#i will be handing these out tomorrow as well!

[moonstruckme]

hello <333

could you please write something about Remus x fem!reader who walks in on him crying one day? I feel like being a werewolf must take some pretty hard emotional toll on him (and just having to be Remus seems hard in general) and maybe he doesn’t want to show how scared he is, but the reader comforts him anyway 💗

thank you 🙏

Thank you for requesting sweetheart <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 889 words

Remus is quiet about it. You think he must think you’re asleep. You wouldn’t know he was awake, either, if not for the change in his breathing, too controlled and then too fast. A subtle sniffle seals the deal. 

You reach for him. He’s facing away from you, but he must hear the whisper of your arm against the sheets, his body going still. You hesitate with your hand a few inches from his shoulder.

“Are you hurting?” you ask. 

Another sniffle. “No.” Remus’ voice is croaky. You go the rest of the distance, cupping your hand over his shoulder and moving closer to curl your other arm around his middle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“You didn’t.” You kiss his back through the cotton of his t-shirt. It’s riddled with moth holes, a well-loved artifact from his school days. “What’s the matter, lovely?” 

“Nothing. Sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmur. “What is it? Is it…are you nervous?” 

Nervous may not be the right word, but you’re hesitant to assign larger ones to the thing your boyfriend takes such pains not to discuss. There’s a full moon tomorrow night. Remus has dealt with full moons every month since he was four. Doesn’t make them any easier. 

“Sweetheart…” He sounds tired. He covers your hand on his stomach with his, thumb sweeping back and forth affectionately. “It’s alright.” 

You shake your head, nose pressing to his warm skin as your hold tightens on him. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m happy to listen. And I don’t think it’s alright.” 

Remus’ shoulders bounce once, weakly. When he speaks, his voice has something in it, something that’s not quite a smile but trying to be. “You don’t think so?” 

“No. And I certainly wouldn’t if I were in your shoes. It seems…it must be so scary.” 

“I’ve been doing it a long time, love.” 

“So?” 

There’s a pause, and then Remus lets out a breath. 

“Yeah,” he capitulates. 

You draw your hand gently down his shoulder blade. To his ribs and back up again. 

“Sometimes it’s hard to sleep the night before,” he says quietly, the way people talk to God in the dark of their bedrooms at night. “I have more energy than usual, but also it…it makes it harder knowing that in less than twenty-four hours I won’t just be able to get in bed and go to sleep like I can now.” 

You kiss his shoulder next to your hand. 

“I know I ought to be taking advantage, but it’s like knowing the meal you’re about to have is your last one for a while. You want to try and savor it, but you just can’t savor it enough. It almost feels pointless trying.” 

“You’ll sleep again soon,” you promise him. “You don’t have to savor it, lovely, you just have to do what makes you happy for right now. So what do you want tonight? Do you want to try to sleep, or should we just stay up?” 

Remus makes a half-amused exhaling sound. “Are you trying to use reverse psychology on me?” 

“No.” 

“That’s exactly what they tell insomniacs; to try staying up so they fall asleep.” 

“Well, if you want to fall asleep, maybe that’ll work.” You turn your head so that your cheek rests against his shoulder. Remus’ hair is long enough that the tip of a strand tickles the end of your nose. “But we could also just stay up and actually stay up.” 

“I’m not making you stay awake all night for me.” 

“Remus…” There’s a plea in your voice. Remus knows your tones better than anyone; he obliges you, rolling over. 

Your arm uncoils from his waist in the process, and you lift both hands to his cheeks. Tears make his skin slippery, your thumbs skipping over the deep and shallow grooves of various scars. Evidence of your twenty-something boyfriend’s life sentence. 

“Don’t be silly,” you tell him, hearing the transparent adoration in your own voice. “I’d love to be awake with you.” 

Remus’ eyes are shiny dark in the moonlight. “Really?” 

You hum. Your eyelids are heavy, yes, but this is a man who went to four different corner stores to find the flavor of ice cream you requested on your period; when you only first started dating, you called Remus in the middle of the night because your car had broken down, and he drove forty minutes to come get you; he once spent an entire afternoon on the phone with your mother learning how to make your favorite dish just because you said you missed it.

“I’ll make tea,” you say, “and there should still be some chocolate in the cupboard, yeah? I’ll go out to replenish our supply in the morning.” 

“God,” Remus sighs, putting his forehead to yours. “I really love you. I’m sorry about all this.” 

You make a soft, disapproving sound. “About what, honey? You can’t help it.” 

“Well, I only hope I haven’t won your pity through tears.” 

“Oh, come off it.” You press your lips to his, smiling. Remus hugs you closer, and you roll into his lap, using your leverage to sit the both of you up. “Are you going to put the kettle on, or am I?”

[mosskissed]

i think mydei would love kids, but would never have any himself between the state of amphoreus and his immortality.

he's very hands-on with the children in okhema as a result — those left orphaned by the black tide or whose parents are alive but busy, working hard to provide for their kids and community. they all love him, no matter where they hail from originally.

he makes time to play with them as much as he can when he isn't tied up in his role; from hide-and-seek and chasing to tea parties and dolls, whatever they tug on his hand to come join.

he's on his way back to you one day when he passes a crying boy, maybe 7 years old, not far from your home. he's sniffling on the ground, hugging his knee to his chest after he must've fallen and grazed it.

mydei pulls him back to his feet when the boy tells him between sobs that his friends all ran off and left him, scowling in the direction the boy points at.

mydei takes him to your home to clean his knee, sitting him on the step at your front door so he can hear if his parents or friends come looking for him while mydei asks you for a damp washcloth. he doesn't coddle the kid while he cleans him up, but he tells him in a gruff voice that it's alright to cry as long as he makes sure to get up and keep going afterwards.

you fall a little bit more in love with him each time you're shown this side of him.

they bring him gifts sometimes — deep red pomegranates that the most agile had to scale trees for; crude drawings carved into stone of them holding his hand, sometimes with you by his side holding the other; a clumsily crocheted heart made from an outgrown shirt, unravelled just to recycle the yarn for him.

he keeps everything that's given to him, and he can place every child's face to each gift. your home is overflowing with symbols of okhema's appreciation of your lover, an ode to his heart and what he chooses to do with it.

sometimes, a kid goes missing.

the walls of okhema are a challenge as much as they are a shield in the eyes of the brash youth, with the children so well-protected that they can forget just how real the threat is at times. some sneak out on dares to prove their bravery — others distraught, looking for their home, their parents.

they save as many as they can, but it's never enough.

the face of every child lost haunts mydei as he stands in his home, surrounded by the tokens of their implicit trust in him.

then, it's your turn.

there isn't anything you can say that will ease the burden he feels, the permanent weight he drags behind himself — but you can give him a shoulder to rest on, a hand to drag him back up when he stumbles. you can cradle his head to your chest when he drops to his knees, his legs no longer stable enough to keep him upright. you can run your hands through his hair as his arms wind tight around you, as if he's afraid of losing you next.

you can mask your rage at a world with titan's so cruel. you can whisper your prayers for a better tomorrow.

[firewasabeast]

this is mostly just Eddie and Tommy talking when Eddie comes into town for Bobby's funeral. It's the most pointless fic I think I've ever written. Enjoy!

A knock on the door startled Tommy. He’d been laying down for a couple of hours now, not quite asleep, but not fully conscious either.

He got out of bed quickly, but carefully, and made a beeline for the door before the knocking started up again.

He swung the door open to Eddie on the other side, fist raised and ready to bang on the door again.

“Oh.” Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed as his arm drops back to his side. “Hey, Tommy.”

“Hey, Eddie,” Tommy greeted, moving to the side. “Come in.”

Eddie stepped inside, looking around at how things had changed.

Tommy shut the door, then motioned for Eddie to take a seat on the couch. “Evan said your flight was getting in tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah, it was, but an earlier flight popped up and I just… wanted to be here, with everyone.”

Tommy nodded, pointing toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I’m gonna grab a beer.”

“Sounds good.”

Tommy wasn’t gone long, returning with a beer in each hand. He handed one to Eddie before sitting down at the other end of the couch. “Evan’s asleep,” he informed him. “He hasn’t been resting much lately, but I can wake him if you want.”

“Oh, no. No, I- I know it’s gotta be hell on him right now. Let him sleep.” Eddie twisted the cap off his bottle and took a sip. “What the hell even happened, Man?” he asked, shaking his head. “I heard from Ravi first. He tried telling me what went down, but it sounded like something out of a bad horror movie. Trying to talk to Chim or Hen wasn’t much better, and then Buck’s been… well, I guess you know how Buck’s been.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Tommy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he began. “You know about the virus stuff, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I kinda came in halfway through that emergency. Stole a helicopter-- again. Had a standoff with the FBI and the army. It was all a setup, giving Athena time to find Moira and the anti-viral. We thought…” His voice trailed off. He tapped his finger against the bottle in his hand. “We thought we were trying to save Howie. Thought that we’d, um, that we’d get him and Hen to the hospital and everyone else would be fine. But Bobby...”

“Ravi said he did it to save everyone else; that there would have been four funerals if it weren’t for him.”

Tommy nodded. “A couple minutes,” he said, taking a sip of his beer, “and everything would have been different. Everyone would have been out.”

“Sounds like you’re blaming yourself.”

“Took me too long to get away from the damn FBI.” He shrugged. “It’s not just me though. Everyone trying to stop us, all the obstacles. Two minutes, Eddie. Two minutes and everything would be fine.”

“It’s not fair, Man, but it’s not on you.”

"Mm," Tommy hummed, and Eddie could hear all the words he wasn't saying. “I don’t believe you, but I’m not giving myself time to think about it right now, so let’s let it go.”

There was silence. An awkward lull in the conversation before Eddie broke it.

“So, you’re here,” he noted.

“I’m here.”

“I guess that means you decided to stop being an idiot and get your head out of your ass.”

Tommy huffed out a laugh. “Well, tell me how you really feel.”

“Sorry, I… I shouldn’t have said that like that.” Eddie ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes. “I haven’t gotten much sleep the last couple days.”

“None of us have.” Tommy quickly drank down half of his beer. “And it’s fine. You’re not wrong.”

“But you two, you… you figured everything out? Got it sorted?”

Tommy stared down at his bottle, watching as it started to sweat. “I apologized for the things I said,” he confirmed, “when we were up in the chopper. He did too. A lot of misunderstandings and, well, me being an idiot.”

“So no more insane ideas about me being competition?”

“Really, really love how you two communicate everything with each other.”

“He didn’t tell me, dumbass. Chimney called last week, caught me up.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

Tommy sighed. “Should I apologize to you too then?”

“Eh, I found it kinda funny at the time.”

“Yes, well, Evan did not.”

“Yeah, because he’s in love with you.”

Another sigh. “That’s not-”

“Oh, don’t even start with me. I was there for the baking and moping and the ‘should I call him? I should call him. What if he needs me? What if he’s in trouble? He’s bubbling me, Eddie. Now he stopped. Now he’s bubbling. He stopped. He’s bubbling.’ Over and over again. Thought I’d go insane.”

Tommy squinted. “I don’t know what half of that means."

“It means he loves you, and you clearly love him, and both of you should stop acting like I’m some hurdle standing in your way. I like my ankles the way they are.”

“I’m not-”

“Don’t get me wrong, Buck’s a great friend. Love him like a brother, but we would absolutely kill each other if we lived together for a long weekend, let alone a lifetime. I always need a nap after we hang out for a few hours.”

There was a sudden sharpness in Tommy’s chest. A wave of anger he couldn’t quite place. He quickly shoved it away. Now wasn’t the time.

He set his bottle down, then leaned back into the couch. “I’m not even sure I know exactly what we are. We cleared things up in the helicopter, but we were also trying to evade the army and the FBI, so it’s not like we got to clarify where we stand.”

Eddie stared at him. “But you’re here?”

“I don’t want him to be alone right now.”

Well, I’m assuming you’re not just making yourself at home against Buck’s will.”

“What? Of course not. He asked me to stay, and I wanted to stay anyway, so I’m staying.”

“You two are both exhausting.” Eddie shook his head, “And damn near perfect for each other. Don’t screw it up this time.”

“Eddie-”

“Oh, and by the way, Buck may not have told me the whole ‘he thinks you’re competition’ crap, but he did tell me that I was a child for cutting you off when you guys broke up. See, I thought I was doing the right thing by siding with my best friend. Apparently, there were no sides and I’m a moron.”

“I didn’t really expect you to keep hanging out with me, Eddie. It’s no big deal.”

Eddie scoffed. “Not to you, maybe.”

Tommy shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “We don’t need to talk about this stuff right now anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

“Really? Because I think it matters more than ever, Tommy. You’re wasting time when you could let yourself be happy instead.”

“Are we fighting right now?” Tommy asked, eyebrows furrowed. “It feels like we’re fighting.”

“We’re not fighting. I’m just trying to stop you from being stupid. I meant it when I said you two were perfect for each other. You’re here, at this house, for a reason, Tommy. You may not wanna believe it, that he loves you, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. Might as well accept it.”

“I don’t-” A shuffling sound coming from the bedroom had Tommy snapping his mouth shut.

“Tommy?” Buck called as he started down the hall. “Wh- Where’d you- Eddie?”

Buck stood at the end of the hall, confused. His looked exhausted, like no amount of sleep would ever be enough. His eyes were red and puffy, hair a mess, and it looked like he hadn’t changed out of his sweats and hoodie in a couple of days.

“Hey, Man,” Eddie said, getting up and walking over to Buck to give him a hug. “You doin’ okay?”

“I…” Buck sighed. “No, not really.”

“I know.” Eddie gave Buck’s shoulders a squeeze before letting him go. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around it for days now. Don’t really want to believe it’s real.”

Eddie opted to move to the chair as Buck walked over to Tommy. Tommy reached his hand out for him, and Buck practically fell into his side. “Thought you’d left when I woke up,” he muttered, resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“No. I’m not going anywhere, Evan.” Tommy pressed a kiss to his head. “Eddie got an earlier flight, so we were just talking while you slept.”

“Chris didn’t come?”

Eddie shook his head. “Wanted to, but he’s got finals coming up.”

“What… Where’s your stuff?” Buck asked, lifting his head to look around. “Did you forget to bring a suitcase?”

“Already at the hotel. And,” he added quickly, “before you say anything, my mom had a lot of points about to expire on a credit card, so she told me to use them. I’m good at the hotel.”

Buck nodded, leaning in close to Tommy again. “Spare room’s ready, if you change your mind.”

“Appreciate it.” Eddie glanced down at his watch, taking a breath. “Chim said the whole team is going out tonight for drinks. You two are coming, right?”

“Oh, I- I don’t-”

“Come on. You can’t just stay locked away in here forever. It’ll do you both some good to get out.” Eddie pointed to Tommy, “And don’t you dare try and say you’re not part of the team. You are and if Buck’s coming then so are you.”

Buck looked up at Tommy as he thought it over. Tommy shrugged. “Might be good for us,” he said, thumb brushing up and down over Buck’s shoulder, “like Eddie said.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Just for a little bit.”

“Good.” Eddie stood, clapping his hands together. “I’m gonna head to the hotel to shower and change. I’ll meet you guys there.”

“I think I'll go shower too,” Buck replied, slow to move away from Tommy and stand. “Been moving a little slower than normal lately.”

“Understandable, Man. See ya in a bit.”

They gave each other one more hug before Buck headed back for the bathroom.

Once he heard the door close, Eddie glared over at Tommy. “You ‘don’t know what you are?’”

Tommy got up, walking to the door. “I told you, we haven’t fully talked it out yet.”

“So in the meantime you kiss his head and he snuggles you like you’re two bunny rabbits in a burrow?”

“Oh look.” Tommy reached for the doorknob, motioning with his free hand as he opened it with the other. “You were just leaving.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. When he reached the doorway, he turned back to Tommy. “Tell him you love him, Dude. Stop wasting time.” He reached out, giving Tommy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Take it from me, life’s too short.”

“I, um, I should go check on him.”

“Mhm. Seven o’clock. Be there.”

“We will.” Tommy closed the door, then made his way to the bedroom.

Buck hadn’t quite made it to the bathroom yet. He had some new clothes laid out on the bed, but he was just standing at the window, staring outside.

Tommy leaned against the doorway, thinking over some of the things Eddie had said. That Buck could be tiring, exhausting, and that he’d never be able to live with him.

Tommy couldn’t understand that. Evan was a lot of things, but Tommy had never found him tiring. He loved Evan’s excitement for life. Loved spending as much time with him as possible. Loved… loved him.

He took a deep breath, pushing himself away from the doorframe and walking over to Buck. “You okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist.

Buck shook his head. “No. I… the thought of showering made me tired all of a sudden.”

“Why don’t I get it ready?” Tommy offered. “I can get in with you. I’ll even give your head a massage.”

Buck turned in his arms to face him, his eyes wet with tears. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Evan. But, um, before we do that, I… there’s something I need to tell you.”

[sugarwarachan]

hot for teacher

chapter three previous

pairing: shouta aizawa x f!reader

synopsis: You’re not expecting your day to fall to pieces at 8:21 a.m., but life hasn’t really been going your way lately. A string of lackluster dates, followed by two dead vibrators (with missing cords!), and the only outlet left for your mounting sexual frustration—the smut blog you diligently update—has been discovered by the one person you never wanted to find it: fellow teacher Shouta Aizawa. Who might just be the inspiration behind most of the fantasies you post about.

chapter cws: just enough plot to keep the porn coming, hizashi and rumi being super obvious in their meddling, Shouta ‘talks you through it’ Aizawa, more dirty talk than is perhaps necessary, the filthiest fingering scene i've ever written, soft degradation, ("good little whore" 🤭) d/s elements but never explicitly stated

word count: 3k

andy's notes: AHHHHHH i know this is late thank you all for waiting so patiently!! AIZAWA IS DOWN SO BAD I AM GOING INSANE

Rays of sunlight dance across Shouta’s face as his alarm clock blares. Scrubbing a hand over one eye, he hits the clock and rolls over, burying his face into the pillow.

