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saltynsassy31 · 3 days ago

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Full disclaimer, I have to read any of the fics written for Shockwave and the kids yet as I've been busy and off Tumblr for a bit for my own mental health lol

But I recently saw a photo of an abandoned carousel in some underground area filled with puddles and it reminded me of that one deleted scene from Detroit: Become Human where the Jerry's make a broken carousel work again for Alice and they all just watched her happily play on it as the world around them crumbled.

And, with that thought, it also reminded me of Shockwave and the kids and I simply HAD to write a small drabble fic of it. Sorry if it isn't accurate for the characters or the story already made, but I hope it's enjoyed regardless :3

And, I hope, with all the angst going on, this fluffy story will satisfy yall a bit XD

[This is the post I saw that inspired me to write this, if anyone wants a visual of the place: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DGog_W_vDiR/?igsh=b3FsYm50enJhM3ln ]

AU belongs to @keferon

Carousel

~☆~

As the days went by, the situation they all found themselves in was slowly starting to get far too real. It was fun, at first, running around abandoned buildings and scavenging for whatever they could find, spending time with their newly acquired aquatic dad friend who kept them safe and well fed.

But then things started to show up and it scared them. Shockwave tried to avoid the areas with the most floating bodies, the children having seen enough of that (and he hoped they hadn't seen any they would recognise), but every now and then something would float up and startle them. Other times they'd run into bigger problems while scavenging and they had far too many close calls for Shockwave's liking.

They tend to keep themselves entertained, for the most part. Shockwave only occasionally indulged. But, usually, he could simply gently float on the surface of the water and let the kids tire themselves out. However, they've become more quiet lately.

It was hard to tell what caused it. Could be a myriad of things, as listed before, maybe it was finally starting to dawn on them how the situation was far from ideal. Maybe it was the conversation they had with that Orca - Jazz, was it? Shockwave couldn't tell, and it bothered him.

He missed their lively chatter (it still happened, but few and far between). A part of him was starting to wonder if the humans who called him out on the fact that this wasn't normal behaviour for human children were right, a small pang of regret reaching the back of his mind.

But he shook those thoughts away. Now wasn't the time. Nothing about their situation was normal anyway, he was already providing more than enough for them to survive this cruel world.

Shockwave was aggressively pulled out of his drifting thoughts by an ear piercing screech that immediately put him on high alert.

“Guys! Guys! Look!” He heard Skids say. Turning to look at him, he followed where the boy was pointing at.

It looked to be some kind of fair or theme part, it was a little hard to tell. Half of it was submerged, but there were some areas in which the water had receded. Shockwave relaxed once he deemed the situation safe, but still gave a small scrutinising glare at Skids for causing unnecessary concern - which went, of course, completely ignored.

“Oh wow, it looks pretty banged up, huh?” Tc noted, crawling closer to the edge of Shockwave's back to get a better look.

“But there might still be some things left over. You know how much they tend to sell in these places? And now we can just snag them!” Warp argued, already getting excited at the thought.

“Do we really need more useless things to carry around?” Trailbreaker argued, the bag he carried strangely heavier on his back.

“There are other things we could do there.” Skids quickly chimed in. “We could check out some of the games they have.”

“Would there be any still working?”

“Carnival games easy to fix, Soundwave up to the task.”

They all turned to look at Soundwave, seemingly to silently fall into an agreement.

Warp turned to face Shockwave, clasping his hands together as he pleaded. “Can we go there? Pretty pleaaaase?” Before he could even answer, the others had joined them.

He wasn't going to say no. This was the exact type of fun distraction they needed, maybe it would help them go back to their usual, energetic selves. So the theatrics were unnecessary. Still, he couldn't help the small amusement it brought him. He pretended to think it over, as if he didn't already have their answer.

“Hmm, I don't know…”

Those simple words were enough to make them all Start to plead harder, making their eyes as big as possible, throwing promises he knew they'd never actually follow through.

That broke the façade he was trying to play up, causing him to laugh. “Alright, alright. We can go.” The kids erupted into celebratory cheers, hugging each other and jumping on Shockwave's back. “But don't stray so far where I can't reach you, okay?”

They all nodded, but he only had trust in some of them to actually obey his orders.

Regardless, he swam over to the abandoned park and waited until they had slid off of him before crawling over onto land. The ground was still pretty wet, so it made it easier for him to slide around and follow them, keeping himself to the more deeper puddles when possible.

He watched as they all went to different directions with their own, small group. Tc and Warp, always tied to the hip, ran over to some of the stands that still had some prizes hanging. Windcharger and Trailbreaker followed Damus as he ran to play some of the games that didn't require power to work. And Skids and Soundwave went…

Where did they go?

Panic immediately followed the realisation. Shockwave stood up straighter and began to spin his head around in search of the two missing kids. The others didn't seem to have noticed their absence, too enthralled in their own activity.

He was about to start calling when he heard a familiar boisterous voice call from not too far. “Guys! Over here! Come see what me and Soundwave just discovered!”

Immediately, all of the attention was on Skids who had a smile so wide Shockwave was worried he'd hurt himself with it. The others looked at each other briefly before making their way over, Damus hesitating a bit before putting down the fishing rod he held and following the rest.

Shockwave did so as well, to the best of his abilities anyway. The further they went, the tighter the space became and less water reached the surface for him to easily slide around. He wanted to voice his complaint of them going too far, like he had explicitly told them not to before coming here (and really, he thought Warp would have disobeyed first before Soundwave. Skids made sense, but him?) But before he could even think of what to say, Skids noticed his struggle and seemed to remember something.

“Oh, right! Almost forgot.” He jogged over to the mer shark and gently grabbed at one of his fingers to guide him elsewhere. “There's an opening that takes you directly to the area we found. You have to swim underneath some rubble, but it should fit you.”

The boy took him to some dilapidated attraction of the park, it was too broken to tell what it used to be, but it did create an opening that allowed Shockwave to fit through perfectly fine. “Just swim straight ahead and it should take you to the area, we'll meet you there.”

Immediately, Shockwave didn't like that idea, and he didn't need to voice his thoughts for the teen to catch on, his glare doing the job just fine. “It'll be fine, don't worry! It's not that far. Less than a minute, probably less than a second for you since you're so big you'll just have to slide in and out. Besides, there's nothing here, the place is completely barren.”

Shockwave was still unconvinced.

Skids took to pleading. “Please! It'll be quick, I promise you. And worth it too! It's the exact thing we've been needing, and Soundwave put a lot of work on it. I know you don't like leaving us alone for even a second, but give it a chance?”

They stared at each other for a moment, Skids making his eyes as wide and innocent as possible and Shockwave hoping the stubborn teen would dispel this idea with his glare alone.

In the end, Skids guppy eyes were far too powerful even for a great shak such as Shockwave. And the kid was right, wasn't this what he wanted for them to begin with?

He let out a heavy sigh of defeat and reluctantly agreed to it. “Fine. I trust you, but if anything shows up–”

“We don't engage with it and call for you, yes, I know. Now go! Soundwave is waiting!” Skids ushered Shockwave to submerge himself into the large opening with the wave of his hands and only joined back with the others once he could no longer see the large mer.

One relief Shockwave had was that the tunnel formed was large enough that he could easily turn around and pop back out if he heard any of the kids in danger, though it also lacked any proper escape for him as it only had one direction for him to go. Straight ahead or backwards.

But Skids was right in saying the trip was short, he could already hear the muffled voices of his children. Soon enough, he found himself resurfacing, the lively chatter being the first thing his senses picked up on.

When the children heard the splash of water, they all turned to look towards the source of the noise, their excitement almost blindingly radiat in contrast to the dark, murky room they found themselves in.

The place was closed off by fallen buildings that created a sort of cave around them, plenty of fauna already making its home here. It was fairly empty as well, save for the large, round attraction in the middle of the room. It had horses stuck to poles inside it, a dim pink and gold decorating the whole thing, the paintings that littered it had long since faded and it was hard to tell what it once was.

“Okay, you're here, good.” Skids turned to Soundwave, who was standing next to what looked to be a control panel. “Soundwave, would you do us the honours?”

The other teen nodded, bending down to start pulling at some wires in place of pressing the buttons offered. Warp scoffed, crossing his arms and looking skeptically at his friend. “There's no power here, how in the world are you going to get it to work? I swear, if you brought us all the way here for nothing I–”

Before he could finish his sentence, a blast of music and light echoed loudly around the empty space, causing everyone to flinch back and cover their ears. Shockwave nervously looked around, worried that the loud noise might have attracted some unwanted attention. Once the shock faded, Skids ran up to Soundwave and gestured proudly at the now working carousel.

“Ta-da!”

“Wh…how is this possible!?” Warp questioned, looking at Soundwave for answers, to not only be ignored, but shoved around by the other kids who ran towards the attraction. “Seriously?! Is no one else even a little bit concerned on how this is possible?”

Tc placed a hand over his shoulder, bringing his attention to him. “Warp, just enjoy the miracle. When are we going to get another chance like this?”

Warp could only grumble. Tc was right, they wouldn't, not for a long time. That didn't mean he had to accept it though.

Shockwave watched as they all walked over and picked their favourite horse, Tc and Skids fighting over the same blue one before Trailbreaker broke their fight up and offered his to Tc, walking up to help Damus up and sit with him instead. Shockwave observed the way Soundwave continued to pick at the control panel and looked up at the other children, waiting for their confirmation that they were ready before clicking something and closing the panel. As soon as he did that, the carousel began to slowly move, the horses bobbing up and down in gentle motions, causing the kids to excitedly cheer.

Soundwave stepped on the moving platform while it was still picking up speed and sat on a random horse near Windcharger. Although not as vocal as the others, he was clearly enjoying it.

Shockwave couldn't quite get what was so entertaining about the thing. It was slow, even after it picked up some speed, and the music was painful to the ears. But that didn't quite matter, did it? They were happy, and they were having fun.

It clearly was something they knew about before the tsunami, before their civilization fell apart. A simple joy of life that they missed.

And, in a world dimmed by tragedy and destruction, where at every corner something threatens their very existence, isn't that all they could ask for?

So, in a small moment of peace, Shockwave let himself relax. He bent forward and rested his chin over his crossed arms and watched as his children sang along with the screechy music, bouncing on their fake horses and pretending they were in some high chase in their little imaginary world.

In this dreary reality, even the artificial light of a broken past could make it all worth it.

#fanfic #apocalyptic ponyo #transformers au #shockwave #skids #thundercracker #skywarp #damus #trailbreaker #windcharger #soundwave #dude i have no fucking idea what possessed me to write this #besides the pure power that that deleted scene in d:bh did to me all those years ago when I first saw it #literally like #i woke up. opened instagram. saw that post and IMMEDIATELY opned my google docs #i didnt even eat breakfast yet! just now did i leave my bed #i need the spirit that possessed me to write this possess me again because i have several fics i need to finish LMAO #also ugh i cant take the angst #i got physically ill at how sad i got i had to write something fluffy for this au XD

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daniiiboo · 2 days ago

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the right height- qh43

summary- Quinn loves giving you forehead kisses, here is five examples of that

trigger warnings- nothinn just pure fluff!!

dani's thoughts- i put the poll up and you guys wanted Quinn first so here we are !! I'm in love w this fic so enjoy <3 !! ALSO PLEASE REQUEST SOMETHING REQUESTS ARE OPEN !!

word count- 696

Quinn Hughes had a ritual, one that he didn't seem to be breaking anytime soon. It was simple, in fact. Wherever possible, he'd plant a kiss on your forehead, like he'd been doing it his whole life. At first, you suspected he hadn't even realized he was doing it. But eventually, you realized, Quinn knew exactly what he was doing, and he enjoyed it.

When He Leaves for Morning Skate You did not like waking up early, and Quinn knew it. While he was lacing up his shoes, getting ready to head out to the rink, you were still fast asleep in bed, slowly waking up.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" he joked, standing by the bed, already dressed in his Canucks hoodie.

You groaned, your head in the pillow.

"Too early. I love you, but not quite enough to get out of this bed right now."

Quinn smiled, leaning down so that his face was inches from yours. "Fair enough," he whispered, then, he kissed you softly on the forehead.

You looked up at him, still struggling with your voice.

"You always do that."

"Yup," he grinned, squeezing your hip before standing fully up. "See you later, sleepyhead."

When You Complain About Being Short You were at the grocery store, trying to get a box of cereal from the top shelf, when Quinn appeared behind you and brought it down for you.

"You've got to be kidding me," you grumbled, placing your hands on your hips. "This is not fair."

Quinn chuckled.

"It's not my fault you're little."

You glared up at him.

"I am not tiny."

He simply hummed in amusement before leaning down and giving you a kiss on the forehead.

"Sure, whatever you say, short stack."

You rolled your eyes.

"Quinn!"

But he was already walking away, talking under his breath.

After a Tough Game You had waited for Quinn outside the locker room after a hard loss. He was exhausted, his hair still damp from a quick shower following the game, his face set in anger. Without saying a word, you spread your arms, and he hugged you instinctively, his face buried in your shoulder.

"You played great," you whispered, rubbing his back.

He let out a slow sigh, finally pulling back to look at you. His fingers brushed over your cheek before he dipped his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

You smiled.

"Feel better?"

"A little," he admitted, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before sighing. "Mostly just glad you’re here."

When You’re Trying to Stay Mad at Him Quinn had eaten the last of your favorite snack, and while it wasn't the end of the world, you were dramatically pouting on the couch about it.

"I'll get you more," he said, sitting down next to you.

"You always say that," you sighed, crossing your arms.

Quinn simply smiled, leaning in closer.

"You're really upset with me, huh?"

"Yes."

He leaned in further, tilting your chin up a bit before delivering a kiss to your forehead.

You gasped roughly.

"That's cheating."

"Nah," he grinned. "Just strategy."

You complained.

"I hate you."

"You love me," he said, planting an extra kiss on your forehead for good measure.

And, well… he wasn't wrong.

When He Says "I Love You" You both were on the couch and it was evening, you resting on your head on Quinn's shoulder and you were watching a film. You felt like you were drifting off to sleep when Quinn quietly shifted so the blanket settled on you.

You breathed softly sleepily.

"You're comfy."

Quinn chuckled softly, his voice a whisper.

"You're warm."

A couple of beats went by before he leaned forward and kissed your forehead slow and long.

"I love you," he murmured against your skin.

Your lips curled up in a half-asleep smile as you wrapped your arms closer to his chest.

"Love you too, Q."

And, as always, his tendency continued. For even though all the times he made jokes about your height, Quinn Hughes would trade having you at just the right height for forehead smooches for everything in the world.

#dani writes ᡣ𐭩 #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks x reader #canucks x reader #hockey x reader #hockey x you #hockey x y/n

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its-a-me-mango · 2 days ago

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Oh hey... it's been a while Telly...

Everypony, this is URGEN, and I need your help, I have a sad TV that needs cheering up, can you help me? You guys think you can help me? Pretty please?

THIS IS A FUN LIL OC/SONA DRAWING/WRITING/WHATEVER EVENT THINGY AND YOU'RE INVITED TO TAKE PART!!!

INFO BELOW THE READ MORE!

Hi welcome to below the read more, nice down here innit.

THIS IS NOT AN EVENT WHERE YOU SUGGEST THINGS TO ME, THIS IS FOR YOU TO DO, I WILL BE IGNORING ANY ASKS RELATED TO REQUESTS FOR ME TO DRAW!

Anyway so as I said, you're invited to have your sona, your OC, your AU or heck even one of the SMG4 crew help cheer up Telly! You can do this in anyway you like, wethers it's taking them out somewhere nice like a park or city, to playing games with them, or just hanging out with them! You're in charge of picking out something fun for your character of choise and Telly to do together! They love doing anything as long as its with friends so you're welcome to do pretty much anything!

You can also make this in an medium you'd like, be it art, comics, writing, or anything else you can think of, there is no strict medium this has to be done in so go wild and most importantly have fun!

For the sake of keeping things clear in the SMG4 tag, you can use #SMG4CheerUp as the tag for this event, you are obviously free to @ me but if not, I will check the above tag instead.

Before I go any further, just want to make this clear:

THERE IS NO PRIZE! THERE IS NO DEADLINE! THIS IS JUST FOR FUN!

THIS IS NOT A COMPETITION

Just saying this as I don't want people expecting anything from me in return for this, nor do I want people putting themselves down or comparing themselves to others, I want people to have fun for the sake of having fun.

I'm obviously not super stricks on rules as this is for fun but I do have a few requests:

No just straight up brining Mr Puzzles back, that kinda defeats the point. You're more than welcome to use your AU or OC version of Mr Puzzles for this, but no actual Mr Puzzles, let him rot in prison for a bit please.

I know I said you're welcome to do pretty much anything but please keep your work age appropriate! Telly is meant to be no older than 10 at max so nothing too outrageous please! I don't mind a bit of angst or anything like that but you know, be nice to the kid alright, I will kill you otherwise /j

Also for this please don't use their teen/adult design, this is focused on them as a kid so please keep them as one, no aging up to do anything not age appropriate please.

Please keep in mind that Telly is mute and cannot talk! They can write/type to talk (as they don't know sign language yet) and they can make static noises, but no actual speaking for them!

TELLY USES THEY/THEM PRONOUNS AND NOTHING ELSE, PLEASE JUST REFER TO THEM AS A CHILD/KID

That's all I could think of lol, will add more if I think of anything else.

TELLYS REF IS HERE FOR ANYONE WHO NEEDS IT (it is also linked on my pinned post at all times) I'm not overly strict on design so feel free to add your own lil details to them, I think it's fun! :3

My media asks are off for now, as I'd rather people make their own posts, it's what Tumblr's for and I wouldn't want anyone's amazing work to sit and rot in my inbox! I will be reblogging everything I promise.

You're welcome to ask me any questions but my response will likely be either "yes" or "if it's fun for you go for it!"

There is no deadline as stated, but I'll say this is open for at least a month-ish, or at least until Mr Puzzles comes back or something lol (watch that be, this week! wow how short lived /j)

ANYWAY WITH ALL THAT OUT THE WAY, GO FORTH AND ONCE AGAIN, HAVE FUN ABOVE ALL ELSE!!! :3

#smg4 #smg4 oc #smg4oc: telly #mango art #smg4cheerup #ohhh you wanna draw the tv child you wanna draw them soooooooooooo bad oooooooooooooooo look at themmmmmmm #can't wait for. no one to take part! what a fool I'll look like then! /j

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wyrmzone · 2 days ago

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real answer:

1. if your wrists hurt, stop right away and change your posture, gently stretch your wrists, change the angle of your wrists. if you use thumbs, try standing or sitting up so your elbows are in the air. you can also try laying your device down and using your index fingers instead

2. while your taps should be juuust firm enough to register in-game, you want to keep your presses light and springy to get to the next note using the momentum from the previous one. this is also a real piano technique thats good for jumping octaves

more under cut:

3. if youre using thumbs and theres one of those drumroll-like sequences, try the move where you sort of tilt your device back and forth between your hands. like instead of moving your thumbs all the way to the screen, if you tilt the device a bit then it shortens the distance your thumb needs to go to get to the screen. if you tilt it back and forth slightly, this can help you do fast drumrolls - just remember to count the beats (usually in groups of 4) so you dont press too many times

4. optional: try to play both songs at your skill level and a bit above it, not so hard that youre missing every note but maybe one or two difficulty levels above what youre used to. over a long period of time the harder songs will start making sense and the muscle memory will develop. songs may need different movements so dont feel bad if you nailed one hard song but cant play the other at all. you dont have to do this step, its mostly for training to play that one hard song that you really like

5. feel free to adjust the speed of the note prompt thingies if youre able to. slower speeds are better for slower reaction speeds but sometimes the notes can get clustered up and its hard to tell what to press first.

6. you can cheat a little bit... if theres a move you actually cant physically do, there may be a loophole in the game mechanics to keep your combo. in the game i'm playing the most (Arcaea) you dont have to lift your fingers between the colorful line notes and it doesnt matter which hand you use, left or right. sometimes when it uses the right hand color, i just ignore it and use my left hand because its closer. the long notes on the ground dont care if you switch fingers- press it, put your other finger on it also, then remove the first finger.

7. change the sound-delay setting. this is mandatory if youre using any kind of bluetooth because of the latency. a lot of rhythm games will let you add a delay between the time it plays the audio and the time it shows the notes on screen. the idea is that it sends the signal to play the notes audio first, and by the time it reaches your ears, the note will be in the middle of the screen, so you still feel like youre tapping to the beat. depending on your brain, device, os, and headphones/speakers, youll want a different number

8. do warm up/easier songs first to loosen your muscles and tendons and stuff

9. play the songs that you like :3

me: hey do you guys have any advice for this rhythm game?

someone whos played rhythm games their whole life: yeah you basically just open your third eye and ascend to the rhythm realm

me: ok cool thanks i’ll work on that

#hope this helps

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kateschi · 5 hours ago

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a flicker, a push

synopsis: it’s a stupid, reckless game—glances that linger too long, touches that almost don’t happen, a silent challenge.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: this is the giveaway fic won by @obs3ss3dd! I hope you like it 🩷 if you want to request a fanfic like this one then feel free to check my kofi! <3

it’s a stupid game. really, it is, and it shouldn’t be this fun.

sneaking around like you’re doing something wrong—even when, technically, you are—shouldn’t make your heart race like this. but it does.

it always does.

it starts the way it always does—at lunch, in the middle of the crowded cafeteria where no one pays you much attention.

kaminari’s halfway through a story you’re sure is exaggerated, mina’s flopped against your shoulder complaining about midterms, and the smell of overcooked rice lingers in the air.

it’s loud and chaotic, the kind of place where things slip by unnoticed.

or they would—if he weren’t sitting across the room.

bakugou looks bored. always does. he’s leaned back in his chair, tray untouched in front of him, answering whatever kirishima’s saying with a grunt.

his eyes should be on them—on his friends, the noise, anything but you. but they aren’t.

you know because you can feel it—feel him—even before you glance his way.

and when you do, he doesn’t look away.

it’s brief—just a flicker of a glance beneath his lashes—but you catch it. the sharp, knowing edge of his stare. the heat behind it.

you shouldn’t react. you know that. but your foot still shifts beneath the table, brushing against the boot that’s somehow found its way to yours.

his boot presses back.

you swallow down the urge to kick him. barely.

“are you even listening?” mina groans, dragging your attention back.

“mm?” you blink, playing innocent. “yeah. something about midterms, right?”

her groan turns dramatic, collapsing against your side like she’s personally offended.

“you’re the worst. I was saying that if I fail math again, it’s your fault for not tutoring me properly.”

you laugh, the sound easy—normal—but you still feel the weight of his stare, heavy across the room. “not my fault you don’t listen.”

mina huffs, but she’s already moved on to her next complaint. you let her words blur together, leaning into her shoulder just enough to keep up appearances.

beneath the table, katsuki’s boot bumps yours again—harder this time. like a challenge.

you press back.

by the time lunch ends, you’re halfway to your next class when a hand catches your wrist. rough fingers curl around your skin—not tight, not pulling, just enough to stop you mid-step.

“you’re gonna make us late,” you murmur, even as he tugs you into the alcove behind the stairwell.

“don’t care,” he says, but it’s softer than it should be.

you roll your eyes, but you don’t resist when he moves closer.

his grip loosens just enough for your fingers to slide between his—solid and warm, even as his scowl deepens.

“why do you always pick the most obvious spots?” you ask, tilting your head up at him. “someone’s gonna see.”

his other hand moves to your back, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest before you can protest. “then let ‘em,” he mutters.

it’s not fair, how good he smells—like caramel and something sharp underneath. the kind of scent that lingers, even when you try to shake it off.

you stay like that longer than you should, face tucked against his collar as his fingers slide absently along the curve of your neck.

“you’re annoying,” you grumble against his shirt.

“yeah?” he leans down, his mouth brushing your temple. “you’re worse.”

you snort softly but let your arms curl around his waist anyway, the warmth of him seeping through his uniform.

his grip tightens. just a little.

you should pull away. you really should. but when he’s like this—quiet and warm, his heart thudding steadily beneath your ear—it’s hard to think about anything else.

and maybe it’s reckless. but you don’t let go.

the day drags on, and the sneaking doesn’t stop.

in class, when the teacher isn’t looking, he taps his pencil against your arm until you glare at him.

when you try to ignore him, he does it again—this time with a flick of paper that bounces off your shoulder.

you shoot him a look, but all he does is smirk, mouth twitching like he knows exactly how much he’s getting under your skin.

it’s worse when you catch him watching.

and it’s always when you least expect it—when your focus dips, or when you’re too busy pretending he doesn’t exist. he’s subtle about it, too, barely moving.

but his gaze is heavy—always heavy—and when your eyes meet his across the room, there’s something sharp and electric humming beneath his skin.

you pretend not to notice.

you’re not sure you succeed.

the next time it happens, it’s at the vending machine.

you’re waiting for your drink to drop, tapping your fingers against the side impatiently, when he moves in behind you. too close for an acquaintance you ‘barely’ interact with.

close enough that his arm brushes yours when he reaches for the button next to yours.

“you’re in the way,” you say, but your voice isn’t half as sharp as it should be.

he doesn’t budge. “your fault for taking so long.”

you scoff, grabbing your drink, but as you step back, his hand catches yours—quick and deliberate, his fingers curling between yours just long enough to make your stomach flip.

it’s brief. so brief no one else would notice. but when you glance up, his eyes are already on you—hot and daring—and your breath stumbles in your chest.

“move,” you mutter, squeezing his hand before letting go.

he does—but not without brushing his shoulder against yours on the way out.

at last, it’s kirishima who catches on first, somehow.

you’re halfway through the afternoon, sitting with mina on the couch in the dorm common room, flipping through channels, when he drops onto the armrest beside you.

“you two aren’t subtle, y’know,” he says, grinning like he’s too pleased with himself.

you blink, heart stuttering for a second too long. “what?”

he snickers. “you and bakugou. you think no one’s noticed?”

your stomach flips—because, shit.

kirishima, to his credit, doesn’t sound the least bit surprised. if anything, he looks impressed.

“man, I’m kinda proud of you,” he laughs, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “didn’t think anyone could put up with him for this long without blowing up.”

you roll your eyes, forcing your pulse to settle. “I’m a very patient person.”

“yeah, clearly.” his grin widens, too sharp and knowing. “still, you gotta work on your poker face, dude. you’re making it too easy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, too quickly.

“uh-huh.” he tilts his head toward the other side of the room—where katsuki’s sitting, looking completely uninterested.

except for the way his knee bounces a little too quickly, the way his eyes keep flicking your way when he thinks no one’s looking.

kirishima snorts. “real convincing.”

you want to deny it. should deny it.

but across the room, katsuki’s boot nudges against yours again—like he knows exactly what’s being said.

and he doesn’t stop.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

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solxamber · 1 day ago

Text

Mission: Emotionally Compromised || Jamil Viper

Jamil’s greatest failure as a spy? Falling head over heels for the person he was meant to destroy.

this one is for @chocolatebearstrawberry who made the divider i use here!! i love you <3

As the CEO of one of the most powerful tech companies in the world, you’ve always prided yourself on two things: your razor-sharp business acumen and your ability to sniff out deception from a mile away.

Your competitors, on the other hand, have prided themselves on one thing: trying (and failing) to steal your technology.

For years, you’ve played a high-stakes game of corporate cat and mouse, batting away industrial spies like a bored housecat knocking expensive wine glasses off the counter. You’ve watched billion-dollar corporations sink millions into elaborate heists, only for their agents to fail spectacularly. Frankly, it's getting a little embarrassing for them.

But now, thanks to the untimely departure of your longtime secretary (who swears their early retirement has nothing to do with being bribed into luxury exile), you suddenly have a vacancy.

And judging by the pile of applicants currently waiting in the lobby, every single one of them is a spy.

The Parade of Intelligence Failures™:

First up is Agent Steve (probably not his real name), whose résumé is written in Comic Sans and lists "lockpicking" under "special skills." When you ask him about his previous administrative experience, he stares at you blankly for three full seconds before blurting out, "I can type… very fast?"

Next is Ms. Definitely-Not-Wearing-a-Wire, who keeps touching her ear like she’s communicating with someone. Midway through the interview, you distinctly hear a whisper from her earpiece: "Ask about the security systems."

Then there’s Tech Bro #5, who brings a USB drive and, while maintaining full eye contact with you, tries to plug it into your computer. Your computer. The one sitting on your desk. Right in front of you.

By the time Mr. Fake-ID Falls Out of His Wallet stumbles in, you’re fighting the overwhelming urge to launch yourself out the nearest window.

This is getting pathetic.

You’ve sat through twenty interviews of barely competent corporate espionage, and you’re ready to set up a PowerPoint presentation titled, "How To Spy Without Immediately Getting Caught: A Workshop For Morons."

Do they think you built a billion-dollar empire by being stupid? Do they think your years of fending off corporate espionage haven’t honed your bullshit detector into a finely tuned death laser?

You start debating whether to just hire a golden retriever and call it a day—at least dogs have loyalty.

And then he walks in.

Enter: Jamil Viper.

The moment he steps into your office, you know this one is different.

For one thing, his résumé isn’t riddled with typos or hilariously obvious red flags. His credentials? Flawless. His demeanor? Polished and professional, with just the right amount of charm—not so much that it feels like he’s trying to butter you up, but just enough that you actually want to keep talking to him.

And his entrance exam? He aces it. Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

There is no way in hell that someone this competent just happens to be looking for a secretary position. You know he’s a spy.

But unlike the human disasters before him, Jamil Viper is actually good at his job.

And if someone is going to try and infiltrate your company, wouldn’t you rather it be someone who at least has the decency to be competent about it?

You lean back in your chair, watching him carefully as he sits across from you, his expression unreadable. You wonder how many layers of deception he’s hiding behind that composed facade.

Slowly, a smile creeps onto your lips.

This could be fun.

Because if Jamil Viper thinks he’s going to outmaneuver you, then clearly, no one has warned him that you love playing with fire.

You slide the contract across the desk, extending your hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Viper," you say, amusement dancing in your voice. "Welcome to the company."

His fingers are warm when they clasp yours in a firm shake. His gaze, sharp and assessing, lingers for just a second too long.

And just like that, you hire a spy to be your personal assistant.

This is either the smartest or the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.

And honestly? You can’t wait to find out which.

Jamil has never questioned his assignments before. His role has always been straightforward—he is given a task, he completes it with precision, and he collects his payment. There is no room for personal involvement, no need for unnecessary complications.

This particular job should have been no different. His directive was clear: infiltrate one of the most formidable tech companies in the industry, assume the role of a secretary, gain the CEO’s trust, retrieve the necessary proprietary data, and exit without raising suspicion.

A simple, methodical process. He estimated it would take no more than a month, perhaps two if the CEO proved particularly cautious.

However, the moment he steps into your office, Jamil recognizes that this assignment will not proceed according to the standard operational model.

You are perceptive. That much is clear from the outset. Your interview questions are sharp, carefully constructed to gauge more than just his administrative skills. You are watching him—not just listening, but studying, assessing. There is a calculating glint in your eyes that suggests you have already categorized him in some way, and he does not yet know whether that categorization is in his favor.

Then comes the moment that shifts the trajectory of his expectations entirely.

You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled as you regard him with an almost amused expression. "So, Mr. Viper," you say, voice laced with something close to mischief, "are you a spy?"

The question is absurd in its directness, yet the casual way you pose it makes it clear that you are not expecting a confession—you are testing him. A lesser operative might have faltered, might have hesitated for the fraction of a second that would betray uncertainty. Jamil, however, meets your gaze evenly, offering a measured smile.

"If I were," he replies smoothly, "would I admit it?"

You laugh—not a dismissive scoff, but an actual, entertained laugh, as if you are thoroughly enjoying this game. And that is what makes Jamil's stomach twist slightly. Because he is beginning to suspect that you already know.

The contract slides across the desk, a silent challenge. He watches as you extend your hand, the motion deliberate, expectant.

He has been in the industry long enough to recognize a trap when he sees one. And yet, despite every internal alarm warning him to be cautious, he shakes your hand.

He has taken on countless assignments in his career, but this time is different.

This time, he is not just infiltrating a company. He is stepping into a game.

And for the first time in his life, Jamil wonders if he is the one being played.

Jamil Viper is, quite frankly, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You have run this company for years, clawed your way to the top with sheer wit and willpower, and in all that time, you have never known peace. Your life has been a never-ending cycle of fires to put out, idiotic employees making mistakes, and backstabbing business partners who think “compromise” means “stealing your ideas and pretending it was a collaborative effort.”

But then Jamil arrives.

Jamil, with his quiet efficiency and terrifying competence. Jamil, who doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself because he actually listens the first time. Jamil, who doesn’t need reminders because he remembers everything, down to how you like your coffee and which pens mysteriously go missing when your CFO visits.

For the first time in your career, you are leaving work at a reasonable hour.

You actually saw the sunset yesterday. The sunset. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve seen anything but the dim glow of your office lights at midnight? You don’t. You’re afraid to check.

Your skin? Clear.

Your inbox? Organized.

Your sleep schedule? Still questionable, but at least now it’s due to personal choices and not business emergencies.

You are so overcome with gratitude that you nearly burst into tears when you realize you no longer have to threaten your vendors personally because Jamil handles it all with a few well-placed emails.

He is better than any assistant you have ever had. Possibly better than some of your business partners. Hell, at this rate, you wouldn't be surprised if he could run the company better than you.

Which is exactly why you can’t afford to let him go.

You know why he’s here. You are not na��ve. He is undoubtedly a spy, sent to steal your technology, your secrets, your life's work. But the problem is that he is too good. You cannot afford to lose him.

So, you make a decision.

You will convert him to your side.

It’s not just about protecting your company anymore. No, this has become personal. Jamil Viper is yours now. He just doesn’t know it yet.

The numbers didn’t make sense.

You were good at numbers. Numbers were the only thing in this world that didn’t lie. Numbers were solid, unyielding, completely immune to human deception. And yet.

Your CFO had to be skimming. You’d suspected it for a while—no one bought that many first-class flights for “business conferences” that didn’t exist—but now that you finally had the time to actually dig into the company’s finances, you could feel it in your bones. There was money missing. Not a lot at once, just enough that a lazier CEO wouldn’t notice.

But you noticed. And now, sitting in your dark office, practically feral with frustration, you were going to find it.

Jamil peeks into your office, and you see his brows furrow in irritation. He steps inside without invitation, eyes flicking to your desk, to the stacks of papers, to you, hunched over and pulling at your hair like a mad scientist on the brink of discovery.

“…Why are you still here?” His voice is level, but you detect the judgment beneath it. “I made sure your schedule was clear. You should have been home by five.”

You make a vague, distressed sound—somewhere between a whimper and the dying gasp of an overworked CEO. “I have a mouse to hunt,” you say, still frantically flipping through documents. “A very cunning mouse.”

Jamil, to his credit, does not roll his eyes. He does, however, step forward and pluck the file from your grasp before you can protest. His sharp eyes scan the pages, his fingers flipping through them with practiced ease.

You watch as his expression shifts into something thoughtful, his lips pursing slightly, his brows furrowing in deep concentration. You can see his mind working.

Jamil is infuriatingly intelligent. He always has been. You knew it the moment he walked into your office for his interview and answered every question with precision so perfect it was almost suspicious.

But this—this is something else. His eyes flick from one line to another, scanning, calculating, searching.

And then it hits you.

His hair.

His stupidly perfect, annoyingly silky, meticulously styled hair.

The way it’s always just slightly different every day. Some days it’s neater, tied back with care. Some days it’s looser, like he didn’t have time to properly tame it. Some days it’s so perfect it looks effortless, which means it probably took him ages to get it like that.

Your brain connects the dots.

Your CFO’s expenses had fluctuations that made no sense at first glance. But what if—what if the embezzlement wasn’t consistent? What if he only siphoned money on certain days—days when he needed to make the numbers look normal, like a fluctuation in operational costs?

Like how Jamil’s hair was slightly different depending on how rushed he was in the morning.

Your eyes widen. You grab Jamil’s arm.

“It’s the payroll processing days,” you say, the revelation clicking together. “The numbers don’t match on payroll weeks because he’s hiding them within the irregular adjustments! He’s only stealing when payroll is being processed because that’s when the accounts fluctuate naturally.”

Jamil blinks, then looks back at the files, and you see it—the exact moment he finds the irregularity, the way his eyes sharpen, the way the corner of his lips twitch in mild irritation.

“…Huh,” he says, flipping back to double-check.

You beam at him. “Jamil, I could kiss you.”

He does not react, but his ears turn slightly red. He hands the file back. “Don’t. Just fire your CFO.”

“Oh, I will.” You grin, stretching your arms behind your head. “And then I’m going to have so much fun ruining his career.”

Jamil gives you a look. You pretend not to see it.

Jamil has worked for a lot of powerful people before. He’s seen how they act—detached, ruthless, calculating. People who don’t say thank you unless there’s an audience, people who treat loyalty as a transaction rather than a virtue, people who see their employees as numbers on a spreadsheet rather than human beings.

And then there’s you.

You, who smile at every single employee as if they’re the most interesting person in the world.

You, who face betrayals with an easy grin, as if it’s just another puzzle to solve.

You, who refuse to be jaded, as if the sheer weight of your responsibilities isn’t trying to crush you every single day.

Jamil has worked as a secretary before, long enough to know that this is not normal. It’s not normal for a CEO to approve leave requests without question, to cover all medical expenses without a fight, to sit down at the employee cafeteria and listen to people’s grievances like a normal person.

It’s definitely not normal for you to turn to him at the end of a long, grueling day—after uncovering a massive embezzlement scandal in your own company—and say, “Let’s get dinner. My treat.”

Jamil expects a high-end restaurant. The kind of place where the portions are offensively small, the food is questionably pretentious, and the bill alone could sustain an entire household for a month. The kind of place where people like you—people with power, people with money—go to flaunt their superiority.

Instead, you take him to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant run by an elderly couple who clearly know you on a first-name basis.

“Ah, welcome back!” the old woman greets you warmly, eyes flicking to Jamil with curiosity. “And who’s this? A date?”

Jamil chokes on air.

You laugh—loudly—and wave off the comment. “Nah, just my secretary! He helped me catch a mouse today.”

Jamil doesn’t bother correcting you.

The menu is scrawled in barely legible handwriting on a whiteboard near the counter. You order the greasiest, most artery-clogging meal he’s ever seen in his life. Jamil orders something safer, something that won’t take five years off his lifespan.

When the food arrives, you practically vibrate in your seat, taking a bite with the enthusiasm of a child eating their first piece of candy.

Jamil stares at you in mild horror. “You eat this every day?”

You grin, already halfway through your meal. “Yeah.”

Jamil doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

But he eats. He eats, and he listens to you ramble about ridiculous workplace rumors, and he watches you laugh so hard you snort when you make a terrible joke.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Jamil finds himself laughing too.

Not because your joke is funny—because it isn’t. It’s awful, actually.

But maybe because your eyes shine too brightly in the dim light.

Maybe because you seem so human right now, so painfully, vividly human.

Maybe because he knows he’ll have to leave you behind soon, and yet here he is, eating unhealthy food and smiling at you.

Jamil has never questioned his jobs before. He gets paid, he gets the work done. Simple.

So why does it feel so different this time?

Jamil has worked for some eccentric people before. Billionaires with more money than sense, CEOs who thought meditation on top of a glass skyscraper would give them divine insight, a director who once insisted that his morning coffee had to be stirred exactly 72 times counterclockwise or the stock market would crash. He’s seen it all. Or so he thought.

And then there was you.

You were a genius, of course. No one could deny that. You had single-handedly revolutionized an entire industry and kept your technology locked down so tightly that even the best corporate spies had walked away empty-handed.

But you were also—how to put this nicely?—completely, utterly unhinged. Eccentric was too mild a word. You were like a mad scientist and a particularly stubborn golden retriever had been fused together in a tragic yet strangely effective laboratory accident.

Jamil has had a front-row seat to your absurdity for months now, but today? Today takes the cake.

He enters the office expecting chaos, but he still isn't prepared to see a bouncy castle taking up the center of the room. It is massive. Garish. A primary-colored monstrosity that clashes violently with the sleek, modern aesthetic of your office. It is also, for some reason, fully inflated.

Jamil watches as you bounce in deep concentration, your tie undone, your shoes discarded somewhere in the corner. Your movements are precise, like each jump is a carefully calibrated equation.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask?”

You pause mid-bounce, floating for a second in the air like some kind of enlightened acrobat before landing gracefully and turning to him with a grin. “I needed to think.”

“…So naturally, you brought a bouncy castle.”

“Of course.” You wave a hand, as if this should be obvious. “Sometimes, when my brain gets stuck, I just need a little kinetic stimulation. You know, shake up the neurons.” You jump again, flailing slightly before catching yourself. “It’s like—have you ever had a word on the tip of your tongue, and then you do something completely different and suddenly it comes to you? Same concept. Except instead of drinking water or taking a walk, I jump on an inflatable castle like a responsible adult.”

Jamil stares. His headache is already forming. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“Nope! Tested the weight limits. We’re good.” You bounce again, then stop abruptly, eyes widening. Your entire posture shifts, shoulders straightening, expression sharpening. You scramble off the castle, grab a nearby notebook, and start writing furiously.

Jamil watches, baffled, as you tear through an entire page with equations and diagrams, the kind of thing that would take a normal person weeks to conceptualize. And then you stop, beaming like a kid who just cracked open a piñata full of gold.

“I GOT IT,” you declare, spinning the notebook around as if Jamil has the clearance—or the desire—to understand whatever ridiculous breakthrough you just had. “This is going to make everything ten times more efficient! Jamil, this is genius.”

Jamil, who has not slept properly in three days because of this mission, who has already accepted that this job is going to either kill him or make him reconsider every life decision he has ever made, just sighs. “Great. So was the bouncy castle necessary?”

You turn back to him, eyes bright, smile wider than he’s ever seen. “Absolutely.”

And the worst part? The part that truly makes him question if he’s losing his mind?

He almost believes you.

Meetings like this made you wonder if you could get away with legally replacing the entire board with three possums in a trench coat. These relics in overpriced suits had two working brain cells between them, and one was currently occupied with nursing last night’s hangover.

They thought that their decades of mismanaging money somehow gave them wisdom. You would almost find it impressive, the way they clung to their illusion of relevance, if it weren’t so unbearably tedious.

You could fire them all, of course. You could clear this room in five minutes, clean house with a snap of your fingers, but you had held back out of sheer pity. They were close to retirement—one foot in the grave and the other on a luxury cruise.

Let them ride out their last few years clutching their outdated business strategies and egos. It wasn’t like they actually did anything.

But today? Today, you were at your limit.

Jamil was standing behind you, stone-faced, but you could tell he wanted to be anywhere else. His exhaustion mirrored your own. You’d been sitting here for an hour while they droned on about numbers they clearly didn’t understand.

Internally, you begged for something—anything—to spontaneously combust just so you’d have an excuse to leave. A small fire? A sudden, mysterious blackout? A divine intervention from the heavens themselves?

And then, as if the universe had heard you and decided to throw you a different kind of entertainment, one of them made a mistake. A grave mistake.

“—not that it matters to someone like you,” one of the old fossils sneered, voice soaked in condescension. “You just sit there and look pretty. Maybe that’s why you keep your secretary around—eye candy to brighten your day, hm?”

Silence.

Jamil felt the shift before he saw it. The room, which had been filled with the usual underhanded comments and the shuffling of papers, went utterly still. The air thickened, tension snapping tight like a bowstring.

You moved, slow and deliberate, sitting up from your languid position and resting your elbows on the table. Then, with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, you slammed your hand against the polished wood. Jamil was pretty sure he saw the surface splinter.

And then, you smiled.

“Say,” you said, your voice honey-sweet, “how’s your son’s wedding prep going?”

The man blinked, startled by the sudden shift in topic. “Uh—fine?”

“That’s wonderful.” You laced your fingers together, tilting your head like a benevolent ruler addressing a particularly stupid peasant. “I hope he has a strong savings account. And you, too, for that matter.”

His confusion deepened. “Why would—?”

“Because as of right now, every single one of you is fired.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stood, straightening your sleeves, your expression as calm as if you’d just commented on the weather. The rest of the board gaped at you, struggling to process what had just happened.

“Pack your things,” you continued, tone still sickeningly pleasant. “Security will escort you out. Your pensions will remain untouched—I’m not a monster—but your presence is no longer required. Effective immediately.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and strolled out of the room.

Jamil took a moment to savor the stunned expressions, the way the old man who had made the comment looked like he was trying to compute his own downfall in real time. He had seen you be cunning, eccentric, absurd, even, but this was the first time he had seen you wield your power properly. It was—

Well.

He wasn’t about to admit it was impressive.

Or flattering.

Not even as he followed you out the door, suppressing the smallest, most insufferable urge to smile.

You’re good at reading people. That’s what makes you such a good CEO. You can tell when a business partner is about to backstab you. You can spot a bad deal from a mile away. You figured out your CFO was embezzling money based on a hunch and a particularly sleepless night.

So why the hell can’t you figure out what’s going on with Jamil right now?

Your day is over. Your work is done. You’re walking out of the building, feeling suspiciously well-rested for once, because Jamil is the best damn secretary you’ve ever had.

And there he is.

Standing near the exit, very much still here, despite having clocked out hours ago.

You stop. Blink. “Jamil? What are you doing here?”

He startles like you caught him committing a felony.

Which, honestly, makes you even more confused.

Jamil is the picture of composure in any situation. He could talk his way out of a hostage negotiation, probably. He could charm a boardroom full of old, corporate sharks into agreeing with his terms.

And yet, right now, he looks like he wants to evaporate.

You tilt your head. “What’s up? You good?”

Jamil scowls like you’ve offended his ancestors. And then, without meeting your gaze, he thrusts a box at you.

"Eat properly," he grumbles. "Heaven knows you can afford it."

And then he turns on his heel and almost sprints out of the building.

You stare at his retreating figure. Then you stare at the box in your hands.

What just happened.

You consider yourself a genius. You built an empire with your own two hands. You have patents worth billions. You have business rivals who would kill to know what goes on in your head.

And yet, this one interaction has you completely, utterly lost.

It’s only when you get home that you actually open the box.

Inside is a clearly homemade meal. Balanced, nutritious, and suspiciously catered to your exact tastes.

You crouch down. Laugh a little.

And then you pull out your phone.

You: thank you <3

Meanwhile, In Jamil’s car:

He hears the message notification. Opens it. Sees your text.

And immediately slams his forehead into the steering wheel.

The honk that follows is so obnoxiously loud that a street cat outside lets out an ungodly scream and scrambles away like it just witnessed a murder.

Jamil exhales sharply. He grips the wheel like it personally wronged him.

You’re going to be the death of him.

Jamil does not get sick.

It is a fact as ironclad as his ability to keep a secret, as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting behind your ridiculous office where you concoct new ways to stress him out.

Jamil does not get sick because sickness is a weakness—an opening in his otherwise airtight, bulletproof existence.

And yet.

Here he is.

Dying. Absolutely, irredeemably, spectacularly dying.

His body betrays him completely, weighed down by a fever that could probably fry an egg on his forehead. Every muscle aches as if he has been tossed into a meat grinder, his throat is raw, and his head is a battlefield of pain and regret.

He barely manages to lift his phone and call you, the only person who needs to know why he’s breaking protocol and skipping work for the first time in his entire life.

The phone rings. Once. Twice.

And then—

“Jamil! What’s up?”

Too loud. Why are you always so loud? He winces, nearly drops his phone on his face.

“I… I can’t come in today.” His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable. Disgusting. He clears his throat, which only makes it worse. “I’m sick.”

There is a long, stunned silence.

Then, very, very slowly—

“You’re what?”

Jamil closes his eyes. He does not have the strength for this conversation.

“Sick,” he repeats, barely suppressing the urge to just fade out of existence right then and there.

Another pause. Then, in a tone that is so soft he almost doesn’t recognize it coming from you—

“…Oh.”

Something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist—though that could also be the fever.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you say, genuinely concerned. “Rest, drink water, and if you need anything—”

He does not hear the rest.

Because he blacks out.

Jamil is sick.

Jamil, your unshakable, hyper-competent, borderline immortal assistant—the man who somehow pulls miracles out of thin air while looking vaguely unimpressed—is sick.

You expected betrayals, corporate espionage, elaborate counter-strategies in your ongoing war to get him on your side.

You did not expect this.

And worse—he sounded awful.

Not just tired. Not just mildly inconvenienced.

You sit at your desk for approximately three minutes, trying to convince yourself that it’s fine, that Jamil is a grown man who can take care of himself.

Then you Google “how to care for a sick employee” and make the deeply logical decision to immediately drop everything and go check on him yourself.

Which is how you end up outside his apartment, ringing the doorbell like a maniac.

There is no response.

You ring again. And again.

Nothing.

A small, horrible thought creeps in. What if he passed out? What if he hit his head? What if he—

Just as you're about to kick down the door in a move that would absolutely get you arrested, it creaks open.

And Jamil is standing there.

Barely.

He looks terrible.

His usual sharp, careful composure? Gone. His hair is an absolute wreck, his eyes are dazed, and his entire body is actively betraying him by swaying on his feet like a tragic willow in a storm.

You are horrified.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stepping forward before he can literally collapse. “Jamil, you look—”

Like death. Like the very concept of suffering incarnate.

But you do not say this out loud, because you are a good person.

Instead, you step into his space and grab him before he keels over.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter, steadying him. “When was the last time you ate?”

Jamil blinks at you very slowly, like his brain is buffering at dial-up speeds.

“…Food?”

That is not an answer.

You curse under your breath and haul him back inside, which is a feat of great strength because he is all lean muscle and fever deadweight.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Who let this happen?

Oh. Right. Him.

Jamil is going to die.

Not from the fever, no. That would be merciful.

He is going to die from sheer embarrassment because you—his boss, his greatest headache, his most infuriating problem—are here, in his apartment, fussing over him like some kind of divine punishment.

He barely registers you pulling out a thermometer and shoving it into his mouth with all the grace of someone who has never done this before.

The numbers blink back at you ominously.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter. “Okay, I’m ordering soup. And you are not moving until you eat something.”

Jamil tries to protest. He does.

But then you press a cool towel against his forehead, and—

Oh.

Oh, that is nice.

His body betrays him once again by relaxing into your touch.

By the time the soup arrives, he is too weak to even lift the spoon properly.

So you—without hesitation, without a single ounce of normal human shame—just feed him.

Like a child.

Like he is some helpless, pathetic creature.

Which, okay, maybe right now, he is.

But still. This is humiliating.

It is also the best soup he has ever had in his life.

Jamil finally falls back asleep.

And you sit there, staring at his peaceful, fever-flushed face, wondering how the hell this became your life.

You were supposed to be running a company, not playing nurse to your best-paid spy.

You should not care this much.

And yet.

You check his temperature again. Still high, but better.

You sigh, raking a hand through your hair, and grab your phone.

“Okay,” you mutter into the receiver, pacing the room. “But what do I do if he wakes up and refuses to rest?”

A pause.

Your voice drops, quieter. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want him to push himself again.”

Behind you, Jamil shifts.

You do not notice.

But he notices you.

Your hair is mussed, your usual sharp, teasing grin replaced with something softer.

You look worried. For him.

Jamil stares, something twisting in his chest.

Oh.

Oh, he is so incredibly doomed.

You always knew Jamil was a spy. That much was obvious.

The way he answered every question perfectly in his interview? Suspicious.

The way he executed his tasks with military precision? Suspicious.

The way he didn’t try to subtly flirt with you or brown-nose like all the other incompetent spies before him? Extremely suspicious.

But he was competent. So stupidly, ridiculously competent. And you’d rather keep an enemy that made your life easier than deal with another incompetent fool.

Besides, you like playing with fire. So you decided to see how far you could push him.

So tonight, you left your office unlocked. Oh no. What a terrible mistake. If only someone didn’t sneak in and steal your files.

And to make things more interesting, you left some semi-important files open on your computer. Documents that looked serious enough to be tempting but wouldn’t actually do much damage if leaked.

Right before you left, you made sure to sigh dramatically in front of Jamil and say, “Ugh, these files have been keeping me up at night. I sure hope they don’t get leaked or anything.”

Then, you went to your surveillance setup, made yourself some popcorn, and watched.

Because of course Jamil was going to take the bait.

And sure enough, there he was.

You watch as he sits down at your desk. Silent. Focused. The very picture of efficiency.

You lean forward as he navigates to the files. Click. Click. Scroll. His fingers hover over the copy button.

And then—

He just… stops.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Oh?

Jamil stares at the screen like it personally insulted his honor. His fingers twitch over the keyboard, hesitating.

Your interest piques. He should’ve copied them by now. He’s supposed to be a professional, isn’t he?

He clicks out of the important files.

Your jaw nearly drops. What.

He clicks out. He clicks out. He actively chooses not to take anything of worth.

Instead, you watch as he scrolls past all the confidential reports—

—bypasses all the juicy, corporate secrets—

—ignores all the schematics—

—and copies a single folder labeled “raccoons_for_a_rainy_day.zip.”

You almost choke on your popcorn.

Jamil pauses. Stares at the screen for a long, long moment.

Then, as if committing a terrible crime, he ejects the USB, tucks it away, and swiftly leaves your office.

You sit there, stunned.

Because out of everything in your company’s database, out of all the valuable information he could’ve stolen—

He took your emergency raccoon meme collection.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

Oh. Oh, this is delightful.

You knew you were converting him to your side, but this? This is proof.

Jamil, the competent, efficient, dangerously intelligent spy, had a perfect chance to complete his mission. And instead of betraying you, he chose to betray his employer instead.

For you.

How flattering.

You had dealt with a lot of strange things in your life. A lot. But this? This was definitely one of the stupidest.

Your old secretary—the one who took a bribe and fled like a rat from a sinking ship—was currently sitting in front of you, begging for her job back. Why? Who the hell knew. You had been certain that the bribe she took would have lasted her a few years, maybe even bought her a cute little vacation somewhere far away, but apparently, money couldn’t buy wisdom. Or, in her case, common sense.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers steepled together, watching her ramble through increasingly desperate justifications. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’ve learned from my mistakes. You doubted it.

Jamil stood beside you, completely unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs of his barely contained fury. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid, and—most damning of all—his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Oh, interesting.

Obviously, you weren’t rehiring her. She wasn’t even ten percent as competent as Jamil, and unlike her, Jamil wasn’t stupid enough to take a bribe when you were the one offering him far more than money. But this? This was a perfect opportunity to test something.

So you sighed, long and dramatic, before rubbing your temples as if this decision physically pained you. “I’ll consider it,” you said finally. “I’ll call you back once I’ve made my decision.”

Her face lit up, all eager gratitude, and she left the office with a bounce in her step.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you stood, intending to grab a file from your cabinet—but you didn’t get far.

Because Jamil blocked your path.

You blinked at him, more amused than anything, but your amusement flickered into something softer when you saw his face.

He looked wrecked.

Not in an angry way, not even in a controlled, simmering fury. No—this was something else entirely. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find some sort of answer, his breath slightly uneven, his expression utterly betrayed. He looked like you had punched him in the gut.

You had seen Jamil irritated, seen him exasperated, seen him indulge in rare moments of smugness when his plans went exactly as intended. But this? This raw emotion spilling out of him like a dam breaking—this was new. And you couldn’t stop the way your heartbeat stuttered at the sight.

“Why?” His voice came out hoarse, like he barely trusted himself to speak. “Why would you… Why would you even consider hiring her back?”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Why does it bother you so much?”

Jamil’s mouth opened—then snapped shut. You could practically see his thoughts racing, running too fast for him to catch up, but something cracked inside of him, because once he started speaking, he couldn’t stop.

“Did I mess up?” he demanded, voice sharper than he probably intended. “Was I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? Why would you—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily, his hands twitching at his sides like he desperately wanted to reach for you. “You know she isn’t competent. You know she isn’t better than me.”

You hummed, tilting your head in faux thoughtfulness. “Of course, I’ll give you a different position,” you mused. “No need to worry about job security.”

Jamil broke.

Before you could even register the movement, he grabbed you.

His hands found your face, his fingers curling against your skin like he needed to ground himself, like he needed to prove something—and then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was desperate, burning with frustration and something deeper, something so much more vulnerable than you had ever expected from him.

And then, hypothesis proven, you kissed him back.

For a moment, you simply blinked.

Jamil pulls away like he just touched something scalding, his breath uneven, his eyes wide with something close to terror. You watch as realization sets in—his own actions hitting him all at once, like a dam finally bursting and drowning him in the consequences of his own emotions.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, almost shaky, but he’s trying to regain control, trying to salvage something, anything. “I’m not who you think I am.” He says it like a confession, like a last-ditch effort to make you see reason, to make you step back and realize that you shouldn’t want him, that you shouldn’t choose him. “I was hired to—”

“My dear, sweet spy,” you interrupt, voice dripping with amused affection, “won’t you be mine?”

Jamil freezes.

You can see the exact second it dawns on him. The way his expression shifts from confused horror to pure, unfiltered disbelief. You knew. You always knew. Of course you did. He should’ve realized it sooner. You were too sharp, too perceptive, too you to have been in the dark about something so crucial.

And yet, here you were. Choosing him anyway.

His lips twitch. His shoulders shake. And then, he laughs.

Not a small chuckle, not a bitter scoff, but a real laugh, something rare and unguarded, something so genuinely light that it catches even him off guard. He laughs so hard that he nearly doubles over, his forehead dropping against yours as he exhales shakily, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You feel his breath ghost against your skin, feel the warmth of him so close, and yet, there is no hesitation anymore, no careful, measured distance.

He shakes his head, still breathless from laughing, and when he finally meets your gaze, his expression is something unreadable, something painfully soft.

And this time, when he kisses you, there’s no fear left.

“…Fine,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m yours.”

You wake up to the warmth of an arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a familiar chest behind you. It’s a rare thing—to wake before Jamil. He’s always been the early riser between you, slipping out of bed before the sun has even had the chance to settle into the sky. But today, for the first time in two years, you’re the one watching him sleep.

Two years since his terrified confession. Two years since you pulled him into the kind of love neither of you had ever expected to find. Two years of whispered promises, stolen kisses, and a loyalty that runs deeper than any mission, deeper than any past betrayal.

The early morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, catching on the matching rings on your fingers. A quiet proof of what you’ve built together. The sight makes something tender settle in your chest, and you press a kiss to his forehead, gentle and lingering.

Jamil stirs, brow furrowing for just a moment before he instinctively pulls you closer, his grip tightening around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, voice thick with sleep as he murmurs, “Why’re you awake so early…?”

You smile, carding your fingers through his hair as you whisper, “Go back to sleep.”

And as the warmth of him lulls you back into slumber, a thought drifts lazily through your mind—

"You sleep too," he grumbles, but it’s lazy, half-hearted. You can already feel his breath evening out, his body relaxing against yours once more. You keep stroking his hair, slow and rhythmic, feeling the last bits of tension melt from his frame.

Maybe playing with fire was the smartest move you ever made.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #jamil #jamil viper x you #jamil viper #twst jamil

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randomguy0ntumbir · 3 days ago

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Ok so the Mario series does this beautifully. (TLDR below) We start with Donkey Kong, which is for all intents and purposes the beginning of Mario. Then we have Donkey Kong Junior, which changes some characters and mechanics but is straight-up a sequel to Donkey Kong. However, we also have Donkey Kong II, which released on the Game & Watch. It is not a G&W adaptation of DKJr, which got its own G&W adaptation, it is just... Donkey Kong II. Donkey Kong 3 is not a Donkey Kong game, it is sequel to the G&W shooter Green House. And Mario Bros. is disputably part of the Donkey Kong series, but would only be a sequel to the first as we play as Mario, who was only the player character in DK1 (and maybe II, I haven't played it), and the mechanics are most similar to DK1.

Super Mario Bros. might be a sequel to Mario Bros., it takes a lot of elements from it, but it mostly uses it as a base to create an entirely new type of game. Super Mario Bros. 2 (The Lost Levels) and Super Mario Bros. 2 (USA) were both, to some extent, developed as a direct sequel to SMB but had no relation to each other and were both released officially at a similar time. (Also VS. Super Mario Bros, which was basically a half-step between SMB1 and Lost Levels) Super Mario Bros. 3 may seem like the 3rd (4th? 5th?) Super Mario Bros. game, but it takes none of the ideas or themes from any game after SMB1, making it more of a direct sequel. Super Mario World is a direct sequel to SMB3, expanding upon a lot of its mechanics and would make the series seem pretty cohesive if you ignored SMB1's 2.5 other sequels.

Around this time the Game Boy released, and it got Super Mario Land, which may seem somewhat like a side game but that is mostly due the the GB's weak power, it is generally considered mainline. It got a sequel, Super Mario Land 2, which looks more like SMW but just plays like Mario (in general). The GB also got Wario Land, which we'll get back to. However, it also got Donkey Kong (1994), which seemed like a port of the arcade game but featured 96 original puzzle-platformer levels played similarly to Donkey Kong and with a similar plot and style, making it essentially a sequel to DK. It got a successor on the Game Boy Advance, Mario vs. Donkey Kong, which got its own sequel, Mario vs. Donkey Kong 2: March of the Minis, which played nothing like the first and was just based off the gimmicky side levels. That was followed by Minis March Again, Mini-Land Mayhem, Minis on the Move, Tipping Stars, and amiibo Challenge. However, Minis on the Move played nothing like any of the other ones, and was called Mario and Donkey Kong, while the rest of the games were called Mario vs. Donkey Kong, except for the last one, which was actually called Mini Mario & Friends: amiibo Challenge, but played exactly like the other vs. games.

Super Mario 64 was the Mario series' jump into 3D, but it wasn't a 3D game in the vein of SMW or something, it was an entirely new style of Mario with a completely different structure. Super Mario Sunshine was a sequel to SM64, directly evolving the structure and mechanics. But the next "mainline" 3D game was Super Mario Galaxy, which was 3D but designed linearly like the 2D games, and was in space. Super Mario Galaxy 2 was about as direct a sequel as is possible. Super Mario 3D Land was a 3D Mario game designed linearly like Galaxy, but otherwise had nothing in common, it took most of its style from the portable NSMB games. It got a sequel, Super Mario 3D World, which takes its visual style more from the home console NSMB games (I think). Then we got Super Mario Odyssey, which is a 3D Mario game that reverts to the structure of Sunshine. In this way, there are three largely unrelated series of 3D Mario Games; 64-Sunshine-Odyssey, Galaxy, and 3D. These are often thought of as one, and within themselves are pretty cohesive, but are very much different things. Captain Toad Treasure Tracker exists, which was a spinoff of 3D World, a continuation of the Captain Toad stages in 3D World and presented it as a sort of 3D World prequel. However, its Switch port presented it as a prequel to Odyssey, and the Switch version was ported to the 3DS, the Console with 3D World's prequel on it. There is also Bowser's Fury.

New Super Mario Bros. on the DS was a return to form for the 2D Mario games, and was briefly considered as the fifth Super Mario Advance game (a series of ports of the older games) but was very much its own thing. It got a sequel, New Super Mario Bros. Wii, which expanded upon the mechanics and style. However, after that it got the actual direct sequel, New Super Mario Bros. 2, which undid everything Wii did and expanded upon the style and mechanics of DS on its own. Until New Super Mario Bros. U came along, after 2, and ignored everything 2 did and expanded upon everything Wii did instead. New Super Luigi U is kind of a sequel to Mario U, but is more of a bonus level pack the length of a game, with the exact same mechanics, style, UI, etc, and also by being bundled with or as DLC for Mario U more often than not. Super Mario Run took its visuals and game engine from NSMBU, but is an autorunner phone game. Finally we have Super Mario Bros. Wonder, which while bearing some similarities to the NSMB games is intended to be part of the "core" mario series, hence the naming, making it, if anything, the 4th entry in 1-3-World-Wonder, though every other Mario game released between then firmly weakens this line of thinking.

Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island on the SNES was named as if it was a sequel but it took place in the past and played nothing like a Mario game. It got a sequel on the N64, Yoshi's Story, which played a little differently. Yoshi's Island got two sequels, Yoshi's Island DS and Yoshi's New Island (3DS). But Yoshi's Island also got a sequel, Yoshi's Woolly World on the Wii U/3DS, which had its own style but played and was designed exactly like Yoshi's Island. That got its own sequel, Yoshi's Crafted World, which was visually similar but (I'm pretty sure) played like Yoshi's Story. on the N64.

Wario Land: Super Mario Land 3 was like Yoshi's Island in the sense that is was basically an original game featuring someone from the previous game but it was named like a sequel for marketing. It was followed by Wario Land 2, 3, 4, and Shake it!, making for a pretty simple Wario Land series. Except for Wario Land VB, which was a direct sequel to Wario Land on the Virtual Boy and came out before Wario Land 2, but is usually forgotten about; Wario World, which was a 3D platformer on the GameCube and may or may not be a Wario Land game; and Wario: Master of Disguise, which was bad.

Back on the SNES again we got Donkey Kong Country, which took the character of Donkey Kong and adapted him into a side-scroller reminiscent of Mario. It got two numbered sequels, also on the SNES. The 3 games would get companion-pieces/ports on the Game Boy called Donkey Kong Land 1-3, which were trying to be the closest thing to DKC you could do on a Game Boy. Then there was Donkey Kong 64, which was a 3D adaptation of DKC. Then there was Donkey Kong Jungle Beat, which was played with the DK Bongos but by every other metric was a proper DKC game. Then we got Donkey Kong Country Returns, which is generally considered a reboot of the SNES games because of the relative obscurity of 64 and especially Jungle Beat. Returns then got its own Sequel, Tropical Freeze.

All of this is my own opinion, but it generally lines up with the Mario fandom's loose consensus. please don't debate any of the minutia here. Also this is not remotely close to a complete list, just the most important points.

TLDR: Almost every mainline Mario game is a sequel to another but almost never forms a cohesive series with the ones before those, leading to a monstrous amount of sub-series that often have nothing to do with each other conceptually other than being Mario platformers. I drew a diagram of this here:

@hbmmaster this was inspired partially by your vid

Before Disney reorganised the titles, the games in the Dark Forces series were titled Star Wars: Dark Forces, Dark Forces II: Jedi Knight, and Jedi Knight II: Jedi Outcast, and I feel it's a great loss that this pattern was not continued. There's something fascinating about every game in a series being the second one.

#mario #super mario #mainline mario series

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dearru · 3 days ago

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do u guys know that one song by doja cat that goes “like fortnite ima need ur skin.” that’s what inspired this. hope u enjoy. | mlist

imagine you, an aspiring singer, starting to date the wildly influential streamer, kodzuken. you two are the definition of a picture perfect couple, and you start to make lots of content together. as a result, your career begins to take off, and kenma’s content grows in popularity,

everything’s great— until it isn’t. the relationship ends up crashing and burning in an embarrassingly public breakup.

people are devastated. video essays are made. diehard fans even claim the split is the equivalent of “parents divorcing.”

it’s a whole ordeal.

but as time passes, the wounds heal. and in true internet fashion, it becomes old news. some people still whisper about how they believe you two are soulmates, but for the most part, kenma’s chat and your comment section don’t get flooded with invasive questions about whether you two will get back together anymore.

fast forward to two years or so after the breakup, you and kenma end up growing in your respective careers. his several business ventures have grown exponentially, and you’re now selling out stadiums.

kenma doesn’t stream as much as he used to when you two were together, but he chalks it up to having to juggle so many different commitments now. fans speculate as to whether or not that’s the true reason, but as a collective, they agree that they’ll take whatever content they can get from the elusive creator.

despite not streaming as frequently, kenma still likes to indulge his audience every once in a while by hopping online. normally, he likes to decide what to play, but every once in a while, he’ll let chat decide.

tonight is one of those nights.

on a whim, he gives in to requests for him to boot up fortnite— an old favorite of his— for the first time in months.

big mistake.

the second he opens the once beloved game, he gets jumpscared by something that even his worst nightmares couldn’t have fathomed.

you.

everywhere.

to his horror, and the chat’s delight, he finds that you’ve become the poster child for fortnite’s newest campaign. your face is on the menu screen, banners of you flash in bright colors, and you’re plastered everywhere in the item shop.

they say men are constantly haunted by the ghost of their first love, and in a cruel twist of fate, it’s a saying that has become ironically true for kenma as he realizes that epic games has made you into a fucking skin.

he debates the consequences of throwing his pc into a wall, but his screen flashes with an overly excitable chat faster than he can make a decision. old fans are freaking out, new gen fans are wondering what all the fuss is about, and someone donates just to type “YOU’RE FUCKED.”

kenma has half the mind to laugh as the notification illuminates his face because he knows the donor is right.

he’s not an idiot. he knows that you’re popular now, but to be so famous that you have your own skin? he’s in absolute disbelief. there’s no way the universe hates him this much. it’s bad enough that you’re on every headline and radio station. now you’re in his favorite video game?!?!

he is so unbelievably, irrevocably fucked.

—a/n: i think that kenma’s viewers are evil and they all band together and emote on kenma with ur skin whenever they see him online.

—a/n #2: has anyone written abt this concept before. pls lmk. i would love to read it bc i giggled so hard when the thought popped in my head HAHAHA.

—a/n #3: guys i don’t play fortnite, watch streamers, or write for kenma at all so pls don’t hate on me ok thx love u

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gpcwsl · 16 hours ago

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Alessia Russo x Reader

- Written in silver -

WC: 909

MasterList

Warnings: short?

Song: You belong to me - Taylor Swift

My bday was yesterday, thought I could write a fiction for ‘Readers’ bday. Hope you enjoy!

The crisp March air nipped at your cheeks as you made your way into the Arsenal training facility, excitement bubbling in your chest. Not just for the match ahead but for the entire day itself—it was your birthday. You had already been bombarded with messages from family and friends, but the real celebration would be at the game. Arsenal had a late afternoon kick-off at 17:30, and you couldn’t think of a better way to spend your special day than playing the sport you loved.

Stepping inside, you were greeted by the familiar buzz of the team preparing for the pre-match meeting. You exchanged quick greetings, laughing at Lotte’s attempt to juggle an orange as you made your way to your usual seat—right next to Alessia Russo.

“Happy birthday, trouble,” Alessia greeted with a grin, her blue eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Thanks, Less,” you replied, dropping into your seat with a content sigh.

Alessia had been your best friend since she joined the club, always by your side whether you needed a partner for extra training or just someone to binge-watch terrible reality TV with. If there was one person who made every day brighter, it was her.

Before you could say anything more, Rénne Slegers stepped to the front, signaling for the team to settle. The room quieted as the pre-match meeting began, everyone focused on the tactical slides displaying Arsenal’s game plan. But then, out of nowhere, the screen changed.

A blown-up, truly awful photo of you filled the projector screen.

Groaning, you immediately recognized it—it was a candid from training where you were mid-sprint, mouth slightly open, looking anything but flattering. A chorus of laughter filled the room as you buried your face in your hands.

“Who did this?” you demanded, already suspecting the usual culprits.

Before anyone could answer, the entire team burst into song.

“Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you…”

Your face grew warm as all eyes were on you, the embarrassment creeping in. Unable to handle the attention, you turned to the only place that felt safe—Alessia. Without thinking, you leaned into her, letting your forehead rest against her shoulder in an attempt to hide away.

She chuckled softly, the sound sending warmth through your chest, and gently patted your back. “Aww, come on, it’s cute. You should be honored.”

“Less, I will actually fight you,” you muttered, which only made her laugh harder.

The singing finally came to an end, and the meeting resumed, but Alessia didn’t move away. Instead, her arm rested lightly behind you, fingertips grazing your back in a way that felt… different. Not that you had time to dwell on it—there was still a match to win.

Finally, after an intense 90 minutes, Arsenal clinched a narrow 4-3 victory. It wasn’t the prettiest win, but it was a win nonetheless. The team celebrated on the pitch, exhausted but elated, before heading back to the changing room.

As you were toweling off, Alessia caught your eye and tilted her head toward the exit. Curious, you followed her out, away from the noise of the post-match chatter.

“Alright, what’s up?” you asked as she led you into a quieter corner.

Alessia shifted slightly, suddenly looking… nervous. It was rare to see her like this—she was usually so confident, so sure of herself. But now, she was fidgeting, her hands tucked behind her back.

“I, uh… I got you something,” she admitted.

You raised a brow. “Less, you already got me a win, what more could I want?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Just—here.”

From behind her, she pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box. The navy blue wrapping paper was smooth, tied with a silver ribbon.

You took it hesitantly, glancing up at her before carefully untying the bow. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, a thin chain with a single charm hanging from it—a small football, engraved with your initials and hers intertwined.

Your breath hitched slightly. “Less… this is—this is beautiful.”

She shrugged, but you could see the hope in her eyes. “I wanted to get you something special. Something that—” she hesitated, before continuing, “—means something.”

Your fingers traced over the charm, heart pounding just a little too fast. “I love it,” you said sincerely, looking up at her. “Thank you.”

Alessia let out a breath, as if she had been holding it in. “Good. I—I was hoping you’d like it.”

You took a step closer, unable to stop the soft smile forming on your lips. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

For a moment, something flickered across her expression—something deeper, something unsaid. But then she grinned, her usual playful self returning.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Now, let’s get back before they start thinking we’ve run off together.”

You laughed, slipping the bracelet onto your wrist, where it fit perfectly.

As you walked back to the team, you couldn’t help but wonder—was this really just a birthday gift? Or was there something more behind the way Alessia was looking at you?

Maybe, just maybe, you’d find out soon.

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bnyf · 22 hours ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ#1 crush ♡

╭﹕୨୧﹒yandere male elf x female human reader ♡

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, sexual content, noncon, kidnapping, size difference, strange dynamic.

╰﹕୨୧﹒authoress note : after receiving some unwanted but much needed criticism i've tried my hand at writing a little better and fixing errors. i apologize in advance if there's any errors or gaps in my writing, i also apologize for the messed up story that this is. ik some people don't like the way i write the reader but like??? idgaf sorry anyways other than that, i hope you guys enjoy, please read the warnings and proceed with caution <3 i would also like to say that this post is kinda inspired by a very popular yandere artist on here with a male elf oc

what a treacherous fate had befallen on a vitreous soul such as yourself.

it truly is unfortunate, you're so unlucky. how could your luck have run so low? to think, this everyday mundane routine would now be your nightmarish reality was stomach wrenching. you never did anything to deserve this, this was simply some sort of faulty by the gods, right? there's no way this is your horrible ending. no way.

you sobbed and yet... he hummed and chastised you by smacking your puffy clitorous.

it's always like this, it's been like this for...? a while now apparently. you've completely lost track of time. maybe a month or so if you're playing the guessing game.

well, if it wasn't obvious already, you've been taken hostage by an insane elven prince. probably the most insanely angelic, good-looking, prettiest and sick minded male you've ever met.

he really needs professional help. something that he can more than afford considering his house is almost made of gold, his herculean physique adored and draped only with the most expensive clothes, jewels, silks, soaps and scented creams and perfumes. his perfume, so extravagant, worth more than your vital organs all put together. that was the part you admired about elven people, they are so intelligent, so ahead of humans.

but to him? therapy is cheap and free! you're the first ever human he's laid eyes on and that's all he really needs. and really, you're the one to blame for his actions. it's all you. so you should take responsibility, right?

he's sought out humans before, trying to break the barrier between the two worlds and connect with them. he was damn near obsessed with coming into contact with the human realm and ruling over them like a god despite the fact that any sort of magic that threatens to break the barrier and connect the realms or offer passage through the two realms is absolutely forbidden. this is such a serious offense that if caught violating, can lead to public execution.

but your little caregiver did not! give one flying hoot at all, nor did the rules really even apply to royals as the royals participated in a lot of magical corruption and kept it all on the low.

so what a surprise! not really that he'd succeed in his conquest. not entirely since he'd only manage to bring one human to the elven realm, but now he knows for sure he's making great progress. and not only succeed in getting a nitty gritty palms on any human, but such a cute little human female like yourself.

humans are a lot more fragile, smaller, weaker, lesser intelligent beings, almost like a sub species from elves. so that's why you must be taken care of with so much extra love and attentiveness. all this was his reasoning for treating you like a minor being, enabling you and excuses for his weird kinks.

there was no way you'd ever dream of over powering him, not when a large veiny arm wrapped so tightly around your wrists, holding it behind your back, and the other with it's slender long digits effortlessly reaching your g spot.

it was 'bath time' or whatever, which called for a thorough inspection and cleanse. or just another excuse to use your body to his likings.

his tongue lap at your folds and clit, moaning in delight and relishing in all your juices spraying him. his voice muffled by your pussy, making wet sounds as he attempts to praise your gorgeous body: all of which sounds like incohesive unhinged, obsessive rambling of course.

if you ignore this scene and focus on other small things around you maybe you can, somewhat imagine yourself having a luxurious warm bath in the tub, with flowers and scented stuff in the water, scented candles creating a relaxing atmosphere, marvelous one-sided glass view... maybe not the one-sided glass view that's actually a little too scary to think about but yeah, you're having a nice little bath.

the most relaxing bath in the most prettiest and pearliest tiled bathroom you've ever been in.

your insides contorts though and you find yourself coming again undone on those perfectly manicured fingers of his, messing up his perfect face with your essence. your voice is loud and echoes throughout the bathroom, all the way into the bedroom and closet but never enough to each anyone's ears as he's casted multiple protective barrier spells to keep your presence unknown from other elven people. you've came like 5 times already and he won't let you rest, getting high off your pussy juices.

"poor baby, you look so tired, shhh don't worry~ mama will take care of everything, just relax and be good for me, okay? it'll all be over soon, my darling ^ mama will get you all cleaned up and dressed, right after this..." you wish you had the energy to welp out an 'ewwwwww da fuck?!' right about now but you were so weak and constantly sedated. you felt helpless as his bulbous tip hits your pussy, rubbing it back and forth to coat and lubricate himself with your juices. he leisurely teases, making your hole spasm and grasp around nothing, your body reacting in a lovely manner to his advances.

he licks his lips, only putting the tip in before quickly pulling back out. taking his time cause he wants to drive you insane like him. and luckily for him, his mind games always work so well.

his precum leaking and smearing you in the process as he rubs his whole length, measuring your pelvic area with his cock length and soon putting it in to see how far it'll actually go.

you almost blacked out. even though he prepped you well for this it still stings, he's just too big. and you? way too tight, squeezing him like you want every last drop of his seed, has him shivering and grunting in the process.

"fck- you're so tight, baby ngh~"

has him seeing stars and by the time he's balls deep in you and hitting the tip of your womb, you're a drooling and moaning mess. can't even control his obsessive thoughts from spilling out his mouth, he immediately gets to work on those hips too like a wild animal, only sparing a few seconds to sloppily kiss you and slap your thick behind.

it only takes a few minutes before he breaks his load inside you and shifts you into another position, manhandling you and roughing you up like a meat toilet, all for his own enjoyment and pleasure.

his long silky hair tickling your skin. when you think about it, he's so masculine with many feminine traits too, like the perfect balance actually and it is to be expected from an elf. he always wants to be in control, always wants to take care of you like a god watching over his creation. it sorta overlaps with him calling himself your mama but it makes sense in a way. he doesn't see himself as a woman in any sort of way, he just wants unrestricted authority over you.

your tears stream down your cheeks which he licks away and kisses, it only hurts your head trying to rationalize this or even understand it, your vision goes all blurry and for the next few rounds, your in and out of consciousness while being filled.

when you're awake again, you're draped in silk half naked and powdered up, you feel your caretakers strong arms wrapped around you, spooning you as rubs circles into your skin. he's also half naked with nothing but a cloth draped around himself. you both lay on a soft layered bed with many squishy pillows and blankies. fruits, steam veggies and grilled meat laid out on a silver tray for you to enjoy, though your stomach was filled with his cum.

#yandere x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere writing #yandere x y/n #yandere blog #yandere boys #yandere elf #yandere smut #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere fantasy

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rgwriteshockey · 23 hours ago

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the next step w/ luke hughes ⇒

luke hughes x gf!reader

summary: luke hughes gets drafted by the new jersey devils in 2021, but after michigan’s heartbreaking loss in the 2023 frozen four, he joins the devils for the remainder of the playoffs. as he navigates the nhl, his girlfriend y/n supports him from afar, and they make their long-distance relationship work.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: light angst

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

luke hughes had always dreamed of playing in the nhl. growing up with two older brothers, both of whom were incredibly talented hockey players, it felt like a given that one day he'd be skating on the same ice as them. but no one could have prepared him for how surreal it would feel, standing on the threshold of the nhl draft, knowing that his dream was about to become a reality.

it had been a tough season for the michigan wolverines. they had been one of the top teams in college hockey, and everyone expected them to make a deep run in the frozen four. but things didn’t go as planned. michigan had been knocked out by quinnipiac in a brutal 3-2 loss that left luke reeling. it felt like a punch to the gut. the game was over, and the season that had started with so much promise came to a heartbreaking end.

the locker room had been quiet as luke changed out of his gear, still processing the loss. he sat on the bench, his head in his hands, trying to push away the sting of the game. but even as his teammates comforted each other, his mind kept drifting back to y/n. his girlfriend of two years, who had been there for every game, every high and low. the thought of leaving her behind after this loss hit him harder than he expected.

after the game, y/n had texted him a few times, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to answer. he needed some space to process everything, and he wasn’t sure how to talk to her about it yet. he felt like he had let everyone down, especially her. she had been so supportive of his dreams, and now, here he was, standing on the edge of the next step, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

when he finally saw her later that night, sitting on the bench outside the rink, her usual bright smile was nowhere to be found. y/n was always there, always so supportive, but tonight, she looked tired. maybe it was the loss. maybe it was everything building up.

“hey,” luke said quietly as he sat down next to her.

“hey,” y/n replied, offering him a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

they sat there in silence for a moment, watching the cars go by. luke didn’t know what to say. how could he explain everything he was feeling? how could he make her understand that this loss wasn’t just about hockey?

“you okay?” y/n asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah, just... it sucks,” luke replied, his voice rough. “we had it, you know? we were supposed to win. we had the talent. but we blew it.”

y/n nodded, understanding that the loss was eating at him. but she also knew something else was bothering him. she could see it in his eyes.

“you’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you?” she asked gently.

luke looked at her, his throat tight. “yeah... i have to. i mean, the nhl draft is coming up, and i know i can’t stay here forever. i’ve worked so hard to get here. but... i don’t want to leave you, y/n. i don’t know how to do this.”

y/n reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “i know it’s hard. but i’ve always known this was part of it. you’re going to be amazing, luke. and i’m proud of you. i’ll support you no matter where you go.”

“but... what about us?” luke’s voice cracked slightly as he asked, his chest tight. “i don’t want to leave you behind.”

“we’ll make it work,” y/n said, her tone full of confidence, even if her heart was breaking a little. “we’ve done long-distance before, right? and look, i’m not going anywhere. we’ll figure it out. we always do.”

luke closed his eyes for a moment, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “i don’t know if i’m ready for this. i thought i was. but now, with the draft coming up, and everything else... it feels like too much.”

“it’s okay to feel unsure,” y/n said softly. “this is a huge change for both of us. i don’t have all the answers, but i know we’ll make it work, luke. we have to trust that.”

he looked at her, his heart full. “i just don’t want to lose you. i don’t want to miss out on what we have.”

“you won’t,” she said firmly. “i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere.”

the words hung in the air between them, a promise, a quiet reassurance that no matter what happened, they were still in this together. but deep down, luke knew things were going to change. he had no choice but to follow his dream. but leaving y/n behind, even for a while, felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done.

────────────────────────────────────────────

the days leading up to the draft were a blur. luke spent most of his time packing up his dorm room, talking with his family, and preparing for what was next. there was excitement, yes, but also a deep sense of sadness. leaving michigan meant leaving behind a place that had become his home. it meant saying goodbye to teammates who had become like brothers. and it meant leaving y/n behind.

the night before the draft, luke sat on his bed, scrolling through his phone, trying to distract himself from the nerves building in his stomach. y/n had sent him a few texts throughout the day, asking how he was doing, but he hadn’t had the energy to respond. he felt torn—he wanted to talk to her, wanted to tell her everything he was feeling, but at the same time, he didn’t know how to explain the whirlwind of emotions in his head.

finally, he called her. the phone rang a few times before she picked up, her voice soft and comforting.

“hey, you,” she said, a smile in her voice. “how are you?”

“i’m... i don’t know,” luke admitted, his voice sounding more vulnerable than he intended. “nervous, i guess. and sad. everything’s changing, y/n. i don’t know if i’m ready for this.”

“i know,” she said, her tone gentle. “but you’re ready, luke. you’ve worked your whole life for this. and yeah, it’s scary. but i believe in you. i always have.”

“but what about us?” luke asked, his voice cracking again. “what if it’s too much? what if we can’t make it work?”

“we will,” y/n said without hesitation. “we’ve got this, luke. i’m not going anywhere. i love you. i believe in you. and i’ll be here, no matter what.”

the words hung between them, and luke felt a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he was craving. in the midst of all the uncertainty, y/n’s words were a constant reminder of what really mattered. they had been through so much together already. this was just the next step.

“i love you, too,” luke said softly, his chest tight with emotion. “and i’ll make this work. i’ll make us work.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

the next day luke was sitting with tom fitzgerald, the devils general manager, and in front of him was his entry-level contract. jack was also in the room and couldn't contain his excitement, his little brother joining his nhl team.

the night was a blur of flashing cameras and interviews, but all he could think about was what would come next. it was time to begin the next chapter, to step into the professional world he had always dreamed of. but it also meant stepping away from the place he had called home for the past few years—and from y/n, the person who had been there for him through it all.

later that night, after the draft had ended and the excitement had settled, luke sat in his hotel room, texting y/n.

“i made it,” he typed. “i’m officially a devil.”

he stared at the screen, waiting for her reply. when it came, it was simple, but it made his heart swell.

“i’m so proud of you, luke. i knew you could do it. and i’ll always be here. no matter where you are, we’ll make this work. i promise.”

he smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. it wasn’t going to be easy, and things were definitely going to change, but they had made it this far. and with y/n’s support, he knew they could handle whatever came next.

it was the beginning of a new chapter. one he was ready to take on.

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #nj devils #new jersey devils #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fic #nhl x you

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dizziesims · 1 day ago

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The time has come 😌 I'm seriously debating if I wanna install all expansions. It's hard because there are features from each that I like, plus all the extra furniture and cas stuff 😩

#sims 3 #idk how much ill be playing the game thooo #I just wanna take pics and get back into clothes making #which ones should i install?? help lmaoo #all the cc coming out rn is fireee

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 days ago

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Chapter 33: Let Me Be There

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (for mild language and themes of illness/recovery)

Warnings: Mentions of past harassment/stalking, mild angst, reader being stubborn about their health

Summary: Back in Connecticut, the stress of securing a permanent restraining order against Marcus takes its toll on you.

Welcome to the chapter 33 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

It had been two days since we got back to Connecticut, and in those forty-eight hours, my body had completely betrayed me.

The stress of dealing with the permanent restraining order against Marcus had been weighing me down since we landed. Even though the judge had granted it—thanks to the new evidence against him—it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like a wound that hadn’t even started healing yet.

Between barely eating, hardly sleeping, and pretending everything was fine, my immune system finally gave up.

And now, here I was.

Sick.

Miserable.

Hunched over in my dorm, wrapped in my thickest hoodie, shivering despite the heat being turned up. My throat felt like I had swallowed razor blades, my nose was both stuffy and runny, and my body ached like I had just played a full four quarters alone.

I knew I should tell Paige.

But I wouldn’t.

Because she had DePaul to worry about, and I wasn’t going to distract her.

10:45 AM – Paige’s Dorm

Paige wasn’t buying it.

“You’re sick.” She stood in front of me, arms crossed, brows furrowed in undeniable concern.

“I’m fine,” I croaked, immediately giving myself away. My throat burned like hell, and my voice sounded like I had been chain-smoking for a decade.

Paige’s expression softened, but her stance didn’t budge. “Babe, come on. You look miserable. Let me take care of you.”

I shook my head. “You have a game in two days. You can’t get sick.”

Paige let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “So what? You’d rather sit here suffering alone just so I can go hoop?”

I avoided her gaze, suddenly very interested in the loose thread on my sleeve.

“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled. “I just need to sleep it off.”

Paige stared at me, and I could feel the internal battle she was having. She wanted to argue, to fight me on it, but I saw the flicker of hesitation. She really couldn’t afford to get sick, and she knew it.

That didn’t mean she was going to just leave me alone.

“If you won’t let me stay, I’m calling in backup,” Paige declared, already reaching for her phone.

My eyes narrowed. “Paige—”

She smirked. “Too late.”

11:30 AM – My Dorm

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at my door.

When I dragged myself out of bed and opened it, Kayla stood there, grinning like she had just won the lottery.

“You look like hell,” she greeted.

I groaned. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Tell that to your overprotective girlfriend,” Kayla said, stepping inside and shutting the door. “She practically threatened me to get my ass over here.”

I sighed, trudging back toward my bed and collapsing onto it. “She’s dramatic.”

Kayla flopped down into my desk chair. “No, she’s in love with you and wants to make sure you don’t die of self-neglect.”

I buried my face in my pillow. “I hate both of you.”

Kayla laughed. “No, you don’t. Now, let’s get some fluids in you before Paige actually loses her mind.”

3:15 PM – My Dorm Still

“Here. Granny-approved.”

I blinked blearily at the steaming mug Kayla placed in front of me.

“You actually made it?” I rasped.

Kayla gave me a pointed look. “I followed your grandma’s instructions exactly. I even FaceTimed Paige so she could watch me make it.”

I rolled my eyes but took the mug, cradling it in my hands. The scent of citrus, ginger, and warm spices filled my nose. I hesitated before taking a small sip, the heat spreading through my chest immediately.

“Better?” Kayla asked.

I sighed, nodding. “Yeah.”

She grinned. “Good. Now, drink all of it before I call Paige back and tell her you’re being difficult.”

I glared. “You’re evil.”

Kayla smirked. “Nah. I’m just her eyes and ears while she’s gone.”

Game Day – 6:50 AM

I wasn’t 100%, but I was better.

Enough that I convinced Paige—and the coaching staff—that I could travel with the team to DePaul.

I still kept my distance, though.

Even on the bus, I made sure to sit a row behind Paige, by myself, far enough that she wouldn’t be in my germ radius. I avoided the usual pre-game hugs, the playful jabs from the team, even the way Paige reached for my hand as we boarded.

I didn’t miss the way she frowned.

I didn’t miss the way Azzi nudged her, whispering something under her breath.

But I had already made Paige compromise by letting me come. I wasn’t about to make her risk getting sick before an important game.

So, I stayed back.

Even when Paige sighed dramatically and sent me a text.

Paige: stop acting like I’m some fragile little thing. let me love you.

I smiled to myself but didn’t reply.

Because I knew Paige, and I knew she wasn’t going to let this go.

And sure enough, not even ten minutes later, she turned around in her seat, leaned over Azzi, and whispered, “Babe, if you don’t let me sit next to you, I’m making a scene.”

I raised a brow, locking eyes with her. “Make a scene then.”

Paige blinked. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” I challenged. “Go ahead. Make a scene.”

I thought she would back down. I really did.

But I forgot who my girlfriend was.

Without missing a beat, Paige stood up in the middle of the bus, threw her arms up dramatically, and yelled, “MY GIRLFRIEND DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!”

The entire bus froze.

Azzi immediately facepalmed. KK started wheezing. Ice burst out laughing. And miss Sarah she was giving heavy side eye.

“PAIGE—” I hissed, my face burning as the entire team turned to look at us.

“I just wanna sit next to my sick, stubborn, beautiful girlfriend, but she’s being so cold-hearted!” Paige continued, clutching her chest like she was in a soap opera.

Coach Geno turned from the front of the bus, looking entirely done with her antics. “Bueckers, sit your dramatic ass down.”

Snickering, Paige flopped into the seat beside me, grinning triumphantly. “Told you I’d make a scene.”

I groaned, hiding my face in my hoodie.

Paige just laughed, lacing our fingers together.

I didn’t stop her.

Back at Campus – Paige Bueckers: Full-Time baller, nope. How about Full- Time nurse, Part-Time simp

By now, I’d accepted my fate.

There was no escaping Nurse Paige.

The second we stepped back into my dorm, she had a full recovery plan ready.

Hydration? Handled.

Soup? Cooking in the mini rice cooker.

Medicine? Already sitting on my nightstand.

Cuddles? Pending, until I was “fully healed.”

“You’re worse than my grandma,” I muttered, sitting up in bed as Paige fluffed my pillows for the third time in an hour.

Paige gasped, offended. “Excuse you! I am a loving and attentive girlfriend, not some random granny.”

“That’s debatable.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll withhold the Jolly Ranchers I bought you.”

I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

Paige smirked. “Try me.”

Before I could argue, my phone buzzed.

Group Chat: ‘UConn’s Finest’

Triple A: Not Paige ghosting us like we don’t have practice tomorrow.

Team mom: Is she even on campus??

Ice cube: She is. She’s just playing housewife rn.

Rah: Oh, she’s 100% in nurse mode. I give it two more hours before she starts spoon-feeding [Reader].

Triple A: Paige, defend yourself.

Paige peeked over my shoulder at my phone, then grinned as she grabbed hers from the nightstand.

A second later, my phone buzzed again.

Hot shot: y’all wish you had a girlfriend to take care of. stay mad. (Except Ayanna)

Fuzzy Fudd: Paige, that’s literally not the point-

Triple A: thanks, you simp. (Knowing I’m a simp too)

Hey Arnold: SIMP, both of y’all jus some simps.

I snorted, locking my phone and setting it aside. “They’re gonna bully you for weeks.”

Paige just shrugged. “Let them. I have more important things to do.”

She then proceeded to tuck me into my blankets like a burrito.

I sighed. This was my life now.

By the next evening, Paige was finally convinced I was on the mend—meaning I was allowed out of bed.

Our first low-energy activity?

Lego building.

Specifically, the tiny flower shop Lego set Paige had bought ‘for us’ but definitely wanted for herself.

“This is actually coming out cute,” I admitted, setting down the last window piece.

Paige beamed. “See? I told you we’re Lego masters.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You dropped a piece under the bed twice.”

“Shhh, it’s called the artistic process.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I reached for the remote. “Okay, what movie?”

“Ratatouille,” Paige said immediately.

“Predictable.”

“Iconic,” she corrected, pulling me into her arms as I hit play. “And the perfect cuddle movie.”

I sighed, relaxing into her hold. Finally, a quiet night.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Because just as we were settling in…

The door BURST open.

“YO, WHAT UP, LIVE?!”

Paige and I whipped around just in time to see KK Arnold standing there, phone in hand, on TikTok Live.

I groaned. “KK, no warning?!”

KK grinned, completely unbothered. “Gotta keep y’all on your toes!”

Before either of us could kick her out, the chat flooded with comments.

“NOT PAIGE BEING DOMESTIC”

“They were def having a date night omg”

“Y/n looks so done”

“KK the real MVP for interrupting them”

Paige facepalmed. “KK, why are you here?”

KK shrugged. “Y’all weren’t answering the group chat, so I figured you needed some excitement.”

I narrowed my eyes. “We were literally about to have a peaceful movie night.”

KK grinned. “Oh, bet! The whole squad’s coming.”

Paige and I froze.

“The what now?” Paige asked, eyes wide.

As if on cue, the door swung open again.

In stormed Caroline, Ice, Morgan, Sarah, Jana, Azzi, Ayanna, and Aubrey—each carrying snacks, drinks, and zero regard for the fact that we were NOT expecting them.

“Hope y’all weren’t planning on keeping this cozy night to yourselves,” Ice teased, plopping onto the floor.

“We brought popcorn,” Morgan added, holding up a bag.

Ayanna smirked. “And we came to see Paige in full simp mode live and in action.”

I groaned, hiding my face in Paige’s hoodie.

Paige, however, just sighed dramatically.

“You know what?” She pulled me closer, chin resting on my head. “Fine. But y’all are building your own Legos.”

Caroline gasped. “You think we came empty-handed?”

And just like that, the quiet night turned into a full-blown UConn team takeover.

9:15 PM – My Dorm (Now a Team Sleepover)

I should’ve known better.

I really should have.

A “quick movie night” with this team was never just a quick movie night. It was an event. A takeover. A full-blown production.

And now, my dorm—which was barely big enough for me and Paige—was packed with the entire squad, each making themselves comfortable like they owned the place.

KK had taken over my desk chair, spinning it in circles while still on TikTok Live, laughing as the chat roasted Paige’s “Full-Time Nurse, Part-Time Simp” status. Azzi and Ice were sprawled out on my floor, already battling in some intense Uno match, while Ayanna sat behind them, eating popcorn like she was watching a championship game.

Caroline, Sarah, and Aubrey had claimed my bed—because of course they did—leaving me exactly nowhere to sit.

And Paige?

Paige was sitting right in the middle of it all, legs stretched out, completely unbothered, holding onto me like I was some oversized teddy bear she had no intentions of letting go.

I sighed. This was my life now.

“So, what’s next?” KK grinned, finally putting her phone down. “I say we make this a game night.”

Paige perked up. “Ooh, Mario Kart?”

“I call Yoshi,” Ice said immediately.

“Bro, you always get Yoshi,” Ayanna groaned.

“Then be quicker next time.”

Azzi snorted. “It’s not even that serious.”

Ice gasped dramatically. “Oh, it is that serious, Fudd. Don’t let me catch you on Rainbow Road.”

Meanwhile, Sarah and Aubrey had started pulling out a deck of cards.

“Spades?” Aubrey suggested, smirking at me.

I raised a brow. “You sure you wanna go there, Griff?”

“Am I sure I wanna school you? Yeah.”

“Oh, bet.”

Caroline clapped her hands. “Alright, we got Mario Kart on one side, Spades on the other. What about Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Paige repeated, looking concerned.

Morgan nodded, already stacking the blocks. “Yeah, the giant kind.”

I groaned. “Oh no.”

I still had PTSD from the last time they played.

Because this wasn’t normal Jenga. No, UConn Jenga was a full-contact sport.

“House rules?” KK asked.

“House rules,” Sarah confirmed.

“Wait, what are house rules?” I asked, immediately regretting it.

Caroline grinned. “Oh, just a little added chaos.”

Aubrey smirked. “You have to remove the blocks with only one hand.”

Azzi added, “And if you make it fall, you have to do a dare.”

I turned to Paige, my last hope for sanity. “And you allow this?”

She shrugged. “I don’t make the rules. I just enjoy the show.”

I groaned again, but there was no stopping them now.

10:30 PM – The Games Begin

First up: Mario Kart.

And let me tell you—Ice did not play around.

By the time the first race ended, she had already hit KK with three shells and sent Ayanna flying off the track twice.

“HOW ARE YOU THIS GOOD?” KK yelled, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Ice grinned, completely smug. “Skill, baby. Try again next time.”

Meanwhile, Spades had gotten… heated.

“You reneged!” Aubrey accused, pointing at Azzi.

Azzi scoffed. “I did not!”

“You did!”

Sarah laughed, shaking her head. “Man, this is why I don’t play with y’all.”

Caroline leaned back, sipping her Gatorade like she was watching a courtroom drama.

And then came Jenga.

It started normal enough. Careful moves, steady hands.

And then Ashlynn decided to get bold.

She tried pulling from the bottom.

Everyone screamed.

The tower wobbled.

For a moment, it looked like she might save it.

And then—BOOM.

Jenga blocks went flying.

Ash sat there, stunned. “…Oops.”

The entire team erupted.

“Dare time!” KK announced.

She sighed. “Fine. Hit me with it.”

Sarah and Ayanna exchanged looks before smirking.

“You have to run down the hall, screaming ‘PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM’ at the top of your lungs.”

The room exploded.

Paige choked on her water. “WHAT?”

Azzi wheezed. “Y’all are evil.”

But Ash? Ashlynn was fearless.

She stood up, cracked her knuckles, and sprinted out the door.

“PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM! PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM!”

We were crying.

Even Paige couldn’t stop laughing. “I hate you guys.”

Caroline wiped tears from her eyes. “Nah, that was legendary.”

1:00 AM – The Aftermath

Eventually, after multiple rematches, way too much yelling, and Ice still dominating in Mario Kart, the exhaustion hit.

One by one, people started crashing.

Azzi was knocked out on the floor, still holding a controller. Sarah and Morgan had taken over my bed, curled up like they owned the place.

KK was half-asleep in my desk chair, mumbling about getting revenge on Ice.

And Paige?

Paige was lying next to me, arms wrapped around my waist, fully content.

“See?” she murmured. “You’re feeling better, and we had fun.”

I sighed, sinking into her warmth. “Yeah, yeah. You win, Nurse Paige.”

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Always.”

And even though my dorm was a mess, even though my bed was stolen, even though KK was probably gonna snore all night…

I smiled. Resting against Paige’s chest and went to a peaceful sleep.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 , @yailtsv , @authentic-girl03 , @sevyscoven , @elalfywhore , @sitawita , @jadasogay , @vamptizm .... (more to be added)

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shianis · 2 days ago

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If you're still taking them, I would humbly request a spot of jealous Megatron! Sure Starscream is difficult, but no one can deny how pretty he is. He must have 'cons (and even 'bots, who knows!) coming on to him all the time. And I think it should make Megatron territorial :3c

Ohh this one is good! Nothing better to spice things up than a little bit of possessiveness from Megatron. 💕

"A Lesson in Possession (or: How Not to Die on the Nemesis)"

On the Nemesis, there were a few golden rules that every Decepticon—whether a battle-hardened warrior or a fresh-faced recruit—needed to know in order to survive.

1. Do not touch Soundwave’s screens. Ever.

2. Knockout’s finish is more important than your life. Accept it.

3. Never—under any circumstances—wake Megatron up from recharge.

But the most important rule?

4. Look, but DO NOT touch Starscream!

Why?

Because Starscream, the glorious, the sleek, the stunningly aerodynamic, was Megatron’s.

And Megatron was possessive.

Everyone on the Nemesis knew that Starscream was gorgeous.

He knew it, too.

His wings always gleamed, his plating was polished to perfection, and the way he moved—with such grace and confidence—made him impossible to ignore.

Decepticons admired him from afar, whispering about his beauty, his alluring presence, his—

But no one touched.

Because the last mech who tried?

Megatron threw him off the ship.

Through the wall.

Without a shuttle.

But Starscream, being the chaotic menace that he was, loved to make things difficult.

He thrived on teasing.

A lingering touch here, a sultry glance there, a suggestive flick of his wings—and suddenly, some poor fool thought they had a chance.

Spoiler alert: They didn’t.

Because Starscream wasn’t flirting for fun.

He was playing a dangerous game.

A game called: ‘Revenge on Megatron for whatever he did wrong today’.

---

Now, every seasoned Decepticon knew to stay far away from Starscream’s little mind games.

But today?

Today, a new recruit had joined the ranks.

And he hadn’t heard the horror stories yet.

Meet Deadmeat.

Okay, that wasn’t his real designation, but it might as well have been.

Deadmeat was young, naïve, and—unfortunately for him—very, very stupid.

So when Starscream started giving him attention, Deadmeat didn’t question it.

He didn’t stop to think, Wait, why is someone as glorious as Starscream interested in me?

No.

Instead, he thought, By Primus, I must be the luckiest Decepticon in history!

Oh, Deadmeat.

You sweet, sweet fool.

---

Starscream, as always, was in peak form.

He leaned just a little too close to Deadmeat during weapons inspection, his claws tracing along the new recruit’s arm.

“My, my,” Starscream purred, his voice as smooth as the finest Energon. “You’re quite impressive for a recruit.”

Deadmeat’s cooling fans whirred.

“Oh! Uh—thank you, Commander!”

Starscream smirked.

Across the room, Breakdown winced.

Soundwave recorded.

Knockout muttered, “Oh, this poor, poor scraplet.”

Because they all knew what was coming.

Starscream continued his performance, sighing dramatically. “It’s just so refreshing to have someone who appreciates me.”

Deadmeat nodded enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the death sentence he was signing. “Of course, sir! You’re amazing!”

Starscream beamed, but behind that charming smile?

Oh, he was plotting.

Because Megatron—his mate, his lord, his supposedly devoted partner—had ignored him all fragging day.

And Starscream?

Starscream was not the type to suffer in silence.

If Megatron thought he could neglect him, then fine.

He’d make sure his dear warlord noticed him.

And what better way than to provoke his legendary jealousy?

Starscream leaned in, optics half-lidded. “Tell me, soldier… have you ever been desired by someone in power?”

Deadmeat blinked. “Uhh…”

Across the room, everyone took a step back.

Knockout hid behind Breakdown.

Soundwave silently replayed the audio of Megatron’s past executions.

Because they all felt the shift in the air.

The sheer fury rolling off Megatron was palpable.

And when Megatron got possessive?

Oh.

Things got messy.

---

Before Deadmeat could even process what was happening—

BOOM.

Megatron slammed into the room, optics glowing with barely contained rage.

The ground shook.

Decepticons scattered.

And Deadmeat?

Deadmeat was frozen in place. Like a mecha-deer in the headlights.

“M-Mighty Megatron, I—”

That was as far as he got.

Megatron’s fist obliterated Deadmeat’s helm in one punch.

One.

Just one.

The recruit collapsed, utterly and completely offline.

The room went silent.

Starscream, still lounging with a self-satisfied smirk, let out a delighted purr.

“Oh, Megatron,” he sighed dramatically. “I was so worried you didn’t notice me anymore.”

Megatron glared at him, still seething with anger. “Starscream, you are impossible to ignore.”

#breakdown #knockout #megatron #starscream #transformers #transformers prime #decepticons #megastar #tfp #reqs open #request #soundwave

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rcvcgers · 2 days ago

Note

Hello, I wanted to tell you that I love your writing. Rotten Apples has been my favorite. I was wondering if you could write something with a super caring Caleb?

I had a rough night with lots of tears and self doubt, lots of feelings of self hate and a lot of ugly feeling I’ve targeted myself with and I wish I had Caleb to soothe me. My heart aches and I need a hug from him.

i'm so sorry you had a rough night darling :( i hope you were able to feel better! i wrote this for you as soon as i saw your request. i hope it helps you feel better <3

Here For You

pairing: caleb x reader

synopsis: you've isolated yourself from the world and your boyfriend comes to comfort you.

word count: 3.08k words

content warnings: self deprecation, self doubt, bad/negative thoughts

author's note: i hope this request can help whoever reads this feel better <3 just know that you are so, so, so loved and deserve all of the good things in the world!

For the past few days, you’ve unintentionally isolated yourself from from the world. The first day the negative thoughts entered your brain, you acted as if everything was okay, that you were on top of the world. But seeing everybody else’s smiles and hearing their joyous laughter began to weigh down on you.

You wanted to be supportive of your friends and celebrate their achievements, but it was so hard to put a fake smile on your face and pretend to be excited. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help but feel so…dull. To feel so dead inside that at moments you doubted that your existence was real. You want to be so happy, to bask in the joy of positive emotions and affirmations, and yet whenever you try, your stupid mind had to drag you back into the darkness.

You used the excuse of being sick to get out of dinner parties and hanging out. You even used a few of your sick days to get off from work, leaving your team scrambling to fill the void of you being gone.

Had life always been so hard? Why couldn’t it give you a break? Even just for one day, you wish to have some kind of release from the depression that has sunk into your body.

It’s not your fault that life is so unforgiving. Things happen, many of which are out of your control, but why did it have to affect you so badly? Did it really need to cause such chaos that uplifts you from acting like a normal person? Fuck, you haven’t even managed to shed a single tear since the negative thoughts hit your mind.

You stare at your bedroom’s blank ceiling. The sun had disappeared from the sky, its once vibrant oranges and pinks decorated your walls and ceiling, but now you were left with a deep gray color with only moonlight illuminating your room.

This had been your routine for the past week. You’d rot in bed, staring out the window as life passed you by. You watched birds flying, their freedom making you even more depressed, and watched as the sun and moon played a game of cat and mouse with each other, chasing after the other as the sky changes colors. Was it a routine you have grown bored of? Yes. Of course. But you couldn’t bring yourself to change out of it.

You wished your boyfriend was here. Caleb always knew what to do and say to help you feel better. You can’t even put some of the blame on him for not being here. His job yanked him away for a last minute patrol in the Deepspace Tunnel.

According to Caleb, it was the Fleet’s first time exploring this part of the Tunnel. You were so proud of him! The Fleet finally recognized his amazing talent and put him as the new supervising Colonel of Deepspace Exploration. He deserved it! He’s worked so hard for an opportunity like this to show up.

Yes, you knew that it would take him away for weeks at a time. If not from the actual exploring itself, Caleb will be buried in paperwork, meetings, and flight schedules.

You should have taken him up on his offer to stay in his apartment in Skyhaven. Maybe then you would have been able to see him during your dark days and he can be the hand that pulls you into safety from the storm. Instead, you opted to stay behind in Linkon, claiming that your friends and work will keep you busy!

If only you knew that the day after he left things would go oh so wrong.

Linkon wasn’t so bad, though. The sunlight was good for your mood instead of the gloomy days that Skyhaven has. The sunlight helped motivate you to get out of bed to brush your teeth and shower, but that was about it.

A sigh leaves your lips. You roll onto your side, your gaze falling back outside the window. Planes fly by in the night sky, leaving off-white trails of exhaust behind them. A wave of sadness hits your stomach while you watch the planes.

A part of you wishes that Caleb is on one of those planes…that he’s coming home to see you.

No. Why would he? He has his new promotion with the Fleet. He can’t waste any time on trivial things…including you.

You flinch from the thought. Squeezing your eyes shut, you curl up into a ball, your knees pulling up to your chest. Why did these thoughts have to torment you? You know that Caleb would give up everything to come see you, so why do you always have to be so anxious that he’s going to leave you?

You know it’s the imposter syndrome talking, but you know that you’re counting the seconds until Caleb realizes that you aren’t worthy of his time, adoration, and love. You’re a semblance of a girlfriend, someone who snuck into such a prestigious position in his life. He deserves so much better than you. Hell, he deserves someone who is just as high of a rank he is! Another Colonel, maybe, or perhaps someone who he works with so he can see her everyday.

“Pipsqueak?” You freeze. The sweet nickname he has for you sends chills down your spine. The bedroom door creaks and the sound of faint footsteps draws near. You are quick to pull the bed’s sheets over your body and head, covering the sight of moonlight and the dark night sky.

The mattress dips and you feel a large hand rest on your side. It travels up and down, cascading the side of your covered body. You shudder from the touch, knowing that you’re unworthy of such affection.

“Baby? Are you okay?” Caleb asks. He reaches for the top of the sheets, drawing them away from your face. You feel the chilled air of the bedroom hit your face. You flinch and grab the sheets back from him, covering your face once again. “Hey…what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I’m fine…I’m just really tired,” while it isn’t necessarily a lie, you know it’s simply an excuse that he’ll see right through as he usually does. You listen to his slow exhale,, heart pounding inside your chest.

This is it. This is the moment where he finally realizes how much of a loser your are. You can’t even bring yourself to fully greet him when he comes home from work, what kind of partner are you?

“I’m,” you fake a cough, “I’m sick.”

“You’re sick?” Caleb repeats. Your heart twists inside your chest. Your eyes sting from the turmoil that bubbles inside your stomach.

“Y-Yeah…you should go back to Skyhaven so you don’t catch anything.”

You hated how easy it is to lie to him. To push him away from you.

Caleb doesn’t respond. Goosebumps spread across your body, suddenly feeling cold as you sick and twisted imagination slowly turns into a reality.

Did he finally realize that you’re nothing more than a nuisance to him?

“Hey…look at me,” Caleb coos. Your grip weakens on the sheets. The fabric slips through your fingers, eyes watching as the moonlight returns to your gaze, your handsome boyfriend sitting beside you with a look of worry, brows knitted together, bottom lip slightly pouted out.

Your heart breaks. It shatters into a million little pieces. It’s because if you that he looks this way, that he’s probably worried over nothing. Tears brim your eyes. Caleb sighs and his shoulders relax, watching as you slowly sit up in bed.

You sniffle and wipe your nose with the back of your hand. Your bottom lip trembles. The man reaches out and cups your face.

His touch is so gentle against your skin. Warmth seeps into your skin but it only makes you feel worse. Your body begins to shake. Caleb’s violet eyes scan your body, gently wrapping his free arm around your back. He pulls you into his lap with such ease, guiding your legs to rest on his sides, placing your full weight onto him.

Your melt into his touch, arms wrapping around sides, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging on the material. You bury your face into his neck, the tears finally leaving your eyes.

“It’s okay…I’m here now, let it all out.”

And you do. Sobs escape your body. Your body shakes and you push into him, the man gently running his hand up and down your back, soothing you. He holds the back of your head, securing you to his body. Your tears stain his t-shirt, soaking it with your salty tears.

You shake your head, unable to control how tight you hold onto him. His scent is so comforting to you, your nose burying into the warm skin of his neck to get more of it. It calms your nerves alongside his light and comforting touch.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke the words out, “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“Never apologize for how you feel, my love,” Caleb gives you a gentle and reassuring squeeze. You sigh and peel your face from his neck, finally getting a good look of him.

He wears the biggest frown on his face as he pushes stray hairs out of your face. Your cheeks are stained form your tears, eyes red and swollen form the onslaught of sibs that overtook your body. Caleb runs his fingers up and down your sides.

“Breathe with me, okay?” Caleb asks. You nod in sync with him. He places his hand over your chest, feeling your heart pounding from inside your ribcage.

The two of you inhale for a couple seconds then hold the breath, your lungs full of oxygen, then slowly exhale. Under Caleb’s touch, he can feel your heart come to a slow and steady beat. A small smile spreads across his face, his purple eyes meeting yours.

“I’m so proud of you,” Caleb whispers. He leans in and presses a light kiss to your forehead. You sigh and rest your hands on his chest, flattening out some of the wrinkles in the fabric. You stare at the wet spot on his clothes and frown, feeling absolutely horrible that you ruined his clothes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Your gaze floats back to his, his hands firmly holding onto your waist. You sigh and look away, unable to weave words together to form a rational sentence that doesn’t make you look, well, crazy.

How can you explain to your boyfriend that your mind has caused so much chaos and turmoil? That it has you believing that you aren’t good enough for anyone in the world, especially him. That he deserves so much better than what you have to offer him.

“Hey,” Caleb’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. He cups your cheek and swipes away a single tear that rolls down your cheek. “Stop thinking. Clear your mind.”

You nod and slowly inhale, needing to calm down your fast beating heart. Your mind doesn’t clear, though, and only becomes more and more loud as the thoughts of self doubt and negativity scream at you.

“What are five things you see?” Caleb asks.

“What?” You’re taken aback by his question. He squeezes your hips.

“Tell me five things you see. Be descriptive.”

“Um…okay,” you breathe out. Your eyes leave his as you scan the room. You turn in his grip, looking out the window behind you. “I see the moon. It’s big and yellow tonight. Looks like cheese.”

“That’s one.” You feel Caleb press a gentle kiss to your shoulder. You turn back around, heart fluttering.

“I see my desk. It’s…really messy. I should clean it up.”

“That’s two…and I’ll clean it for you tomorrow. What else?”

“Through the bedroom door, I can see the kitchen light is still on. I see…I see bags on the counter, too.” You look at Caleb, his thumbs slowly rubbing small circles into your skin under your shirt. “I see the most beautiful purple eyes, too.”

“Oh?” Caleb raises his eyebrows, smiling at you. You nod. He kisses your cheek and you melt into him yet again. “Ready to tell me what’s wrong now?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Caleb,” you breathe out, slowly growing frustrated. You press your forehead against his and squeeze his shoulders. “My mind just…hates me. I don’t know what happened, but an overwhelming sense of dread came over me and…and I began to hate myself,” your voice cracks.

Tears return to your eyes and Caleb is quick to wipe them away. You manage to keep your breathing in check, making sure to not lose the sense of calm that soothes your aching body. Your glaze flickers back to Caleb’s and you sigh, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” your voice is just above a whisper. “You don’t deserve to go through this…you deserve someone who’s normal and good enough.”

“No,” Caleb immediately shakes his head. His own eyes become glossy from your admission. “Don’t you ever say those words ever again, do you understand?”

Your brows furrow, meeting in the center. Your hands slip from his body but he takes them back, placing them back onto his chest. He moves his head to meet your fleeting gaze, capturing your attention. He places his finger under your chin, turning your face back forward.

“I love you…I love you so much more than you can ever imagine. If anyone here isn’t deserving, it’s me. I don’t deserve to be in a relationship with you because you, my love, are lightyears better than I will ever be.”

“Caleb…” you breathe his name out. You hang onto every word he says, heart swelling.

“You are the most beautiful woman to ever exist. I love your smile, your laugh, and the way you always make me happy. I also love you when you aren’t feeling good. I love you and your frown and the way you manage to look so beautiful while crying…you’re the one for me. Nobody else,” he pulls your hand over his heart. You can feel just how hard and fast it pumps inside his chest.

“You don’t mean that…”

“Of course I do. From the first moment I met you, I knew that you were the one for me. On that day, I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to protect you, to keep you safe…it pains me to know that I couldn’t protect you from yourself. I’m so sorry,” his voice cracks.

His grip on you tightens. His touch and words are so reassuring that you manage to push away the dark thoughts that linger in your mind.

Caleb loves you. He loves you so much. It is evident in the way he holds you, the way he kisses your tears away. You can feel it in the warmth that radiates from his body. Caleb makes you feel so worthy of his love, his adoration.

“Everyone has bad days,” he tilts his head to the side, his gaze deepening, “and that’s okay. It’s normal to have a bad week. It’s normal to want to crawl away and disappear. It’s okay to cry and to ask for help when it feels like you’re drowning,” Caleb coos. “Please…please tell me when you need help. I will always be here to pick you up off your feet. I will always be here to carry the weight that forms on your shoulders. I will do anything for you if it means that I get to see you smile again…that I get to live under the sunlight of your beautiful soul. I love you.”

“I love you too, Caleb,” tears roll down your cheeks. They’re bittersweet, formed from both sadness and joy.

The darkness that settled in the back of your mind vanishes. You can feel the weight leave your chest, opening up your lungs for more air to get in, to nourish your body. Caleb pulls you close to him, burying his face into your neck. His lips scrape across your skin, leaving a trail of sweet and gentle kisses in his wake.

His fingers slip under your shirt. The sensation of his skin against yours leaves you feeling so fulfilled. You love the way he treats you, how he always makes for sure that you know just how loved you are. He takes care of you. It’s so much more than you could have ever asked for.

What did you do to deserve a man like Caleb?

“Have you eaten yet today?” Caleb asks. You shake your head no, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer into your embrace. “Come on, I stopped at the store on the way here. Let me make you some dinner.”

Caleb picks you up with ease. You gasp and cling to him, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. His head shoots out from your neck, eyes wide as a big smile flashes across his face.

“You laughed!” He swoons, leaning back in to attack your face in more kisses, leaving no part of your face untouched. You close your eyes and shriek, more and more giggles fleeing from your lips while he carries you to the kitchen. “My pip-squeak is laughing! She’s happy again! My babygirl has come back to me!”

“Stop being do dramatic, Caleb!” Your laughter melts away the sadness in your heart and mind. You feel light again, ready to take on the world with Caleb at your side.

“Okay! Okay!” He laughs and pulls his face out from your neck. Caleb beams at you, setting you down on the cold countertop. You gasp and he’s quick to pull you up, resting his hands underneath your legs to protect you from the icy counter.

“What?” You ask, waving your hand in front of his face. He shifts his weight between his feet and leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips. You lean into him and kiss him back, butterflies erupting your chest. He slightly pulls away, lips grazing over yours, foreheads pressed together.

“I love you, pip-squeak, but I am going to need my hands for cooking,” he chuckles.

“I love you too...can I be your sous chef?”

“Are you kidding? Of course you can be my sous chef! Who else would I want by my side?”

#lads caleb #caleb x reader #caleb love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads #love and deepspace #rcvcgers requests #rcvcgers writings

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