#i've been keeping it in my drafts for like a hot minute but like

[fabdante]

anyway, given twitters continued implosion, i figured now was a good a time as any to share this so that you can read an unlimited amount. i want the reboot fandom to have this thread i saw one time on there that i’ve kept for morale

[narcissistshandler]

giving miguel head while he explains complicated concepts of the multiverse. 😳 at first he chuckles when reader requests this, but he starts to struggle and lose track of what he was talking about. his voice becomes more desperate as he tries to explain all this stuff he knows to reader with his talons gripping at his love’s skull and his voice shaking and melting into pretty breathy moans until he can’t think of what he was talking about and instead fucks reader’s throat til he’s an overstimulated, sobbing mess

𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗠𝗘

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 gn!reader x miguel o'hara

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 blowjob (reader giving), deep throat, slight overstimulation at the end, reader has no gender or genitalia mentioned, a little of blood

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 This was in my drafts for two weeks and honestly I don't remember what/how I wrote half of it, but still, this request was delicious

"—Are you listening to me?"

You blinked, seeming to come back to reality and looked into Miguel's judgmental brown eyes.

"I've been speaking Spanish for the last ten minutes," he continued before you had time to speak.

"I am," you insisted. Your first instinct was to lie. The truth was no, you weren't paying the slightest attention to any of all that complicated science and physics coming out of Miguel's mouth, even though from the beginning your focus hadn't left his lips framing every complex and long word, occasionally rising to appreciate that expression of concentration on his usually serious face that shouldn't be so erotic to anyone but you.

Miguel's eyes fell to your lap, as if he could see through the pillow you were holding, his brow immediately frowning in that way that indicated his bad mood.

"So what is the simple concept of what constitutes a Multiverse?" he questioned, sounding so much like a hot, strict teacher that you felt your sex throb in response, too distracted to even try to think of an answer. "What are the ways to overcome the barriers that separate our world from other universes?" Silence. "What happens when there is a divergence in events? Where does the variety of these universes originate?"

You knew the answer to some of these questions as someone who had heard more than enough about this subject: the multiverse was nothing more than the aggregate of parallel realities and bla bla bla. But that wasn't what Miguel wanted to hear, he wanted concise, long and scientifically coherent answers and that's why you preferred to keep your mouth shut.

"You weren't listening," he concluded with a sigh.

"Keep talking, I'll pay attention this time."

Miguel looked into your darkened eyes, noting the warm innuendo in your tone and then once again, his attention fell to the pillow that covered your lap. "You're excited," he observed, then continued seeming disgusted and irritated: "Why? Physics does that to you?"

“You do this to me,” you said. Miguel's expression seemed to become even darker. "You always seem so focused and intelligent while talking about these things I can't understand, it's sexy."

"You were the one who asked me to teach you, I didn't know this was a fantasy of yours," he pointed out.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," you asked soflty as you got up from the sofa where you sat next to Miguel and fell to your knees in front of his feet, your hands running up his bare legs until they slid under the hem of his shorts. "Continue teaching me, please? I promise I'll pay attention this time."

Miguel half growled at you, not seeming too willing to indulge in your fantasies even as his legs opened in pure muscle memory to give you room to fit between them and desire flashed in his eyes.

"How are you supposed to pay attention to what I say with my penis in your mouth? That doesn't seem like a very believable teaching method." Even with you kneeling in front of him on the floor of the apartment's living room, Miguel seemed genuinely concerned about teaching you some real knowledge about multiverse.

You rubbed your hand against the bulge in his shorts to bring him to hardness, laughing a little at how genuine Miguel was sometimes.

"You talk, I listen, then you can test me to see if I really learned something or not."

Miguel opened his mouth, looking ready to retort with some argument, but your fingers fitting into the elastic waistband of his shorts was enough to make him swallow back his words. “Okay,” he agreed finally, lifting his hips off the couch to let you pull his shorts down his legs and discard them on the floor.

"Without underwear?" You inquired teasingly, your fingers closing around Miguel's thick cock that was slowly getting hard for you and pulling him into slow, steady thrusts.

Miguel sighed at the sudden touch, a light blush coloring his cheeks at the teasing.

"Back to the beginning," he started to say, ignoring your words. "When we talk about the Multiverse, this refers to a conception of multiple universes or parallel realities existing simultaneously. Together, these universes are presumed to comprise everything that exists: the entirety of space, time, matter, energy..."

Your tongue trailed in a wet line from the base to the head, interrupting Miguel's speech as he trailed off with a soft sigh.

That usual satisfaction made you smile between the licks you dragged along his length, feeling the pulsation of the bulging veins against your tongue, your fingers keeping his dick firm at the base. Your lips parted, gently sucking the side of the bulbous, red head where drops of precum were beginning to leak.

Miguel let out the most beautiful moan, one of his hands falling into your hair.

“Oh,” he sighed softly, voice already falling into that deep tone that always did things to you. You looked up at the same time you slid your tongue over the slit leaking from his cock; Miguel's eyes met yours, warm and shining. He took a deep breath and continued speaking: "In the concept of multiverse, a scheme is imagined in which... all universes aggregate each other across an infinite vastness..."

He looked so composed even with your mouth on his dick and you wanted to break that composure of his until it became nothing, until his mind stopped working and the only coherent thought he had left was fucking your throat.

Miguel doesn't stop talking when your fingers tighten around his length in a grip that borders on painful and your mouth opens so you can take his length. His cock filled your mouth, the warm, smooth skin sliding over your tongue and inward in a delicious, welcome weight that made your skin tingle. Almost instinctively, you searched for more, leaning forward and taking him deeper, your free hand feeling Miguel's thigh muscles tense under your touch.

Saliva pooled in your mouth and as soon as you pulled your head back, spit slid down his length to his heavy balls and a wet line ran down your chin, a mess you knew Miguel liked. As expected, his breathing stuttered and you saw him losing his train of thought at the sight of your saliva-glossy lips stretching around the thickness of his dick.

"...In addition to the state superpos- superposition property, there are many other phenomena that occur as quantum-scale systems, such as quantum tunneling, quantum e-entanglement..."

The firm fingers tangled in the strands of your hair suddenly became sharper, like thick needles scratching your scalp. The threat of the grab hung in the air, filling your stomach with a tense heat as you realized they were Miguel's deadly talons, which could penetrate through the fragility of your skin in seconds and even an accidental scratch could draw blood. This realization shook you to the core and a moan rose in your throat.

"... So you can connect gravity and the other three forces in an apparently firm way?" he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Dios mío."

It took you a few seconds to understand the jumbled words that came out of his mouth, but when you did you knew that you had achieved your objective, as the argument didn't seem to fit into any part of the multiverse theory.

Tears blocked the corners of your vision, jaw opening wider to take Miguel's cock deeper, the tip slapping against your cheek and tongue before going deeper, and then more and more. The salty taste of precum, sweat, and something else you could only describe as Miguel's taste rising in the back of your throat, clouding all your senses and pushing away the urgency burning between your legs. All that mattered was Miguel.

At that moment, your entire world was just Miguel's body contracting on the couch under the heat of your mouth, the heavy leg he had thrown over your shoulder and his heel digging into your shoulder blade in an attempt to bring you impossibly closer. There was a distinct feeling of discomfort growing in your body, Miguel's grip was strong and painful, his rationality seemed to have dissolved under the pleasure.

"[n-name] [name] [name] [name], por favor." The beautiful moans of your name in his voice echoed through the room in repeated, stammered repetitions.

The gag reflex kicked in, the bulbous head of Miguel's cock pressing past the tightness of your throat. Your eyes closed in an attempt to fight the immediate instinct to choke and suffocate, the desire to give Miguel everything he wanted was stronger. You willingly obeyed the grip of the talons on your head keeping you still, your mouth falling open and easy for the deep thrusts.

Resisting him, the urgency with which his hips undulated, as if he needed the pleasure to breathe, felt equal to having at least one pulled muscle and a deep cut left behind.

Fortunately, fighting him was far from your intention.

You could feel as his dick twitched inside your mouth and the thick, salty liquid filled your throat, which rose and fell as you swallowed. Your eyes opened, tears running down your cheeks, you closed your lips around Miguel's pulsing length, sucking. Miguel's reaction was lascivious, his thrusts becoming erratic, whole body shaking violently, his talons sinking at least a few centimeters into your skin, until it breaks under the pressure.

Hot liquid ran down the back of your neck, the pain was a distant thing in your warm body, your fingers digging into the soft skin of Miguel's thighs as you pressed the nose against the curly hair of his groin. Miguel whimpered as his cock continued to spurt small jets deep down your throat, tears glistening in his eyes and fangs sinking into the lower lip.

You had lied again, you hadn't paid attention to anything he said, but it didn't matter since you doubted that Miguel remembered what even was a subatomic particle now.

[eufezco]

SUPER SHY - JOEL MILLER x FEM!READER

SUMMARY – when Joel's keeping you company while you're showering, he sees something he wasn't supposed to.

english isn't my first language <3 // this is pure SMUT

A/N – omg it's been so long but i literally have no inspiration so if anyone has any request... also, i've been writing for the walking dead, especially daryl, but that's still in my drafts because i don't know if there's anyone interested in that. ANYWAYS, i hope this isn't so bad

He didn't mind. He truly didn't care. He was sitting on the toilet, bent forward, with his elbows on his knees and one of his legs shaking out of impatience. It was true that he'd rather be doing other things but with a bit of luck you'd be done soon and he'd leave. Although he didn't have much to do either, he was sure they needed some last-minute people to patrol.

He had been sitting on that toilet every night for at least thirty minutes every time you took a shower. Since you lacked music, you needed some other type of distraction and Joel wasn't the best for it but it was your only option.

"What was the last movie you saw?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"I'm sure you do remember, you are just too lazy to think. For me, it was Spiderman, my brother took me to the movies but I don't remember enjoying it. What was yours?"

"I think it was Catch Me If You Can."

"Never heard of that."

Of course not, he said to himself. The sound of falling water made your voice sound fainter so he had to readjust his position to hear you better. His back was now against the toilet, he ran his hands over his face. It was starting to get a little hot inside the bathroom as well. Joel looked in your direction, trying to understand what you were saying but quickly looked away. Joel closed his eyes tightly and then opened them wide again without knowing what to do. When he leaned back and looked in your direction, he expected nothing, only the curtain that was hiding you, but instead, he found a perfect view of your round and wet ass.

Joel swallowed nervously and shook his head, trying to erase that image from his mind, but it was so perfect and the water slid so easily down it. No, no, no, fuck he mumbled, massaging his temples. The way his teeth would sink into your skin there, and they would mark your soft skin just right.

"Are you okay?" You peeked your head through the curtain. Your brow furrowed as you saw him looking away.

He nodded.

"Can you pass me the bathrobe, then?"

Fuck, you were doing this on purpose, he thought. He stood from the toilet and you waited behind the curtains. You went out of the shower wrapped in the robe.

"I'll leave so you can change." He announced. His eyes briefly looked away and moved down to your breasts covered by your bathrobe, he could see how hard your nipples were and how the drops of water slid down your cleavage. You raised your eyebrows and Joel never looked you in the face again. He tried to get out of the bathroom, ashamed enough already, when you blocked his way with your body.

"I saw you looking at me, Joel. You won't get away so easily."

He didn't know what to say. Should he apologize? Should he leave anyway? He'd been looking after you practically since this started, since you two met in the woods, the least he could do was apologize for looking at you in such an inappropriate way.

"When was the last time you saw a naked woman?"

Your question caught him off guard. Joel shook his head and took his eyes off you, knowing beforehand what you were about to do. The bathrobe slipped off your shoulders and Joel closed his eyes, not even daring to look at your reflection in the mirror. You couldn't be doing this to him, he was not like the boys you'd been hanging out in Jackson.

"Look at me."

He shook his head. You told him again and this time his eyes laid on yours. You flashed him a smile, how innocent sweet Joel.

"I want you to look at my body, Joel."

Joel called your name, shaking his head again and swallowing nervously.

"I know you want to do it, I saw how you looked at me before. I want you too, but this isn't going to work if you can't even look at me."

His eyes shyly moved from yours to your breasts. He took a glance and closed his eyes. You smiled victorious. You guided one of his hands to caress one side of your body. Joel dared to look at the path his hand was making through your body, how soft the skin of your waist felt against his rough fingers.

You led his hand to cup one of your tits. Your nipple immediately became hard on contact with his palm and your pussy was already clenching around nothing. You'd dreamed so many times about how would his touch feel, and he was barely applying any pressure, nor squeezing it or pinching your nipple, he was just holding your tit in his hand.

Your hand pinched his chin and made him look up at you. His eyes were bright, darker than you'd ever seen them before, and his pupils were big. You fluttered your lashes, inocently and your thumb caressed his lips. You came close enough to his mouth for your breaths to become one, you could feel his beard tickling your lips. You ran your tongue over his lips and he leaned in for a kiss, his lips were so soft and gentle against yours compared to the thick hair of his beard.

You pushed his shoulders and made him sit on the toilet again. His cock was so hard and ready for you, already leaking precum against the fabric of his underwear. He was still unsure about this, not because he didn't want to do it but because you were so beautiful and he was an old man that doubled your age, and his cock was so hard and already throbbing against his stomach, it was almost embarrassing.

Joel put both of his hands on your hips when you placed one of your legs on each side of his body. You wrapped your fingers around his hard cock, giving it a couple of strokes and getting multiple groans from him. You could feel him twitching between your fingers. He was big, some black hairs like the ones on his head decorated the base of his cock and a prominent vein ran down its length, but the most important thing was, that he was thick. You could barely take it all in one hand, and you knew the stretch was going to be perfect.

You lined up his cock at your entrance, allowing only his tip to go inside you, and then you gently lowered yourself. One of your hands moved down to your clit and rub it to get used to the sensation of Joel filling you. He gave you all the time you needed but you were tight and he could feel his cock jumping inside you. Every time your fingers rubbed your clit your cunt clenched and squeezed him even harder.

"You good?" Joel asked, caressing one of your cheeks with the back of his hand. You nodded. "You sure? Oh, fuck-" He moaned when you started rolling your hips against his. Your movements were very delicate as your fingers continued working on your bundle of nerves, helping you to get even wetter and making it easy for you to take him. Joel could feel you dripping down the inside of his legs.

"Yeah, that's a good girl, fuck-" His eyes were locked on where you two connected although he could only see how his cock had completely disappeared inside your pussy. He was enjoying the way your tiny fingers played with your clit.

"Still good?" He asked again and you nodded. You suddenly stopped the movement of your hips against his and he was afraid that you'd hurt yourself. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders, getting a firm grip there to help you lift your hips from his lap. You pulled him out of you, his cock glistening with your juices, and then you dropped yourself back down onto his cock.

A sharp moan came out of Joel's throat and his fingers sank into the flesh of your ass. You repeated that again and again, finally getting used to Joel's width and to the sting of him going inside you deeper and deeper each time. Your hands moved from his shoulder to his face, cupping both of his cheeks and guiding his lips to yours, the sounds that escaped your mouths became one. His hands massaged your breasts shamelessly this time, his palms rubbed your nipples while you leaned your head back, giving him perfect access to your neck.

"I can't- I can't anymore." You cried out, your movements becoming more and more sloppy.

"It's okay. You did well." He gasped, his hands on your hips slowly guiding your movements, giving you enough time to recompose. Joel helped you to wrap your legs around his body, so that when he stood up from the toilet, he could move you with him, his dick still balls deep inside you.

Joel sat you on the sink and he splayed your legs completely open. You sat up on your elbows, looking through your eyelashes as he was admiring how your pussy sucked him. His dick slid inside you easily, his thrusts were stronger than you thought they would be and they made your whole body shake with them. Your throat felt dry and the burn in the pit of your stomach felt warmer and warmer. You dug your nails into his shoulders and pulled him to you, chest to chest.

Your hips rolled involuntarily against his, and you nodded to everything he muttered at you through gritted teeth. Yes, you were a good girl. Yes, you were his good girl. Yes, your pussy belonged to him. Yes, you were about to cum. Yes, you wanted his cum, and yes, you wanted it inside. And who was he to deny you your wishes? With a groan coming straight from his chest and your legs shaking and closing around his body, you both came seconds apart.

Joel stayed inside you, his head resting on your shoulder as you played with the hair on the back of his neck. You giggled. "Look at the shy one."

[poppadom0912]

Excuses

Warnings: Mentions of fainting, diabetes, canon-typical injuries

Summary: You suffer the consequences just because your teacher thought you were making excuses.

A/N: First fic of 2024!!! I had plans that I was going to post weekly in the new year just like last year but things went downhill. This january and february has had its very good but also really bad moments and even writing this was a struggle. I've found myself in a weird place of wanting to write but struggling and all of a sudden not being able to balance my schoolwork and writing. So I took a lil step back to solely focus on my work but looking at everything now, my fic updates will be much less frequent but hopefully just as or if not, more fun to read.

I feel bad for not saying or posting anything since the new year but I'm here now and hopefully will be more alive. I've got lots planned for you beautiful people, several series and way too many fics in my drafts that I cannot wait for you all to read. This wasn't as long or as juicy as I intended but my brain completely failed me so I hope this is good enough. I initially wanted to post this at the beginning of March but I finished the final editing today so here you go!!

Final note before we start, I have general knowledge about diabetes but that's all from my grandma. I have no idea if it's the same for teenagers so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Happy reading!!

Your biology teacher had been on maternity for three weeks now and you were seriously contemplating life.

Because of the crappy rules surrounding maternity leave, when your teacher refused to return before her three months ended, your school had a supply teacher fill in for her till she came back.

Since day one, you knew you hated her.

It was mid lesson and you knew as soon as you started feeling sluggish that your sugar levels were dropping. Your thoughts were only confirmed when your Dexcom receiver let you know of your decreasing glucose.

This wasn't a usual occurrence. Will and Jay always made sure you had eaten enough and you had the means to maintain the needed glucose levels so that nothing happened.

Alas, you were up late revising and you were stressing about keeping up your good grades. Jay was rushing you out the door because he needed to go to a scene he'd just been called to and Will was out walking Kol and hadn't seen you leave.

In conclusion, it'd been a hot minute since you last ate something.

The school were well aware of your diabetes. It was one of the very important things your brothers stressed them about when you first started.

Most students knew about it actually, having seen your Dexcom and not understanding since a diabetic child apparently wasn't common according to them.

So, when you randomly pulled out a snack from your bag mid class, no one questioned it and instead would make sure you were okay. There'd never been a problem before in school and everyone wanted it to stay that way.

However, this new teacher, Mrs Byrne was apparently completely unaware of your medical condition.

"Y/N. You know the rules about eating in class." She said strictly, pulling away all the attention from the board onto you.

She stopped you in the middle of opening the packet of fruit gummies. You frowned, looking at her confused along with your classmates.

"I have diabetes." You said bluntly, continuing to open the packet. "I don't eat this and I'll pass out."

Mrs Byrne only rolled her eyes, smiling at you condescendingly. "I've heard that excuse hundreds of times, give those to me."

You scoffed at the audacity, refusing to hand over what was yours.

It was when she started walking towards your desk with a pep in her step that the entire class got involved. Their raised voices overlapped, some angrier than others over what was happening.

However, you too were Stubborn alike to your brothers so you kept as firm of a grip of the packet. You turned a blind eye to the anger fuelled cover teacher. You continued to smile as she spewed threats of all sorts.

Due to your frustration and annoyance over the teacher who wanted to take your gummies away, you didn't notice how everything started change; how hard it was to move your eyes and lips, your limbs getting heavier and you thoughts slowly getting muddled up.

Lost in a daze, you were no longer able to fight back when she pulled harder, successfully snatching the small packet out of your hands. It was now that the class got furious, your friends were already up and at your side but now they were verbally attacking the teacher.

Fed up with her petty behaviour, you were going to get up and go to the nurses office who would take care of you but getting out your seat was harder said than done.

With one of your friends help, you weren't too sure who was helping you from your hazy sight that cleared when you blinked too many times.

You were wobbly on your feet, taking slow and hesitant steps towards the front of the classroom but before you could leave, you felt your legs give out and everything went black.

*****

It turned out that supposed crime scene that he was imminently needed at was nothing but a prank by a bunch of college boys resulting in a grumpy Hank putting them in cuffs and having them fined for a very reasonable reason.

That's how the rest of the unit found themselves finishing up paperwork, catching up about life in general as they debated what they were getting for lunch.

Jay was smugly sitting back, eyes flickering between Kevin and Adam who were bickering over something trivial when his phone rung, catching everyone's attention.

They were all so bored and normally when one of their phones went off during work hours, it meant something came up and they were needed.

In interest, everyone turned their heads towards Jay and waited for him to tell them they got a crime scene.

Picking up his phone, Jay's brows furrowed at the number, confused as to why your school was calling him in the middle of the day. They'd only call him if two things happened: You'd gotten in trouble or you got hurt.

"Hello. Is this Y/N Halsteads brother Jay?" A voice he couldn't recognised asked, most likely some lady from the main office.

"Yeah, that's me." Jay confirmed, sitting up in preparation for whatever he was going to be told.

"So sorry to interrupt you sir but Y/N collapsed in class." The lady said with guilt laced in her words. "Your other brother didn't pick up the phone. We called to let you know we had to call the paramedics and they've taken her to Chicago Med."

"Uh yeah." Jay said, collecting his jacket and keys. "Yes, thank you."

Not waiting for a reply, Jay hung up and quickly knocked on Hank's office door frame.

"Sarge, I gotta get Y/N-"

"Go get her. We're done here."

*****

Wanting to pull his hair out, Will rubbed his eyes in frustration, glaring at his patients scans that only confused him further. He was tired and was coming to half way through his twenty four hour shift.

"Dr Halstead- Uh, Dr Rhodes in T4." Maggie stumbled, looking down at her brick and making sure she read it correctly.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, confused as to why Maggie changed her mind which she usually never did.

"It's Y/N."

Now fully awake, Will followed Connor towards the ambulance bay where you were being rolled in. You were groggily sitting up on the stretcher, you hair a mess and a few scratches around your face and hands from when you fell.

"Sylvie, what happened?" Will asked the blonde paramedic while looking you over. He desperately wanted to check you over himself but let Connor do his thing. He really did not need Ms Goodwin on his case today.

"Teachers didn't tell us much but her classmates said she collapsed after not being able to eat." Sylvie relayed the minimal information she knew, shrugging her shoulders when the two doctors looked at her weirdly. "No one would tell us anything more."

"Y/N, it's Connor. Can you hear me kid?" Connor said while pulling out his penlight. He was like another brother to you, his concern just as high. "Can you tell me what happened?"

You groaned, mumbling nonsense with your eyes screwed closed. Your words were mostly unintelligible but Will understood them mere seconds later.

Fixing the problem you complained about, Will turned down the lights and let Connor continue fussing over you.

It didn't take long to find out the cause of your collapse, Will sighing at the news when he read the numbers from your tests.

"I thought she was always on top of her sugar levels." Connor said, closing the room door so you could sleep in peace.

And what he said was completely true but they weren't aware of why you couldn't today specifically of all days.

"She is." Will said, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. "Maybe her dexcom malfunctioned or something."

Connor hummed, agreeing with his friend.

"Hmm, maybe."

*****

Arriving at Med, Will gave Jay a detailed rundown of everything he new about your medical state but also the events pre your hospital arrival.

Getting a good look at you, holding your hand in his and kissing you on your forehead, Jay was more than happy to leave you in your oldest brothers safe hands while he got to the bottom of this entire ordeal.

He noticed Sylvie was still at Med, Foster mentioning they were running low on a few supplies so they needed some stocking up. Jay took this opportunity to interview the two paramedics and try to get further understanding on this situation that wasn't making much sense to him.

Arriving at your school, Jay had some thoughts in mind but they weren't very concrete and his confidence wasn't as strong as he'd like it to be.

Walking into the school, Jay immediately noticed an entire class sitting and standing around in the corridor waiting in front of the principals office.

One of the girls who had been sitting in a chair had caught sight of Jay, her eyes widening before she smiled, gently nudging the girl next to her and pointing in his direction. The girls reaction was the exact same.

This created a sort of domino effect as the boy next to her noticed Jay and everyone was telling the other of his sudden arrival. The once silent corridor was now beginning to fill with murmurs and whispers, all their eyes glued onto his figure that moved down the corridor, their shocked faces quickly changing into smiles and smirks.

It seems that Jay had a reputation of sorts.

"Why are you making so much noise? What did I just say about talking-"

The principal cut himself off from his scolding when he suddenly noticed Jay's presence, his face blanching as all the pieces clicked into place.

"Detective Halstead! What a surprise, we weren't expecting to see you so soon-"

This time Jay cut him off, not too bothered about his lack manners. "My brothers with Y/N at the hospital so I thought there was no other perfect time."

The principal remained silent.

"Now, why don't you explain to me why my sister fainted under your watch?"

The students behind Jay couldn't help but snicker knowingly.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Hi I really love your writing! Not sure if you are taking any prompts, no worries if not!

I was wondering if you could something with Melissa x reader similar to Janine and Gregory where they both work at the school and maybe the reader is dating someone but they have a moment like the club scene or PECSA weekend.

Hope you're having a good day lovely human!

Not dead! Nor have I given up on writing or filling the prompts I still have to fill! But a weird thing did happen - I went to a hypnotist show with friends thinking I wouldn't be affected... Long story short, I remember the first fifteen minutes of the show. Apparently, I was in the show for the rest of it. So that was a thing. But that's not the weird thing. The hypnotist said that a side effect of his hypnosis is often a better ability to focus, a quieter mind and less anxious thoughts. I have to hand it to the man, his words seem to be true. An unexpected side effect of this for me though is that it turns out the noise and chatter in my mind actually helps me write my fics. Now it's all a bit quiet in there and it's been hard to get the words out. But, that doesn't mean I don't still love writing - so we're pushing through.

I do have a confession though - this story has two prompts noted at the top of it in my drafts and although I can't find any evidence that I've posted it under either prompt, if I have already posted this and somehow have missed it, please let me know and I shall take the duplicate down.

Anyway, enough about me. Enough rambling. I hope you enjoy!

*~*

It would be easier if she wasn’t nice to you. 

If she wasn’t nice to you, she could just be the untouchable, hot as hell, fiery goddess you admired from afar. 

But no.  She let you sit with her and Barb at lunch.  She even brought you lunch after a few conversations had strayed into discussing cooking and favourite recipes during said lunch breaks.

How were you meant to get over your ridiculous crush when she actually gave you the time of day?  When she smiled like that?  When her whole face lit up and she gestured so animatedly when she got caught up talking about something?

And as if that wasn’t enough, how were you ever meant to recover after seeing her so soft with her students?  Going out of her way to open up to them and help them. 

It was ridiculous, though.  You knew that.  What good was ever going to come of it? 

Kid.  That’s what she calls you.  It’s a constant reminder of the age gap between you.  Of the chasm that you feel you can’t even begin to cross when she sees you as some eager little kid.

You’ve always had a thing for older women.  From those early, confused days of watching your on-screen idols, to realising you didn’t want to be them.  You didn’t want to be friends with them.  You just wanted them. 

You want one in particular, but as you look across at her, her red hair ablaze in the sunshine, you force those feelings down once more.  If friendship is what she’s offering you’re not about to beat her with that olive branch.  You’ll deem yourself lucky and move on.

Even if she has ruined you for anyone else. 

*~*

“You know,” drawled Barbara.  “It’s beginning to become a habit.”

“What is?” asked Melissa, turning to face her friend with a frown. 

“Staring at her,” said the older woman, eyebrow raised. 

The red head scoffs.  “As if.  I don’t know what you think you’re seeing but that ain’t it.”

*

It was all said in jest to begin with.  Gentle teasing about a few wayward glances.  That was until Barb started to see her best friend be genuinely nice to you. 

To begin with, she tolerated you.  You weren’t one of the eager little puppies she so often saw when it came to younger new hires.  That much was evident from the start.  You were an old soul.  You carried a different energy. 

One that Melissa apparently appreciated just as much as the view.  Barb stood beside her the red head as they watched over the kids leaving school, keeping an eye on the them as they left for the day, making their way to busses, rides or parents.  Or rather, Barb was keeping watch over the children.  A quick glance at Melissa confirmed that her attention was directed at you where you stood a little way off, chatting happily with a young girl about the book she was waving at you as she waited for her mother to collect her. 

“Girl…”

“Don’t,” sighed Melissa, crossing her arms across her chest. 

That took Barb by surprise.  She had expected the red head to deny it.  “You mean?”

“It’s stupid.  She’s some pretty young thing and I’m…older than I care to admit.”

Turning to look at her friend, her expression sad, the older woman reached out and placed a comforting hand on the other woman’s arm.  “And?  What’s it called?  A Spring, Winter romance?”

“May, December,” corrected Melissa automatically.  “But same thing.”

“Exactly” said Barb.  “There’s a name for it and everything.  It’s a thing.”

“It’s not a thing,” huffed the red head, turning on her heel and heading back into the building.  “It’s stupid and I’ll get over it, just like I do everything else in my life.”

*~*

You’re not sure you’re entirely on board for PECSA. 

Out of school, things are different.  Lines are blurred and you’re seeing a whole different side to your colleagues.  You’re not sure if it’s liberating or terrifying.  And that’s before you add in the factor of the other teachers who have also been set free from the constraints of the classroom and are now loose in the wild.

You’re sure your confusion must show on your face, particularly when at the end of one of the breakout sessions you find yourself caught up in conversation with a striking older woman who teaches at another school across town.

You don’t see Melissa at first, who watches the interaction with interest.  She’s not used to seeing you outside of school, and it takes her back to realise that the woman is flirting with you.  Openly and blatantly flirting with you.  She’s touching your arm, leaning into you.  Smiling and laughing. 

In return, you know you’re blushing something terrible, especially when the woman hands you a page from her notebook with her number scrawled across it.  Watching the woman walk away, throwing you a smile over her shoulder to you, you finally see the red head standing in the doorway where she said she’d meet you so you could head for lunch together.

“She not a bit old for you?” she asks as you approach, your blush still heating your cheeks.

You frown.  “If she looks like that and thinks I’m hot enough to give me her number, they’re the numbers I’m interested in,” you reply, heading in the direction of the lunch buffet. 

Barb overhears the comment, unable not to smirk at your flash of sass.  “Jealous?” she asks, leaning into the red head’s space. 

“Of what?” barks Melissa, crossing her arms across her chest as she watches you go.  “Oh leave off!” she snarks at the older woman’s raised eyebrow.

*

How the day has gone from serious talks and breakout sessions to cocktails by the pool you’re still trying to wrap your head around.  Adjusting your cover up, you head around the side of the pool, heading for the bar.  You hope the day starts to feel a little bit more normal with a drink in your hand. 

Gazing out over the water, you catch sight of Melissa.  Or rather, you catch sight of a lot more of Melissa than you’ve ever had the privilege of seeing before.  Not looking where you’re walking as your eyes drink in the magnificent view there’s no saving yourself as you step forward and your foot finds water instead of concrete.

“Is that?” Melissa asks incredulously at the dramatic splash that comes from the other side of the pool.  She’s up out of her lounger before Barb can comment and the older teacher can only watch on in amusement as the red head storms off in your direction. 

You pull yourself out of the pool, allowing yourself to perch on the edge as you try your best to ignore the chuckles of those around you who have noticed your mishap. 

“What the fuck happened?”

You look up and of course Melissa is there.  Right there, lit up in the sun like an angel, red hair haloed around her head.  It takes a moment to realise that her eyes are roving over you, and not just your face.  You glance down where your cover up now clings to your skin, almost see through. 

Looking up you see Melissa blink rapidly a few times before offering you a hand.  You reach for her, smiling as she helps pull you to your feet.  “Thanks,” you smile sheepishly.  “I guess I should go change.”

“It’s a pool, you’re allowed to be a little wet,” the red head smirks back at you.  “Besides, we’re this close to the bar now, be rude not to take advantage.”

*

Melissa appears at the bar next to you with a huff, grumbling under her breath.  Her attention is focused on trying to get the attention of the barman.  Mumbling though she is, she’s speaking just loud enough for you to make out what she was saying. 

“He was an ass,” you tell her, watching as her head whipped around, finally realising you were there. 

“What?” she asks with a frown, already tipsy. 

“Your ex,” you enlighten her.  You may not have heard the comment that led to her current dip in mood, or ever have met the man, but you know enough.

Her frown only deepens.  “You don’t know a thing about him.”

“I know he didn’t appreciate what he had and left you,” you offer, ordering a drink when the barman appears in front of you, before turning back to Melissa to ask what she wants.  You find her looking at you oddly, her expression unreadable.  She quickly snaps out of it and barks and order at the bartender.

*

Barb has had more than a few drinks, it would appear as she flags you down to sit with her as you pass her table. 

“Sit, sit,” she smiles, trying to reach for your arm and push the chair out next to her at the same time in an uncoordinated matter. 

Catching her hands, you still her as you slide into the seat beside her to placate her.  Her gaze is a little unfocused, her words edging towards slurred.  You hadn’t quite realised how drunk she was, but then again, looking around the room, it would have been more of a surprise for her to be sober. 

“Don’t call that woman,” she tells you, leaning into your space.

“What woman?” you frown.

“That woman who gave you her number,” says Barbara like it’s obvious. 

You try not to think about the fact that for Barb to know, Melissa must have mentioned it.  That it’s been on her mind enough to mention it to the older woman.  “Why not?”

“She wouldn’t like it.”

“She gave me her number,” you point out.  “I don’t think she would mind.”

Barb shakes her head.  “Not her.  Her,” she says, nodding across the room to where Melissa is standing. 

You cross your arms across your chest.  “What has Melissa got to do with anything?”

Barb raises a single eyebrow, the action still smooth and effective despite her drunkenness and it makes you blush. 

Averting your gaze, you shake your head.  “It doesn’t matter what I feel,” you sigh.  “She’s not…She thinks I’m some stupid kid.”

What you don’t see, is Melissa standing close enough behind your chair to catch your words.

*

Somewhere after speaking to Barb you decide that trying to be the sober parent of your little Abbott family just isn’t working.  You’ve lost track of most of them, and honestly, you’ve given up trying to find them.  They’re all adults and can fend for themselves.

You still have eyes on Barb and Melissa though, the former dancing up a storm and the latter apparently winning an ill-advised drinking competition. 

Not that you can judge, of course.  You know you’ve drunk more than you should, feeling pleasantly buzzed from your seat in the corner of the bar.  You should call it a night before you do something you’ll regret, like call the woman Barbara told you not to.  Sober, you wouldn’t.  Drunk, you’re flattered enough and wouldn’t say no to the company. 

With a sigh, you push yourself up out of your seat and head towards the elevators.  Pushing the button, you watch the numbers light up as the lift descends.  You squeak in surprise when a strong pair of hands land on your hips, turning you around as a plump pair of lips meet you own.

“I don’t think you’re some stupid kid.”

You blink slowly a few times, taking in the woman before you.  Melissa.  Melissa Schemmenti just kissed you.  You shouldn’t, but you don’t have it in you to deny yourself the pleasure of feeling her lips against yours once more.  You kiss her back with enthusiasm, not protesting when she backs you into the elevator as it opens and moaning as your back hits the wall of the small metallic box, the weight of Melissa pressed against you. 

You’ve always admired her curves.  Pressed against you they’re a dream. 

The clearing of a throat far to close snaps you out of your living dream and you feel Melissa take a step back, biting her lip as she guiltily throws a glance over her shoulder, registering Barb standing in the elevator, her back to you both as if she hasn’t just witnessed exactly what you were both doing. 

Standing close, you grin at the devious smirk being aimed your way by a certain red head.  There’s a dangerous glimmer of mischief in her eyes.  Smudged lipstick and mussed hair from where you hands couldn’t help but run thought it complete the look.  The woman is a work of art. 

You look up as the elevator doors chime open, realising this is your floor.  Stepping forward, you slip past Barb, who merely raises an eyebrow.  You throw a look back at Melissa, who sways forward as though to follow you, before hesitating. 

The doors slide shut, and honestly, it’s probably for the best.

You miss the dark chuckle Barb lets out as the lift begins to ascend once more.

“What you laughing at?” asks Melissa, scowling.  She’s annoyed with herself for hesitating.  She knows what she wants, and she just let it walk out of the elevator.

“You two think you’re subtle?” the older woman drawls.  “She has more of your lipstick on than you do.”

*

If PECSA was party central the night before, it was hangover central the morning after.  You’re sitting outside on the low wall, sunglasses firmly in place, your phone in one hand and a bottle of water in the other as you take in the cool morning air. 

“You regret what happened last night?”

You turn to see Melissa, similarly attired.  “What?”

She comes to stand beside the wall on which you’re sat, her gaze wandering anywhere but you as she speaks.  “I came to your room last night.  You didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t hear you,” you admit, watching as her head whips around.  “Too busy throwing up everything I ever drank.”  You feel the blush dusting your cheeks, but continue.  This feels too important to let a little embarrassment stop you.  You take off your sunglasses so she can see your face as you speak,  “I have many regrets about my choices last night, but what happened in the elevator isn’t one of them.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips as she shifts to take a seat next to you.  She slips her own sunglasses off, finally letting you see her eyes.  “Good to know,” she murmurs.  “Me neither.”

You can’t help but smile at that.  You notice her gaze wandering and realise she staring at the phone still clutched in your hand. 

“You planning on using that number you were so interested in yesterday?”

“Honestly?” you ask, seeing the uncertainty in her face as she nods regardless.  “That woman was hot, and while I was more than a little flattered she gave me her number…she isn’t a patch on you.”

Pale cheeks blush adorably pink at your words.  Melissa isn’t used to hearing things like what from you.

“Don’t look so surprised,” you scoff, nudging her shoulder.  “You’ve seen yourself in a mirror, right?  And you needn’t think I go falling in pools over every pretty woman I see.”

“I really distracted you that badly, huh?” she asks, a little of her confidence returning.

You bump her shoulder with yours once more.  “Shut up.”

A gentle hand moves to cup your cheek, turning you to face her as Melissa presses a gentle kiss to your lips.  “For the record,” she says quietly.  “I don’t think you’re some stupid little kid.  I think you’re beautiful.”

You take in a shuddering breath.  It all feels too good to be true.  “What happens at PECSA stays at PECSA?” you ask sadly.

“I’ve never been one for playing by the rules,” she smirks back at you, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before pushing herself to her feet and offering a hand to you.  “Come on, we gotta go find Barb.  Reunite her with her shoes, sobriety and sanity.”

You take the hand being offered like a lifeline, grinning as Melissa starts walking, swinging your joined hands between you.  It’s only as you pass through the front doors to the building that her words even register.  “Wait?  Her shoes?”

[wassidy-wanders-around]

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

The muse is still musing (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I've started to play around with Zevlor in a digital format. It's been a hot minute since I've done anything but sketch and I was trying out some soft lighting on the darker image. Still I didn't do anything too dynamic.

I've got like 6 other drafts going and I keep bouncing around between them. It's hard to pick one to stick to I'm surprised I finished 2. Also I didn't know Zevlor narrating the Haunted Mansion ride audio was something I needed in my life until I got it. Thank you Mr.McCready (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ 🎃👻🪦

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 33 The Epilogue | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Some things never seem to change for Bradley. But maybe he worked at keeping them the same. Baseball, Everett and you.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Seventeen and a half years later...

"Happy birthday, Coach," you whispered, slowly coaxing Bradley awake. He could feel your warm breath on his cheek and the weight of your hand resting on his chest. 

"Mmm, Kitten," he rasped, placing his bigger hand on top of yours as he cracked his eyes open. And there you were, fresh from sleep yourself, and so beautiful with the early morning sunlight catching on the angles of your face. "It's Sunday. Why won't you let me sleep in?"

"Because it's your birthday. And we get to see Ev."

Bradley stretched and rolled over so you were pinned deliciously underneath him. "We won't get to see Ev until later this afternoon. He's going to have a very busy day."

"I'm not so sure about that," you said with a smirk as you dragged your fingers through his hair. Bradley knew he was going gray, but you claimed you liked it, including the few stray strands that found their way into his mustache. 

"You sound like you've got something up your sleeve. Wait, Molly's not coming over to break the stove again, is she?"

You started laughing as you wrapped your legs around his. "Not that I know of. But anything's possible with her."

"Poor Bob," he said, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "And the kids, too. She's an absolute menace." 

Bradley pulled up your shirt and kissed his way along your breasts. If he was lucky, he'd get round one of birthday sex now and round two tonight after the game.

"Wait," he whined as you tugged your shirt back down. "What are you doing? It's my birthday."

"Yes," you agreed, kissing him once and then slipping right out of bed. "And I've been told I need to keep you on a very strict schedule. So come on. Get up."

"A strict schedule?" he mumbled. "Baby, I'm retired. My schedule revolves around making you breakfast, packing your lunch, coaching tee ball, and watching every single Phillies game."

"Well, I'll be making your breakfast today. And you can eat nachos or a hot dog for lunch even though you should be watching your sodium intake. And we will definitely catch the Phillies game," you said, reaching out to take his hand. 

With one more groan, he let you lead him downstairs where you told him to sit at the kitchen counter. He passed his display case on the way and paused to look at his first Coach of the Year trophy and the baseball covered in little faded hearts that he used to propose to you. He smiled at the collection of other baseballs, including the one from the first time his son pitched a no hitter. 

"Seriously, Bradley. We have a schedule to keep."

A few minutes later he had his World's Greatest Dad mug full of coffee in front of him. You kept checking the time as you pulled eggs and vegetables out of the refrigerator. Once 8:00 hit, you grabbed his phone from where it sat on the counter and entered his passcode as he sipped his coffee.

"Read this," you said, voice full of excitement. 

"What is it?" he asked as you thrust the phone into his hands. It looked like he was going to have absolutely no say over what went on today, so he was just going to go with the flow.

"An article. In the Philadelphia Inquirer. It just got released two minutes ago."

"Okay," he muttered, setting down his coffee and as he started to read.

WILL SEASON FOUR BE AS LUCKY AS ONE, TWO, AND THREE?

by Harrison Boyd

June 27, 2039

From his draft day nearly four years ago to now, Everett Bradshaw has been turning heads. We had collectively wondered as baseball fans from the City of Brotherly Love if we would ever have a truly elite pitcher again after Ronson's career ending injury. But as soon as the franchise acquired Bradshaw, we were allowed to stop wondering. We have reached elite status once again. And Bradshaw shows no signs of stopping. 

When I asked the freshly twenty five year old ace about the secret to his success, the first thing out of his mouth was, "My dad."

Bradley rubbed his eyes with his fingers and took a deep breath against the swell of emotions rising in his chest. "Kitten, what is this?"

You just shrugged as you cut up a green pepper for an omelette. "A feature article on Ev. Keep reading."

Bradley took a deep breath and picked up where he left off.

So I asked him, "Was your dad the one at your games who was cheering the loudest? The one who kept you motivated since you were a kid?"

"Not exactly," Bradshaw replied with a smile. "He was my very first coach. He actually still coaches tee ball in San Diego. He wins Coach of the Year so frequently, I think we've all lost count of how many of those little trophies he has at home. But anyway, I met my dad on the very first day I ever played ball. The very first time I swung a bat with instruction was from him. And he's the one who taught me how to pitch. His slider is still really hard to hit."

"You met your dad through tee ball? Through baseball? That's fascinating."

"Yes. I begged my mom to let me play. I was already obsessed with the Phillies by the time I was six. My mom took me to see them clobber the Padres at Petco Park, and I just thought they were the coolest team. So when she let me play tee ball, and I met my coach and learned he also loved the Phillies, I just wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. Turns out, they also wanted to spend time with each other. They got married a few months later. And then my dad adopted me."

While his birth name wasn't Bradshaw, Everett said he never had a close relationship with his biological father. "Really, he's not even worth mentioning. The only one I've ever considered to be my dad is Bradley. I can barely remember a time before he was taking me to the park to hit balls and teaching me how to keep stats. We did my homework together and collected baseball cards. He helped me apply to colleges. The video of him losing his mind when the Phillies drafted me went viral. My mom and my aunt and uncle are awesome, too. But my dad has always understood me in a way probably nobody else ever will."

During his four years at Vanderbilt, Everett earned a reputation as a fun loving, team oriented pitcher. But his stats were enough to catch the eye of every major league team. He pitched a no hitter against Stanford when he was nineteen, and he hit his first grand slam when he was twenty. And he's only cleaned up his form since then. For anyone not keeping track at home, Bradshaw already owns an incredible record in the MLB: he is the only player to pitch a no hitter as well as hit at least one grand slam for every year they played in the pros. His batting averages are practically unheard of for a pitcher. 

It's no wonder he was heavily scouted. And he assures us that his dad was there with him every step of the way. "I didn't know anything about contracts. I just wanted to pitch. But I spent a lot of time talking things through with my dad before I made any decisions. And now everyone is making a huge fuss about my new 440 million dollar ten year extension with the Phils, but to be honest, I still just want to pitch as many games as I can."

The 'huge fuss' is being made, because Bradshaw is now the highest paid pitcher in league history. The Phillies went all in on him, however Bradshaw did adjust his deal to assure that the team would be able to keep top catcher Sanchez as well. "If Miguel Sanchez isn't catching for me and the other guys in the rotation, then that's a big problem. The team needed to retain him as well. And to be honest, Harrison, nobody needs 440 million dollars."

Bradley set his phone down, rubbed his eyes, and said, "I still can't believe our son is the highest paid pitcher ever."

"I can," you replied, adding cheese to the omelette. "He's incredible. Keep reading."

When I asked him what he plans to do with 44 million dollars per year, he kind of shied away from the answer at first. "Well my girlfriend runs a nonprofit organization back in San Diego. She helps fund underprivileged children and schools. So a lot of my income goes back to kids in the city where I grew up and beyond. But I've also been working on a bit of a project myself."

When I asked him for more details, he folded his hands on the table in front of him and took a few beats to answer. "We talked a lot about my dad and what he means to me personally, and how he has impacted my career. But I also think it's important to remember that I'm just one guy. I'm just one kid who went through tee ball and little league. There are thousands of kids across the country who benefit from those types of athletic programs every year. And some of them, just like me, really need the positive influence that the coaches bring. So my dad doesn't even know about this yet, but I'm starting the Bradley Bradshaw Foundation, which will help fund a handful of youth tee ball programs every year. This is something I've been thinking about for a long time. The coaches bring the love and dedication; they shouldn't have to worry about equipment costs and field rental fees."

Bradley dropped his phone onto the counter and tried to wipe his eyes as he sobbed. "I can't even finish reading it."

You slid his birthday breakfast onto a plate and set it in front of him. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him cry against your shoulder. 

"Why is he doing this?" Bradley asked you. "He knows how fucking emotional I get, Kitten."

You kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Yes, you're always very soft for us. But you're also soft and sweet for all the kids you've coached. Keep reading."

So he pushed his breakfast aside and picked up his phone once again. And once he blinked away most of his tears he read the last part.

When pressed about how he thinks his stats will pan out by the end of his fourth season, Everett 'Grand Slam' Bradshaw laughed and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just trying for consistency. I'm trying to be a good teammate. I'm trying to make the best of every game I get to start. I'm trying to spend as much time with my family as I can. But if you really have a specific question about my stats, you should call my dad. He probably knows better than I do."

Bradley stood up from the kitchen counter and walked away from you. "I need a minute," he said, raking his hands through his hair. The love Bradley felt for his son was just simply part of him. He never took the time to try to pinpoint it exactly, because it was just built into him at this point. But he supposed it really was quite simple to reach back in his mind and pull out the moments when he started to fall in love with you and Everett. And it really was just because of the Tiny Eagles tee ball team. 

If he hadn't agreed to help Bob coach that first season, his life would be fundamentally incorrect right now. He didn't even like thinking about it. But it was because of his love for Everett, and you, and baseball that he stuck with coaching. He'd spent time with countless six and seven year olds over the last eighteen years. He'd missed some practices and games for deployments here and there, sure. But giving a little bit of his time and attention to a roster of kids each spring ended up changing his life. Because while his family owned his heart, Bradley found he had quite a lot of patience and love to share with more kids. 

"Bradley?" you asked softly, standing next to his untouched breakfast. "We can go see Ev when you're ready."

"I'm ready."

Bradley took a quick shower and put on his favorite jeans and his Phillies jersey with Bradshaw and the number 1 on the back. You were dressed similarly in your own Everett Bradshaw jersey; it had taken until your son was playing for the team for you to have what Bradley considered an adequate amount of Phillies clothing in your drawers. Once Bradley added his backwards hat, he was ready to go.

You took his hand and led him out to the new Bronco, and Bradley handed you the keys. He still felt like he was on the verge of tears again. "I need you to drive."

"Okay, Coach."

When you turned onto the Private Parking Only ramp at Petco Park, Bradley chuckled. "I still can't believe Ev is playing the Padres in San Diego on my birthday."

"You screamed like a small child when the schedule came out," you reminded him as you parked near the players entrance where the three of you had entered on your ballpark tour eighteen years ago. 

"Yeah, I know, but we hardly ever get to see Ev during the season unless we fly to Philly." He was already climbing out before you turned the engine off, and then he took your hand as you laughed. "Shit, Kitten... it's 10:00. The game doesn't start until 1:00. Are the gates even open?"

"We can get in," you assured him, and you pulled a lanyard out of your pocket with VIP printed all over it. 

"How did we get that?" he asked, leaning down to kiss you as you approached the gate together. "Ev usually just sends us box tickets."

But before you had a chance to answer, the security guard looked at the VIP pass and asked, "Which player are you here to see?"

"Everett Bradshaw?" you replied. "He plays for the Phillies."

The guard's face lit up and he said, "He just autographed a ball for my kids about ten minutes ago! Nicest guy."

"He's our son," Bradley said with pride in his voice, and you squeezed his hand a little tighter. 

"Come on in," the guard said with a bright smile, unlocking the gate and sliding it open. "You can wait in the VIP lounge right up this ramp to the right. Scan the pass to unlock the door. I'll call down to the locker rooms and let him know you're here."

"Thanks," Bradley replied, and you led the way up the ramp. "Baby, I'm still a little confused about why we're here so early."

"You'll see in a minute," you replied, scanning the badge. Bradley pulled the door open when it unlocked, and he followed you into the lounge full of plush seats, TV screens, and refreshments. And at the far end, perched on the edge of one of the long tables, was Everett. He was smiling as he tucked his phone in his jeans pocket, and Bradley thought he looked impossibly taller and stronger than he had two months ago when they visited him in Philadelphia.

Bradley's eyes filled with tears as he started closing the distance to his son. "Happy birthday, Dad," Everett said with a laugh in his deep voice, but Bradley was already wrapping him up in a tight hug. He just wanted to hold all six foot two inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of his son, and Everett let him. 

Bradley had to fight the onslaught of tears as the familiar feel of Ev hugging him back filled his senses, and the words from the article he read earlier flooded his mind. When he finally released him, he patted him on the shoulder. "You look good, Kiddo. Did you eat enough for breakfast? Are you still starting today?"

Ev smiled at him and nodded, "Yeah, I'm feeling good, Dad. I could probably use some of your pancakes though."

"Well why didn't you say something? I could have brought some with us. Kitten, why didn't you say something?" he asked you as you walked over to join them.

As Everett gave you an enormous hug as well, he said, "I'm thinking about sleeping over at the house with you guys tonight, since I'm not starting tomorrow. You can make me about a dozen pancakes tomorrow morning. Hi, mom."

You kissed his cheek and adjusted his backward Phillies cap. "I like your hair this way. You look so handsome, Ev.

"Of course he does," Bradley agreed. "He looks like you." And then he was rewarded with the twin smiles that you and Everett bestowed on him at the same time. "Listen, if you're coming back to the house later, I need to stop and get groceries. You ate everything in the refrigerator and drank all my beer last time."

Everett just smiled at him. "Damn, I really do miss your pancakes."

"Ev, that's an adult word," you scolded.

"Mom. I am an adult," he scolded back playfully. But he was grinning when he turned toward Bradley. "Did mom make you read the article this morning? From the Inquirer?" 

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding his head. "You didn't need to do that for me, Kiddo. But thank you."

His throat was tight with unshed tears as Everett gave him another hug. "I didn't do it just for you. I did it for the other coaches and kids, too. You were just my main inspiration. You always are, dad."

"Please, Ev," he said, sucking in a deep breath as he rubbed his son's back before releasing him. "I might never stop crying."

And he was once again met with Everett's smile and yours. "You're a softie, Coach," you told him, cupping his chin in your hand and kissing him.

"Always for the two of you." Bradley kissed your fingers and then laced them with his as he looked around the room. "How much longer can you hang out with us, Ev? You need to warm up soon?"

"Pretty soon," he replied. "I'll walk you up to the box to meet Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob and the cousins, but we need to stop and take care of something first."

"Take care of what?" Bradley asked, but Ev was already heading for the door past the tables and unlocking it with his own badge. Hand in hand, the two of you followed your son down a long hallway that ended near the locker rooms at a door that said PRESS AND PLAYERS ONLY. "Are we even allowed back here?"

"Well," Everett said, stopping in front of the door, "if you remember the tour we took when I was six years old, this is where we met some of the players."

"Of course I remember," Bradley said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "That was one of the best days of my life. I told your mom I loved her that day."

"He did," you confirmed for Everett.

"You two have always been sickening," Everett replied with a smile. "But yes, we're allowed in here. Actually dad, you're the man of the hour."

"Man of the hour?" he asked. "Kiddo, you're the star pitcher. It's just my fifty-fifth birthday." 

But as soon as Everett pushed the door open and Bradley stepped inside, about twenty reporters and photographers started buzzing with excitement. 

"Ev, I'm still confused," Bradley said as his son rested a hand on his shoulder. He watched you smile and head to an empty seat at the back of the room. "What's going on?"

Ev rubbed his shoulder before giving him another hug and releasing him. "Every interviewer asks me how I became successful. And my answer is always the same. It's because of you, Dad."

"Ev," Bradley choked out, his throat tight with tears once again.

"So you're in high demand, Coach. I told a few media outlets we would give an interview together. Nothing too crazy. As long as you want to."

Bradley glanced around the room, and as soon as he found you with a bright smile on your face, he said, "Okay."

So he sat down where the players sit, and Everett took the seat next to him. They had on matching jerseys and backward caps, and it didn't matter that he adopted Everett, this had always been his son. They were cut from the same cloth. They understood each other. They were a family. 

Everett cleared his throat and announced, "Hey, everyone. This is my dad and my very first coach, retired naval Captain Bradley Bradshaw. He taught me literally everything I know about baseball. Everything I know about anything, really. He showed me how to pitch sliders and curveballs at Myers Park here in San Diego. He made sure I could lose a game with the same attitude as when I won a game. He and I met the first day I ever played tee ball and the very first day he ever coached. And he's been coaching the Tiny Eagles ever since. So I guess if you want to know more about me, then he's the man to talk to."

Bradley was still wiping tears from his eyes when the first interviewer raised her hand, smiled at him, and asked, "Can you tell us how proud you are of Everett?"

He turned to look at his son and smiled. "How much time do I have?"

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

Well, that's it! The tale of Coach Bradley! I can't thank you enough to everyone who has been lovely to me as I worked on and posted this fic. I can't get enough of these three. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32 (and thanks for the banner, Mak!)

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Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

Still want more? Read Draft Day!

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[sgrplumditz]

Simon falls for Johnny’s wife…

render by @ave661

a/n: I’ve been working on this for a hot minute, but ended up having it sit in my drafts for a couple months :(. these images were released and it definitely struck a chord in my delulu mind. hence why i decided to finish it..

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"I've got a bad feeling about this one, Johnny," she said to the Scott with a shaky breath. Their toddler clinging to his mother's leg while keeping a tight grip on his father's finger. His little hand too small to grip the entirety of his hand.

She couldn’t help but notice his worrisome sigh as he looked for the comforting words, "Eh, don't you worry, Darling. I always come back don't I?" he replied enthusiastically as he embraced her figure, his chin resting on the top of her head and his free hand caressing the back of his son’s head. Johnny always knew how to comfort her, but she couldn’t shake her nervousness and doubtful thoughts as he said goodbye to her husband and the father of her only child.

The memory of their final interaction as a family replayed in her head continuously as the rain created soft tapping noises on her black umbrella. The pattering of the water creating an almost hypnotizing effect on the new widow that kept her mind on the only aspect that was left of her late husband -- memories.

The toddler, a three-year-old boy, who like most of the time clung to his mother's body. Except this time he was fully embracing his mother, his little face placed into the crook of her neck as the pair stood together at the outdoor memorial service. She could only stare blankly at the urn that held the remains of the love of her life. Through her observant stare she took note of the simple, yet lovely set up of white roses, numerous awards and medals. All of which surrounded a framed photo of her Johnny — her favorite photo. A candid picture snapped of the blue eyed, dark haired man by his wife — the woman he kept a secret from his work life. Not out of shame, or malicious secrecy — Johnny loved his wife and his child. Love them so much that he couldn’t be bothered ever putting them in any sort of danger.

She could feel numerous pairs of eyes prying into her and her son as she stood amongst the medium sized crowd of individuals. She assumed all of them were teammates, Co-workers, or people simply paying their respects. she knew he was a highly decorated soldier, but he was far more than that. None of them knew about his personal life, and nobody knew about the widow and small boy he had left behind. Nobody but Captain John Price knew about Soap’s little family. In confidence, Soap had asked Price to maintain word of his wife and son under the rug of the sake of their safety. Although they were hidden, he always carried pieces of them with him wherever he went — attached to his dog tags were two small and silver flat pendants that had been engraved with his wife and son’s fingerprint, his wedding band usually accompanying them on the same chain whenever he was deployed.

When Johnny was home he never removed his ring. He would often complain about how difficult and stubborn the piece of jewelry was when it came time to remove it for work. Johnny thought he was as discrete as he could be when it came to protecting the two most important people in his life, but there was a certain masked individual who took notice of the tan line that marked his left ring finger, the sudden dark under eyes and disheveled appearance that started 3 years ago when they would meet early in the morning for briefings, and when he caught sight of a vomit stain decorating the left shoulder of his black t-shirt — he just wasn’t one to pry.

Those same observant eyes were glued to the grieving widow and the blue-eyed toddler.

Her mind was pulled out of thoughts as Price approached her with a warm and tender expression in his eyes. In his hands were the dog tags, along with his keepsakes of his beloveds and in a small box was the wedding band. All of his personal belongings packed neatly into a box. Price knew he didn’t have to say anything to her for her to know that he was paying his respects to Johnny’s wife. Prior to the memorial service she had made it clear to Price that she wanted him to keep his ashes. She found they would get at least some closure from releasing them.

As Price drew her small frame in for a polite hug her son grew restless in her arms. She knew he was too young to understand that his father was gone, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable and upset from the lack of him. "Mama, it's cold" he fussed as he smushed his face farther onto her neck, "and your feet are getting wet. You're gonna catch a cold". She gave Price an apologetic smile as she turned her attention to her son now — Price had taken it as a signal to retreat. He now stood with two other men.

She couldn't help but smile at the innocence and kindness that exuded from her son. She gently patted his back to soothe his discomfort, "How about we get out of here and get some lunch?" she tried to speak in her most joyful tone, but even then it was coated in sorrow. The boy did not catch on to her somber response, and instead eagerly nodded his head as he perked up to look at his mother. That is when she realized how similar their son, Samuel, looked to his father. He mirrored him in nearly every aspect -- the eye shape and color, the dark hair, and even the mannerisms were similar. This could all be a fragment of her imagination -- she thought. Maybe it was part of her grieving process. She missed him so much that she began to look for him and could only find him perfectly in their Sammie. She was so consumed by her thoughts, that she had not realized the single salty tear that slipped out of her eye and down her cheek. Samuel hated to see his mother cry, he quickly brought his tiny hands up to her cheek and wiped it away with a slightly heavy palm. Usually, he would verbally comfort her — as best as a toddler could do, but all he did was lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead, "This always makes you feel better when Daddy does it". Does -- in present tense.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She could not tolerate being at the memorial service for much longer, and neither could Samuel. She had buckled him into his car seat and handed him a strawberry and banana squeezable fruit pack and crackers to ease his rumbling tummy in the meantime.

However, as she closed the car door and turned her back to face the crowd of people one last time she was instead met with a tall, burly build of a man. His face was hidden by a balaclava, leaving only his eyes on display. But the rest of his face was not necessary to note that he was also grieving. She noticed him within the crowd of the memorial service as well -- she assumed that was one of Johnny's friends, but did not bother to congregate with anyone since Johnny kept his personal life completely separate from his work life. And if she was being honest with herself, she did not have the emotional stamina to socialize with people that spent months out of the year with her late husband.

"Sorry. Can I help you with something?" she asked the brute man. She stared up at him with her eyes slightly shut to avoid water from getting into them.

"He’s Johnny’s" was his only reply. For a moment she only blinked and stared at him and noted the heavy English accent. The mention of her late husband’s name stung as she now was fighting back tears. Yes, he is Johnny's son. His pride and joy -- was what she wanted to say, but she could barely muster up the strength to nod her head.

She could tell that the individual's lips tightened into a line by the way the fabric of his mask slightly stretched. "My name is Simon. I was a friend of Johnny's..." he attempted to continue speaking, but all he did was nervously rub the back of his neck. "Johnny meant a lot to me, a real friend of mine..." he trailed off again.

She knew he was grieving, but it was a different type of pain. She sensed guilt within his sadness, but she knew better than to ask about any specifics. Her kind nature and maternal habits took over as she saw Simon struggling to find his words. For whatever reason this man decided to make himself emotionally uncomfortable to introduce himself, she figured there would be no harm in easing his mind.

She knew who Simon was since Johnny would bring up his friend "Ghost" every now and then "I know who you are" she smiled warmly trying to be the emotional rock between the two, "How about you join us for some lunch. I think Sammie would love to talk to and get to know his Uncle Ghost" she spoke eagerly in an attempt to lighten the mood -- something that was usually Johnny's role.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The three of them sat in a booth within a homely diner. The rain had completely let down at this point, the large drops of water hitting the roof of the diner with loud individual pats. Her hands were wrapped around a warm mug of coffee as she stared out the window watching blades of grass be temporarily smooshed by the inclement weather. The waitress had refilled her mug causing her gaze to turn towards her, her eyes softened and she gave the waitress a subtle nod to thank her. It was then that she realized that her son was wearing the ghost mask that was once on Simon. There was a glimmer of joy in Sam's eyes as he stood on the booth and gently hopped toward his mother to show her the "cool mask".

"I look so cool!" he exclaimed which only caused a chuckle to leave both her and Simon's mouths as the toddler's face was completely exposed through the eye hole on the mask -- his features obviously too small to fill the mask in the same manner. Upon hearing the slight laugh she turned to look at Simon, who she was surprised to see with dirty blonde hair. He was overall a handsome man, something that anyone would notice at first glance, but his eyes always conveyed a lot of emotion. Right now it was amusement tinged with pain as he stared at Sam. She knew he also noticed how strongly he resembles Johnny, and a part of her found comfort in knowing that she was not grieving alone. The way he looked at Sammie made her feel warm. She sensed that Simon knew Johnny deeper than most of the people at the memorial service — knowing that she found herself smiling at the thought of her being able to cherish Johnny’s memories with someone else.

The waitress had arrived with everyone's meals. Sam did not hesitate to dig into his plate. The toddler abruptly grabbed the bottle of syrup and drenched his pancakes in it. His careless behavior causing some of it to spill onto to the table, "Use your table manners please" she spoke sternly, but softly to the boy as she slipped him a napkin and a set of covered utensils.

"He looks just like him" he spoke in a gentle and respectful tone. His eyes rested on Sam -- who was now too focused on using his utensils properly to pay attention to the conversation happening in front of him.

Her hand wiped a strand of dark stray hair away from his forehead before she turned her attention toward Simon, who was now looking at her, "Yeah. Carried him for 9 months and he's got the nerve to look just like his father" she shrugged with a pained smile — her attempt to lighten the mood once again failing, "but I wouldn't have it any other way".

Simon took note of the sorrow hidden within the smile as his own face mirrored it out of empathy.

A few minutes had gone by and Samuel was still working on his meal, Simon had quickly eaten his, and she played with her food, tossing it around all over her plate in a desperate attempt to distract herself. How embarrassing would it be to break down at a family diner. "You should eat your lunch" he spoke. The deep voice dragging her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She glanced down to look at his empty plate and her contrastingly full one. Casually shrugging off his suggestion she set her fork down and let out a soft sigh, "I'll just take it to go. I don't really have an appetite at the moment" she spoke in a casual tone — too causal of a tone. She was normally a social person, the type to be able to engage in conversation with any type of person for hours. Her personality was magnetizing in the sense that she was an incredibly open minded person, which only made her a vessel for hundreds on conversations, all of different topics and tones — a quality that Johnny loved about her. She was one of the few that would keep up with his mindless thoughts and nonsense ideas. That is where she was at the moment. In her mind she was thinking about the woman she was before she got the gut wrenching knock at her door. The knock where she was told by Laswell and Price that her husband was gone. “Killed in Action” were the words they used. “He died saving the world” was something Price added.

Sure he had died saving the world, but her and her son’s was destroyed. She was never a selfish person, but in that moment she wished the world would burn if it meant he was in her arms instead of merely a memory. She hadn’t noticed until recently that tears were flooding her cheeks and spilling onto her meal. Simon had been observing her for a moment as she watched her fall into deep thought, but once he saw her tear stained face he acted quickly.

He swiftly took his wallet out of his pocket and placed a $50 bill on the table to cover their meals and a decent tip, “Come on” he spoke in a demanding voice, his tone remaining soft enough for her and Sam to remain calm. Sam was oblivious to his mother’s current state as he had now distracted himself with the crayons and the kids menu.

She looked at Simon as she attempted to regain her composure. It was long gone, she was an emotional mess at the diner — exactly what she was trying to avoid. “It’s alright.” he coo’d as he took Sam into his arm. With his free hand he guided her out of the booth and to the exit.

He took the initiative to get the mother and son home as soon as possible. The three of them approached her car, “Get in and take a few deep breaths, yeah?” he instructed while simultaneously holding the door open for her. Sam had been buckled into his car seat, which Simon struggled to figure out, but the toddler being incredibly intuitive had seen his mother and father do it hundreds of times and was able to talk Simon through it.

If that had happened under different circumstances she would have been able to congratulate Sam and let him know how proud she is of him, but she was far from being in that state of self awareness and state of mind.

She was a wreck in the passengers seat of her own car. She was heartbroken in the passengers seat of her own car. The severity of it all finally setting in making it nearly impossible for her to get ahold of herself.

Is she just exhausted from the days leading up to the funeral? A weeks worth of concealed emotions finally spilling out in front of her. She is definitely overwhelmed, but this time she subconsciously feels safe and secure enough to let go of her broken front.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Months had gone by since her meltdown in front of Simon, and he never once brought it up. He was well aware it wasn’t something she was proud of, nor did she want to talk about her grief. Simon had been coming around her and Samuel a couple times a week just to check in on the pair. He felt it was his responsibility to keep them safe now — the least he could do for his recently deceased friend. Everyday he spent with the two of them he realized why Soap had kept them a secret. They were truly too special to put into any risk; especially her. She was a walking breath of fresh air, not something anyone encounters often in their lifetime, especially not in their line of work and the lifestyle it supplies. Now it all made sense. Johnny was always the most eager to return home when they’d be out in the field, said he had “something special” waiting for him, but everyone would shrug it off.

He grew to understand Soap’s decision to keep his family hidden from the world he worked in.

Even though Simon was consumed in his own thoughts he was still able to be completely alert as the mother and son played on the playground.

Her laugh. It stripped him away from his spiraling memories and muses. His gaze snapped to her body on the floor covered in wood chips, she had clearly tripped and stumbled while playing with Samuel. She was laughing at her clumsiness, laughing at how attentive Samuel was to his mother as soon as she hit the cushioned floor, “Sammie, I’m okay” she soothed him as he clung to her — small and gentle laughs leaving her full lips as she reacted to the entire scenario.

That was the first time Simon had heard her laugh.The sound of her sweet tone intoxicating to him. He couldn’t get enough, is what he mentally told himself as he walked over to her to help get back on her feet. Her soft and polished hand nestled and firmly gripped onto his rough and calloused one as he pulled her off the ground.

Guilt lingered in his being upon realizing how much he liked being around her, but he needed to be there for them. The conflict was clear within him, and something he figures he’ll eventually learn to accept and move forward with. He knew he would have to set aside his audacious feelings to respect her and more importantly to respect Johnny. He would be there to protect them as much as she allowed him. He wasn’t planning on getting emotionally attached to the the pair, or her alone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later that same evening, Simon had made the decision to pay her and Sammie a visit. He stepped out of his car with a bag of Chinese takeout in his hand. Chinese food had become the only thing she would willingly eat ever since Johnny passed. A swift hand smoothing his plain black t-shirt before he began walking toward her front door, but as soon as his hand left his clothing he realized what he was doing. Bringing her favorite food to her and her son with no real reason to be seeing her, checking his appearance — something uncommon for the typically aloof man. A lingering hint of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he treaded towards the front door of her house. No, Simon was only supposed to be there for the mother and son duo as an aide during this severe loss. He felt that’s what he owed to Johnny since he felt partially responsible for his death. A cocktail of traumatic thoughts and memories invaded his mind . The grip on the take-out bag grew stronger, the same strength being felt in his chest as his heart pounded in its cavity

Upon reaching the front door he heard what sounded like a glass had broken — as if it had fallen off of a surface, which isn’t a big deal, she had a bad habit off leaving glasses on the edge of countertops and tables, but the yelp that followed only made Simon react in the most instinctive manner. He rushed inside the house and into the kitchen where she was found with a dish towel wrapped around her hand and a grimace on her face. Her nose scrunched in reaction to the pain.

Simon raised an eyebrow at her as he approached her with swift and long strides. His demeanor was urgent, alarmed and slightly panicked as his body was still in a reactive state from his memories, but how could she know that? She stared at him with the same expression, but she had more reason to. His breathing wasn’t heavy but it was slightly sporadic. At the same time, it was still controlled, his body was tense, but most significantly, his eyes looked panicked and unsettled. “I didn’t know you’d be visiting tonight. You should have let me know,” she spoke casually as she continued holding pressure on her fresh wound, “Or else I wouldn’t have-“ her words stopped flowing when Simon grabbed her hand and began to examine the brand-new cut. She watched his concerned expression lighten when he confirmed that the abrasion was small enough to heal on its own, “- let my mom take him for the weekend.” She finally completed her sentence when his large brown eyes met hers.

She knew exactly what was happening to him. She recognized the wide, alert eyes, uneven breathing, and tense mannerisms. This was a common occurrence that she witnessed Johnny experience. Her husband was gone, but there were constant reminders of him everywhere -- and one thing she hated seeing was Johnny struggling with his PTSD. Just like Johnny, she couldn't tolerate seeing Simon in the same condition.

Using her unharmed hand, she grabbed Simon's calloused one. Her movements were gentle and fluid as she guided their hands to the left side of her chest. With his palm now resting on her chest she looked into his eyes before speaking in a nurturing tone. "Slow and steady. Count it for me" she said as she placed her own hand over his chest. It was then that she noticed how hard and fast his heart pounded. "I’ll count yours until we match pace. One, two, three..."

Eventually, Simon counted with her, his heart rate slowing gradually as his mind remained distracted from the trauma and focused on her. On her beating heart, on her nurturing voice, on her full pink lips, on her long dark eyelashes, on her soft delicate hands. Her. His mind consumed by images of her, his newfound serenity.

Simon cannot help but feel guilty, but his pleasure and serene state strongly blinds him from this feelings. This is exactly what he didn’t want, but he can’t help but relish in it.

[iridescentprose]

your dangerously stupid little idiot - steve harrington x sinclair!reader insert

author's note: a long overdue steve fic that's been sitting in the drafts. i miss steve.

divider by: @bunnysrph

summary; you're in a secret relationship with steve - fluff; no warnings

The sound of laughter and the consistent thud of footsteps coming up the stairs made you groan. Although you'd much rather stick to your hermit agenda, you promised your parents you would keep the door to your room open, ensuring that your younger siblings and their friends didn't burn down the house without you knowing about it.

Hunched at your desk, you were busy with your nose in a book until a sudden incessant taping at your doorway got a little too annoying for comfort.

"Nice Van Halen poster."

"That's Bauhaus, idiot," you said, while your heart began to drum in your ears. You kept your back turned to him, eyes trained on the same sentence you had been reading ever since you heard Harrington's voice from downstairs. "What are you doing here, anyway? I don't remember Lucas inviting you over."

You heard him shuffle across your room —over to the poster with four Caucasian men clad in grey suits and dark sunglasses. You heard your bed creak, followed by an exaggerated sigh. You looked over your shoulder.

"Steve—"

"How come you don't have a picture of me on your wall?" He's lying in the center of your bed, legs hanging off the edge while his eyes are fixated on the Bauhaus poster above your headboard.

You sighed and shut your book before swiveling to face your boyfriend. "Because I'm not a psychopath...and last I checked, you can't carry a tune to save your life, Harrington." Abandoning your book, your walked over and grabbed his wrist, initiating a game of tug of war with a weak start.

Steve chuckled as he sat up, his body flopping forward like a limp noodle as he gave into your lack of strength. "Hey, hey. What's the rush? We're not going to get caught. Your parents aren't here."

"Yeah, but Erica and Lucas are. We'll be over before we've even started—"

You shook your head, a hot flash rising to your cheeks as the word 'dating' got stuck in your throat.

The word made you cringe. It made feel you like were in one of those lovesick romance movies whenever you said it. An unfamiliar queasiness rose in your stomach as Steve rose an eyebrow.

Crap.

You had been caught.

"What was that?" Steve stood up straight, towering over you, his features laced with an alert sense of curiosity. He had stepped forward now, nearly trapping you between him and the wall. You still had a hold on his wrist. "I didn't hear that last part, Sinclair. 'We'll be over before we've even started...?'"

You rolled your eyes. "Cut the crap, Harrington. You know what this is," you hissed under your breath, eyes darting to the open door that could expose your secret any minute.

"Yeah, but I don't think I've ever heard you say it out loud before," he said with an amused grin on his lips. A tendril of his hair loomed over the center of his forehead. You resisted the urge to brush it back into place. Now wasn't the right time for that.

Now wasn't the right time for whatever this was.

"If you don't get out of my room, you're not going to live to hear me say it."

With a small grunt, you pulled him by the wrist, guiding him to the threshold of your door. He's stumbling behind you, stifling a laugh and purposefully dragging his feet until they reach the creaky floorboards of the hallway. You then maneuver around him, taking your place in front of your door as you wait for your boyfriend to retreat back down the stairs.

But as smooth as a criminal, Steve turns around, arms braced against the doorway, feet locked into place. He has no intentions of moving until he gets what he wants.

"Harrington," you whisper, lowering your voice as you both were now in closer proximity to the stairs and Erica's room down the hall.

"Sinclair."

Seconds of silent staring pass before you sigh in defeat.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"But, I'm your idiot," Steve says, his face lingering close to yours. He's wearing a contagious smile that has somehow slid across the thin space between you and jumped on your face. "Now, are you going to repeat what you said earlier or am I going to have the privilege of properly introducing myself to my future in-laws?"

Crossing your arms, you lifted your chin and narrowed your eyes. He always found a way to have the upper hand, even if it made him look dangerously stupid. But as dangerously stupid as the thought of Steve introducing himself as your boyfriend to your parents and siblings was, you couldn't stop your lips from twitching upwards.

"I said," you started, your voice getting lower which each word, "If my brother or sister finds out that you're in my room, we'll be over before we've even started dating for a month."

You swallowed your embarrassment, your eyes falling to your shoes as the word tumbled out of your mouth. Steve had asked you officially to be his girlfriend only two weeks ago and you still couldn't admit out loud that you were dating him. Let alone in secret.

Having Lucas and Erica find out before your parents would be an never ending nightmare. Your parents had forbade you from dating until you had finished school. Thankfully, you only had a few more months and then —and only then—did you plan on making your relationship with Steve known to your parents.

"See?" Steve said, tilting your chin upwards. "Was that so hard?"

But before you could say 'yes' with gritted teeth, Steve had pecked your lips, leaving you speechless.

"I'll see at Family Video on Friday?" He whispered, already backing away from you as laughter came from the room right down the hall.

"Uh, yeah," you said, trying to keep your head straight. "Family Video. Friday," you confirmed long after he had vanished down the steps.

You leaned against your doorway, massaging your temples as you fought the smile on your lips.

"That boy is going to be the death of me," you mumbled to yourself before retreating back into your room and rereading the same sentence of your book all over again.

[notheroicnotromantic]

WIP Wednesday - Landoscar Ageswap!AU edition.

Some of y'all might remember this idea I rambled about a couple of weeks ago and ever since then, I've been working on it! It's at around 15k words rn and I've only written out 1/4 of my draft so you better PRAY for me.

ANYWAYS there's a sneak peak under the cut. 🫶

some context might be needed, so:

it's set in an imaginary 2025 season with a made up calendar, grid + wdc fight. (obviously LOL)

oscar's 24 going on 25 and has been at mcl since 2020, lando's 20 going on 21 and in his rookie year.

nico rosberg is lando's manager. (listen, I had to.)

osc friend group = 2019 rookies (minus lando ofc) + logan

lands friend group = ollie + kimi (2025 rookies)

basically the thing that intrigued me so MUCH is the thought of having a rookie lando that's so enamored and obsessed with his cool older teammate BEGGING for some attention and awkward oscar who's used to playing second fiddle to daniel absolutely in TATTERS because why is his new cutie of a teammate trying to be besties?? aren't they here to race?? why is this puppy with the big eyes following him around PLEASE leave him alone.

and then they have like dramatic back-and-fourths for the majority of the season.

also I kind of ripped of the Alpine storyline for Lando but changed it to him being a former RB driver for the sake of drama.

It takes another fifteen minutes, but eventually Oscar emerges from his room, in a wine-red t-shirt and some dark shorts. That shouldn’t be considered a look in any shape or form, but Lando can appreciate the foundation the outfit is built upon. If you catch his drift. (It’s because he’s a racing driver, get it?) 

They head out together then, and Lando follows Oscar to the parking lot, where a chic and minimalistic black 720 S Spider is waiting for them, Lando’s salvia collecting in his mouth simply by looking at it. Yeah, maybe he’s a car guy, it’s literally his job. 

“What a beauty,” Lando marvels at the car, taking it in from all sides before getting ready to jump in. Oscar has stopped in front of the driver side door, holding out the ignition key. “You want to take the wheel?”

“Osc, I could never,” the younger chokes out, but the Australian simply tilts his head. “I’m not going to offer again, mate.” Fuck it, I’d be stupid not take the opportunity. Before the Oscar can regret his decision, Lando’s snatched up the key and is sliding into the driver’s seat.

Maybe it takes them another five minutes to start driving, Lando letting his hands run over the interior of the car, but Oscar keeps watching him with a neutral look, that makes Lando’s inside’s feel like he’s on fire, so he hopes he doesn’t hate him for it.

Another thirty minutes later and they reach the Piastri home, which should be called the Piastri Mansion, really. It’s almost as big as Lando’s own family home back in the UK and that’s been in his family’s possession for years, but this house is too modern for it to be some sort of family heirloom. Obviously, Lando knew that Oscar’s grown-up wealthy if his parents were able to send him across the world and support his racing career in Europe, but knowing and seeing are still two very different things, at the end of the day.

Nicole Piastri welcomes them at the door and the truly delusional part of Lando’s brain feels like he’s being brought home to his boyfriend’s family for the first time. Well, teammates aren’t that far removed from work-spouses, right? 

The older woman greets him with another tight hug, and Lando buries his head in her neck, clinging onto her tightly. In the next moment, there’s something trying to jump up his legs, a pair of fluffy middle-sized dogs trying to reach him, tongues out and tails waging. 

Oscars beside him immediately, “No, Rosie, Baz, back off!” He commands the dogs, which shouldn’t be this hot frankly, and the two stop, but continue to stand in front of Lando, big, dark eyes looking up at him. It’s too cute, really. So, he can’t do anything but sit down on his knees and open his arms wide for the dogs to jump into them, licking up on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them take so well to a stranger,” Nicole gasps, cheering a little for their interaction. Lando loses his balance and falls onto his back, Basil and Rosie following him and continuing to cuddle up to him. Yeah, he knows the government names of Oscar’s pets. He run an Oscar Fan account for two years, it’d be a bad look if he didn’t. 

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t try to save you,” Oscar sighs, a little disappointed maybe before continuing his walk into the house and into what Lando assumes the direction of the back porch. It sems like the two furballs are finally excited by the presence of one more of their owners, because they’re gone in a flash and following his teammate outside. Maybe they’re hoping for a round of fetch. 

Lando would play with them all day.

Oscar’s mum helps him up, still left lying on the hardwood floor beneath him. “You know you’re first teammate he’s agreed to bring around?” Lando’s sure his face resembles one of the fish he loathes so much. It’s not like he assumed that Daniel and Oscar used to be best friends, but now he feels weirdly honoured. But he’s also like fairly sure Oscar only did so because of his mother in the first place. 

The rest of the Piastri family is in the backyard, Oscar’s in a conversation with one of his younger sisters, Hattie, and there’s Nicole’s boyfriend on the barbecue. The dogs are chasing each other around the grass and the large swimming pool at the right side of the garden.

It’s only now that Lando notices how much he’s out of depth here, because it’s literally just Oscar’s family, including Mark Webber, here for the celebrations. Lando figured he’d be able to blend in with some of the friends or acquaintances of the family during the party, but now he’s realizing he’s part of an actual family barbecue. He feels honoured, but the anxiety’s also back.  

Nicole takes him by the shoulder, dragging him to the table and chairs where the Piastri children have settled down. “Come on, Lando, I’m sure you’re hungry and exhausted after that race,” which is of course the moment his stomach decides to make itself known, grumbling. Lando feel his cheeks heat up, which might become a permanent state at this point, “Yeah, I couldn’t keep anything down before the race, so I guess I need to make up for some lost calories,” he tries to go for a light-hearted joke.

Judging from the woman’s facial expression, he didn’t quite hit the mark with that one. “What?” Nicole looks at him horrified, “Don’t worry! This has been happening to me since I started in like the British F3, so I’m totally used to it by now,” he explains - which doesn’t help his case at all, sadly.

“You’ve just awoken the demon,” Mae tells him as he sits down across from her. 

Unfortunately for Lando the next person to join them at the table is Webber, who chooses the chair next to him. Maybe he should have declined the invitation after all.

Most of the dinner is more than an awkward affair to Lando, who can’t shake this stiffness from his limbs. He tries to his best to the enthusiastic about the food, and it’s great. He’s starved too, which should be the perfect combination but every time his gaze shifts to the left his heart starts to beat a little quicker.

When the sun starts to set Lando feels like the celebrations have reached a point for him to make a polite exit without offending anyone. Nicole is quick to offer their guest room to Lando, but he doesn’t think he could stand being around Oscar for any longer. Even if his heart breaks as he bids his goodbye to Baz and Rosie, who’d been his rock during dinner, brushing up against his legs and resting on his lap. 

Instead, Lando orders himself an Uber for the way back to the hotel and Oscar offers to wait with him in the front of the property. “Thanks again for the invite,” Lando breaks the awkward silence between them, when he can’t stand it any longer.

“No need to thank me, mate. I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you, I can’t imagine Mark to be an enthusiastic conversation partner, but I get so little time with my siblings, I’m sure you understand,” Oscar explains as he wraps his hand around Lando’s wrist. Besides, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, I’m not your biggest fan, the sentence continues in Lando’s head.

“No, I think I do need to thank you. Could you give me your mum’s number? I want to properly thank her once more, I feel like if I hadn’t been around your family, it’d been a pretty sad ending to my first race. I’ve been missing my own like a limb today, honestly.” 

Oscar squeezes his wrist once more at the confession and promises to send Lando Nicole’s contact as soon as he’s back in the yard with his mobile. Then, Lando’s Uber drives around the corner. They bid each other goodbye, and then the Brit gets into the car. 

Making his way back to the Hilton, Lando’s still unsure how Oscar’s feeling about him.

-

[AUDIO DESCRIPTION OF THE NEWLY-WEDS CHALLENGE WITH OSCAR PIASTRI AND LANDO NORRIS]

Oscar Piastri: Lando, what is Oscar’s favourite pizza topping?  Lando Norris: Mate, you probably enjoy something disgusting like Tuna. Or no, Hawaii? Oscar Piastri: Actually, it’s pretty simple, I just like pepperoni. Lando Norris: I think we just found a food opinion we can agree on, Osc. Okay, uh, Oscuh, what Disney character is Lando most like? Oscar Piastri: Hm. That’s a tough one, you kind of remind me of Timon, from Lion King. Or I guess Lighting McQueen from CARS would be fitting, too. Lando Norris: Don’t tell Liam about that second one. If I’m Timon, does that mean you’re Pumba? Oscar Piastri: Sure, Lando. If you want to me to be. Okay, next one question, who is most likely to deal with a spider? Lando Norris: Oscuh, obviously.  Oscar Piastri: Obviously!? Lando Norris: Those Australian genes need to be good for something, mate! Reckon you’d protect me from the big, bad spiders.  Oscar Piastri: I think your screeching will be enough to hold them off, honestly.  Lando Norris: Oh, wow. Well, moving on, Oscuh, what would be Lando’s dream job, except for his current profession?  Oscar Piastri: Something that’s not even a job, probably. Like streamer, or maybe Instagram model.  Lando Norris: Oh, the influencers are going to come for you, mate. Besides, I already stream. Wait, did you know that? Oscar Piastri: [just smiles in reply.] 

-

[anaoyuo]

Play With The Stars || deleted scenes

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Gojo Satoru x f!reader

notes: You’re looking at the first scene that didn’t make it into the story and got lost in my files. I wrote the draft at the beginning of adg, unsure where it would fit, but I thought I’d just use it later. Spoiler: it never happened. It was meant for the middle of the story. Unfortunately, we were busy with angst, so I wrapped it up quickly and tada here it is!

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The glass doors slid open and you were immediately hit by the terribly hot, muggy summer air. After spending the entire day in the nicely air-conditioned office, you hadn't even noticed how intense the heat had gotten outside.

The sudden growl of a motor snapped you and other nearby pedestrians out of your thoughts. There, parked at the curb, was a man who played with the loud engine of his motorcycle, spewing out the exhaust for no reason other than to show off. What an idiot. 

You rolled your eyes and were about to turn away, but as you looked closer, you quickly realized you knew that idiot. 

The man took off his helmet and ran a hand through his snowy white hair that lay a little damp and flat against his forehead.

Your brows furrowed in surprise as you approached him. "Satoru?"

"Hello, babes." Gojo grinned at you, wide and toothy. His cheeks dusted with a faint hint of pink, the heat having made them flush.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd drop by to sweeten your day," he replied, letting go of the handlebars to lean back. 

Your gaze drifted downward to the intimidating machine. It suited him well, a glossy black frame with a few blue details here and there, most likely customized. 

"I didn't know you could ride one of these," you said, nodding toward the bike.

Gojo let out a dramatic gasp. "How rude of you to think there's something I can't do."

You smiled, keeping your lips tight and eyes dull. "Oh, forgive my ignorance. I totally forgot how amazing you are."

"Exactly." He slid off his bike and unhooked the second helmet from his seat, holding it out to you. "Here. Put it on."

"I'll pass."

His entire expression plummeted faster than a rock in water.

Had he just been rejected? Him? The great Gojo Satoru?

He huffed, as if he was just beginning to really process your response. "Wait, what do you mean? You can't pass. I'm already here."

"I've never ridden a bike before, and this thing doesn't look like it's made for slow, friendly rides," you explained while casting a wary glance at the motorcycle.

"I can make it slow and friendly." 

You frowned, unconvinced. "Oh, really?"

"Well, if you're gonna beg for it, I might, yeah," he said, a smirk curving his lips upward. 

Without saying another word, you turned around and started striding away. 

"Where you going?" Gojo's voice trailed after you.

"Taking the bus," you called back over your shoulder.

"Aw, come on. I'll be careful!" 

As you walked, Gojo hurried to catch up, reaching out to grab your arm and halt you.

"I'm literally wearing a skirt, Satoru," you protested, trying to reason with him. A futile attempt, always useless. 

"Yeah, so? You have a nice ass, just arch your back and give the cars behind us something exciting to look at."

You sighed deeply, feeling the will to argue back drain out of you in a single breath.

"Seriously, babe, you're so boring sometimes. I'm here to offer you a fun ride, and what do you do? You choose the bus! The bus, of all things! Do you know how lame that is? Sitting there, waiting for it to lurch forward every few minutes. You might as well be watching paint dry!"

While you tried to tune him out, it was not working. You really, really hoped that if you just ignored him long enough, he would eventually tire himself out and shut up, but no. Gojo rambled on and on and on with no sign of stopping anytime soon. 

"...it's like, turning down free candy. Who even does that? Oh, wait, you do! And what about sorting your socks by color? Probably your idea of a crazy Friday night, huh? Or maybe alphabetizing your spice rack is more your idea of a good time. Am I right? Or using coasters—"

Your patience snapped as you cut in. 

"You will drive slow, Satoru."

Gojo stared at your finger that poked his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back. "Fuck, you're so sexy when you give me commands," he groaned.  

"Satoru," you warned again. "You will drive slowly."

"Yes, ma'am." Gojo saluted in front of you. 

You straddled the bike behind him, pressing a little closer than necessary, chest flushed against his broad back.

After he revved the engine to life, Gojo leaned into you, his gloved hands finding their way to your naked thighs to tease you with some strokes and squeezes.

"Nervous, babe?"

"Yes."

Gojo grabbed your wrist, guiding your arm away from his waist to rest against his chest, right above where his heart pulsed, holding your hand there. 

"Don't worry. I promise you that after we get home, you'll want to ride my bike every single day."

You heaved a sigh that faded into a chuckle. "Definitely not."

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—In memory of the bastard I dated in 2020 Full series: ao3

[the-s1lly-corner]

Shut In (Eyeless Jack x reader oneshot!)

Basic plot: its really cold outside, and you urge Jack to stay in your home with you... he decides to stay despite knowing full well that he will be fine out in the freezing temperatures. You both decide to do things to pass the time and stay warm! Turns out Jack can make a mean cup of hot coco, too

Extra notes: I dont usually write fanfics, and the last one I've written was a personal one from late August... so to say I'm rusty and underexperienced is an understatement! I feel this one ended up a little.. weirdly paced imo but I think I'm still happy with the end result! Dialogue I feel I could have done better on but I'm going to be nice to myself since I mostly write hc posts so this is way out of my comfort zone.. Drafted on Tumblr then sent through google docs to pick up on some mistakes I missed, briefly reread no proper proof reading imo... lets hope this isnt a train wreck + it copied back to tumblr okay!! LMAO

Brief joke about pregnancy/making a pregnancy but its like one small snippet but I know that can make people uncomfortable + implies at least one of the characters is AFAB

Word Count: 2915

Extra Admin's note: I want to say again that I am so so happy about this blog hitting 1k followers, when I first started this blog I was originally going to use it to burn time and have something to do on the side, as well as having a place to put out my cringe ideas and hcs. I never thought this many people would be interested in my dumb thoughts, but here we are! I intend to keep writing this year, and perhaps even make more non-celebratory one shots this year? Maybe? I don't know I guess we'll see the reception on this fic!

It was the middle of the night, around the middle of January. Your boyfriend and you were holed up inside your apartment, you having locked the man up with you after seeing that it was below freezing out, as well as raining. You had to practically beg your boyfriend to stay with you for the night.

Your boyfriend, who also just so happened to be a man eating demon with tar dripping out of his hollowed out eye sockets. Your boyfriend, who was currently sitting still and staring forward, the only sound in the apartment coming from the dripping of your faucet. You had asked him to come visit you, it'd been a while... and he would never ever let you go to his cabin when it's this cold out. So here you both were now.

You pat the palms of your hands on your knees, sucking in one of your cheeks and working the flesh through your jaws for a moment. You were both technically stuck in the apartment now; you didn't want Jack to go out and risk getting sick, and Jack more than likely wouldn't want you to step out for the same reasons. So, you were both confined to what you already had within the space. You were about to open your mouth to speak but Jack broke the silence first. "You're shivering, do you want me to get some blankets?", blunt and almost robotic. He was never that expressive. "Or would you like to go to your room?" He added after a brief pause, his fangs poking just over his lip before he readjusted his mouth. You were both in the living room, sitting together on the couch; the front door to your left and a view of the kitchen to the right. You thought for a minute as your eyes lingered on the kitchen for a moment. You'd already eaten, before your partner arrived... but..

"That's fine, I'm probably going to make some hot coco," You pulled yourself up, stretching up. "Powdered stuff ooor..?" Jack mimicked you. You only shook your head, earning a disapproving look from him. "What?" You questioned, but he only dismissed you. "Why don't you get some blankets, I'll handle it," and he turned on his heel to make his way to the kitchen. "Maybe put on a movie, too, your choice." He added as his voice carried off. "Are you saying I can't cook?" You called back, following after him. No answer as he tugged out a pot. "I'll have you know-" you started once more

"Do you have half and half?" He was already opening your pantry to grab things.

"No, I don't,"

"Heavy cream? Whipping cream? Whatever it's called..." He mumbled as he placed various ingredients on the counter. Cocoa powder, vanilla, salt and sugar. You only nodded, and as he was about to begin working he paused. "Do you want anything else in it? Cinnamon? Nutmeg?" He paused and through gritted teeth, "Coffee?"

It was almost midnight, of course he would be opposed to you having caffeine so late.

"Cinnamon is fine," You watched him get to work. He measured everything out; even mixing the heavy cream with some milk to make a substitute for half and half.... was that really all it was? You weren't sure what you expected it to be, if it weren't..

He pulled his head up and stared at you. It was then that you noticed he had actually taken his mask off and set it at the end of the counter and out of the way. The black ooze dripping from his eyes was slow and posed little threat to dripping into your drink. He had a fistful of napkins on standby to dap his face dry should the flow quicken. "Aren't you going to get the blankets?"

You pat your hands on your thighs, pausing... watching him. His body had a warm glow on him from the old light bulb in the ceiling; it flickered every now and then. Under the yellowed light he almost looked healthy and alive, though there was no glint where his eyes should have been. His sharp nail tapping on the counter brought you back to the moment, blinking a few times. "Yeah.." you mumbled, defeated at the chance of making a drink for yourself stolen from you. But was that so bad?

You backed out of the kitchen, dragging your feet across the floor. Your apartment was.. a little on the smaller side so within a few steps you were in front of your bedroom door. You didn't really pay much attention to your surroundings as you shuffled through the blankets on the bed.. eventually you settled on just grabbing an arm full and waddling back to the living room, dumping everything you had grabbed onto the couch.

The house smelled of cinnamon and chocolate.. with a hint of vanilla.

Turning your gaze to the tv, your eyes scanned across the DVDs you had stacked messily. Nothing sounded good. "Is there anything you want specifically?" You called out as you settled yourself down criss cross in front of the tv and pulling all the cases onto the floor next to you. "Movie wise," You added as you pulled the first case into your hands. The DVD collection for Child's Play.. you had gotten it a few weeks ago, finding it on sale at your local store. You still hadn't popped it in to watch..

"I have.. Chucky, uhm..." You shuffled for the next case. "All the movies by the way.. I have that and.. most of the Friday the 13th movies," You called out. No answer, the only sound coming from the kitchen was the noise of a whisk gently being stirred. "I don't have Jason goes to hell... But!" You pulled out a third case with the Nightmare on Elm Street DVDs. "I DO have Freddy vs Jason," You mumbled and spread the three disks on the floor in front of you. Most of the disks you had, you noticed, were mostly older slasher movies. Still, Jack hadn't answered you. You pull yourself to your feet and trudge back into the kitchen. His back was to you, too preoccupied with the stove... He hadn't noticed you, not yet. An idea blossomed in your head, a smirk pulling itself across your lips. You steeled yourself, trying to force yourself to stop shivering.. Jack was always paying attention to his surroundings, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

You take a step forward and he still doesn't notice your approach.

Another step.

And another.

Jack wasn't the tallest, in fact if you wanted to you could rest your chin on his shoulder... and that's what you ended up doing, while wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You could feel his body seize up just a little bit against you, before relaxing. "You didn't answer, what sounds good?" You pulled your eyes down to look at the pot. Your drink was nearly finished. You view rocked as your boyfriend shrugged, still silent but the twitching of his pointed ears let you know he was listening.

"Anything's fine," Another shrug as he cuts the heat. "You're the one cooking for me, you get to pick the movie," You insisted. He paused mid-whisk, letting out a soft huff. Suddenly he spun around, his face just a few inches from yours. In the dimmed light his eye sockets seemed deeper, it's black ooze lazily dripping down his cheeks. You noticed the smudges on his face, from wiping the streaks. You briefly wondered what it was like to sleep with them, but your thoughts were cut short as he pulled a blackened and clawed hand to your hair; tucking a lock behind your ear. "How does...." He paused, sucking in his teeth. He looked almost embarrassed. "Bride of Chucky sound?"

"What? Want to study the characters again so we can dress up again this year for Halloween?" You tease. You had convinced him a few months ago to dress up with you. With him as Chucky, and you as Tiffany... It had taken some begging and convincing but you ultimately got him to agree. Although you didn't go out to get candy, you were both fine with staying inside watching movies together in costume. It was also that night you got him to watch the movies..

His ears darkened, before he scoffed. "No... actually this year I was thinking of..." He took a long pause, visibly scraping his brain for names of characters, before seemingly giving up. "Look I don't watch many movies I don't know any.. characters.." He grimaced, before gently pushing you off of him so he could turn his attention back to the hot cocoa. "We've still got nine months, more than enough time to come up with something..." You shrugged, then smirked. "Not enough time to make a Glen... or Glenda," You teased before turning on your heel. You held back a snicker as you heard Jack splutter, finally processing what you had just said to him.

"W-"

"I'm gonna go ahead and put in the disc, I'll leave it paused for you," You cut him off, still grinning to yourself as you kneeled down to do as you had said.

Soon enough Jack walked into the room with a mug, as well as a platter of cookies. "You didn't have to," You mumbled as you eyed the treats, but he only waved you off as he placed the plate and mug onto the coffee table. "You don't have to eat them, but I figured you might want a snack while watching the movie," He mumbled. You took the mug, and swirled the drink inside of it. "I hope I didn't put in too much cinnamon," Jack added as he watched you. He leaned over and started the movie.

You took a sip, smiling a little as the warmness crept in. "You did good, probably the best hot cocoa I've ever had." You offered a grin to him. "That has got to be the fakest compliment I've ever heard," Jack shot back, though you could see the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I believe this is the most decadent and satisfying beverage I've had ever been graced with in my life, and-" You began, only for Jack to hush you. "I'd rather you throw it on me, don't... say words like that again," He grumbled as readjusted himself into the couch. You took a sip and shrugged, "It's just absolutely immaculate," and he lightly smacked you on the arm. "I'm never making anything for you again," He snorted, before turning his attention to the movie.

You weren't going to lie, you felt a little bad treating yourself to the cookies, knowing Jack was unable to eat them without upsetting his stomach. Being a man-eating monster must really be hard. You purse your lips, and shoot a look at him from the corner of your eye. He must have been doing the same, because he turned his head to look at you. "Do you want to do something else?" He asked lightly, his grin from a few minutes ago already faded. "Do you ever miss eating.. food?" You asked before you could stop yourself. He didn't bother pausing the movie, instead he just fell silent and stared down, into the space between the two of you on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a touchy subject for you," You mumbled and put the mug on the table. You sucked in the air between your teeth, flicking your eyes up to the movie, before bringing them back down to your lap. It stayed like that for a minute before Jack broke the silence. "I mean... yeah, I do. But at least I don't have to eat every day like you do, means I can have more time to do what I want," He said. Clearly, he was still bothered, tip-toeing around the big.. thing about him. The air was still tense and thick, all of the previous joking gone now. It was nearly unbearable. Nearly.

"You know," Jack began after a few more seconds of silence when you didn't reply. "I've never tried cinnamon in hot cocoa, I didn't know that was a thing people did," He was changing the subject. "You haven't?" You asked, raising a brow. He eyed your mug, but you both knew there was no way he was going to take a sip.

"It's really good," You mumbled, and took the drink, "The combo, I mean," You added. He hummed, patting his knees lightly. You swirled the drink again, watching the... what was it called? Those lighter swirls in the drink.. Did that have a name?

"You've had hot cocoa before, right?" You asked. He hummed again, nodding his head. "Well.. the cinnamon makes it warm. Taste wise.. It makes it.." You took a sip and thought for a minute. "Richer, I guess? It's hard to explain," You muttered, then looked back at him. You tore your eyes back down when you saw he was looking right at you, totally hooked onto your words. "I hear nutmeg goes good in it, too.. but I've only tried nutmeg and chocolate together in baked goods," You shrugged. "You did really good with this, you know... not too much cinnamon.. not spicy, at least." You smiled. He nodded, before turning back to the movie.

"Woody, I hear people describe cinnamon like that," He leaned back into the couch, a dull pop came from his back.

"Woody," You repeated, then took a large sip of the hot cocoa. You put the mug down onto the table, and leaned into your boyfriend as the warmth crept and settled into your bones. You weren't even paying attention to the movie, your mind was now occupied with how tired you were. Your eyes slipped up to the clock on the wall, It was nearly one in the morning. Had it only been an hour since Jack walked himself into the kitchen?

You lean deeper into Jack, not caring about his body's natural chill. His clothing still smelled a little like the cocoa from earlier.. "Gotta invest in some cologne, you smell nice like this," You mumbled into his arm. "The cinnamon?" He asked, not looking down at you. "No.. the cocoa, I mean cinnamon would be a nice touch... but you don't seem like a sweet smelling guy, do you?" You muttered. "Are you already getting tired?" Jack asked, and he leaned over you to grab the remote, pausing the movie. You muttered, the heat of the hot cocoa doing way more than you expected on the tiredness you didn't notice you had. "A little," You shrugged, "But we can still try to finish the movie," You offered, but he shook his head. Of course he would, as much of a hard ass or party pooper he came off as, he was going to make sure you were going to get your rest.

You put your hand in his, the one that had the remote.. you unpaused the movie. He paused it, and you unpaused it again. It kind of kept up like this before Jack conceited and kept it playing, although he did lower the volume.. The subtitles were already on, though. "I win," You smirked up at him, before crawling into his lap. You placed your head on his chest, pausing when you felt him stiffen before relaxing against you. His heart beat for a moment before settling to its barely there rhythm. For a minute you thought about asking about his heart, as far as you knew he explained himself like he was becoming a walking corpse... how does that work?

You decided against it, you already asked about him earlier.. and besides, your mind was already beginning to blank as Jack reached to the side of the couch, and turned the lamp off.. It was dark now. It was still raining, you could more clearly hear the drops outside now that the movie was turned down. Plus, Jack was running his fingers through your hair, lightly massaging your scalp. It wouldn't be long until you finally gave in and fell asleep.

"Are you going to still be here in the morning?" You asked, melting into his chest as he hummed in response. "Plan on it, I still need to clean up the kitchen," He added as he curled your hair around his hand. "It'll still be cold in the morning," He added, "I need to make sure you bundle up before you go out for work," He added. "I'm not that dumb," You muttered and lightly slapped his arm. You swear, if he still had his eyes he would have rolled them.

"How do you see? I know you're not.. a normal person, but," You blurted out, lifting your head. He pushed your face back down, shushing you. "Sleep," He ordered, before loosening his hold on you a bit so you could get comfortable. It wasn't an order but it may as well have been with how your body started to loosen into him within the next few minutes, quickly snuffling out your curiosity and questions.

He'd still be here in the morning, you could pester him then. After all, it's what he signed up for when the two of you started to date one another..

[icycoldninja]

OKAY-!

So I've been wanting to request something for a hot minute from y’all; Vergil (or Nero..? Idk if you do stuff for him tbh) having to warm-up with a Male reader during a blizzard???

(👉👈 Never done a request before so idk how much to put. I love your work and can't wait to read more from you (/p)!)

AAAAAA I KNOW U, U ALWAYS REBLOG MY WORKS WITH THOSE HILARIOUS TAGS! I've also read your stuff on ao3! I love your works too! I'm so glad you requested! I chose to do Vergil cause I like writing for him more than Nero lol; hope you enjoy!💜💜💜

Warm-Up (Vergil x Male!Reader)

Bonus pic I pulled off Pinterest for ya cuz y'all deserve it 💜

You shivered in your seat, goosebumps breaking out across your skin. A blizzard raged on outside, rattling the walls of your house and, via several drafts in said walls, lowered the overall temperature to lows your poor human body couldn't handle. You continued shuddering, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, futile as it was. You were just so cold, for an indescribable reason, no matter how many layers of clothes you threw on or how many blankets you piled on, you were freezing. It was like you were cursed, cursed to be eternally chilly.

The front door clicked, then swung open; Vergil stomped in, covered in snow. "Y/N?" He called, peeking around the corner and finding you curled up on the couch, swaddled in blankets and thick clothes. "What is going on?" He demanded, raising a thin white eyebrow at you. "I'm cold." You grumbled, tugging the blankets tighter around you as another strong wind shook the house and chilled the room even further. "Cold?" Vergil repeated, confused. He had never felt cold in his life, being an ice demon and whatnot. Nonchalantly, he stalked away to remove the snow from his person and change into dry clothes. A few moments later, he rejoined you in the living room, only to find a pile of blankets where you once had been seated. "Y/N? Where did you go?" A hand--your hand--shot up from within the mountain of bedclothes. "Right here, Verg. Right here, freezing my ass off." Vergil sighed, then began shifting the blankets aside to get to your trembling, nearly numb-with-cold form. "You lack motivation," He stated, shoving the blankets aside, then taking a seat on the couch and rearranging them in his lap. "A mere bit of cold is nothing; such a trivial inconvenience should mean nothing to you." While those words may have sounded harsh and derogatory, they were in fact, meant to be motivating--and they were.

"I...I guess you're right," You admitted, sighing and sitting up. "it shouldn't bother me, but it does." