are, standing in the dimly lit room, waiting for his arrival. the years have etched subtle changes onto your face and in your demeanour, but the essence of who you are remains unchanged. time may have separated you, but in this moment, it feels as though it has never passed.

“you can't do this,” is the first thing you say, your voice steady despite the unexpected surge of emotions upon seeing him again. you didn't think seeing him after all this time would affect you, but it did. his hair is longer, his frame more imposing, but that unmistakable smirk remains, a haunting reminder of the man you once knew.

“wow right to the chase,” he chuckles bitterly, his presence taking up the room as he enters the room further, “i forgot you never really had a thing for beating around the bush.”

you meet his bitter chuckle with a steady gaze, your resolve unwavering. the years of separation have done nothing to diminish the intensity of your connection, the push and pull between you two.

"it's not the time for games, suguru," you reply, your tone serious. "you know why i called you here."

he sighs, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. the weight of his plans, the burden he carries, is evident in the lines etched on his face. "i figured you'd call sooner or later."

the room seems to shrink as the gravity of the situation hangs between you. the man you once knew, the one who could make your heart race with a smile, now stands before you, shrouded in darkness.

"i won't let you go through with this," you say firmly, your eyes never leaving his. "there's another way, suguru. there has to be."

for a moment, his façade cracks, and you catch a glimpse of the person he used to be, the one who believed in a better world. but then the hardness returns to his eyes, and he steps closer, his presence overwhelming.

"you always were too idealistic," he mutters, almost to himself. "but i can't turn back now. the world needs this change."

"what happened to you?" you snap out, your words laced with a bitter edge that hangs heavily in the air. it's a question that carries the weight of your years of frustration, anger, and confusion. but you knew what happened to him; everyone knew.

his reaction is immediate, and the room seems to tremble with his anger. his gaze narrows, and the atmosphere becomes charged with tension. "you don't get to ask that," he spits out, his voice dripping with bitterness. "you left, remember? you abandoned me when i needed you the most."

“it wasn’t like that,” you argue, leaning forward, your body tense. “by the time i left you were already gone, being physically present in a relationship doesn’t mean anything if your mind is fucking checked out all the time. at that point i was just dating a shell of you.” 

“is that how you justify it?" he retorts, his anger unabated. "you think leaving was the solution?”

you clench your fists, your own anger rising to meet his. "i did what i had to do to protect myself, suguru. you were spiralling, consumed by your own darkness. I couldn't save you"

his eyes blaze with a mixture of fury and hurt. "you think i needed saving?

“you still need saving,” you scoff gesturing to him standing right in front of you, “just because you couldn’t save—”

“don’t even go there,” he interrupts, his hand raising to stop you. he knew you were talking about riko, “i’ve made peace with that.”

“oh have you?” you accuse, “since it seems to me, you’ve been on a killing spree, ever since.”

“other people died y’know,” he hisses out, “remember haibara? he was your fucking friend, but you weren’t even there.”

“this isn’t about me,” you say disregarding his comment, regret seeping through you, “you think i haven’t kept tabs on you since i’ve been away. who have you become?”

he glares at you, his anger evident. "i've become what the world needs," he snaps, his voice heavy. "someone willing to do what it takes to change things."

"and is killing a village full of people the way to do that?" you challenge, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. "killing your..." You pause, overwhelmed by the thoughts and images of what he's done. "was killing your parents worth it?"

his expression hardens, and for a moment, you see a glimmer of regret in his eyes, but it's quickly masked by his resolve. "i had to make sacrifices," he says coldly. "it's a small price to pay for a greater cause."

“you can’t truly think that,” you say, taking a step closer to him, your fists still clenched at your sides. “how did it feel killing them then? to take away the lives of your own parents who were innocent?” you probe, you knew that there was some part of him that must feel bad.”

“you’re about… ten years too late to be trying to have this conversation with me,” he shrugs, the turmoil that geto felt when he first set out on his mission has ceased. the guilt he felt for killing his parents, even the grief he had for something that he caused, wasn’t a factor for him anymore.

your frustration boils over as you press him further. "so, you've become heartless, then?" you challenge. the room seems to tighten around you as you await his response. "a cold-blooded killer who's convinced himself that the ends justify the means?"

geto's gaze narrows, his patience dwindling. "it's not about being heartless. it's about doing what's necessary to achieve our goals."

"your goals," you emphasise, "not mine. and not the goals of the innocent people you've hurt along the way."

he sighs, exasperation creeping into his voice. "you always had a way of making everything so complicated, questioning every choice. you left because you couldn't handle the real world."

you shake your head, unwilling to accept his justifications. "no, i left because i couldn't stand by and watch you become a monster."

“so i’m just a monster, yeah?” he retorts, stepping towards you, his anger evident across his face, you could see your words triggered him, and as he gets closer you could feel your facade faltering. 

your heart races as he approaches, and you raise a hand instinctively, palm out, to signal him to stop. "don't come any closer," you warn, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. there was no rational reason to be scared of him, you’ve known him for years, and despite everything that he’s done —what he’s become— there was still a part of you that believed that he wouldn’t hurt you.

but geto ignores your plea, his determination unwavering. he grabs your hand firmly, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the intensity of the moment. his dark eyes bore into yours, and he speaks in a low, taunting tone, "why? are you scared that with me being this close, you're going to realise that you loved a monster? that you're still in love with him?"

you grit your teeth, refusing to let him get under your skin. "suguru, you don't get to manipulate me with your twisted version of love," you retort, your voice laced with defiance. "i won't let you use my feelings against me.

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you're torn between the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. the memories of the love you once shared, the pain of his transformation into something unrecognisable, and the lingering attraction between you all crash together in this charged moment.

you try to pull your hand away, to regain control of the situation, but geto's grip tightens, preventing your escape. his face inches closer to yours, and despite your better judgement, your breath hitches. “manipulation, huh?” geto muses, his mouth so close to yours that you feel his breath faintly brush across your lips. you look up at him through your lowered eyelashes, and in that fleeting pause, so small that it’s almost imperceptible, you find yourself considering the gravity of your actions, if only for a moment.

the feeling of doubt is short lived, as you press your lips against geto’s, his mouth immediately moulding into yours. the kiss is searing, as you push your bodies against each other, he releases your hand from his grip, his hands move to cradle your head, holding it in place as he deepens the kiss, bruising your lips with his.

everything about geto is familiar, the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth, the way he consumes you. his tongue explores yours, wrestling for control as your arms scratch at him trying to tug off his robe. you wanted him to feel you, all of you—your touch, your lips, your hurt, your anger, the love that you still have that you thought was small. but after seeing him, kissing him, you realise is still an overwhelmingly large part of you.

you pull apart to catch your breath, staring hard at each other, but there’s barely a moment wasted before your back on eachother. kissing each other feverishly, as you rip off each other's clothes, he pushes you hard, your back slamming against the nearest piece of furniture as his mouth latches onto your neck. his kisses cascade down your body, stopping at your breasts as he unhooks your bra, tossing it aside.

“i missed these,” he murmurs, as his lips descend onto your tits, his face nuzzling at your chest as he sucks and pulls at your nipples with his teeth. “and i missed this,” he continues to mumble, his hands cupping your clothed pussy, his finger lightly caressing your slit. 

you arch forward into his touch, wanting to feel him more and chuckles saying, “even after all these years, you still respond to my touch just the same.” his fingers plunge into your panties, brushing against your clit and he smirks as your lips part a stifled moan escaping your lips—proving his point.

“s-shut up,” you hiss out, as you slowly start to gyrate against his fingers. although it was obvious from the way you were already soaking your underwear, you didn’t want to admit how good he is actually making you feel—you just couldn’t give him the satisfaction. geto raises his eyebrows at you in amusement, as he watches you bite your lip trying to contain your moans, as his fingers inch into your inviting pussy.

geto’s body moves down yours as he removes his lips from your tits, continues to press kisses down your stomach, as he drops down to his knees —his eyes level with your cunt. he presses a kiss to your covered pussy, before sliding off your panties. his mouth is just about to latch onto you but he pauses looking up at you, his gaze unwavering, “you want this right?” you nod slowly, your anticipation brewing as your eyes lock onto his, “use your words.”

you release an exasperated huff, but he remains steadfast, his raised eyebrow a silent declaration that he won't act until you tell him what he wants to hear. the room seems to pulse with tension, the growing desire between you mounting with each heartbeat.

your hands slide it’s way into his hair, pushing your fingers through his scalp, as you grin, you voice is low and sultry as you say, “i want it.” his mouth envelopes your pussy and you push his head into you deeper, forcing your nose into your arousal. he inhales you, taking in your scent as he presses his face in your cunt. 

“such a pretty pussy,” he mutters lowly, you could feel the vibrations spread through your pussy. his tongue strokes down your slit, before pushing into you, he twists and slurps at you trying to suck out all of your juices. 

geto nibbles at your clit, tugging at it with his teeth before bringing his fingers back to cunt. shoving two fingers in roughly. you pull his hair harshly, the feeling of his mouth sucking on your clit leaving your mind blank. “ah f-fuck,” you cry out, as geto’s strokes grow more intense.

“c’mon let me hear you more,” geto prompts, pulling away slightly from your pussy, his lips plump and coated from your wetness. he grabs one of your legs and hikes it over his shoulder, the angle allowing him to force his fingers into you further, curling them up in your pussy as he goes back to shoving his face in your sobbing cunt.

you grind your pussy in his face, working with him in getting you off. both of your movements were frantic, geto is eating your pussy with such eagerness, hungrily trying to drink all of your cum. “i’m close s-sugu i’m—” you choke out, feeling yourself slipping down the wall you pressed against, but geto holds you upright, his large hand keeping your thigh hooked over his shoulder and roughly pushing you up against the wall.

geto grins against your cunt, your moans and cries is a sound he didn’t realise how much he missed until he heard them now. you laboured breathing, stammered sentences told him that you were reading cum, but he just had to push you further. so he adds one more finger, sending it straight to your spot, twisting and pushing it in your pussy so hard that tears brim your eyes. he was so relentless, you always loved that about him, how he knows your body in and out, he knew exactly where to touch, and just how far he should push to have you becoming a mess for him.

you couldn’t take him anymore, so you cum, hard. your pussy releasing ropes and ropes of cum, all over geto’s fingers and his face, and he laps at it, munching all your cum with excitement. “i know you can give me more than that,” he muses, pressing his thumb down on your clit, rubbing at it aggressively as you cum. your eyes roll back, as he repeatedly flicks at your cum, and before you know it, you're squirting all over his face.

geto’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t stop playing with your pussy, until you bow your head in submission, worn out from all the cum you’ve released over him. your hands slide out of his hair, as you try and catch your breath and geto peppers your cunt and your thighs with kisses finally letting your thigh come off his shoulders. “damn your pussy’s still as sweet as ever.”

“stop with the talking,” you mumble, as you pull him up to his feet, your lips forcing their way back onto him. your hands frantically explore each other's bodies as you drag him to your bedroom, pushing him on your bed. “i can’t fucking stand you,” you mutter to yourself, your denial evident, as you straddle him, pulling his dick out of his boxers.

you pause briefly at the sight, his thick, long dick staring at you. you hear geto chuckle at your reaction, your eyes meet his with a challenging look exchanged between you, he raises his eyebrow at you, a silent dare on whether you’ll actually be able to get the control that you’re aiming to have. 

you hover over his dick, your pussy still dripping, geto bites his lip in anticipation as you tease him, slowly edging yourself down onto him. your pussy greedily, takes in his dick as you force yourself down on him as immediately fills you, stretching out your cunt with one push. you start to ride him, hard and fast, rocking your body forward as you bounce up and down on him, your hand pressing down on his stomach to keep you steady.

geto sits up, stifling a moan as he feels your cunt clench around his dick with everyone of your movements. he tries to thrust up into you, but he just can’t match the relentless rhythm you had, “f-fuck,” he exhales, a moan escaping his mouth, and you smirk —you have him just where you wanted him.

“you alright there suguru?” you mock, the grin spread across your face unmissable as you grind yourself down against him, tightening your pussy around his pole as you slid up and down. the bite on his lip hardens as he pulls it further between his teeth to suppress another moan.

but geto doesn’t submit for long, his hand slaps you across your tits and his fingers pinch your nipples, twisting and tugging them, causing you to arch your back as you wail. “d’you r-really think you run shit here?” he groans, flicking at your nipples with every word, “you’ll never be in control, not with me,” he taunts.

“oh really?” you retort, as you still continue to move your ass, meeting his hips. you can feel him start to pick up his pace, trying to match yours, his hips slightly thrusting upwards, his dick pushing into you deeper.

“yeah,” he says confidently through gritted teeth, one of his hands pulling away from your nipples and onto your ass, harshly grabbing one of your cheeks to steady himself as he drills into you further, “because you’re still my girl.” 

you still at his words, you knew he didn’t mean it but you couldn’t help but react to the name that he always used to refer to you as. geto could see your eyes become vacant, as you think back to the memories when you were truly his girl. you used to revel in that —the feeling of being his. he takes advantage of your pause, your rhythm halted as he takes over, now setting the pace as he charges his dick into you, stuffing you further. 

“suguru f-fuck you’re so—” you sob out, as he breaks down your wall, his strokes hitting your spot perfectly. your body buckles, crumbling at the force that geto was using as he repeatedly thrusts into you, his hand pushing you in further so his dick can get an even better angle in you.

“i’m so what?” he retorts, knowing you wouldn’t be able to string an answer together from the way he is fucking you dumb. geto couldn’t deny that he is getting some joy out seeing you all drunk on his dick, reduced to nothing but moans and incoherent sentences, he liked being the one to break you down. “am i still a monster, someone you can’t stand being around?”

you sloppily nod your head, trying to keep some resolve, but your efforts are pointless since all the insults and accusations you were spouting earlier are now futile, you lost your care in getting him to do the right thing, all you want now is for him to stay like this — inside of you. 

“s-shit i can’t take it a-anymore im gonna cu—” you force out, clenching yourself around little his dick hard as you feel your orgasm building up. but geto’s movements stop for a second as he pulls his dick out of you, flipping you over, your back landing hard on your bed. he leans over you, his focus fixed on you, but at this point, his eyes don’t hold the same heartache, and hurt that they did when he first stepped into your house. the geto that is looking at you now, is the one who’d always look at you everyday, ten years ago —with love and longing.

he strokes his dick down your aching pussy, teasing you with it, but just before he puts it in, his hand caresses your face cupping your chin as he says, “when i said you were still my girl, i meant it y’know?” and your lips part in surprise at his admission. “although it hurt me, when you left me, you just never stopped being my girl.”

“suguru i-i don’t know what to say,” you stammer, and you didn’t realise until he swipes under your eye, that you were crying. there was so much more to your relationship with geto than just some highschool romance, you loved another, and no one could tell you otherwise. 

“tell me that you are,” he prompts, now pressing kisses to your tear stained face, his lips moving down to yours, “tell me that you are still my girl,” he finishes in between kisses. his hopeful eyes still remain on yours, and you could feel him slowly inching his dick into you.

you wrap your legs around his back, your arms hooking around his neck as you pull his head next to yours, your mouth near his ear as you whisper, “i am still yours.” he pushes his dick back into you, his strokes deep and slow. it was different from before, there was no competition or hate between you as you fucked, you didn’t have a point to prove other than the fact that you still loved each other. 

geto’s moans are loud, he has nothing to hold back as he growls lowly in your ear. the way he holds you, and takes his time kisses you and fucking you as if he was accounting for this potentially being his last ever time doing so. “i’ll never get enough of this.”

“then don’t go,” you whine, and your words hold a deeper meaning that you both knew but won’t acknowledge knowing it is pointless to discuss any further. you pull him into you deeper, your thighs clenching around him as your hold tightens. 

the feeling of you pulling him in, has him clenching his eyes as your pussy takes him in, his mouth takes yours in a powerful kiss, before he mumbles “you gonna let me cum in you, leave you with every last bit of me.” you don’t even respond, just deepening the kiss, your head shaking in agreement.

you both cum together, geto spraying your walls as he sinks his face into the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth into your exposed flesh as he continues to shoot ropes of cum inside of you. you claw at his back as you feel all of him enter you, your cum mixing with his as you cry out in full pleasure.

his forehead rests against yours, as the last bits of his cum enter you and neither of you say anything, all that can be heard is just heavy breaths coming from the both of you. you didn’t know what was to happen now, there was still so much left unsaid, unresolved and things have changed now that geto is literally stuffed inside of you.

geto is about to pull out of you finally, but you stop him muttering a faint, “stay,” and he does. he knows he had somewhere to be, things to do that are bigger than the both of you, but he just couldn’t leave when you ask him to stay. he manoeuvres your body so that you now lay atop him, comfortably cockwarming him as he thumb brushes gentle strokes down your arm.

“y’know i’ve got these two girls, who i think would love you,” he muses.

“what? did you manage to become a father whilst i was away?” you tease.

“something like that, yeah,” he mumbles, a small smile forming on his face as thoughts of nanako and mimiko flash through his mind — they’re a bittersweet reminder of the new life he’s built without you, one that you wouldn’t be able to fit in. it wasn’t that long ago that you’d have thoughts about geto fathering your own kids, dreams of somewhat of a domestic life that you’d now never get to have with him.

“well maybe i can meet them,” you say non-committedly.

“yeah maybe…” his voice falters, as you both know that it would never happen.

“do you enjoy it then?” you ask, “this ‘new’ life of yours.” you could tell just by the brief mention of nanako and mimiko and the way he carries himself that he does enjoy his life, but you were hoping that he’d still answer no.

geto hesitates for a moment, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as he contemplates your question, “i…” he begins, his gaze returning to yours, “i won’t lie. it’s different, and there’s moments i find true solace in it, this has been my life for a long time now, so it’s just something i’ve really gotten used to.”

“and you’re happy to go back to it, after this?” your question is loaded, and you feel dumb for even asking but when you did call him over to get him to not go through with his plans, of course your motivations have slightly changed, but your goal is still the same. 

 “i don’t think you should ask me to make a choice, knowing that im not going to choose you,” he grits out, he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but 

“you’re not gonna win you know, satoru wouldn’t let it happen,” you couldn’t help yourself, the rejection he just gave you stung, and you wanted him to feel what you felt.

but geto doesn’t bite, he knows you’re hurting—that he’s the cause of it, so he lets you hurt, his hold tightening comfortably as you sulk in his arms. geto places a kiss on your temple, ignoring your comment as he concludes, “let’s just not, okay?”

geto stays with you until your breathing settles into a steady rhythm, and you don’t notice him slipping out of you. he cleans you up and tucks you into your bedsheets, giving you one final stare as if he’s trying to keep a mental image of how you look when he’s last seen you. his lips meet yours in a final, chaste kiss and he mutters a promise that he didn’t think you’d hear, but you do, stirring awake as his lips leave yours, “i’ll see you again… eventually.”

you wake up to an empty room, the warmth of geto's presence replaced by a stark emptiness. the realisation hits you like a wave of cold water – he's gone, leaving nothing behind but soiled sheets and a hollow ache in your chest. there's no note, no message, no trace of his ever being there, except for the lingering scent of him that clings to the air. you know that someone will eventually inform you of the outcome of the night, but deep down, you already suspect that his last promise to you will end up being broken.

AN: first like proper proper real juicy fic that ive written in a long time imo and its just like this took me so long since im soooo sensitive about my geto fics and im just like overly critical about my angsty and fluff and plot fics and my smut and JUST EVERYTHING but I managed to get it all done and I think some parts of this really hit hard. the ending is ofc bittersweet since if we go by canon, he goes and yuta beats his fuckinggg ass and he dies wtf but... the true ending is really up to your imagination. (not really) like dont even think about the ending just focus on the fact that they NEVER TELL EACHOTHER THAT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER BECAUSE UR SO IN LOVE THAT YOU ADMITTING THAT UR STILL 'HIS GIRL' IS ALL THE CONFIRMATION HE NEEDS. my finished an are sooo long why because I FUCKING CAN SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY, PLEASE LMK UR THOUGHTS AND SLAY ALL DAY also thank you @kazushawty and @biscuitsngravie for reading and supporting me 🥹🥹

[hellfiremunsonn]

Tender Touches. Eddie Munson x Reader

Tender Touches

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

Summary: A typical Tuesday that leads to you and Eddie finally confessing your feelings for each other, and finally, losing that virgin status.

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

Warnings: fem!reader, reader has a vagina, virgin reader, virgin Eddie, hes such a teasing little shit, protected sex, first times, 'fem' pet names (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

AN: I CAN WRITE? WHO KNEW!!!  NOT REALLY PROOF READ (And shout out to my bby boy @rowanswriting for giving this a read through for me to make sure it wasn't absolute garbage! love u <3)

Wordcount: 4.6k

It's a normal Tuesday afternoon. You're at eddies, kneeled in front of his tv that he's moved into his room so the two of you can lay in his bed and watch movies instead of squishing together on the couch. Not that you didn't mind squishing up with him, it was actually one of your favourite activities when the two of you weren't constantly teasing each other to cover up the fact that you both were head over heels for one another. 

You can hear Eddie bumbling around in the kitchen, muttering to himself while you sift through the pile of tapes. Some newly rented, some classics he already owned, so it was just a matter of deciding on watching something new or rewatching something just cause. You decided on The Lost Boys. You had only seen it once before when Eddie rented it for halloween one year, but never made it through the whole thing because you had fallen asleep. You had come down with a cold only two days before and were upset you couldn't do your halloween traditions, but naturally that didn't stop Eddie from showing up at your door step, with snacks, and drinks to make you feel better along with the movie and cuddles from him that could never compare to anyone else's. 

You were so lost in thought that the entire time you've been sat going through the movies you didn't realize Eddie had been watching you. Stood in the doorway with a stupid smile on his face while he watched you quietly talk to yourself about each movie. 

He tries to hide his laugh by covering it with a cough, pretending to clear his throat and slightly startling you in the process. "Pick one yet?"

You squeaked slightly at his voice. "Shit Ed's you scared me"

He laughed, laying down on his bed, setting the bowl of popcorn down in the middle, and putting your drinks on the table next to him. "It's not my fault you're so jumpy all the time" 

"I swear I only get this bad around you" you say with a fake sigh, sliding the movie out of its cardboard case and into the VHS machine. 

"That sounds like a you problem dude" he says flicking a piece of popcorn at you. It hits you in the forehead and lands in your lap. 

"Rude" you mumble, picking up the piece of popcorn and eating it before standing up with a stretch. Arms over your head with your fingers interlocked; your cropped band t-shirt rising up, to where it's about a centimetre away from fully exposing your boobs but the stretch feels too good for you to notice. Eddie notices though, and he almost fully chokes and gags on his own spit at the sight of the soft skin of your underboob. 

You crawl your way onto Eddies bed and sit next to him, pulling the popcorn bowl closer to you, and taking a tiny handful. Eddies body is ridged next to you, but you don't seem to notice.

You make it about ten minutes into the movie before your fourth sigh of the night makes Eddie take the bowl of popcorn from you and turns to face you. "Alright, what's your issue?" he asks.

"What? What are you talking about?" you sit up, pushing yourself up with your hands and crossing your legs under you. 

"You've been sighing every five seconds like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, so what is it" he pokes your shoulder a little too hard and you wince but smile nonetheless. 

"If I ask you something stupid do you promise not to laugh?" you gnaw at your bottom lip, looking up at him with soft eyes. 

"Have I ever?" he says quickly, a smug smile on his face.

"Often actually" you tease.

"No but seriously, you can tell me anything" he says reaching over to give your thigh a gentle pat and squeeze. 

"Okay, um, do you think I'm hot?" you can feel the heat of embarrassment rise from your stomach up your neck to your cheeks. 

Eddie stares at you. You almost think he might actually be frozen, and you're about to ask him if he's okay when he exhales loudly. 

"I'm not sure what you're asking me here" he says with a small laugh. "Are you asking if I'm attracted to you orrrrr?" he raises a brow.

"Well, no" you furrow your brows. "Not exactly, but if you are attracted to me, that might help?" You groan, dropping your head into your hands. "ugh, okay" you said loudly and taking a deep breath. Pretending that it will help you feel more confident with your words.

"When you look at me, or when we first met did, did you think 'wow she's hot' or do I just not look like that?" the words tumble out of your mouth, almost too quickly that Eddie slightly struggles to understand you at first. 

Eddie looks at you in disbelief before letting out a small laugh, shaking his head. 

"S'not funny!" you say slapping him on the arm, which only spurs him on.

"No, no it's not" he said in between breaths. "It's just an absolutely ridiculous question, of course you're hot" he said matter of fact. "Have you ever even looked at yourself?" He puts the bowl of popcorn down on the floor next to him, turning to fully face you now making you feel nervous with all his attention on you.

"I look at myself everyday Ed's" you say looking down, playing with the hem of one of your socks.

"Okay don't get an attitude with me, you know what I mean" he said while crossing one arm over his chest to scratch at the opposite bicep, you bite your lip at the sight.

You roll your eyes and huff. "M'not getting an attitude Ed's I ju-" (you were absolutely getting an attitude) But he grabs your face with one hand before you can finish the sentence, squishing your cheeks together until your lips are in a pout. You had thought that your face couldn't heat up any more with embarrassment than it already had, but then his hands touched your face and your entire body engulfed in heat.

"Answer the question" he said slowly, each word enunciated and his tone oddly stern. Watching you for a moment, before releasing your face from his hand, leaning back against the wall.

Your heart was thumping in your chest. "I j-just don't see what other people see obviously, a-and maybe I'm missing something you know? And that's why people don't like me" you rush.

He scoffs, shaking his head, leaning back until he was looking up at the ceiling. Throat on display, thick and inviting, begging to be bitten. You swallowed hard when he looked back at you, some sort of mischief in his eyes. 

"Ed's you're being weird" you say shifting slightly, trying to ignore the roaring heat you could feel between your legs.

He hums. "Do you not see the way I look at you?" he leans forward, resting his elbows on the top of his thighs while he looks at you intently. 

"I can see the way you're looking at me right now" you say softly, heart thumping so loudly in your ears you wondered if it was loud enough for Eddie to hear.

"And how am I looking at you right now?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.

You swallow thickly, only raising your eyes to his briefly while you said. "You're looking at me like you want to-" you lick your lips. "-Like you want to fuck me"

His smile spreads slowly, it's a wicked grin that makes you nervous but intrigues you more. 

"There's my smart girl" he coos. 

Your mouth falls agape, unsure at how to respond to him "Huh?"

He's quick, grabbing at your legs until he's pulled you down enough so you're laying on your back, hair sprawled around you messily while your breath catches in your throat. He's hovering over you with both his hands on either side of your head looking at you like he's on death row and you're his last meal.

"I want to do a lot more than fuck you, but I'd like to start with a kiss if that's okay?"

You're in shock, you almost consider pinching yourself to make sure this isn't a dream "You want to kiss me?" you ask. "Did I fall and hit my head or something?" you lean up on your elbows and Eddie moves back slightly to accommodate you but still stays close.

"For someone who's as smart as you are, you can be really dumb sometimes" Eddie laughs. "Of course I want to kiss you, you idiot" he says all too casually. 

Something blooms inside you. You don't know if its confidence, or arousal, but with a laugh you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips into his. He lets out a small groan and it fuels the heat between your legs more spreading throughout your entire body until it reaches the centre of your chest. His lips are soft and pillowy just like you had imagined. He taste like cigarettes, popcorn, and the sugar from the candies you had shared. 

You push yourself forward more until Eddie leans back almost completely. "Sit" you mumble against his mouth and he listens, not letting your lips be untouched for more than a second while he moves to sit on the edge of his bed. You quickly straddle him, hands coming up to either sides of his face to deepen the kiss, and his squeeze at the sides of your hips, earning a small moan that you tried to keep quiet. You don't realize you're not putting your full weight on him until you feel him guide your hips closer, the brush of his hardened cock against your centre makes you squeak in surprise. 

The two of you move together like you knew what you were doing, it was instinct considering you never made it this far with most of the people you've been with. Sure you've fooled around with others, and you've done most of the sexual acts your mind could comprehend but neither of you had been able to discard that 'virgin' title. But it's never felt like this, it never felt electric, and the shocking realization that you could make Eddie feel this good makes you even more turned on. 

Eddie pulls back slightly when he realizes you've started to grind against him. "W-We don't have to do anything if you don't want to" he says breathlessly. 

"I know" you whisper "But this feels really good" you admit, never once stopping the motion of your hips. 

"You're gunna make me cum in my pants if you keep doing that" he says glancing down to watch the roll of your hips. 

"Is that a challenge?" you tease, pressing down on him a little harder which makes him close his eyes tight and groan. 

"You don't wanna start that game sweetheart" his hands are tight where they've moved to your thighs, squeezing harshly. 

"Why not?" you say looking at him, eyes blown out and glassy, you feel drunk off of want-Need.

"Cause you won't win" Eddie says with a smirk. One arm wrapping around your waist as he pushes himself up into you hard, a forced moan slipping from your mouth loudly while he flips the two of you, until you're on your back under him once again. 

"How do you know how to do all that?" You ask through a small gasp.

"I'm a virgin sweetheart, not inexperienced" he smirks and you open your eyes just quickly enough to catch the end of it. 

"Can I keep getting those pretty sounds outta you?" his cheeks are flushed, and you think he's never looked prettier.

You nod quickly, pulling at the fabric of his t-shirt, trying to get him closer "More" you plead. "Please?"

"Yeah? You want more?" He asks while looping his fingers into the waistband of your pants, inching them down so, so, slowly until your lower half is bare before him. You whine impatiently and he smiles. "You can have anything you want baby I'll give it to you" 

You cover your face with your hands, heat rising to your cheeks at the way he called you baby while undressing you. He moves your hands away, a cocky smile on his face. "What's got you all shy now hmm?"

"You can't just call me baby like that" you breathe, watching him in a daze as he trailed kisses down between the valley of your breasts, barely covered by the crop top you wore. 

"Why not?" he mumbles against your skin, nipping and licking at any spot he can get access. You keen into his touch, your waist instinctively following the warmth of his mouth. 

You hum, forcing the words to come to you, but he's making you feel so good. "Gives me butterflies" you murmur. "B-but, like lower?" brows furrowed.

Eddies head shoots up to look at you when he hears that. Your eyes are closed and your head is tilted back so you can't see him look at you. "Lower?" he asks trailing a finger from your sternum down to your waist.

"Yeah" you nod and sigh.

Eddie coos "You tellin' me I give your pussy butterflies?" His hand continues down you until his palm pushes against your clit. You know he's smirking, you know he's looking up at you, but you can't open your eyes to look.

You hate the way pussy rolls of his tongue, but you hate the way it makes your stomach flip more, and the pathetic noise of a whimper that leaves you when he says it. 

"Can we, c-could y-you" your trying to get the words out but your arousal fogs your mind, the only thing there is Eddie.

"What is it baby, what do you need?" his thumb swipes at your clit and you mewl. 

You finally open your eyes, tilting your head to your shoulder to look at him. His eyes are down where his thumb is connected to you, watching in awe the way your cunt literally shines for him. His eyes flick back up quickly and he smiles when he sees you looking back at him. 

"Can we have sex?" you say quickly and so very quiet Eddie almost doesn't catch it. 

"Do you want to?" He asks seriously. 

You nod. "I feel like I'm on fire, I want to feel you, I need it" you say it so surely that Eddie has to bite his tongue from declaring his love for you right then and there, so instead he just nods leaning back onto his knees, too far away from you for your liking and you pout. 

"Show me how you touch yourself first" he says while reaching behind him to pull his shirt over his head.

"What!?" you prop yourself up onto your elbows, mouth agape in shock knees knocking together.

"Show me" he says with a nod, eyes flicking down to your slick pussy that he can still see despite your attempt to hide it, and then back up to you. "How you touch yourself" his words are slow, just like his hands as they undo his belt, pulling it out of its loops and chucking it onto the floor. 

You hesitate still, watching him while he pops the button of his jeans and pulls at them so the zipper slides down. "Listen, I'm sure I can figure it out myself, but I'd have a better chance at making you cum if you show me" he smirks. 

That smug bastard. It takes everything in you to keep your voice steady but when you speak, you don't break eye contact and say "I'd rather you put your mouth on me instead" 

He falters only slightly. It's the way his smile drops just barely at the corner of his mouth and the way his cheeks flush that you're able to catch it. He laughs in disbelief, tugging his jeans down just a little to relieve some pressure, exposing the soft happy trail just below his belly button.

You bite your lip and hum at the sight, dreaming about the way it would feel if you dragged your tongue over it. "I don't know if I can wait that long though" you admit, sighing when you look back up at him. 

"Wait that long for what?" he says slowly crawling his way back on top of you, knee slotting perfectly between your legs. You flinch when the fabric of his jeans makes contact with your clit.

"Tell me what you're waiting for hmm?" he asked, that stupid smirk you already know is plastered on his face. 

You're getting needy, and Eddie is memorizing every sound and movement you make because of it. Determined to get you like this as often as you'll let him. "Please" you whine, and you curse yourself for the tears you feel prick at the corner of your lashes. 

"Please what" he crowds your space, enveloping you in all of him. 

"Please sir? Please Daddy? Please Master? Please Eddie?" you rush frustrated. "I n-need you Eds please" 

"Fuck" he breathes, head falling until his forehead is resting against your shoulder. "You sure?" he asks again, looking back at you for reassurance. 

"Yeah" you lick your lips, mouth dry with excitement. "I'm sure"

"It- Um, okay, I might not last very long" he says bashfully, leaning back from you to lean over to his bedside table, picking out a shiny packet and tossing it onto the bed next to you. 

"I don't care" you shake your head smiling, you're so blissed out, you can't imagine how you'll feel when he gets to fuck you properly but that's for another day.

He huffs a laugh, pulling back from you to take his jeans and boxers off. You admire him, finally getting a glance at what you've been dreaming of. His dick is perfect needless to say, but you can't help the nerves that bloom in your stomach about what the two of you are about to do. 

Eddie catches the change in your eyes and is quick to reassure you, with a hand on your knee, resting his chin on it and giving it a squeeze. "Hey, it'll be okay, we'll go slow okay? If it sucks, just tell me, I'll wait forever for this, as long as its with you"

Your eyes water at his sincerity and he panics slightly when he sees your bottom lip wobble. "Baby, hey, come here" he lays next to you and pulls you into him, and you gladly hide your face into the crook of his shoulder, sniffing slightly. 

"You're so sweet to me" you say quietly.

"Well it's cause I love you" he says, and you both still for a moment, because that's the first time those words have been fully and truthfully spoken with romantic intent. 

"You love me?" you ask, leaning back to look up at him. Even though he just said it, and you know it's the truth, it's what you've been waiting to hear for the last three years. 

He nods and smiles, his cheeks pink as he says "I do"

You giggle. "I love you to"

"Gross" he says before leaning down to kiss you quick. "Wanna try?"

"Yeah" you take a breath. "Yeah, I'm ready, m'just nervous that it's going to hurt" you admit. 

"It might, but tell me if it's too much okay? If I had known this was going to be happening today I would have restocked my lube"

You snort at his unfiltered self, never afraid to say what he's thinking.

It's shaky hands and fumbling movements, shoving your faded sea creature themed comforter you always brought with you for sleep overs, down as far as it could go. It's the first time the two of you have seen each other like this, the tension building over the last three years as the two of you pretended you weren't head over heels for each other it felt like you could explode.

"Can I take this off?" he asks, hands slipping under the sides of your shirt. 

You nod, lifting yourself up to fling it over your head and onto his floor, and he drinks in the sight of your bare chest. He stares for a moment, just taking you in, like he's dreamed about.

"You're acting like you've never seen a pair of tits before" you tease.

"I've seen plenty of tits" he scoffs. "but I haven't seen such perfect tits before" and he dives in, kissing every inch of them, mouthing at the skin, and licking each of your nipples until you're keening into his touch. He only stops when you whimper because he knows you're growing needier by the second. 

"I know m'sorry" he says breathlessly against your sternum. Sitting back up onto his knees he reaches for the condom next to you, tearing the wrapper by the corner and pulling out the slippery latex circle. You watch as he slips it on so quickly, like he's done this a million times, and just before you can ask "I've practiced" he says with a smirk, coming back to rest between the safety of your thighs, hugging his hips perfectly. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

"Yeah" you nod with a smile. 

"Okay" he breathes. "Fuck, yeah, okay, okay" he takes his cock into his hand, pushing it through your slick folds and the two of you moan in unison. Gathering your arousal l until he dips just below to your entrance, looking back up at you for approval. 

You nod again. "That's the right spot" you encourage and he laughs. 

"Tell me if you need me to stop okay?"

"I will baby I promise"

he leans over you quickly to kiss you, because how could he not when you just called him baby like that? Slowly he pushes the head of his cock against you. Just the slight pressure of his cock feels good but it doesn't erase the nerves bubbling through you as Eddie pushes in more.

"Sh-it" you say through gritted teeth. 

"D'you want me to stop?"

"No no, sorry, just, weird feeling, never had anything so um" you giggle and Eddies eyes panicky search yours, because why are you laughing when his dick is about to enter you. 

"Please don't tell me my dick is small, not now, I couldn't handle it" 

You laugh again but louder, switching to a moan when Eddies own laughter causes him to push in a little more. Your hands coming up to hold his biceps. 

"I've never had anything so big in me" 

"Don't flatter me" he teases.

"Oh fuck off" you slap his arm before returning your hand back to it.

He slips in inch by inch, and it doesn't not hurt, but it doesn't feel entirely great either. It's a mixture of pain and pleasure, with the oddest comforting feeling of him so deep inside you. 

"Fucking christ" Eddie breathes when he bottoms out, arms shaking from where they hold himself up above you. "If I move I'm cumming in like thirty seconds, tops"

You laugh and he groans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing around him. 

"Fuck, don't, you can't laugh" he says, but you can't help it especially when he says it through a laugh himself. 

"Stop making me laugh then!" you quip. 

And so he does, slipping one hand between your two bodies until he finds your slippery clit, rubbing circles that has you embarrassingly and shockingly close to cumming. Your back arches with a gasp, another pornographic moan leaving you as Eddie continues his movements. Eventually slowly pulling himself out an inch before going back in. You don't even realize he's doing it until one thrust and clench of your cunt happen at the same time and you almost choke on your spit at how good it feels. 

"Holy shit" you breathe. 

"I know" Eddie says through a laugh of disbelief. 

A thick heat engulfs your body, sweat forming between your two bodies, and you feel everything in you begin to tremble. 

"You okay?" he says from the crook of your neck.

"Uh-huh" you nod with a hiccup.

Eddie pulls himself from your neck to look at you, concerned with the sad noise that you made. He slows down and you open your eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that blur your vision. They slide down the sides of your temples, and fade into your hairline. Eddies hand comes up to wipe away at the tears, pushing your hair out of your face. 

"Baby, baby, what's going on?"

"M'okay" you say though a small sob. "Just feels really good" you admit. 

"Yeah?" He says picking his speed back up. 

"You're gunna make me cum I think" You say craning your neck to look at where the two of you are connected, his trimmed pubes, wet against yours with your arousal. You slide your hand down to rub at your clit, and the sensation is almost so intense you want to stop, but you're so close. 

"Keep doing that baby, come on" he grunts, gritting his teeth as he fucks into you harder once he realizes you can take it. And boy can you take it.

"Yes, oh- ohmygod!" you whine, head falling back against his pillows. "Please please please please-" You chant. You're not sure if you're asking Eddie for permission or yourself, but him approving it doesn't sound too bad. 

"Come on, you're so close I can feel it" he watches as your legs tremble, slowly moving up, up, up, until your knees are under your chin, toes pointed against his thighs like you're trying to push yourself away from him while your hands cling to his biceps to bring you closer. When you start bouncing yourself back on eddies cock in time with his thrusts he knows he's going to lose it. 

"Cum on this cock pretty girl, come on" his voice shakes, and he's losing his rhythm. 

"I'm- oh I'm- fuck Eddie!" The hand that still holds him grips tightly, nails digging into his skin, and he can feel it start to burn but he doesn't care. 

"Fuck yeah baby, look at you, you're so hot, fucking christ, god, you're amazing, m'gunna cum, shit" he babbles before he cums, spilling more words and expletives as he spills himself inside the condom, inside of you, his words warm against your chest.

Its quiet apart from the two of you catching your breath, relaxing your muscles, and the only time either of you make a noise is when Eddie lifts his head from you, bangs stuck to his forehead in every direction and you can't help but laugh. 

"What?" He says smiling back at you, absolutely in love. 

"You look a mess" you say snorting, pushing his hair away from his face. 

"You look sexy" he says leaning up from you, slowly pulling himself out of you and removing the condom, tying it in a knot and chucking it into his garbage can next to his bed. You make a small whimper of disapproval when he leans back again, thinking he's going to get up. 

"Not going anywhere pretty" he says reaching for the blanket that had been pushed off his bed, bringing it back up, and cuddling it up around you before sliding himself under it next to you. 

You scooch over until you can lay your head on his chest, leg hitching up over his waist and you can feel your arousal leak out of you and probably onto him but you're too blissed out to care.

"I love you" you murmur softly into his skin, placing delicate kisses.

"Hmm?" he lolls his head to the side, eyes sleepy and fond, thumb rubbing gently across your cheek. 

"I love you" you say looking up at him, cheek smushed against his chest. 

"I love you right back" he says without a beat.