Holy fuck. 

He’s imagined you before. Knew you would look gorgeous spread out for him on any surface, but the reality of watching you cum, your mouth hanging open in that soft o, brow furrowed tight... He rolls his hips into the mattress in memory. Jesus Christ. If he’s not careful, he’ll have to rub one out before he can even start the day.

Shouta grabs his phone in an attempt to distract himself and immediately regrets it when he sees the text notification on the screen.

Hiz(ass)hi: signed us up for something!!!

He groans and presses call. It’s always better to find out exactly what his best friend's up to as soon as possible. 

“What did you do?” he asks as soon as he picks up.

Hizashi doesn’t miss a beat. “Check your email yet?”

“I appreciate what little work-life balance I have.”

“Well," Hizashi coughs, "then you might not entirely love the surprise I’ve got in store for you, but it involves a certain you-know-whoooooo.”

“Fucking hell.” Shouta swings out of bed and passes a hand through his hair, nerves shooting through his stomach. “I’m serious, did you do something weird?”

He logs into his email, half-listening to Hizashi's explanation that he volunteered them both as chaperones for the upcoming debate team competition and texted you straight after.

“Perfect opportunity to spend some more time together,” Hizashi sing-songs, just as Shouta clocks your 7:35 a.m. reply.

Count me in!

An image of you tucked into his side erupts in his head, hair tousled from sleep and sex, tired smile on your face. 

“You good, man?” Hizashi asks when Shouta lets the line stay silent. 

Hasn’t he been wanting this exactly? A chance to get to know you more?

Shouta heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, I’m good. Just really wish you’d sat next to someone else in high school.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be sure to include me in your wedding vows.”

Shouta huffs a laugh and clicks off the phone.

He doesn’t know much about the debate team, except that he can hear Bakugou and Midoriya arguing from clear down the hall. Toshinori acts as the team’s usual advisor, but he’s been in and out of the hospital lately.

He imagines the last thing that man needs is accompanying a rowdy group of teenagers on an overnight trip.

He scans the remaining names. Todoroki, Jiro, and Yaoyorozu should behave themselves, at least.

Shouta: How many of us are going?

Hiz(ass)hi: 4. You, me, Rumi, and Y/N. See you tomorrow, sucker!

Shouta isn’t good in relationships.

That’s what he’s always told himself, but it’s not entirely true. He’s simply more deliberate, more exacting in what he wants than the typical person. He sees no point in dating frivolously.

Which is probably why he spent so much time deciding how to approach you.

When Hizashi came to him with his suspicions about your blog, Shouta gave himself an ultimatum.

One story. One glimpse into your head.

It wouldn’t be fair to you to form an opinion based on words alone; words he hasn’t yet confirmed aren’t simply fantasy.  But the minute he reads the story, it unlocks a hunger in him that can’t be smothered.

He knows in his bones that it’s you. The intonation, the cadence; he can hear the way you talk to Rumi, the way you speak to the students.

And you’re fantasizing about someone taking care of you and fucking you stupid in ways he’s only considered in his head.

He never stood a chance.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a last-minute, hastily-put-together trip will result in at least one disaster.

The minibus slowly rolling to a stop along a country road is precisely such an event.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Shouta murmurs under his breath, resisting the urge to bang his hands in frustration on the steering wheel.

You peek over his shoulder. 

“Did we seriously run out of gas?”

He barely hears you; you smell like jasmine and vanilla, and if he’s not careful, he’ll turn around and haul you into his lap in front of everyone on this bus. 

Rumi laughs uproariously, rousing the students from their slumber. Jiro glares at her. “You had one job, Yamada, and you couldn’t manage filling up the tank?”

“It was full when we left, wasn’t it?” he shouts back at her.

Shouto, ever-dependable, is already typing into his phone. “There’s an inn up the road.”

Midoriya folds his body over the seat to get a look at the screen. “Oh! Do you think it’s close enough to this one temple I’ve been reading about?”

“Oi!” Bakugou barks, sweatshirt laid across his face. “Could we prioritize where to sleep and not whatever nerdy-ass thing you want to do?”

“Enough!” Aizawa bites out. “Watch your mouth, Bakugou, you’re still representing the school out here. All of you, go with Yamada and Usagiyama and book us rooms for the night. Y/N and I will stay here with the luggage.”

He ignores Hizashi’s smirk over your head.

“Some luck we have,” you say, digging a toe into the dirt as the two of you watch the group disappear into the fading light. “Do you imagine they’ll have enough rooms?”

For the sake of his sanity, they fucking will.

But as Shouta looks down the road at Hizashi’s retreating form, he knows for a fact that he sent the wrong pair of people ahead to deal with room arrangements.

Hizashi and Rumi return in a borrowed car and a slapped-together reason for the teachers sleeping co-ed that nearly makes him want to punch Yamada in the head. 

“You want to catch up on One Piece together,” is all you say, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

As you and Shouta pile into the back of the car, you nudge him with a shoulder. “Glad to know they’re both as subtle as a brick to the face.”

He nudges you back, not caring that he’s being just as subtle as his two conniving friends.

The backseat is small, and he’s by no means a small man. Even without the bumps in the road that keep jostling you close to him, you’re already practically in his lap. Excited anticipation sets loose in his belly. 

It’s been forever since he’s felt like this. Perhaps never, if he’s being honest. And by the time everyone is settled in for the night, he’s desperate to be alone with you.

“I hope you're clear that I’m not mad about this,” you say as soon as he shuts the door and faces the reality that it’s going to be very difficult fucking you in a way that doesn’t wake up the entire inn. 

He takes in your face and smiles. “Not mad about this, either.”

“Should we talk about, like, ground rules?”

He likes how direct you are, but he also knows that a part of you is asking to stall.

“I’m no expert, but the color system works for me if it works for you.”

You nod, foot tapping an anxious rhythm into the carpet. 

“Nothing has to happen. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” You smile softly, but there’s heat curling in the back of your eyes. “But I wanna feel what I felt the other night again. With you.”

He breathes out through his nose, and you grin like the little cocktease you are. 

Seriously, can he soundproof these rooms?

“You didn’t happen to bring that pleated skirt of yours, did you?"

 Your laugh is like honey. “I did happen to bring it. Should I wear it?”

“Please.”

“Got it, sir.”

The memory of your preferred words when you’ve acted out plays through his head as he suggests that you both wash up for the night. 

When you come back warm and soft from the bath, hair curling slightly at your temple, you stop straight in your tracks. 

Your eyes drop to his sweatpants and linger there.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “I was, umm. Noticing.”

His dick jumps.

“You are really big.” You’re suddenly in front of him, one hand on his chest, the other trailing down his belly. “You know, I think I’ve been wet since last night.”

Shouta’s not entirely sure what sound he makes.

“Yeah, baby?” He hitches your thigh up. “Been a little needy for me?”

You whimper your answer, faltering in your exploration of his happy trail as he rubs the pad of his fingers along your creamy slit. Your underwear is soaked through.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind a little. Like I can’t get enough.” 

“I can tell. You’re shakin’ just from this.” He pulls your panties to the side and sucks in a breath. “Oh, sweetheart. This little cunt of yours is practically drooling.”

Ignoring your little squeak, he scoops you in his arms and carries you to the bed, folding your legs on either side of his thighs. 

“Have you ever been this wet for someone else?” He doesn’t know where the question comes from, when the possession grabs hold. He cups your pussy, one hand tight on your waist. 

“No, never,” you breathe out, rolling your pelvis forward into the heel of his hand, and then you frown, bottom lip jutting out in what he knows is embarrassment. “I’ve never even cum while being fingered.” You lean forward, resting your arms around his neck. “I always thought there was something wrong with me.”

Oh.

He stills. “You trust me, sweetheart?”

You nod, a mixture of eagerness and apprehension that makes his chest squeeze. 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for good?”

You wave a hand. “Yes, yes, I know all that.”

He raises a brow, but decides he can address your tone later. One problem at a time. 

“Lay over my lap, y/n.” 

You arrange yourself accordingly, brushing your tits against his thigh as you do so. His palm twitches. 

“We’re gonna have a little lesson, sweetheart.” He caresses the back of your thighs. Your breath hitches. “Spread your knees wider, there you go. Lift your ass up for me, too, can you do that?”

Before he gives you time to think, he flips the fabric of your skirt over your hips and lands a crack on your ass. You squeal, fingers tight in the bedsheets.

“oh my fuck oh my fuck, harder,” you keen, thrusting your ass back at his palm.

Shouta bites down on his lip hard just to maintain some semblance of reason.

You’re fucking made for him.

“Did you say there was something wrong with you?”

Another smack makes the meat of your ass jiggle. You muffle the sound you make in the sheets beneath you and Shouta frowns.

“Nah ah, baby.” He lifts your chin up. “Let me hear you, huh? Can already tell you like being punished.”

“But our students might hear us, Shou,” you say, squirming in his lap. The nickname steals his breath. “I don’t want to be embarrassed like that.”

“Like that?” He raises an eyebrow and laughs softly when you rebury your face into the mattress. “We'll talk about that later, huh? But you’re right. Good thinking, sweetheart.”

Even that simple amount of praise makes your eyes glaze over. He doesn’t know if you fully understand how long he’s wanted someone to place their trust in him like this

“Grab the pillow, and use that to help stay quiet,” he directs you. “No one but me will hear you this time, okay?”

“Thank you.” You twist on your forearms to smile at him. “I know we do a lot of stopping and starting. Thanks for being cool about that, too.”

He has no idea what kind of scumbags have mistreated you before, but he’s happy to erase their influence on you however he can.

“Stopping and starting is par for the course.” He motions for you to sit up. “Should have done this first anyway.”

Shouta’s never been one to wax poetic, but the moment he presses his mouth to yours, he’s a goner. Your hands tangle in his hair and tug, demanding greater access. He grants it, grinning like a fool while you lick your way into his mouth.

“Stop smiling.” You pull away with a mock huff, but you’re smiling, too, and you don’t look annoyed in the slightest. “It makes it hard to kiss you.”

“We were in the middle of something.”

Your eyes gleam. “Are you gonna spank me again?”

He pulls you to him as a chuckle rumbles out of his chest. He cradles the back of your head and caresses the slim bit of skin exposed above your skirt. “Eager?”

You sigh and press your face into his neck. “Very.”

“Take your clothes off, then, and get back on my lap. Keep the skirt on.”

Shouta flips up the fabric again, massaging the exposed skin when you wriggle. The tips of his fingers brush dangerously close to your slit, and you drop your hips to chase the sensation.

“Ass up, sweetheart.” He jiggles his leg under you. “And answer my question.”

“Yes, yes.” A spark of irritation colors your tone. “I said there was something wrong with me.”

“Still believe that?” He finally touches you, knuckles sliding through your gummy folds, savoring the way your back bows at his touch. You’re soaking and trembling from this alone. “Your thighs are wet, honey. I’m pretty sure you’ll cum around my finger the second I slip it in.”

“Oh god.” Your voice is a reedy little gasp, high with embarrassment. 

He sees the mirror across from you on the wall, and an idea sparks. Rearranging you on his lap, he spreads your legs wide and grabs your chin, directing your gaze to where your cunt drools arousal all over his lap. 

“There’s nothing wrong with this slutty pussy of mine, is there, baby?”

The hitch in your breath is reward enough. A slow smile spreads across his face as you shake your head.

“That’s exactly right, honey. Nothing wrong with my girl.” 

He teases your hole with the tip of his fingers. You shudder in his arms, keeping your eyes locked on his in the mirror.

“You think I don’t like seeing how good I’m makin’ you feel?” 

This entire time his cock has been leaking pre and throbbing against the side of his leg. There’s no rush, he knows, because watching you like this will probably have him spilling in his briefs anyway.

He slides a finger up to the knuckle, plugging you up tight. Your eyes roll back in your head when he rolls his thumb over your swollen bud. 

"What’s wrong, sweetheart? That bratty tone from earlier gone already?” 

He adds another finger, the hand on your waist holding you still as you keep squirming. A feral part of him knows exactly how deep his cock is going to be inside you as he presses down on your lower belly.  

“Maybe you’ve never cum like this before because no one’s given you what you needed. Ever think of that, sweetheart?” His gaze scorches you in the reflection. “No one knows how much you like your cunt stuffed up tight. Little whore likes being used a bit roughly, doesn’t she?”

The sound you make is sinful, a shuddering sigh of happiness and arousal that momentarily stops his breath. 

“Please, Shouta.” You’re doing your best to be quiet, but he’s not making it easy on you. You fall into a prayer of pleas as he dangles you over the edge for just a little bit longer, the litany of praise and degradation sparking such headiness in your eyes he’s half-afraid he won’t be able to stop. 

“Keep your eyes on us. There’s my girl.” He ruts his dick against your ass, groaning into your neck. “Can’t wait to sink inside you, honey. Gonna remold this fucking pussy to the shape of me.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s saying at this point. He needs to see you cum, needs to feel your arousal drip all over his hands.

“Let me see it, baby, let me see how much you like being my good little whore.”

He slaps a hand over your mouth just as you shatter around him, swallowing the majority of your keening wail by pressing your face into the side of his neck.  

You go boneless and soft after you cum, limp in his arms and nuzzling into his chest like you belong there. 

“Gonna go clean us up,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. You hum in response, falling back on the mattress. 

He cleans you slowly, gently, and offers you one of his t-shirts to sleep in. You pat the space next to you, and he crawls in instantly, tucking you into his side. 

“I didn’t know it could feel like that.” You look up into his eyes, happiness radiating out of yours. “Thank you, Shouta.”

As your breathing slows and you fall asleep, Shouta realizes that, truthfully, he didn’t know it could feel like that, either. 

taglist: @phaticserpent, @magidzi, @hotlosergirl17, @luckybibucky, @heyithinkilike, @getoisinnocent, @personally4runa, @kennys-partner, @geektastic84, @bakery-angel, @constanttea, @aryuunachigiri, @sskorvid, @therefore-evermore, @one-scarred-mofo, @food4dead, @alphabetsoupyum, @cielito--lindo, @rentheannihilator, @juiceeypeach, @imastorytelleritsondvd, @ivydoesit23, @anotherfuckedupdayinthelifeofme, @deputy-azor, @ibby-miyoshi-nerd, @h3rmit-purrrrple420, @lousypotatoes, @hisbitch101, @greedygobbo, @ginevraxrogers, @alucardsdaddyissues, @minminroie, @honeyoru, @gothsquash, @aldebrana, @yansfanficwritings, @babypeapoddd, @fashionably-a-hippie, @junehasnotbeenfound, @citruki, @bitch-spaghetti-o

ONE LAST NOTE: If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know! I hope you enjoy this, I had a lot of fun writing it. Next chapter is the two of them being freaky and nasty and horny and fucking like bunnies

[shaiyasstuff]

my little demon | rafayel

synopsis : You accidentally summon a demon. He's annoying, endearing, and suddenly leaving. You hate it, hate him. Except, maybe you don't. And maybe that's the worst part. content : demon!rafayel, fluff, poor references to hell, comedy

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rafayel, do you not understand what time out means?” you snapped, slamming your pen down like it had personally wronged you. You turned to him, already bracing for the face.

And there it was.

Big eyes. Slight pout. That tragic, kicked-puppy expression that made him look like a freshly scolded Disney sidekick.

“You look like a goldfish,” you deadpanned.

“Hey!” he gasped, hand flying to his chest like you’d just impaled him. “A cute goldfish though?” He double finger-gunned at you, winking.

You blinked. Twice. “You’re so lucky you’re already from hell.”

Rafayel just beamed like you’d complimented him.

“‘Yel,” you groaned, rubbing your temples, “I have three thousand words due by tomorrow, and my prof already hates me because I made a joke about Plato being a drama queen. If I don’t finish this, he’s going to flay me.”

“I still don’t get why you humans do this to yourselves,” Rafayel muttered, kicking his legs from where he was perched upside-down on your desk chair like an overgrown toddler. “You pay to be stressed out. Should’ve just sold your soul like a normal person.”

You gave him a look.

“Oh wait.” He grinned, sharp teeth peeking out. “Too late.”

You considered throwing your textbook at him. Not that it would do anything. He’d just catch it mid-air with a smug smirk and then use it as a coaster for his bubble tea.

Because, yes, your demon—your demon, what the actual hell—had a crippling addiction to boba. Specifically the strawberry milk tea kind. With rainbow pearls. That he insisted on ordering with your credit card.

How did it come to this?

Well. You were trying to write your thesis.

A comparative analysis of ancient summoning rituals and modern occult trends.

Cool, edgy, mildly creepy.

Your professor was thrilled.

You, on the other hand, were downing energy drinks and googling ‘curses that don’t backfire’ at 3AM.

Then you found The Website.

Black background. Red font.

Very ‘do-not-enter-this-site-if-you-value-your-soul’ vibes.

So like anyone with a brain, you clicked it.

You followed the instructions—chalk circle, candles, some vaguely Latin-sounding chants—and when nothing happened, you shrugged and went to bed, convinced you’d wasted twenty bucks on witchy candles and your last shred of dignity.

Then you woke up to glowing eyes staring down at you from your ceiling like some paranormal ceiling cat.

You screamed. Loudly.

Your RA came running, ready to fight a serial killer, only to find you clutching a pillow and pointing at an empty spot on your ceiling like a madwoman.

He backed out of your room slowly, muttering something about, “freshman psychosis” and, “never rooming with a lit major.”

And now?

Now you had Rafayel.

A demon with a temper shorter than your GPA, a weird fixation with glitter, and a total disregard for personal space, deadlines, or the human concept of privacy.

He refused to leave.

Something about your summoning being ‘binding’ and your ‘aura’ being ‘weirdly cozy.’ Whatever the hell that meant.

You sighed and turned back to your laptop, muttering, “Why couldn’t I have summoned, like, a chill ghost? Or a vampire with a tragic past?”

From behind you, Rafayel hummed, “You say tragic past, but I am the reason a small village disappeared off the map in 1437.”

You didn’t even flinch. “Good for you.”

“And yet, here I am. Reduced to being your emotional support demon.”

“Reduced? No one asked you to rearrange my spice rack alphabetically and by Scoville level.”

“Blasphemy tastes better with cayenne.”

You didn’t look up. You didn’t respond.

You simply typed.

And hoped to hell—or heaven, or the void between—that this paper would write itself before you lost your last brain cell.

You felt the faint, ominous creak of your desk chair’s twin moving behind you—the low growl of overworked wheels scratching across old floorboards.

Which meant that Rafayel was on the move.

And sure enough, a second later, he was right beside you, chin practically glued to your shoulder as he peered at your screen like a nosy toddler who had just discovered the concept of YouTube.

“Oh my god,” he whispered in genuine horror. “What is that supposed to be?”

You blinked. “It’s a nineteenth-century etching of a demon.”

“That,” he pointed dramatically, “looks like if a goblin and a melted candle had an unfortunate child.”

“…Well, it is hell,” you muttered under your breath, barely suppressing the eye twitch as he recoiled at the grotesque, horned figure on your laptop like it personally offended his bloodline.

“It’s just—ugh! You humans get it so wrong.” Rafayel flopped back into his chair with a dramatic huff, lacing his fingers behind his head like this was a casual TED Talk and not your descent into academic burnout.

“Lucifer’s not some scary, flaming rage monster. He’s actually pretty chill. Bit moody. Likes jazz. Wears a lot of silk.”

You blinked slowly, fingers hovering over your keyboard. “Wonderful. Shall I cite you as a primary source, then?”

“I mean, I did know him.”

“Of course you did.”

He grinned, cocky and unbothered, like he hadn’t been singlehandedly driving you to the edge of sanity all month.

You slammed your palms onto your desk with the force of a caffeinated raccoon reaching enlightenment.

“Rafayel.”

“Yes?” he said sweetly, as if he hadn’t just derailed your concentration for the fifth time in under ten minutes.

“I am a senior,” you began, voice dangerously calm, “in the final semester of a four-year degree that I am barely surviving. I have not slept in two days. I have eaten nothing but cereal dust and vending machine pretzels. My thesis is currently being held together by three weak metaphors, one questionable source, and the power of denial.”

You took a breath, gaze narrowing.

“So unless you want me to start writing my next section on how modern demons are somehow worse than capitalism—Shut. The fuck. Up.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he gave you a slow clap.

“I love it when you get feisty,” he said, grinning.

You turned back to your screen.

He was lucky he was immortal.

—•

You threw your hands in the air like a malfunctioning robot powering down for the last time and muttered a tired, deadpan, “Yay.”

The kind of yay that carried the weight of sleep deprivation, caffeine addiction, and a vague desire to start life over as a forest hermit.

When you turned, Rafayel was mid-hover above your bed—legs crossed in an upside-down floating genie pose like some unholy yoga instructor. His head hung just low enough to make direct, smug eye contact with you.

“I’m done.” you declared, the kind of joy only reserved for finishing a thesis or surviving a group project with your sanity intact.

“Finally,” he drawled, tossing his ninety-ninth boba cup into the bottomless trashcan of the void like a three-point shot. The lid landed with a soft clink that echoed like judgment.

You stared at him. “Is that my hoodie you’re wearing?”

He shrugged—midair, still upside down. “It smells like you. Very… stressed and academically overachieving.”

You flopped face-first onto your bed with a groan. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m your emotional support demon,” he chirped. “I’m doing my job.”

“Do your job quieter.”

“That’s not in the contract.”

“There was no contract—”

“You summoned me with ancient Latin and expired lavender candles. I’d call that consent.”

You groaned into your pillow. He was unbearable. Infuriating. Downright catastrophic.

But also… a little fun.

Stupid adorable demon.

“How do I even get rid of you anyway?” you mumbled into the depths of your pillow, the words muffled but laced with the kind of dramatic despair that came after surviving both a thesis and Rafayel.

Silence.

Unusual silence.

Suspicious, even.

You lifted your head just enough to peek over your arm. “…Rafayel?”

No answer.

You sat up fully now, squinting toward your desk—where the demon in question was oddly still, back turned, his usual commentary absent.

That was never a good sign.

You got up, padding quietly across the room like one of those horror movie girls who absolutely should not go toward the ominous figure, but does anyway because narrative choices.

There he was, standing in front of your laptop, staring at the still-open tab with the medieval etching of hell. The fire, the grotesque figures, the tormented souls—all frozen in digital interpretation.

You stopped a few feet behind him. “…You okay?”

His posture didn’t shift. He didn’t crack a joke or throw a boba cup into the void.

Just stared.

And when he finally did speak, it was quieter than you expected.

“They always get it wrong,” he said. “They make it all fire and fury. Screaming. Violence.”

You frowned, uncertain.

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the flicker in his expression. Not anger. Not smugness.

Something else.

“They forget it’s mostly just… quiet down there.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what to.

So you just stood there, behind the demon you summoned on accident, watching as he looked at a world that feared him—and didn’t understand him at all.

He finally turned to look at you, and there was that flicker of a smile again—gentler this time, almost… nostalgic?

“Hell isn’t that bad, you know?” he said, like he was trying to convince you, or maybe just himself. “I had friends down there.”

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing. “You? Have friends? Shocking.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Rude. But fair.”

Still, the sarcasm didn’t fully return. His shoulders relaxed a little, and his gaze dropped for a moment like he was remembering something that didn’t belong in this room, in this world.

“Yeah,” he said. “We may not have souls, but we’re not cold-blooded beings who only love torture.”

A pause.

His lips twitched. “Okay. Maybe some of us are. Gormax really enjoyed the whole spine-peeling thing.”

You blinked. “That’s not a real name.”

“Swear on the Void.”

“…You people need hobbies.”

He grinned again, but this time you noticed the faint sadness beneath it. Not enough to take over, but just enough to linger.

You glanced at your laptop, still glowing with the static, flaming misery of a human’s idea of damnation, and then back at him.

“You miss it?”

Rafayel shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s home. In a weird, messed-up, infernal kind of way.”

You nodded slowly.

And maybe—just maybe—you started to understand.

“I mean, I understand. I miss home too. But,” you sighed, dropping back into your chair with a quiet thud. Rafayel hovered beside you again, floating like some dramatic ghost lamp as he waited—surprisingly quiet, for once.

“My parents passed away two years ago,” you said, voice soft, almost careful, like the words had grown sharp with time. “So I’ve been avoiding going home. It just… doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

You didn’t look at him as you spoke. Just clicked through the open tabs, saving your thesis with methodical clicks. Save as draft. Save to cloud. Back up to your USB, just in case the universe decided to smite your hard drive out of spite.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Like a blanket pulled over your shoulders that you didn’t ask for but kind of needed.

Rafayel didn’t say anything right away.

He didn’t make a joke.

Didn’t deflect.

He just hovered beside you, gaze steady, presence uncharacteristically… grounded.

And for once, you didn’t feel like talking was wasted.

You shrugged off the creeping melancholy with a light chuckle, brushing it off like lint from an old sweater. No need to get all soft and sentimental—this was supposed to be your break from the feels, not a therapy session featuring one floating demon roommate.

Turning to Rafayel, you expected another sarcastic quip, or maybe a comment about your overuse of the word “therefore” in your thesis. But instead, he was just… staring at you.

Not in his usual annoying way.

Not the 'I’m about to tease you for eating dry cereal out of a mug again' way.

Just quietly watching you.

“Tell me more,” he said.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He leaned in a little, expression unreadable. “Tell me more about yourself.”

You froze.

Not because you didn’t want to—but because no one ever asked that. Not like that. Not seriously.

Not with that kind of openness in their voice, like he actually wanted to know.

The demon you accidentally summoned from a sketchy website at 3AM, who drinks boba like it’s holy nectar and thinks your hoodie smells like existential dread, was asking you—you—to talk about yourself.

You were stunned.

Then you did the only thing that made sense.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. “But only if you go first.”

He tilted his head, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile—something more honest. “Deal.”

You lay sprawled on your bed, one leg dangling off the side, your pillow tucked under your chin like a sad little emotional support loaf.

Across from you, Rafayel spun slow, lazy circles in the air like some haunted carousel ride. At one point he did a full backflip and declared it, “aesthetically necessary.”

And somehow, between the jokes and the occasional sarcastic remark, the conversation had slipped into something real.

You told him about your past. Your parents. The quiet house you grew up in. How you always wanted a sibling—not just to share toys with, but to not feel alone when the lights turned off and grief crept in.

You told him about the accident, how it felt like the world just stopped, and you were the only one still moving.

And he listened. Actually listened.

In return, he talked about the Void—though you were beginning to think “hell” was more of a branding issue than a literal place.

He described it like a strange bureaucracy: souls sorted, some punished, others recycled, a few left in the waiting room forever because someone misplaced their paperwork.

“Torture chambers are real, yeah,” he said casually, floating upside down with his hair hanging like a purplish waterfall. “But they’re for the actual evil ones. Not the spicy-sin level ones. Just murdery, unforgivable bastards.”

He paused, then smirked. “It’s always funny when a priest walks in. So shocked. Like, sir, you were literally laundering money and judging people for existing.”

You gave a snort-laugh, despite yourself.

Then you sat up, narrowing your eyes. “Okay, but—what is your role in all this? Why are you so free to be here, doing aerial tricks in my room and spending thousands on my credit card like it’s demon Black Friday?”

Rafayel floated to a stop, blinking.

Then he stretched out like a cat mid-yawn. “Technically, I’m a scout.”

“A scout?”

“Yeah. Recruits, human surveillance, some possession clearance checks, the occasional ‘make a deal for your soul’ gig—basic intern stuff.”

You gawked. “You’re telling me you’re a hell intern?”

He smirked. “Unpaid, of course. And overqualified.”

You dropped your head into your hands. “Of course you are.”

He floated a little closer, a glint in his eye. “But I was top of my class in emotional disruption and distraction techniques, thank you very much.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

He smirked, all teeth and knowing glint. “You’ll miss me.”

You blinked.

Then immediately scowled. “Fuck no.”

But the twinge in your chest—the subtle little ache—said otherwise.

Betrayal. By your own heart.

Rude.

Rafayel, of course, noticed. He always did. The bastard was like an emotion-sniffing dog, except instead of alerting people, he just smirked more.

“When I get promoted,” he said, reclining into his imaginary armchair like some otherworldly sitcom character, “I’ll finally be able to go back.”

Back to the Void. To hell.

To wherever demons like him belonged when they weren’t terrorizing emotionally constipated college students and draining their boba budgets.

You went quiet, lips pressed together.

Then, softly—almost like you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer—you asked,

“What if I want to see you again?”

He turned his head, cocking a brow. “I thought you wanted me to begone?”

“Well, yeah,” you mumbled, rubbing at your neck like you could hide your embarrassment behind muscle tension. “That was before I thought you were… fun.”

Rafayel blinked. Then blinked again, stunned just long enough for you to feel like maybe—maybe—you’d glitched the demon matrix.

“Fun?” he echoed, the grin creeping back slowly. “You think I’m fun?”

��Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

You groaned and rolled back onto your bed, covering your face with your hands.

From above, you heard the soft flick of a boba straw unwrapping. And then—

“You’re fun too, you know,” he said.

You peeked between your fingers.

He was still floating. Still smug. But maybe—just maybe—a little softer.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── AND YET... ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka the one where...just because!

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 1k ⌗ fluff, crack, kissing

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── this one is cute bc if you've read no doubt it's a little iykyk moment...warning: this is so sweet all your teeth might rot after this. and i will not be responsible for your dentist appointment sorry not sorry ^_^ mwah. also this is dedicated to lilly my luv since she loved the flower scene in no doubt <3 @puma-riki

There’s a knock at your door.

Three quick taps. A pause.

Then one more for good measure.

You blink.

You glance at the clock.

It’s late—well, not late late, but late enough where you already retired yourself to a night of takeout and movies, fully committed to not speaking to another human being until tomorrow. Late enough for you to question if you’re about to get murdered, or worse, get a surprise visit from your landlord.

And yet. You peel yourself off the couch, shuffle to the door, accepting whatever fate the universe is about to present you, swing open the door and—

Jake.

Jake, standing there, slightly out of breath like he ran here, with his hair all over the place, and your eyes flicker down to his hands and—

Oh god.

His hands are full.

With flowers.

An entire bouquet, actually.

A chaotic mess of colors, all wrapped in crinkled plastic, looking like the sort of thing a rushed florist would shove at a panicked man five minutes before the store closes.

“Hi,” Jake breathes, a little too eager, a little too quickly.

You just stare at him.

Then at the flowers. Then back at him.

“…It’s not my birthday is it?”

Jake blinks.

“What? No, of course not.”

Then, a pause. He shifts. His eyes widen.

“Wait. Is it actually your birthday? Because—”

“No, Jake,” you smile, letting out a small giggle. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Oh,” he exhales. “Okay, good.”

He thrusts the flowers towards you, “These are for you.”

You try your best to fight the growing smile on your face as you look from the bouquet back to him, “And these are for me…because…”

Jake short-circuits—his hands just hanging there, holding out the bouquet awkwardly. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

“…Because?”

“Because…?”

“Because…I like you?” He almost sounds unsure, like he’s only just now realizing how absurdly pathetic he might just be.

He rubs the back of his neck, “And I just—I don’t know, I saw them and thought of you and then I thought, well, she likes flowers, right? and I like her, so she should have flowers and then next thing I knew I was at the checkout counter.”

You stare at him.

Jake stares back, looking like he’s about two seconds away from either passing out or bolting.

You can’t believe he’s real.

Because this is Jake—Jake, who is effortlessly charming in literally every other setting except when it comes to you.

Jake—who fumbles through flower shops and stumbles over his own words, who’s so incredibly earnest over you.

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

Slowly, you reach out and take the flowers from his hands, and you swear you can physically see the way his shoulders drop in relief.

“You do know I’ve told you before to stop getting me flowers, right?”

Jake stiffens, looking completely clueless. “What? No, you haven’t.”

“I literally have,” you smirk, your fingers plucking one of the petals as your eyes flick over to him. “You’re allergic, remember?”

His face falls.

“Oh.”

He blinks.

“Wait—no. No, I remember now. You have said that. Multiple times.”

Your lips twitch, “Yep.”

“And yet,” he gestures vaguely at the bouquet in your hands, his eyes still trained on you.

“And yet,” you nod, amused.

Jake lets out a dramatic sigh, as if he’s just now realizing his own idiocy, “I think I black out every time I buy you flowers. Like, my brain just stops working.”

You snort, leaning against the doorframe, “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

Looking a little hesitant, a little hopeful, Jake takes a small step closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip.

“So…do you like them?”

Your eyes glance back down.

It’s chaotic. A mess of colors and clashing textures. But at the same time—it’s kind of perfect.

Just like him.

And you soften.

“Yeah, Jake—” you look back up at him, the warmth in your voice washing over him. “I love them.”

And Jake absolutely beams. He thinks he’s won in life. Like you’ve just handed him the world instead of a simple yes, I love them.

You smile to yourself, watching him have his little victory moment in the way he lets out a very obvious breath of relief before wiping his palms on his jeans.

And suddenly, you don’t want him to leave.

“Hey,” you say, pushing off the doorway, taking a step closer. “I was gonna order takeout and watch a movie.”

Jake’s eyes widen.

You tilt your head, lips curling into a soft smile, “Wanna join?”

And this—this is when Jake completely malfunctions.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

He’s a fish.

A completely smitten, malfunctioning fish.

“Oh.” A pause. “Oh thank god— I mean, yes. Yes. I would love to stay. Because I definitely did not already bring my comfy movie night clothes hoping you’d say that.”

You pause.

Then—your gaze drops to the tote bag hanging off his shoulder.

Jake follows your eyes.

Then, as if he just realized his own self-betrayal, he immediately slaps a hand over the bag as if that will somehow hide it.

You raise an eyebrow, fighting back a laugh, “Jake.”

“…Yes?”

“Did you actually bring a change of clothes?”

A beat of silence.

“No.”

You stare at him. He blinks.

“…Yes.”

And then—you burst out laughing. You double over, practically losing your mind.

“Stop,” Jake groans, covering his face with both hands. “This is humiliating.”

“No—”you grin, “this is so cute.”

Jake peeks at you between his fingers, fully pouting, “Do you want me to stay or not?”

You step even closer and gently pry his hands away, smile still tugging at your lips, “Of course I do, Jakey.”

And before he can say anything else—before his brain can spiral any further in agony—you’re leaning up, and—you press a kiss to his lips.

It’s soft. Gentle. Light. And it absolutely ruins him.

Jake freezes, his breath catching as your lips linger just long enough to melt his remaining one (1) brain cell away. 

Because although it’s simple—barely a brush—it feels like a promise.

Like warmth. 

Like coming home.

You pull back slightly, barely whispering against his lips, “Now get in before I change my mind.

You back up, swinging the door open wider.

And Jake?

Jake grins like an idiot, practically sprinting inside.

And as you close the door behind you, watching him kick off his shoes and immediately settling in like he’s always belonged here, you feel it—warm, sure, and terrifyingly true:

You really like him.

Maybe even more than flowers.

<< past || no doubt m. list || next >>

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[reverie-starlight]

THE BOY HAS RETURNED!!! how I managed to go 5 months without writing for him I will never know. anyway, here’s some atsumu fluff to heal my soul after finishing my last assignment last week and more recently a rough few days of back-to-back exams.

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. university student!reader, MSBY!atsumu. very fluffy, ultra sappy. y’all know the drill. uhhhh very suggestive towards the end. this is very short bc I'm slowly trying to get back into writing after a creative block. I've missed him SO much, you have no idea :(

you reach your arms above your head and hiss at the dull pain that follows your much needed stretch. slumping back down into your chair, you sigh and allow yourself a moment to take in the fact that you can actually relax for the next day or two, completely guilt free.

you shut your laptop and make your way over to the bedroom, eager to finally crawl into atsumu’s arms. you feel bad for him- you’ve been so busy with your assignments and finals lately that you’ve hardly been able to spend any quality time with him.

he’s been a good sport about it of course- he knows how important your education is, but you also know extremely well how much of a dramatic little shit he can be sometimes.

sure enough, as soon as he sees your figure in the doorway, he turns to face the wall and leaves you with the very familiar, beloved view of his back.

but you miss him, and you'll be damned if you don't get any congratulatory cuddles from him tonight, even if you have to fight for them.

you grin a little and slide under the covers behind him, tracing a finger along his broad shoulders.

“baby,” you make sure to drag out the last syllable. you press a kiss to the nape of his neck and smile against his skin when he shudders. “you’re really going to ignore me?”

he doesn’t answer just yet, but you can feel his resolve (which clearly isn't the strongest in this moment) breaking with every kiss you press down his spine, along his shoulder blades, the backs of his arms…

until he finally caves and turns to you with that lovesick grin you adore so much. he wraps his arms around your waist and you realize just how much you've been missing him.

"are ya finally done?" his eyes shine with hope and your heart squeezes in your chest.

you nod and he pulls you closer so that you're face-to-face, breaths mingling and lips barely touching. his skin, always so warm and soft, smells of fresh laundry and his breath has hints of the minty toothpaste your dentist recommended. you burrow against his neck and release the last of your worries with one big sigh.

and in typical atsumu fashion, as if he's just received an encoded message, he kisses your temple to let you know he's got you. "I'm proud of ya," he mumbles. "I know this was a tough semester for ya, baby, but you're gonna finish off strong."

you melt against him, let your shoulders relax and allow yourself the mental break that is letting him take care of you. "thank you," you whisper. "I'm just so glad I have a few days to rest now."

the energy of the room shifts with atsumu as he moves to hover your frame. the calluses on his hand from years of athletics are rough against the cheek he cups but comforting all the same. the look in his eyes is familiar and makes you a little dizzy with need.

"since you've got nothin' going on tomorrow..." your eyes stay trained on him as he turns his head to check the clock on your nightstand. "that means ya can afford to stay up a bit longer?"

you nod, not even bothering to check the time for yourself, welcoming him with a small smile when his eyes find their way back home to you. "that's right."

he grins and leans down to finally, finally, finally slot his lips against yours, right where they belong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 3

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 5.2k

warning: language

firstly i js wanted to say that yall NEED to check out @pazzispizookies series !! its genuinely soooo so so good and deserves all the love 🫶🏽

heres chap 3 for yall !!! i tried to follow ur guys suggestions so i hope its alr 😭 idk if its good but um yur hopefully u guys like it 🤞🏽

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Yo, let’s go,” Aubrey called, tugging her hoodie on as she stepped into the hallway of their dorm. “Class isn’t gonna wait for your little daydream.”

Paige looked up from her phone, blinking like she’d been caught red-handed. “I’m coming,” she said, stuffing the phone in her pocket even though she hadn’t actually been doing anything on it. Just… staring at the home screen.

Aubrey eyed her suspiciously but said nothing.

The morning was crisp as they stepped outside, the sun still low enough to cast long shadows across campus. They walked side by side, feet crunching over gravel and dead leaves, the quiet broken only by the occasional chirp of birds or the distant hum of early lectures starting.

“So,” Aubrey said casually, kicking at a small rock on the path. “You gonna tell me how yesterday went?”

Paige frowned. “Yesterday?”

Aubrey gave her a look. “Don’t play dumb. Azzi. Tutoring. Ringing any bells?”

“Oh,” Paige said quickly. “That.”

“Yes, that. You had a whole session with your little brainiac crush and didn’t text me once after. I was starting to think you died mid-equation or something.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small grin that tugged at her lips. “It was fine.”

Aubrey laughed. “Fine? That’s the best you’ve got? C’mon, spill. You were losing your shit about it before you left. I need a play-by-play.”

Paige let out a breath, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “Okay. It actually wasn’t terrible. She’s really good at explaining stuff. Like, not just smart-smart, well she is, but actually patient. Broke things down in a way that made sense. We ran through some practice questions, and I didn’t feel like a complete idiot for once.”

Aubrey gave her a small nudge with her elbow. “Proud of you, mathlete.”

“I’m serious,” Paige said. “It was… kinda nice. I got one of the problems right without help, and she seemed genuinely impressed.”

Aubrey grinned. “You sound like you just got a gold star.”

Paige ignored the teasing. “She even said I was improving.”

“Well damn,” Aubrey said, mockingly putting a hand over her heart. “Growth.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, eyes on the path. “But yeah, it wasn’t awkward. Which I was worried about.”

“So you two talked?”

“A bit,” Paige admitted. “Nothing crazy. I asked her when she wanted to meet again for our next session and she said tomorrow works but I forgot when, so… um yeah that’s the plan.”

Aubrey smirked. “Look at you already booking the sequel.”

Paige groaned. “It’s tutoring, not a date.”

“Sure,” Aubrey said, clearly unconvinced.

Paige shook her head but didn’t argue. Not out loud, at least.

Aubrey gave her a side glance. “So… did you find out anything interesting about her? Or were y’all just buried in notebooks the whole time?”

Paige hesitated. “Actually… she told me she used to play basketball.”

That made Aubrey blink. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded. “Said she played in high school but stopped after losing love and motivation for the game. Didn’t go into too much detail, but she mentioned it when we took a little mental break. She gets what it’s like to balance stuff.”

“Damn. That’s kinda wild,” Aubrey said. “No wonder she seems like she’scool under pressure. Probably used to high-stakes shit.”

Paige smiled a little at that. “Yeah. It was unexpected, though. I don’t know why, but I didn’t picture her as the athlete type.”

“Well,” Aubrey said, throwing an arm loosely over Paige’s shoulder as they kept walking, “you also didn’t picture her being pretty until she was sitting three feet from you helping you solve for equations.”

Paige groaned again, louder this time. “Can we not do this right now?”

Aubrey just laughed. “Hey, I'm not even judging. I’m just saying, it’s cute. You like her brain and her face. Classic.”

“I barely know her,” Paige muttered.

“And yet you were smiling like an idiot just now thinking about her.”

Paige elbowed her. “Shut up.”

They kept walking, but Aubrey glanced over, her voice quieter. “You really do like her, huh?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She just shrugged, eyes on the concrete.

“I dunno,” she finally said. “She’s cool. She’s smart. And she… I don’t know. She’s just different. In a good way. She’s not weird about me being on the team or whatever. Doesn’t treat me like I’m some—”

“Celebrity?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I had a moment with some fans yesterday and she just stood back and watched. Didn’t look annoyed or anything. Just… kinda curious.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. “Curious how?”

Paige’s cheeks flushed slightly. “She said I surprised her. Said I wasn’t like she expected.”

Aubrey looked smug now. “Oh? And how exactly did she expect you to be?”

“Apparently like a stuck-up diva,” Paige said dryly. “Big-time athlete energy.”

Aubrey burst out laughing. “Oh my. She thought you were gonna be one of those ‘don’t-look-me-in-the-eye’ types?”

Paige grinned reluctantly. “Something like that.”

“Well,” Aubrey said, nudging her. “At least she thinks you’re better than you look.”

“Oh well, thanks.”

“I’m just saying. Sounds like you’re making a decent impression.”

Paige exhaled slowly. “I don’t think she sees me like that, though.”

Aubrey was quiet for a moment. “How do you mean?”

“I dunno. She’s nice. And I think we’re getting along. But she’s… I don’t know. Neutral. In a good way. Like, focused. She’s not flirty or anything.”

“Well, you’ve known her what? 2 days?”

“Exactly,” Paige said. “It’s not like I’m trying to rush anything.”

Aubrey bumped her shoulder. “Still. Don’t count yourself out. You’re a catch.”

Paige gave her a look. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love me.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong.

They reached the building just as the first bell rang in the distance. Paige reached for the door, then paused.

“Thanks, though,” she said. “For listening.”

Aubrey smiled. “Anytime. You better keep me posted after your next session.”

Paige opened the door and held it for her. “No promises.”

“You mean yes, then.”

“Shut up.”

They both stepped inside, laughter echoing down the hallway.

—----------------------

“I’m still waiting,” Caroline said, sliding into her seat next to Azzi with the casual confidence of someone who knew she’d get answers eventually.

Azzi blinked, startled out of her thoughts as she adjusted her hoodie sleeve and sat up straighter. “For what?”

Caroline gave her a look. “Don’t play dumb. The session. You and Paige. Yesterday. How’d it go?”

Azzi hesitated, eyes flicking toward the front of the room where the professor was still getting the slides set up. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Caroline scoffed. “Cmon, you know I’m not accepting a dry little ‘fine’ when you were tutoring Paige Bueckers. The girl who usually ghosts help like it’s contagious? She showed up for tutoring. With you. Spill.”

Azzi smiled a little despite herself, glancing down at her open notebook, though she hadn’t written anything yet. “I mean, she showed up. On time. Sat across from me and listened.”

Caroline raised a brow. “And?”

“And she was… not what I expected.”

Caroline leaned in, grinning now. “How so?”

Azzi let out a small breath and tried to find the words. “She wasn’t super talkative. Kind of quiet, actually. But like, in a sweet way. She didn’t pretend to understand everything like I thought she would. She was just… really present. Asked questions, paid attention.”

“Hmm,” Caroline said, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, that tracks.”

Azzi tilted her head. “How so?”

“That’s what I meant the other day,” Caroline said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Paige usually has this… front. All confident and cocky and loud. But around certain people, she’s different. Calmer. Like she’s letting her guard down a bit.”

Azzi blinked, thinking back. “She definitely wasn’t cocky. I mean, she joked a little at the start, but mostly she was just focused. Or, at least she tried to be.”

“Tried?” Caroline asked.

Azzi hesitated again. “There were a few moments where… I caught her staring.”

Caroline’s brows shot up. “Staring?”

“Not like—” Azzi shook her head quickly. “Not in a weird way. Just… I’d be explaining something, and I’d pause to check if she was following, and she’d already be looking at me. Kinda like she forgot she was supposed to be paying attention to the material.”

Caroline smirked. “Okayyyy.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe she was zoning out. People do that all the time.”

“Paige doesn’t zone out when someone’s talking to her face,” Caroline said. “Unless that person’s, you know… distracting.”

Azzi gave her a dry look. “You’re impossible.”

Caroline held up her hands. “I’m just saying. Besides, you don’t seem bothered.”

“I wasn’t,” Azzi said honestly, twirling her pen between her fingers. “It was just… surprising. She’s sweet. More than I expected.”

There was a brief pause before Caroline asked, “Did she seem nervous?”

Azzi thought about it. “A little. But I couldn’t tell if it was about the subject or just… the situation.”

Caroline grinned. “Probably both.”

Azzi smiled faintly, but her mind was already slipping back to that part when Jace had walked up near the end of their session.

“Oh,” she added suddenly. “And there was this moment Jace came by.”

Caroline groaned immediately. “Ugh. That idiot. Let me guess. Trying to ‘schedule’ another session?”

Azzi snorted. “Yeah. I tutor him too.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “He’s the worst. If he’s not hitting on someone, he’s talking about himself.”

“Well…” Azzi shrugged. “He’s not that bad… Well, so far.”

Caroline looked at her like she was delusional. “Az, he once asked me if I thought he could ‘go pro in looks alone.’ That wasn’t a joke. Be for real.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “Fair.”

“What happened when he came over?”

Azzi hesitated. “Paige got kind of… stiff? I don’t know. At first I thought she just didn’t like him, oh well I mean she doesn't but then when he asked about our next session, she got a little defensive.”

Caroline blinked. “Defensive how?”

“She was just short with him. Told me he’s a ‘walking ego’ and a ‘player’ and that I should be careful.”

Caroline sat back slowly, eyebrows high. “Oooooo. Ok, Miss Protective Energy.”

Azzi glanced down, thoughtful. “I don’t think she meant it to come off so strong. She apologized after, kind of awkwardly. Said it came out weird.”

“But you noticed it,” Caroline said, nudging her lightly.

“I did,” Azzi admitted. “It just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting her to care that much.”

“She probably doesn’t even know why she cares that much yet,” Caroline murmured, like she was mostly talking to herself.

Azzi didn’t respond. She wasn’t about to overanalyze someone she’d only just started getting to know. She wasn’t crushing on Paige, and Paige hadn’t exactly been flirting—at least not directly. It was all so new and tentative. Still in that weird space between strangers and something else.

But she could admit this much to herself, Paige Bueckers was sweet. A little awkward. And maybe, just maybe, there was something about the way she looked at Azzi that didn’t feel entirely academic.

Azzi tapped her pen against her notebook and finally wrote a heading at the top of the page as the lecture began. It didn’t mean anything. Not yet.

It was just tutoring.

—----------------------

The library was warm and quiet, sunlight slicing through the tall windows and falling across the long tables. Azzi sat curled in a small booth tucked near the back, one leg folded underneath her and a textbook open in front of her, though she hadn’t read the same paragraph three times already.

Caroline plopped down across from her, chin in her hand, no book or laptop in sight.

“You don’t have to wait with me,” Azzi said, glancing up.

“Yeah, well, I’m not about to let you sit here alone while Jace ‘Mr. I Bench More Than I Read’ McCallister slides in with his axe smell and stupid smirk,” Caroline replied. “I’m providing moral support.”

Azzi laughed softly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Caroline perked up and leaned forward, eyes narrowing toward the open space on the other side of the library. “Hey. Look who’s here.”

Azzi followed her gaze and immediately spotted Paige—sitting at a big round table with KK, Ice, and Aubrey, all of them surrounded by a few classmates. Paige was laughing about something, one leg stretched out, gesturing wildly with her hands while she told a story. Her voice carried that familiar rasp lifting over the quiet library hum.

“Is she always like that?” Azzi asked, watching as Paige bumped shoulders with Ice and tossed her head back laughing.

“That,” Caroline said, pointing with her eyes, “is what I meant. That’s Paige in her default mode. Loud, confident, knows she’s hot shit and plays into it.”

Azzi frowned slightly, watching her. “She wasn’t like that with me.”

“Exactly,” Caroline said, voice low but knowing. “Two days ago, when you met her? She could barely make eye contact. Yesterday from what you told me? Nervous. Kinda flustered. Sat still and actually listened. That version?” She nodded toward the table “That's classic Paige.”

Azzi blinked, studying the difference. “It’s like… two different people.”

“Not two different people,” Caroline corrected. “Just two sides of her. One’s the mask. The other comes out around people who get under her skin.”

Azzi hummed quietly and looked down at her book. She didn’t know what it meant, or if it even meant anything. But it was noticeable. Paige was easy and loud over there, commanding the space. With Azzi, she’d been soft. Still funny, but careful. A little unsure.

“You think she does that around anyone else?” Azzi asked quietly.

“Nope,” Caroline said instantly. “Not like that.”

Before Azzi could respond, a sudden weight dropped next to her in the booth, and an all-too-familiar voice chimed in, entirely too close to her ear.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting, star student.”

Azzi nearly jumped, turning to see Jace sliding in like he owned the damn seat, pressing up against her like there weren’t several feet of empty space. His stupid, cocky smile was already in place. Worse, his arm flopped casually around the back of the booth, his hand barely brushing her shoulder.

“Geez, Jace,” Azzi muttered, inching slightly away, but there was nowhere to go.

Caroline, across the booth, didn’t even try to hide her disgust.

“Could you not?” she said flatly, eyes locking onto Jace like she was ready to start swinging. “Get your nasty ass arm off her.”

Jace blinked, grinning, clearly thinking it was a joke.

Caroline didn’t smile. “I’m not fucking around, either. You smell like a Hollister clearance bin and desperation.”

Azzi smothered a laugh behind her hand as Jace chuckled awkwardly and finally removed his arm.

“Alright, damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t know I needed permission to sit.”

“You don’t,” Caroline said, standing. “You just need manners. Something you clearly skipped in whatever athlete orientation you fumbled through.”

She grabbed her water bottle and gave Azzi a look. “Text me when you’re done. Don’t let him breathe on you too long. Might lower your IQ.”

“Thanks for the support,” Azzi said with a small smile as Caroline walked off.

Jace looked after her and scoffed. “What’s her problem?”

Azzi turned back to her notebook and flipped to a fresh page. “You, mostly.”

He laughed again like he wasn’t offended, leaning back as he stretched his legs under the table. “You ready to work?”

Azzi didn’t respond, instead just clicked her pen and looked at him with a tired expression.

“Let’s just start with this bit.”

—----------------------

The session had been going for maybe 20 minutes, but it felt like an hour.

Azzi kept her eyes on her notebook, trying to focus on equations and numbers, but it was hard when Jace kept leaning in like she was whispering secrets instead of solving problems.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered, squinting at the paper in front of him. “You sure this is right? I swear you’re making this up.”

Azzi didn’t look up. “It’s literally the textbook example.”

Jace huffed. “Yeah, but you didn’t even check a calculator. You just… knew it.” He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice like it was some compliment. “Kinda hot how smart you are.”

Azzi’s grip on her pen tightened. She forced a polite smile. “It’s basic algebra.”

“Mmm,” he said, still too close. “You make it look good.”

She shifted, sliding her notebook slightly to the left to put more space between them. “Let’s move on to the next one.”

Meanwhile, across the library, Paige had just caught sight of them.

She froze mid-sentence, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Jace lean closer again, like Azzi had said something hilarious. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped talking until Ice nudged her leg under the table.

“You good?” Ice asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, what?” Paige blinked, tearing her eyes away.

KK turned around and followed her gaze instantly. “Ugh,” she muttered. “Is that Jace over there?”

Aubrey leaned across the table. “Yeah. With Azzi.” Her voice dipped slightly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Paige said quickly. Too quickly.

KK snorted. “He’s so gross.”

“Right?” Ice added. “Why does he talk like he’s in a bad teen romcom?”

“I’m pretty sure he actually told someone last week that he’s ‘a beast at math’ and then failed a pop quiz,” Aubrey said, rolling her eyes.

Paige tried to look unbothered, but her jaw was tight.

“Seriously though,” Aubrey said, softer now. “You look like you’re gonna launch a textbook across the room.”

Paige forced a laugh. “I’m not jealous, ok? She’s just tutoring him.”

“No one said anything about being jealous,” Aubrey replied with a sly smile. “But now that you brought it up…”

“I said I’m not,” Paige muttered, shifting in her seat.

KK leaned in, grinning. “It’s giving jealousy in denial. Just saying.”

“Guys,” Paige groaned.

“She’s tutoring him and he’s being a creep,” Ice said plainly. “I’d be annoyed too.”

“I’m not annoyed,” Paige insisted, but her eyes drifted back to the table again just in time to see Jace make some exaggerated arm stretch that “accidentally” brushed Azzi’s shoulder again.

Paige’s nostrils flared. “I hate him.”

“Ah,” KK said with a grin. “There it is.”

Meanwhile, back at Azzi’s table, the vibe had not improved.

Jace leaned back, arms spread across the booth like he was chilling in a hot tub. “So like, what do you even do for fun when you’re not crunching numbers?”

Azzi didn’t look up. “Read. Study. Watch movies.”

“You should come to one of my parties sometime,” he said, flashing a grin. “Bet you’d loosen up after a drink or two.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink.”

Jace chuckled like she was joking. “Cmon, you’re not that much of a nerd, are you?”

Azzi’s mouth opened slightly, ready to respond, but she was interrupted by a familiar voice approaching from behind.

“Thank god I came back.”

Caroline dropped into the booth beside Jace, her face a picture of calm disdain. “My class got canceled. But it looks like I’m just in time to keep you from spontaneously combusting from secondhand stupidity.”

Jace blinked at her. “You’re back? Damn, I was just getting into a rhythm.”

Caroline smiled sweetly. “Yeah, and that rhythm’s offbeat and annoying.”

Azzi coughed to hide her laugh.

Jace looked between them, confused but still trying. “Alright, alright, let’s get back to it. What’s this one?” He tapped a question Azzi had written down. “Why the hell are there letters in this?”

“It’s variables,” Azzi said. “You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but it’s like—when do you even use this in real life?”

Caroline didn’t miss a beat. “Hopefully never. Especially if you’re behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.”

He shot her a look. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know,” she smiled. “And not failing algebra.”

Azzi couldn’t help it, she snorted, finally meeting Caroline’s eyes for a second, grateful.

Jace leaned over again, and Caroline immediately pointed a pen at him like a weapon. “Back up. She’s trying to teach you, not catch your whatever axe spray fumes.”

“Geez,” Jace muttered, finally leaning away, sulking a bit.

Paige, still watching from the other side of the library, cracked a small grin as she saw Caroline push Jace’s textbook closer to him and reposition the notebook so Azzi didn’t have to keep shifting away. She didn’t even care if it looked obvious anymore. She was watching with her chin on her hand, eyes fixed on the little booth in the back like it was playing out in slow motion.

“She’s fine,” Aubrey said gently. “She’s got backup now.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, sitting up again. “I know.”

But her knee was still bouncing under the table.

And even though she kept telling herself it was just tutoring… that didn’t stop the annoying little heat crawling up her spine whenever Jace smiled at Azzi like she was some prize to win.

—----------------------

The bounce in Paige’s knee hadn’t stopped. She tried to stay chill, to tune back into whatever Ice was rambling about across the table, but her attention was magnetized to the back of the library like it had its own damn gravity. And Jace’s face? It made her want to commit minor crimes.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered suddenly, pushing back from her seat.

Aubrey looked up. “Where you going?”

“Bathroom,” Paige said, already moving.

The hallway to the restrooms wasn’t far, unfortunately for her blood pressure tt curved past the quiet study booths in the back, which meant she had to walk right by Azzi, Caroline, and Captain Walking Red Flag. She kept her gaze forward the whole way in, ignoring the flare of irritation in her chest when Jace laughed too loudly at something Azzi clearly hadn’t found funny.

Inside the bathroom, Paige splashed cold water on her face. You’re chill. You’re fine. You’re not mad. You’re not jealous. She stared at herself in the mirror and muttered, “You’re just normal. Totally normal.”

By the time she stepped out, she had composed herself or so she thought.

Caroline spotted her first. “Hey, Bueckers.”

Azzi’s head popped up, her face lighting up just a little. “Hi.”

Paige smiled—real, maybe a little shy, but real. “Hey,” she said back, eyes flicking to Azzi, then Caroline… and very pointedly skipping over Jace entirely.

That silence didn’t go unnoticed.

“Well hello to you too, Bueckers,” Jace drawled, leaning on the edge of the booth like he thought he was in a GQ shoot. “Don’t strain yourself or anything.”

Without missing a beat, Caroline deadpanned, “Shut the fuck up, Jace.”

Azzi tried, but failed to hide her smile behind her water bottle.

Paige smirked. “Didn’t even see you there,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Guess you really are forgettable.”

Jace’s grin faltered. Caroline snorted.

Paige turned slightly toward Azzi, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Uh, are we still good for our session tomorrow?”

Azzi nodded, already pulling out her planner. “Yeah, definitely.”

“What time works for you? I’m not too sure if we worked on one yesterday.” Paige asked, and if her voice cracked the tiniest bit, she hoped no one noticed. “I’ve got practice in the afternoon, so I’ll be wiped by like, 3.”

Azzi smiled thoughtfully, pen tapping her page. “Want to do it early in the evening? Cause I know you have a game the following day. So like, 7?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded quickly. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Azzi hesitated a second, then added, “If you’re okay with it… we could do it at my dorm this time? Cause you know… It'll be too late for the library.”

“Sure,” Paige said, a little too fast. Then she caught herself and coughed lightly. “I mean, yeah. That sounds chill.”

Jace perked up again. “Damn, why didn’t I get the dorm invite? Could’ve made it a fun time.”

Caroline and Paige without even glancing at each other both said at the exact same time

“Because no one wants to catch secondhand brain rot.”

There was a pause.

And then they both cracked.

Paige wheezed. Caroline slapped the table and leaned back laughing. They reached over and dapped each other up like it was the easiest alley-oop in the world.

Azzi looked between them, eyes wide with amusement, and then glanced at Caroline who was now giving her that look. The one she gave earlier, the one that screamed: See what I meant? She’s different around you.

Azzi raised an eyebrow slightly, and Paige, still chuckling, looked back and forth between them.

“What?” she asked, a little breathless.

“Nothing,” Caroline said, drawing out the word with a grin.

Azzi just shrugged innocently. “Nothing,” she echoed, but her lips twitched.

Paige squinted. “You guys are pre’ weird.”

Before either of them could respond, Jace scoffed from the corner. “Yo, Bueckers, you done with your stand-up set or…?”

Paige didn’t even blink.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you were still here. You blend in so well with all the other mistakes.”

Caroline howled.

Even Azzi had to press her lips together to keep from laughing out loud.

Jace blinked, clearly flustered now. “Damn, you got jokes, huh?”

Paige gave him a deadpan look. “Nah, I’ve got patience. And it’s running out.”

Caroline slammed her hand on the table, cackling now. “She’s killing you, bro. Stop talking before she ends your bloodline.”

“Yall wild,” Jace muttered, clearly retreating now.

Paige just smirked. “See you tomorrow, Azzi,” she said, her voice softening a little as she glanced at her.

Azzi nodded, still half-smiling. “See you.”

“Bye, Caroline,” Paige added, already walking away.

Caroline shot finger guns in response. “Keep roasting creeps, Bueckers.”

And as Paige made her way back around the corner, the bounce in her step had returned but this time, it wasn’t frustration keeping her moving.

It was satisfaction. And maybe just a tiny bit of butterflies.

As soon as Paige rounded the corner and slid back into her seat, Aubrey’s eyebrows shot up. She had her arms crossed, chin resting on her fist like she was watching a live episode of Library Drama: Bueckers Edition.

“So…” Aubrey dragged the word out, voice way too casual. “What the hell was that?”

Paige blinked, all fake innocence. “What was what?”

“That little stand-up routine you just dropped back there,” Aubrey said, eyes narrowing. “The way you and Caroline just mind-melded into synchronized murder mode? You were cackling, bro. Like, full-body shaking. I thought someone was dying.”

KK looked up from her phone across the table. “Wait, what happened?”

“Yeah,” Ice chimed in, scooting her chair in closer. “You disappeared and came back grinning like the Grinch. Spill it.”

Paige tried to play it cool, slouching in her chair. “Nothing. Jace was just being Jace.”

“Ohhhh,” Ice said knowingly, dragging out the word like she already knew where this was headed. “Was he tryna talking to her?”

Paige didn’t respond fast enough. That was all the confirmation they needed.

Aubrey leaned forward, grinning. “So he was flirting again?”

“More like… delusional,” Paige muttered, picking at a tear in the knee of her jeans. “Said some dumb shit. Caroline shut him down first. I just followed her lead.”

“Followed her lead, my ass,” KK snorted. “Caroline’s probably still wheezing. What’d you say?”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smirk. “I told him he blends in with other mistakes.”

“OH MY GOD YOU LEGEND BUECKERS,” Ice shouted, slapping the table so hard the girl at the next table flinched so hard. “You did not!”

“I did,” Paige said proudly. “And before that? Caroline and I said the exact same insult at the exact same time.”

KK whistled. “You tag-teamed his ass.”

“Azzi looked like she was trying not to laugh,” Aubrey added with a sly glance. “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

Paige’s expression tightened, but she played it off. “I mean, it was funny.”

Aubrey smirked. “It was you.”

Meanwhile, back at the booth in the far corner of the library, Jace was still planted at the edge of the table like he hadn’t just gotten cooked in front of half the library. But his smile was more forced now, his swagger cracked around the edges.

Caroline glanced at Azzi, who had gone quiet, eyes locked on her notes but clearly not seeing a damn thing.

“Can we go over that thing from earlier again?” Jace asked, sliding his chair an inch closer. “The part about… um, the coefficients?”

Azzi blinked and looked up. “We covered that ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t paying attention,” he said with a grin that he probably thought was charming.

Caroline groaned audibly. “You’re not supposed to admit that.”

Azzi forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay… so you take the coefficient—”

Jace wasn’t listening. He was watching her mouth, leaning in just a little too close.

Caroline noticed immediately. “You good, Az?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She tried to refocus, pointing at a formula. “So here, this number is distributed—”

“Damn, you must tutor a lot of people,” Jace interrupted, his voice lower now. “Bet you’ve got a line.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“Like, I get it,” he said, smirking. “Smart, cute, helpful. That’s a whole fantasy package.”

Azzi sat back slightly, her expression turning colder. “We’re studying. I’m tutoring you”

“I know,” Jace said, hands up like he was innocent. “I’m just saying, you’re probably breaking hearts all over campus.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, dude?”

“What?” he said, like he hadn’t just turned a tutoring session into a bad pickup attempt. “I’m just being friendly.”

Azzi looked down at her notebook, then slowly closed it.

Jace blinked. “Wait, are we done?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, her voice sharp but polite. “We’ve covered what we needed to, and you’re clearly not here to learn.”

Caroline crossed her arms with a smirk. “Took the words right outta my mouth.”

Jace sat back, scoffing like he was the one being wronged. “Damn. You girls are cold.”

“No,” Azzi said, standing and sliding her bag onto her shoulder. “We’re just not here for you.”

Jace opened his mouth to say something else, but Caroline stood up too, cutting him off just by sheer vibe.

“You should probably go,” she said. “Before you embarrass yourself any harder.”

Jace muttered something under his breath, but grabbed his bag and stalked off, ego limping behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Azzi exhaled like she’d been holding it in.

“Fucking finally,” Caroline muttered. “I was 2 seconds away from pouring my water on him.”

Azzi laughed—tired, but real. “He just wouldn’t let up.”

“I know,” Caroline said, glancing toward the front of the table where Paige was at with Aubrey, KK and Ice. “And someone was definitely not chill about it.”

Azzi followed her gaze and frowned a little. “Paige?”

“Mhmmmm,” Caroline hummed. “You didn’t notice?”

Azzi looked away, lips pursed, thinking. “She was funny.”

“She’s always funny,” Caroline said. “But not always like that.”

Azzi didn’t say anything to that. She just zipped up her bag and shook her head, her expression unreadable.

Caroline didn’t push. But as they walked out of the library together, she tucked a knowing smirk into her back pocket for later.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[pookietv]

mending | arthur tv

omg bee is back after her inconsistency streak oncemore?? lmao i feel all i do as the forewords for my posts is say sorry for being inactive but.. sorry for being inactive :P

hope you enjoy!! if people want it, i may make a part two :)

arthur was a clumsy boy. you knew all too well after seeing his neverending spillages, leading to him carrying a flask round his house twenty-four seven.

and after falling out of a tree, drunk in a recent video? you weren't even surprised.

you had been an easy shoe-in for the friendgroup as soon as bach and liv had moved to london - you had went to school with liv, reconnecting when you found out she was living in the same city as yourself, and in no time you found yourself with a better group of friends you could ever have asked for.

and you had to admit, you had grown a small crush on bach's best friend, arthur, the silly nerd that was nice to everyone you had ever seen him interact with.

and the next time you guys were hanging out, he was complaining about his jumper.

"a twig got stuck in the jumper i was wearing, ripped a hole as well man, that was my favourite jumper!" he declared over his pint, the group laughing at his complaints (that were mainly his own silly fault).

"i might be able to fix it," you hummed, over the glass of cider that sat in front of you, "i mean, i'd have to see it first, depends on the hole," you said softly.

"never knew you were a spinster," george joked, and you rolled your eyes.

"not a spinster, i'm just a grown adult who can fix my own clothes if they break," you grinned back.

"you think you could fix it?" arthur said, looking back at you, a small smile gracing his face, "it really is my favourite jumper,"

"sure, if you bring it round to my house, i can have a look at it and see what i can do," you said, nodding.

so the next day, arthur showed up at your door, handing a folded jumper over with a slightly embarrassed grin, before unfolding it slightly, "see, the hole's here, near the hood? it's pretty close to the seam,"

as your eyes scanned over where his longer fingers held the fabric (and trying to ignore just how nice his hands were long enough to examine the damage), you smiled at him, "oh, this is an easy fix, arthur," you said, and watched a lopsided pleased expression grace his face.

"you're the best, y/n," he said.

"it's not a problem, it'll probably take me an hour, i mean you can come in whilst i sew it if you'd like, i can make you a cuppa," you offered, and he frowned.

"i wish i could, but i'm actually dropping this off on my way to meet with bach for filming," he said softly, "but i can come pick it up whenever, honestly don't rush if you have other things to do,"

"it's fine arthur, you stresshead - i'll do it tonight and you can come pick it up tomorrow," you smiled.

"see, what would i do without you?" he grinned, and hugged you at your door, "i'll text you tomorrow, to see what time i can come get it,"

so your night had consisted of a cup of tea, a tv show in the background whilst you curled up on your sofa, your sewing kit (which resided in an old chocolate box) laying beside you, and patching up his jumper.

and once you had finished it, the shoulder of the hoodie looking practically new, despite one small line of stitching that really wasn't noticeable, unless you were being pedantic about it.

you sent him a photo of the fixed jumper, along with a message reading 'all mended!" and he responded saying 'thank you so much! i'll pick it up around lunchtime tomorrow if that's okay?'

'around lunchtime' of the next day came, and a knock on your door signalled arthur was here, so you grabbed the gray jumper and walked to your door.

he smiled as he saw you opening the door, holding a small bunch of flowers, "sorry, i wanted to get you something to say thanks for fixing them, but i didn't know what so i figured flowers would be.. i don't know, but they're for you," he explained awkwardly.

you smiled back at him, "you're sweet, arthur, but honestly you didn't have to, it was just a small favour, didn't even take me long,"

days later, however, arthur just couldn't bring himself to wash the jumper. he didn't know how, but it smelled so inexplicably of you after all you had done was fix a small part of it. he almost felt himself a creep, but there was something so strangely comforting about the way it smelled slightly sweet, homely almost. he hadn't even realised that he enjoyed the way you smelled until then, but it was all he could reasonably think about. he hadn't dared to wear it and ruin it by smelling like him again.

he knew it was a stupid, stupid idea, but he found himself trawling through his cupboard of clothes, looking for something, anything that had a small hole or slight tear that he could ask you politely to sew.

he didn't even know why he felt this way, and he didn't know exactly what to do with this feeling, so he mentioned it off-handedly to bach.

"i know it sounds weird, but it's just such a.. nice comforting smell, and i feel bad even wearing the jumper again." he finished explaining, and bach was trying not to giggle, a smug smile plastered across his face.

"have you not considered the fact that you might, you know.. like her?" he laughed, looking at arthurs bright red and confused face.

"of course i like her, she's my friend, but like, no offence bach, i don't think you smell nice enough to make me this weird over a hoodie," arthur rolled his eyes at bach's seemingly stupid comment.

"arthur, you freak, i mean a crush,"

"no, i.. i don't think i have a crush on her.." he murmured out, and felt his eyes look to the floor for a moment, as if calculating something in his head.

[akira-dulbar]

The life you left behind

5/3: Building a New Beginning

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4

Okay, this story was supposed to be in three parts, and now we're on to part five. What happened? Anyway.

Summary: You received a letter from Bruce Wayne himself. Apparently, he barely read your letters.

I don't think there's any warning. But I want to clarify something: I've never read Little Women. I prefer other types of books. So, why did I choose Little Women? Easy. I read a theory somewhere that Jason's favorite book would be Little Women, and I liked the idea, that's all.

Sorry for the translation errors, please let me know if there is anything.

-------

Jason had no idea how to talk to you. It wasn't like he could just stand on your doorstep and tell you everything. You'd be scared, too scared to be specific.

Then he thought of a more concrete idea: Bruce could send you a letter saying he was sorry for not responding sooner and if they could meet up to talk. It's perfect, right?

Nothing can go wrong.

-------

Everything was going wrong for you.

Let's take a few steps back. First, a project you'd finished ended up with errors you had to correct since the deadline was in a few minutes. Then, you were late picking up Peter. Then, you forgot the damn shopping for tomorrow.

That's why, when you finally got home with Peter and a pile of groceries in hand, all you could think about was dinner, then maybe a movie and then heading off to dreamland.

But you were pleasantly surprised to find a letter on your doorstep from Bruce Wayne himself, complete with his seal and everything. Very traditional, if you ask me.

You were panicking about the letter's contents. You'd never spoken to him before and had no idea what he'd say, so you thought it was a bad joke. That's why, when you searched the internet for the Wayne family seal, you almost cried when you saw the same seal on the letter. In any case, what he wanted from you was disconcerting.

You've never spoken, nor have you seen each other. Well, you've seen him, but he hasn't seen you, so it didn't make sense, especially a letter. Why not an email? An email was better than a letter, but you have to say a letter can work too…

Wait…

letter…

You looked over at the kitchen counter to see Peter watching a cartoon while waiting for dinner.

Oh…

Right, the letter…

The letter you sent him to talk about Peter…

"You've got to be joking…" you couldn't help but think as you looked sadly at Peter, then at the letter. You could feel your stomach churning and the sweat on your forehead, your hands slightly warming as you clutched the letter.

But what could you possibly think? At this point, he's answering you? After what? Six years? Please, this was frustrating, and all for what? To take Peter away? To see if what you were saying was true? What was he thinking?

"Mom…" You came out of your inner panic when you looked at Peter in the kitchen doorway. His blue eyes, just like his father's, stared at you. Sometimes you couldn't help but remember Jason in him, with his hair, eyes, and facial shape. It was hard not to see the resemblance, and sometimes, just sometimes, it hurt.

"What's wrong, honey?" You placed the letter on the counter as you knelt down to your son's level, then grabbed his torso and lifted him up with you.

"I'm already bored… read me a story," you snorted, typical, you thought with amusement. Just like Jason and his love of reading, that boy hadn't gotten anything from you. You couldn't help but think about your time at school when Jason was always bored with something or wasn't interested in something, always going off and reading a book. You remembered how sometimes you didn't like to read, that's why he would sometimes read to you while you sat by his side listening. It was only in those moments that you found an incomparable peace, how you had loved that boy.

"What would you like me to read to you?" You watched as your son frowned in concentration while you thought, really, why did he get everything from Jason and nothing from you? It was unfair.

"Daddy's book, Little Women."

"That'll be it, then." You carried Peter to the living room bookshelf to pick out a slightly worn book, obviously because you'd taken good care of it. You sat down with Peter on the couch to start reading.

-----------

You sat up in bed with the letter in your hand. You'd already put Peter to bed, and even though you were already very tired, you knew you couldn't ignore the letter, not when it could change everything in a minute.

Just looking at the letter made you feel like you'd aged about three years. Not even Peter tired you that much. You sighed as you opened the letter and began to read.

"Dear [your name],

I don't know where to start. I just discovered a letter you wrote me six years ago, and my world has turned upside down. I had no idea my son had become a father. I'm overwhelmed by a mix of emotions: surprise, sadness, guilt, and, most of all, curiosity.

I want to know more about my grandson. How is he? How has he grown? What has his life been like these past six years? It hurts to think that I haven't been able to be there for him, that I haven't been able to get to know him, hug him, watch him grow. I want to know more about you, too. How have you been? How have you handled all of this alone? I imagine it must have been very difficult for you, and I'm sorry I wasn't there to support you.

I want to meet my grandson. I want to know if he looks like his father, if he has his eyes, his smile. I want to know if he has inherited his passion, his energy. I want to be there for him, to support him, to guide him, to love him. I want to talk to you; I want to know more about all of this. I want to know if We can find a way to stay in touch, to share information about my grandson. I want to know if I can do anything to make up for lost time.

Please reply. I'm eager to learn more about my grandson and about you.

Sincerely, Bruce Wayne

Well, at least he didn't insult you or insinuate anything bad. You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding. You felt a little lighter reading the letter, but more anxious about what would come next.

You noticed that below Bruce's name was a number. You imagined it was for communication, and all you could think was that to send him the first text, you'd have to suffer two nervous breakdowns.

(A sleepless night awaits me), you thought bitterly about the long night that would follow.

----------

Bruce was eagerly awaiting a message from you, and he wasn't the only one. His family too, especially Jason, who had been dying for a while. But even so, they couldn't get this far ahead of themselves. A message from you wouldn't arrive for a few days. Even if they sent the letter early, that wouldn't mean you'd respond right away; it would take a while.

(I hope you're at least better than we are,) Bruce thought, four days after the letter, while Jason sat on the couch looking at Bruce's cell phone to see if he had received a message.

(Spoiler: You're not.)

They were eating dinner in the dining room, and although Alfred didn't allow cell phones at the table, he knew full well that this time it was best to make an exception so as not to make the atmosphere any more tense than it already was.

Even so, there was a funereal silence; only the sound of forks and plates touching could be heard; it was exhausting. … ..

Tik Tik

Bruce wasn't surprised when he saw Jason jump onto the table to grab the cell phone next to him. He was Batman, for God's sake. In any case, he grabbed the phone faster than Jason did, so he wouldn't end up damaging it, which caused Jason to continue forward, shoving Tim into his side.

Their weight knocked the chair off balance and they both fell to the floor, making a terrible noise.

"Master Jason!"

"Jason, damn it!" Tim grabbed the back of his head while, with his other hand, he tried to push Jason, who was on top of him.

"What's she saying, what's she saying?!" Dick approached Bruce to check the notification on his phone.

"Grayson, we don't even know if it's her." Damian remained in his chair, not moving an inch. In fact, he seemed more amused by his brothers' fall than by the message.

"It's her." Bruce skims over the text you sent before being snatched away by his second son.

Jason begins to read the message.

"Jason, don't read it to yourself." Dick snatches the phone from his brother as he begins to read the message aloud.

"Hi, I don't even know what to say… I was so surprised to receive your letter after so long. I'm glad you want to meet your grandson, but I'm a little nervous. He's an amazing boy, so much like his father. He has his eyes and his smile.

I've been through all this alone, and it's been hard. I don't know what to expect now that you know the truth. I'd like to meet you, but I'm not sure I'm ready. Do you want to meet soon?

[Your name]"

----------

You didn't think much when you sent the message; it just came out as you thought. The only thing you omitted were the insults. You didn't have to start off on the wrong foot in this new relationship with you… Father-in-law? Your son's grandfather? You don't know the best definition.

They were at work, you had taken your break as a good opportunity to send a message, although a weekend would have been better. You decided you had to send a message four days after the letter; you didn't want him to see you as a bad woman.

.

..

Tik Tik

You were a little surprised when you immediately received a message from Bruce.

You were getting a little nervous, since even though you had sent him a message, you thought he'd be busy doing who knows what being the CEO of his company. Honestly, does he at least have free time, or is it just his secretary answering you? You didn't want to know.

You read the message quickly. It mentioned when a meeting would be convenient for you, that he was happy to have you contact him, etc., which seemed very normal to you, both formal and very professional. Where did this man get such elegance?

In any case, you quickly decided that the place should be private. You didn't want the news to talk about a meeting between the infamous Bruce Wayne and a woman who could easily be mistaken for his daughter, but since she was the mother of his grandson, for God's sake.

You decided it could be his office or something like that, that way there would be privacy and more comfort.

You quickly wrote a message and sent it to him. Then you thought about what you would wear to Peter's meeting. You thought it was best to bring him and have him play for a moment while you talked to Bruce about Peter, at the same time showing it to him as proof of your honesty.

"God, I don't want another sleepless night," you thought to yourself, imagining the night you would have because of the nervousness.

------------

You wanted to run away when you arrived at the Wayne Company offices. Even though there was no turning back, you still had the faith to run, right?

"Mom…" You lowered your head to look at Peter, who was holding your hand. His blue eyes looked back at you with that innocent look that characterized a 6-year-old boy.

"No…"

You couldn't run away. Peter deserved to meet someone from his paternal side of the family. Although he already knew your parents, he didn't know anyone on his father's side. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't let him meet his paternal grandfather?

You sighed as you looked back at the building's doors and started walking toward the building, pulling Peter with you.

You entered the building and continued walking to the reception desk.

"Um… Hi, I'm looking for Mr. Wayne." The receptionist looked at you for a minute, as if judging you, then started typing on the computer.

It wasn't the first time someone had judged you with their eyes. Many judged you for having a child so young, others because you weren't married, or others because they simply didn't have anything better to do, but even if it didn't mean it wouldn't hurt.

"Do you have an appointment? If so, please tell me your name." You gave her a forced smile as you told her your first and last name. Then the receptionist went back to typing on the computer for a few minutes, then turned to look at you.

"Top floor, and at the end of the hall in Mr. Wayne's office."

"Great, thanks," you said as you dragged Peter away from the reception desk to take an elevator that was near a column. You could feel the receptionist's gaze on the back of your neck, and it was becoming more uncomfortable.

As you arrived in the elevator and were about to touch the up button, a hand appeared in your peripheral vision and touched the first vote.

"Oh, thanks…" Your gratitude died when you looked up to find Tim Drake-Wayne, also known as Mr. Wayne's third adopted son, who was your son's grandfather, and therefore your son's uncle.

"Hello?" Tim looked at you while you looked like you were rebooting your system.

"Oh!…Yeah, haha, hello." You smiled nervously as you looked at him and thought about all your life-giving experiences.

"HELLO!" Peter shouted, cheerfully waving at the other boy.

"Hey, buddy, what's your name?"

"Peter! And you?" Peter leaned closer to Tim but didn't let go of your hand.

"Timothy, but everyone calls me Tim-"

"And why does he call you that? And why do you have such big dark circles under your eyes? Are you a raccoon? A zombie, maybe? What are you doing here? Do you have a meeting too?" Peter, like any 6-year-old, started his barrage of questions. Before Tim could answer, another question was thrown out, leaving him speechless.

"Peter…" You were interrupted by the sound of the elevator reaching the first floor and opening its doors.

Finally… you thought to yourself…

That was before you saw Dick Grayson step out of the elevator doors. "Don't mess with me, Fate," you thought pitifully.

"Tim, there you are!" Dick approached Tim to put his arm around his shoulders.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, oh?" Dick stopped talking to look at you and Peter.

You stopped breathing completely…

"And who is this little one?" Dick knelt down next to Peter as he shook his hand.

"I'm Peter, and my mom!" Peter shook his hand as he also pulled yours.

"Well, hello Peter and your mom," Dick smiled as he stood up and looked at you.

"Hello…" You didn't say anything else.

"Okay, Tim, we're going. We have to have lunch. Bye, have a good afternoon," he said as he walked away with Tim behind him.

You entered the elevator with Peter and let out a sigh. You hoped he wouldn't notice Peter's resemblance to Jason.

The doors closed as you watched them leave.

---------

"She seemed very nervous, didn't she?" Dick turned toward the elevator as it was already going up.

"Yeah, he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Maybe it wasn't a good idea coming to see them. He looked like he was going to faint."

"Yeah, it's our fault, but you saw him, right? He looked like Jason!"

"Yeah, when I first saw him from the photos Damián showed me, I was really surprised, but it's nothing compared to real life, right?"

"Yeah, right! A miniature mini Jason. Does he like reading books?"

"When I had to get DNA for the test, I saw a bunch of books in his room, so yeah, but I can't ask him today which one would be his favorite. He asked me so many questions I couldn't answer."

"It's normal. At that age, they're more curious about the world."

"I guess. Anyway, let's go to lunch. I want an espresso."

"Haven't you had 4 yet?"

"Does it matter?"

"Tim…"

-----------

You were in Bruce's office, as he'd asked you to call him. Peter was playing with Bruce while you sat in one of his chairs in his office, watching them play.

At first, the meeting started nervously, with awkward silence, etc., but thankfully, it calmed down and everything got better. They introduced themselves, talked for a moment, explained a few things to Peter about who the man was, and now they were playing, while Peter also asked him about his father.

Yeah… this might have been the best idea…

Then a man came in and called Bruce for a moment.

Bruce looked at him and nodded at the man, then looked at you, which left you confused.

"I'd like to talk to you for a moment about some things." You immediately understood where the conversation was going.

"Sure, I understand."

"If you allow Peter to go with my employee and you and I talk."

That left a bit of a bad taste in your mouth, but you understood that they couldn't discuss those topics in front of Peter, so you nodded.

Bruce guided Peter to the employee, who said something to Peter and offered his hand.

Peter hesitated and turned to look at you.

"It's okay, honey, it's okay. I'll be here if you need anything," you said encouragingly.

Then the door closed, and Mr. Bruce sat down across from you.

"How have you been?" Well, you guess he wants to set the mood for a more serious conversation first, so that's fine.

You talked about the past and present, how things were going at work, your parents, among other things. Suddenly, Bruce stops and looks at you with a serious, grave expression.

"There's something you should know," he says, his voice low and full of suppressed emotion.

You grow intrigued, your heart beating faster.

Okay, here we go, you thought, the conversation you've been waiting for.

Bruce takes a deep breath before speaking, as if working up the courage to say something he's been holding back for a long time.

"My son, Jason, didn't die that day," he says, his voice trembling slightly. "He's alive."

…

…

what?…

You gape, unable to believe what you're hearing. It feels like the floor has opened beneath your feet and you're falling into a bottomless abyss.

"How…?" you asked, your voice shaking.

Just as you were still trying to process Bruce's revelation, the doors open and a man enters the room.

You didn't have to be a fortune teller to know who he was, not when you always saw that face on your son's face, not when you kept a photo of him with you from your school years, not when you cried while pregnant with him and had no idea what to do, not when you kept reading the note he left in his book, not when…

no…

when…

not when you still couldn't forget him…

The man approaches you with a nervous smile and stops in front of you.

"Hi," he says, his voice soft, "it's me, Jason."

He doesn't look like Jason, you thought as you stared at him as if he were a ghost, not your Jason.

The Jason you remember and the one in the photo are thinner, not as muscular as an elephant. He had blue eyes, not blue-green, and he had all black hair, not a white streak.

What happened to him? What happened? You don't understand, you don't comprehend, you feel like you're not breathing properly.

"Why… Why?" is all you manage to say. You don't understand, you don't understand.

You feel overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. You're angry, sad, confused, and scared all at the same time. You don't know how to react to the presence of the man you've thought was dead for so long.

Bruce quickly explains that it was all a cover-up, that Jason had to disappear for safety reasons, and that he'd been protecting him this whole time. You feel like you've been struck by lightning, unable to process the information, you can barely process the conversation, you even feel like you're not fully listening, you even feel like he's saying the words as if they were a rehearsal, as if he's practiced them, but all you're doing is staring at the man who called himself Jason.

"Why?" you ask, tears in your eyes. "Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

Jason approached you, but you moved away, not wanting to listen to his explanations.

"I… I didn't know," he said slowly, as if he were talking to an animal, which you weren't.

"No… you didn't know?" You looked at Jason wildly. He didn't know. All the letters, the emails, the pleas for help you sent to the mansion were what? A joke? He thought those things were a joke? Desperate? What did he think?

"YOU DIDN'T KNOW?" You couldn't help but scream. You felt foolish, stupid, hurt, angry, you didn't feel well.

"I'm going to throw up," you spoke without thinking, which alerted Jason and Bruce, who quickly found a bucket for you.

But even when Jason approaches you with the bucket, you back away. You didn't want him around, you felt disgusted, but you'd rather throw up on the carpet of who knows how many millions than be near him.

Jason looked hurt when you walked away, but you didn't care, not when he didn't care what you did to him.

God, you were crying, you thought as you felt the tears running down your cheeks.

Suddenly, Peter enters the room, curious about the commotion.

"Mom?" Peter asks, his voice innocent. "What's wrong?"

You feel a lump in your throat when you see your son, who doesn't know his father is alive, standing in front of you, looking at him.

You walk quickly over to him, bend down, and hug him tightly, trying to protect him from the truth.

"Nothing, my love," you say, rubbing his back, tears in your eyes. "Let's go home."

You stand up and take your son's hand, not looking at Jason, whom you've thought was dead for so long.

"Wait," Jason says, but is quickly interrupted by Bruce, who places his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Bruce says, his voice soft. "Maybe we should talk later."

You don't even answer him; without a word, you walk away with your son, leaving the shock and uncertainty behind.

"What's wrong, Mom?" Peter asks as they walk toward the elevator.

You don't know what to say to him. You don't know how to explain the truth, how to feel, what to say, nothing. You were blank.

But you only knew one thing…

You only knew that your life has changed forever.

-------------

end, goodbye

@mev-fizzah-writes @1abi @kkocho @winterelfqueen @yl90 @salvatt1 Thanks for reading. I don't know much English.

I'm tired

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

Before tomorrow possibly just ruins us for multiple reasons, I wanted to write a fluffy what if (because I know we might get some heavy fics).

What if Buck attended Mitchel and Thomas's funeral and met Thomas's namesake?

.....

Buck had no idea why he thought attending the funeral would be a good idea. But something in his gut was telling him he had to go.

He had only spoken to Thomas for a few moments, but it had left an impact on him. He always wanted that love for himself, the forever type. Buck guessed that seeing the end of forever was what left him feeling unsure and sad.

But also...

He had a scrapbook to return.

He dressed up in a simple black suit, the scrapbook in nondescript gift bag and stayed in the back as the funeral for Mitchell and Thomas started.

It was a small gathering, Buck noticed that the crowd was made up of older people. A few adults his age or little older accompanying the older guests, Buck assumed they were the adult children of Mitchell and Thomas's friends. The service was held at the graveyard, the caskets were covered in flowers already when Buck arrived. He recognized some of the pictures that were blown up and used to honor the couple and their life. He noticed a man and woman, not that much older looking than him, talking to a group of older people. They seem to be circling the couple. Both the man and the woman looked somber but also guilt stricken. Buck noticed the man first, it was hard not to. He was taller than everyone surrounding him, he had to be Buck's height, if not taller. He looked like he was the same built as Buck too. Buck noticed how the man couldn't stop wringing his hands together until the woman stopped him by covering his hands with hers.

Buck didn't even notice he was staring at the man till the man looked at him. Frowning a bit as a few of the older people noticed Buck staring too. Buck looked away, busying himself by studying a flower arrangement and missing the older guests smiling knowingly at him.

"I want to thank everyone for coming." Said an old man wearing a dark gray suit, he seemed to be the same age as Mitchell and Thomas as well. "My name is Henry Ng. As many of you know, Mitchell and Thomas were old friends of mine. We didn't have much when it came to biological family, but we had our friends- our chosen family." Buck heard the crowd murmuring in agreement. "Their love story was as epic as any love story from that time. It's no suprise they left together, Thomas and Mitchell would usually tell whomever would listen that the day they found each other is the day they found joy and peace in their lives. For all that they lost and went through, finding each other was their solace and reward." The man smiled tearfully, even Buck found himself tearing up as the man and other life long friends and mentees of Mitchell and Thomas spoke and celebrated their lives.

Buck looked at the scrapbook again, smiling a bit as he was able to connect certain pictures to the stories that were being told.

"There's a gift when it comes to growing older, its an honor that many of our friends didn't get the chance to have. I know in their lives, Mitchell and Thomas had very few regrets, thats the way they wanted to live and be remembered. No regrets, just adventures, fun, and love." Henry paused, smiling down at the ground momentarily before looking at someone in the front row. "And Thomas and Sarah, I know how much you two regret not spending more time with your great uncle." Buck couldn't see who Henry was speaking to,"But just know that neither of them would want you to dwell on something that you couldn't control. And to you especially Thomas, your great uncle was so proud of you. His name sake, I know that he wished he could have been there for you growing up but just let me tell you how happy and honored he was when you came out to him. You made him so proud, all he ever wanted for you and Sarah was to be loved- to be happy."

Buck stayed until the very last guest left, leaving a Henry and a few other close friends. Including the man and the woman.

So they were Thomas's great nephew and niece.

Buck steadily approached Thomas and Sarah, who were beginning take down the pictures and flower arrangements.

Buck was sure the gift bag handle was going to leave an impression on his skin from how tightly he was holding the bag. He ignored the coy smiles and arched brows that the older guests were making as he went up to Thomas and Sarah.

"Uh hi." Buck waved an awkward hand. "I'm uh- Buck. I- I was one of the first responders to help your great uncle and Mitchell." He gave them a small smile. "I wanted to give my condolences, I-I didn't get the chance to speak to Mitchell unfortunately, but I spoke to Thomas before he-uh passed away. I- I just wanted to say they seem like they were very sweet and really in love."

"They were." Thomas sighed. Buck noticed up close how blue Thomas's eyes were and the cleft in his chin.

"It's really sweet of you to come down." Sarah noted gently, she was shorter than her brother and unlike Thomas, Sarah had curly blond hair and brown eyes. "It sounds like our uncle made the impression on you."

Buck nodded, he felt his voice hitch as he remembered noticing how Thomas was unresponsive when Buck tried to wake him up. "He did. They did really." He looked at Thomas, "Thomas told me they just really wanted to go together, I'm sorry that we couldn't save them but I'm glad they got to go together. I-I envy that kind of love, you only hear about it in movies. Thomas let me know that you make it, you don't find that type of love."

Thomas looked touched by that and turned to his sister with a teary expression. Sarah squeezed his hand, "He told us that too when I came out to him." Thomas told him, "It's hopeful to hear."

"Very." Buck agreed. He handed them the gift bag, "It's their scrapbook. I guess they were taking it with them before the accident occurred. I didn't have the heart to leave it for police to confiscate, figured you two might want it back? Something to remember your uncles by."

It was Thomas that took the bag gently from Buck's hold, Buck could see the flicker of mixed emotions as the two leafed through the album.

Sarah wiped away her tears, "Thank you for returning this to us - uh?"

Buck chuckled as he stuck out his hand. "Evan. Evan Buckley, friends call me Buck."

"I'm Sarah, and this is my baby brother Tommy."

Buck looked at the man in suprise, "You don't go by Thomas?"

Tommy winced, "My father wasn't a fan of the name...for obvious reasons."

"He's a homophobic asshole." Sarah explained cooly

Tommy pointed a finger at her, "That sums it up." He shook his head as he started looking through the album. "We were banned from ever seeing him because our dad thought he and Mitchell would try to convert us or something. I grew up with as Tommy since it seemed to start a war in our house whenever I went by Thomas. Imagine our dad's surprise when his veteran and firefighter pilot son turned out to be gay anyway." He sighed, "I only got to meet with my uncle a year ago, it took us forever to find him. I just needed to talk to him, I figured he would get me and he did." Tommy swallowed audibly, "I missed all this time with him."

"W-wait, you're a firefighter pilot?" Buck asked, mind blanking out as he remembered meeting a few during the academy.

Tommy arched a brow at him. "Yeah, why?"

"That is so cool!" Buck missed how Sarah hid her smile behind her hand as Buck asked excitedly "Which house are you in?"

"I'm part of the 217, I was at station 118 before then."

Buck might have taken a step closer without knowing.

Henry, Sarah, and other didn't do too well in hiding their smiles and laughs this time

"No way. That's my house. I just got my shield a few months ago, but I was a probie under Bobby. Do you know Hen or Chimney?"

Tommy didn't seem to mind how close Buck was standing to him. "Yeah, I was there when they were both probies, not proudest moment when I used to work with them but they're amazing firefighters and medics." He crossed his arms and let out a chuckle, Buck noticed how it made Tommy's nose scrunch up. "I see that Howie's nickname stuck. He ever tell you how he got it?"

"Oh yeah!" Buck laughed, "Hen spilled the details. Honestly, not the worst nickname to get from that situation." He joked.

Tommy's face lit up, "Right? That's what I said." He laughed. "Nice to know Bobby is still there. Guessing things are getting better at the 118 then?"

"Yeah, it's like one big happy family." Buck smiled.

He didn't like how Tommy frowned at that, he looked hurt and taken back by that.

"Glad to hear that." He cleared his throat, patting Buck on the shoulder. "It was nice meeting you, Evan. And thank you for returning the scrapbook."

Buck felt stuck.

He didn't know what just happened.

Even Sarah looked confused as she gave Buck an apologetic smile before rushing over to catch up with her brother.

"Tommy! Wait, hold up." Buck didn't know what he was doing. But he didn't like how that ended.

"Yeah?"

"I-You should let me buy you a beer?" He didn't know why he started it off like that, Tommy made him feel jittery for some reason. "I mean- if you want? It would be nice to talk to another firefighter, especially a firefighter who's also pilot. If you're not busy?"

Buck wasn't sure if Tommy would say yes, the other man looked stunned and confused as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. It was Sarah's elbowing him that got Tommy to talk again. "I would love that."

"Really? That's great." He took out his phone and passed it to Tommy who shared a look with his sister before entering his name and number into Buck's phone. "Great. And I'll just... there. You have my number now. Are you free Saturday?"

"Yeah, uh yeah. I should be free." Tommy's smile had Buck smiling now.

"Great, I'll call you later then? We can decide where to meet."

"Great." Tommy cleared his throat. "Looking forward to it."

Henry watched with amusement as Buck made his way back to his jeep, leaving a blushing and flustered Tommy.

Henry waited a bit till he walked over to Tommy. "Seems like someone has a date."

Tommy let out a sputtering laugh, "Yeah right. He's just a firefighter interested in trading stories."

"Hmm, if that's what you think."

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes as he reminded Henry, "I know that my uncle had this epic love story. But those don't happen anymore. Especially not in L.A"

Henry shrugged, "If that's what you think, but let me remind you- Thomas didn't just stumble into a love story with Mitchell. They had their ups and downs too, just like any couple today." He patted Tommy's shoulder, "If there's a chance that you find the person who you can have forever with, then you need to work on making it a forever love story. That's what your uncle and Mitchell did."

Tommy looked at the direction of where Buck had walked off to. "You don't know if it's him though."

Henry didnt know if Buck was it for Tommy, but he saw how Buck looked at Tommy and how Tommy looked at Buck.

It was too familiar...

"No, I don't." Henry admitted, "But I think it's worth finding out."

[sweetdispatch]

could i request a auston matthews story something cute or funny whatever you feel like writing 😓🤗

Beach date - A. Matthews

masterlist pairing: Auston Matthews x fem!reader summary: It was a lazy day but Auston decided to take you out spontaneously warning: none note: let me know if it's alright love❤️

It’s been a boring day for you and Auston. You’ve been sitting the whole day at home just enjoying ourselves. There was warm weather outside but you’ve been laying too cosy on the couch. You two had been watching another movie and just hugging until you heard Auston.

“Let’s do something spontaneous” Auston said and you looked at him.

“Like what? It’s 9PM” You told him, confused. 

“I don’t know” Auston was thinking for a minute until he came up with an idea. “Let’s have a picnic on the beach” 

“Baby I’m not dressed up and I don’t even wear any makeup. Please let’s stay at home and do something tomorrow” You tried to plead with him. 

“You’re beautiful without makeup. If you think that I care about what you’re wearing that means I’m doing a bad job. Now go grab a blanket. Meet me in the car” Auston told you and you stood up. “Kiss?” He asked you and you kissed his lips. 

You couldn’t believe in this. You always loved Auston’ spontaneous side but this was new. You two never went out that late, only if it was planned earlier. You grabbed the warm blanket and took two hoodies from the closet in case it gets chilly later. You went to the garage and saw him standing next to the passenger door. 

“M’lady” Auston opened the door for you and you giggled. He took the blanket and hoodies from your hands and threw them into the back. 

You connected your phone with the radio and played a playlist that you made when you started dating. It wasn’t anything new for both of you to have a car ride and you wanted to have all your favorite songs in one place. You put the music on and laid your head against the window. You were watching his hand on the wheel when the other was lying comfortably on your thigh. 

Auston wanted to make it special for you. That was his ultimate goal to make you feel appreciated. That’s why he drove to the store and told you to stay in the car. He went and picked out your favorite snacks and drinks. He knew you like the back of his hand and he knew exactly what to grab. He also noticed that your eyes were getting heavy during the ride and took your favorite energy drink. 

After 20 minutes, Auston returned and handed you the drink. The bag with all the things he bought, he put in the back next to the blanket and hoodies. He sat down on the seat and drove you to another place. He was aware that you were craving something warm and decided to make another stop. This time at the McDonalds drive thru. 

Auston didn’t even have to ask you what you wanted. He knew your order. You heard him saying the order and you smiled. You always appreciated that he was paying attention and knew you so well. When he was waiting in the line to get the food, you kissed him and thanked him. 

When you finally had the food, Auston drove to the beach. It was a quiet evening and not many people were there. He parked the car and when you stepped out from the car, the breeze hit you. You pulled one of his hoodies that you brought on yourself and took the food. He grabbed the bag and blanket and he held your hand. 

Quickly, you two found a perfect spot and Auston laid down the blanket. You sat down and took out the food from the bag. He sat next to you and both of you started eating. Not many words were said, you were just enjoying this evening and each other's company. When you finished, you laid down on the blanket and started looking into the sky. 

Auston brought you into his arms and you were laying on the beach. Both of you were watching the stars and from time to time, he placed a kiss on the top of your head. It was a lovely evening and you were happy to be there with him. You still couldn’t understand how you got so lucky to be with him. 

“Thank you” You said softly. 

“For what?” Auston asked you.

“For being with me. For loving me. For taking me here. I’m just thankful to have you” You told him and closed your eyes.

“I should be the one to say thank you. Every single day when I’m waking up next to you and I’m thankful for being your boyfriend” Auston told you quietly and you could feel the tears growing in your eyes. 

“I love you so much” You kissed his lips. 

“I love you too” Auston kissed you again. 

For another hour, you’ve been laying on the beach having a conversation from time to time. You could feel your eyelids giving up and Auston noticed this too. He placed a kiss on your head and lifted you up and took you to the car. You giggled at this act. When you were sitting on the passenger seat, he went to clean up the spot and returned to the car. 

Auston started driving back to the house and you fell asleep. When he parked the car, he looked at you and saw how cute you were looking buried in his hoodie snoring lightly. It broke his heart that he needed to take you to the bedroom because he knew that it’s very easy to wake you up. Thankfully for him, you woke up by yourself and went upstairs. 

Auston followed you into the house and decided to clean the car tomorrow. He saw you in the bedroom changing up into his shirt which was your pyjama and smiled. You laid in the bed and waited for him. He stripped from his clothes and laid next to you and pulled you into a hug. Just like that both of you fell asleep after this little date.

[stuffeddeer]

Nobody's hiring these days | Bungo Stray Dogs | Dazai x reader

cw - yandere themes, slight innuendo bc Dazai sucks

"Honestly at this point I'd take a rejection. I'm begging for a rejection," you groan.

Dazai chuckles, hand moving up to push yours away, the phone that was covering his view of your face toppling to the side. "You wanna be rejected?"

You huff. Of course not. Glancing down, all your irritation melts away as you see your boyfriend's pretty face gazing up at you from your lap. He'd perched up here not long ago, having just gotten home from the agency and quickly raced over to sit beside you on the couch. Which, of course, quickly became lying on the couch and pleading with you to lie down alongside him.

"I just," you sigh, "it's weird to get no responses. I've started applying to part time work as well, places that are seeking help "desperately," and no one will email me back. Is my resume that shitty?" The last question comes out despondently, causing Dazai to frown. He never wants to see you sad.

"Your resume is perfect. It's all about you, after all," he grins.

Not responding to his lip service, your hand that had been holding your phone (and checking your email) just moments ago now runs through his hair. It's serene, being able to just enjoy a moment of peace and quiet with your boyfriend.

The two of you had such hectic jobs before you'd gotten fired from yours, meaning you usually spent time at home preparing for tomorrow. Being able to sit with him, fingers carding through his hair as he purrs like a cat... it's a dream come true.

Dazai's eyes flutter shut. Basking in the warmth of the setting sun's shine through the living room window onto him and your soothing fingers just oozes all the stress of today out of his system. This is all Dazai wanted for today - to spend time with his favorite person. Or maybe one of two, since Kunikida covered his lunch today.

The way things are now... Dazai would hate for them to change. "You could stop applying," he carefully speaks. It's sudden, breaking through the silence and serenity, but quiet and soft as well. "Just stay home. I can pamper you."

Stay home..? "No, that doesn't make sense. I should be out there in the world, making bread and grinding or whatever people say these days— "

"I can help with the grinding— "

"And when I head back out into the work force, they'll wonder why there's such a huge gap in my resume. I need to find work now." You don't even dignify Dazai's interruption with a response.

I mean, yeah, you're right - if you want to be technical with it... The job market is only getting harder to breach everyday and the longer you wait to get back out there, the harder it'll be. But Dazai didn't work his ass off to get you fired from one place just for you to crawl back to another.

"But what if you just didn't go back to work?" Dazai broaches. "Ever, I mean. I can take care of us, be the breadwinner. You used to be so stressed... it's nice seeing you make time for the things you've forgotten." 

Sitting up, Dazai maneuvers himself to face you on the couch, resting his knees into the cushions and placing his hands on top of them. "And I like coming home to see you, looking all cute and relaxed, smiling and waiting just for me. It was so sad when I'd come home to nothingness because you were working late."

The brunette is laying it on thick, for sure. But you've never expressed interest in being his cute stay-at-home partner, always emphasizing your want for "financial independence" or whatever. Dazai does look so cute, eyes wide and glistening, lips pouty. "Please consider it. I much prefer this for you," his calloused hands grasp at yours, sincerity in his expression.

Clicking your tongue in faux annoyance, you tug your hand from his. "Fine, for now. Just because no one has been responding to my applications."

Crumbling easily is one reaction to have. Dazai would rather you have remained steadfast, because he knows exactly what to say in response to skew this in his favor. Your quick agreement as you stood to vanish into the kitchen means that this is far from over. In a few days, you'll be back to sending out applications - and Dazai will have to be ready to continue blocking them.

Ugh, how tedious. But it's worth it to keep you at his side.

[helliloveit]

Blood Bonded

@dethspllz u are free to kill me, i did everything but what you asked me for. I owe you that one, i’ll do it, OKAY? 😫 my brain didn’t connect blood and smut this time, it is so hard to write for me. Turning back to the fic, hell, this is authentic punisher field, i love my man wild out of the nature, craycray like he truly is. Tellmewhatchathink.

Frank Castle x reader

Warnings: +18, Violence, blood, murder, graphic descriptions, SA allusions (not mentioned), angst, soft!Frank, punisher stuff.

W.c: 1.2k

Summary: Life isn’t easy, even more so when you have an abusive boyfriend breathing down your neck. Everything took a drastic spin one night after your neighbor Pete found out.

You’re awaken by hard thumps rattling in the window’s glasses of your room. Before you can question the source of it, the first thing you notice is the absence of your partner…where is James? He must be here in bed with you —well, is not that you want to see him honestly, argued a lot before you came to bed.

Probably decided to go for a walk or to go away. After all, the discussion went pretty physical (as always) and you’ll made it decisively clear he would leave tomorrow.

Whatever his reason was, you needed to check. You stay paralyzed in your room that would have been plunged into absolute blackness if it wasn’t for the yellow streets lights entering in rectangular frames inside the desolate place.

Nothing felt like before anymore, James did take half your bubbly personality and with that, the smooth color of your skin…he was that type of person.

You feel incredibly ashamed of leaving the situation escalate this much. You must have break with him any of the repeated times he had the insolence to put up a show in front all your neighbors, including Pete. He is the one you are the most embarrassed with because he actually intervened; he always seemed to ignore whatever which wasn’t his work or the stuff what kept his face scrunched and injured all the time.

I mean, he wasn’t a complete stranger, he chats briefly with you as long as the dumb shit you called ‘boyfriend’ is not around. Usually things about your apartment, the electricity costs, water problems and most recently, your wellbeing:

—“Sweetheart, what is that?” The man raises your wrist from the lock you were intending to open. You didn’t expect him to get out of his flat in that precise moment, your heart was on the floor.

—“Shit.” You snap your hand away, regretting instantly.

—“God- i’m sorry Pete i wasn’t-”

—“It was him? Jacob? Jackson?” He tentatively asks. His face is calm but you know damn well that rumble, he’s not happy, of course, your wrist is inked with a deep purple bruise, green edges appending at its nasty look.

Shame washes you again, you’re not able to respond, disregarding him completely, closing the door behind you in a rush. Nothing couldn’t stop you from breaking down in one of those chairs next the dinning table. You did a great job hiding how miserable you were the whole year. Until that moment.

———————————————————————————

You manage to put your slippers on, your knees hurt, your soul sticks to your insides in order to not be absorbed by the absolute aversion you feel, totally betraying yourself cause why you should look for James??

You’re finally getting ready to raise from the bed and you hear one of those again, a dry thump that wasn’t loud, what scared you was the strength of it, made the floor vibrate beneath your feet.

Now isn’t only your boyfriend you need to know where he is but the source of that sound.

It was located in the kitchen.

Standing with that gray long-sleeved shirt you had seen him wear several times now sweat stained, his chest is puffing up and down rapidly, you notice regardless he’s turning his back at you, he’s stiff. He has fresh blood on his hands, the yellowish light bouncing on your kitchen wall to his forearms made them glisten red.

You know you should hide, call the police, make a bustle about it and maybe, maybe you’ll get to survive.

But it was-

—“Pete?” Your voice cuts the frigid atmosphere, he acknowledged you in the room with him now. Two bodies joining you both, calling a macabre scenario.

—“Shitshitshit” He rushes at your form, it feels like he’s back to life, glimmer reviving his eyes; covering the scene from your sight with the expansion of his chest.

—“You should be sleeping, love. I’m sorry for waking you up—I shouldn’t have, shit. I’ll deal with this, alright?” His hands hover near your arms. You catch the faint iron tang of them, and everything in his tone is erratic—unsteady.

Still, the decision forming in his eyes tells you he means it: he’s going to take care of it.

C’mon, you’re not silly, this didn’t catch you totally unaware. All those cut and bruises, the occasionally grunts reverberating from his loft, rusty hands shaking, knuckles dry and manhandled, it isn’t just some blue collar job. No.

You rise enough to see your dead partner, what is supposed to be his head in a pool of blood, the other guy unlike James his face is still recognizable… is one of his friends.

You see a knife staked in the midst of his throat. You don’t want to think about it —yet you ask.

It takes Frank two or three tries to gather the answer for you, stuttering, lost in his own mind he says:

—“They were stupid enough to talk about their plan in the hallway… i couldn’t-” he breathes deeply.

—“Couldn’t let that happen, y’know.” He’s incredibly touched by your apparent toughness, he’s pretty sure you understand completely what he means. You gaze up at him in determination.

—“I’ll hel-”

—“No.” He interferes severe.

—“What’ya gonn’ do is…” Intensifing his tone, Frank lowers his head, dark eyes boring into you, he wants you to apprehend what he is about to dictate you.

—“I’ll go away. You call the cops, tell them i was here, you tell them Frank Castle did this and they gonna believe you.”

You’re so confused, like who the fuck is Frank Castle…

Then you remember.

The news rambled nonstop about this new vigilante who was extremely dangerous, and his description fitted Pete perfectly, good six feet, ivory skin, brunette, brown deep set eyes. You’re not fazed.

—“Hey, you hear me? Sweetheart there’s not much time for me.” He searched for your pupils, stuck on some unrelated spot.

—“Yeah, yeah im here.” Quickly, your attention snaps back to him. In the darkness, you catch the way his brows are drawn together with a tender shake in them you hadn’t noticed before.

—“They’ll believe you and you’ll be okay.” His assuring tone calming you is almost ironic. You can’t help but feel guilty.

—“But what about you? You made this mess because of me and now you are on your own like that?” You rush to express, pressing your lips in a thin line of sadness when you realize his thumbs are tracing strokes over your neck. You don’t care if he’s staining you.

—“No, no, no—wait,” he pauses.

—“You’ll know about me soon enough, that’s for sure. But for now, you do what I told you; tell them everything you know, yeah? Don’t try to spin them around. That’s only gonna put you in a hard place.”

You nod, uneasy. And you don’t know what’s gotten into you but you kiss his stubbled cheek. His shoulder dropped just a little, he left a long peck on your forehead after that, you didn’t anticipate it.

Your heart sank when he was gone, took a jacket from his victim’s closet and dissipated behind your windowsill to the fire scape. The clank of the metal from his steps… his truck.

———————————————————————————

You’re seated in the back of an ambulance whilst two cops are asking you countless questions. Bathed in the cold breathe of the night you barely register the annoying rustle of the foil blanket as it lands on your back and slips down your bare legs. Your mind is elsewhere—on whether this new guy named Frank will truly be alright.

[littlemissspiraleyes]

When Lush said she was coming over my mouth started watering. There was definitely something off about this. I‘ve been buzzing with excitement whenever she comes over. It wasn’t like this at the start.

She was kinda annoyingly forward, to be honest. Plus she’s not really my type. I’ve always liked my hook-ups smaller than me and too shy to say much. But she’s so tall. She’s wide for an Affini. She’s very flirtatious. She goes on and on about wanting a pet and talking about how cute her friends’ pets are, which might be the most annoying part of all. Both because she shows me very sexual pics of those pets with their owners, and because thinking about florets makes me uncomfortable in some fundamental way. Those used to be people but now they’re property, and they don’t care? Weird.

But she’s coming over. I try to clean up my Hab to dispel this nervous energy, but my drones already did that when the Hab heard I was going to have a visitor. Instead I compile a glass of water. I should eat something. I have enough time. I hadn’t had lunch yet. But I know that I’ll eat plenty when she gets here. The thought makes my mouth water.

She arrives around the time my initial burst of excitement has faded. “Thank you for letting me come over, cutie.” she says in the low, seductive voice of hers. She hands me a berry as she steps inside. I excitedly take it and pop it in my mouth. I moan at the burst of flavor. She walks over to my Affini-sized couch and I follow without any thought but the taste and perfect texture on my tongue. I sit across from her in my Terran-sized armchair.

After I swallow the berry and have a moment to recover she says, “Your adorable noises remind me so much of Chrysanthemum’s pet. She recently sent me a video of zer at a florgy ze attended! Here, let me show you.” she pulls out her compact.

“Can we talk about something other than florets for once?” I ask.

“Why, do you have a problem with florets?” she asks.

I grimace. I don’t want to get a wellness check for feralist leanings. “No. They’re...cute. I would just like to learn more about you, instead.”

She beams with delight at that. “I’d love to talk about myself. But you know, you’d make a cute floret.” She hands me another berry. I happily munch on it, trying and failing not to make a comparable moan to a floret’s. She’s smiling down at me the entire time.

I deflect the comment like all of the other ones like it that she usually makes. The rest of the conversation goes pleasantly. I learn she’s a behavioral psychologist with a specialist in conditioning. She periodically gives me berries. I notice for the first time that she does this after praising me.

After an hour she says that she needs to go. This saddens me, which is another odd feeling to spring up. She notices.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” she asks. She leans over as she says this. I can smell the berries on her. She must have a graft.

“Maybe tomorrow you can stay over for longer?” I ask, blushing.

“I’d like that.” she says, handing me another berry.

[kumasakka]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝ 𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍 ! ❞

⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. asakura shin x reader .

⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. even during the adversity between you two, you should never doubt his love for you again.

⋆.˚ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. ~1.2k words .

⋆.˚ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. ardet sine fin — (n.) »burns without end« passion that endures, fueled through adversity. crack. hurt with comfort. f!reader. old married couple trope. safe for minors ! crappy writing. shin and sakamoto may seem ooc. cross-posted on wattpad.

　"STOP nagging me, woman..." the boy rolled his eyes before hissing at the stinging pain.

"Call me what?" you added extra pressure against his open wound, the piece of cotton getting tainted by his blood.

It didn't stop there — with 'it' you mean the little fighting and scolding. Oh damn, you sounded like an old hang just like Shin said. Sakamoto was also forced to listen to the bantering at the other end of the room. Yeah well until, he closed his eyes and began sleeping, not wanting to listen how you two were acting like some old married couple. He even requested earplugs like the old man he is.

"Can you not be a little more gentle?" Shin complained, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes, "please— Ouch! Hey!"

"You're such a baby." you narrowed your eyes as Shin squirmed under your grip.

"I'm sorry that it hurts!?"

"It wouldn't hurt in first place if you were more careful!" you wrapped the bandage around his arm, tightened it so it would suck up his blood.

"You act like an old woman, stop that." he knitted his eyebrows in annoyance as he bit his lip, watching you mishandle his delicate body hurts in his eyes. See

"So I should stop carrying about you?" you raised a brow.

"No— Yes!"

"Ugh." you took a needle into your hands, "I'm seriously going to stab you to death with this."

"Yeah sure, you do."

"Take care of your body. It's getting unhealthy."

"I will try."

"Don't try, you should do it." you glared at him.

"Sometimes it's inevitable." he shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't care an ounce about his body. "Sometimes I can't avoid getting hurt."

"Sometimes." you repeated, putting more weight into the word, "try living like a normal adult."

"Hard." he replied.

"Not impossible." you countered, "I mean Sakamoto-san still pulled it off. Man has a wife and a daughter, even owns a store.

"Wife and daughter..." he repeated, the image stuck in his head.

Maybe he will have a daughter one day. And hopefully you're the mother.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing!" he choked on his own saliva before coming back to the topic, "[name], a little reminder that it's the former legendary assassin we're talking about."

"Mmh he still is a human." you began stitching his wound.

"Of course he was able to pull it off. I can't do that from today to tomorrow."

"Try it then, silly." you sighed out.

"I'm not silly!"

"Just accept the truth."

There are days you're extremely mean to him. Like — above mean. And there are less days where you show how much you care. There are also days where you two don't interact at all.

Of course he will doubt the relationship between you and him — in his eyes, it seemed like your relationship is on the verge of its end.

A flower that is about to wither.

Yes. He does think that. But one thing he won't doubt though, are his feelings. He loves you, no doubt. Just like how Sakamoto loves Aoi and also how Aoi loves Sakamoto.

One thing he does doubt though? Your feelings. He isn't even sure if you still feel the same for him, compared to the beginning of this all.

Do you love him?

Silence. Awkward silence. Shin watched you but you didn't bother lifting your head. He assumed you were just focused on stitching up his wound. Was he too mean towards you? Should he just endure the rest of the treatment without letting out another sound? Maybe he really should keep his mouth shut. Maybe a look into your mind would explain some things?

"Shin?" your voice grabbed him out of his senses.

"Y-Yes?" he spluttered out, stuttering at that. The heck? Did he just stutter?

"I'm tired." you admitted and cut off the strings, tying it together.

Tired of the relationship?

"Of what?" his voice sounded more fearful than he intended to.

"Worrying about Sakamoto-san and most importantly you, makes me tired." you still didn't meet his gaze yet.

"Sorry..." he apologised. Yet he wasn't sure — what was his apology for?

"...You two always leave without a trace and then Aoi-san has to assure me that you two are fine." you started, "and the moment you show up again, you two look like you're on the verge of death."

"Sorry." this time, the apology sounded a lot more firm.

"I feel stupid for patching you two up." your eyes stay glued to the scissor in your hands, "maybe I should stop and let you bleed to death so I don't have to worry anymore."

"W-Wait what?!" he exclaimed.

'I hate you so much.'

He heard, dreams coming crushing down. His heart felt heavy, heavy enough to drop into a depth. A clump was stuck in his throat, he can't talk yet.

'Why can't he listen for once? Does he even care about my feelings? That stupid—'

Almost. He almost choked. Did you think the same?

'Perhaps he just doesn't care that I'm on the brink of death because of my worries. It's getting unhealthy. Maybe... Maybe I should take a pause of this. Of this relationship?'

"[name]." your name sounded weird on the tip of his tongue. The affection he held for you made it weird. When was the last time he called you this lovingly?

"What?" your reply bit him like a snake would.

He didn't continue further, his hand finding its way to yours. It felt like the typical — his hands were rough and calloused while your hands were a lot softer and had a touch of warmth. It displayed your childhood. He had a rather awful one, full of blood and coldness. Your childhood was another type of different.

"I'm sorry for worrying you to the brink of death..." he started slowly, "next time, I will make sure you know beforehand. Where I'm going and why I'm going. I'm going to try my best to not come back with wounds. But sometimes I really can't avoid getting hurt."

[e/c]-coloured eyes met black ones. You finally lifted your head, he was able to take a glimpse of your face. His expression looked firm and serious while you held uncertainty on your face.

"Forgive me if it seemed like I didn't care about your feelings." he continued.

"Stop... Or else I will regret it."

"Regret loving me?" he whispered. "I'm sorry. I never intended to make you regret."

He raised your hand to cover the back of it with gentle kisses, not caring if your hands were tainted with his blood. Because you always held his hand that was covered with the blood of others.

But at least he repents by being a better man than yesterday. He tries to repent for his sins. So perhaps he can go to heaven with you.

"I can promise you one thing though." he said against your hand.

"Promise what?" your voice was so quiet, almost breaking.

"Asakura Shin promises [lastname] [name] that one day, I will be a better man than I am today. Someone you can be proud of and someone you don't have to worry about. And then I will live a normal life as an adult with you as my wife.

"Stop being so cheesy." you huffed, hot cheeks betraying your thoughts though.

Right yes. His love for you burns without end and gets fueled even through adversity.

SHIN LOVES YOU ENDLESSLY.

© 2024 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !

a/n's note — I'm sosososo sorry it only followed half of the request! AHHH I JUST WENT WITH THE FLOWWWW and smh the ending is so corny. gng I should just stop writing 🥀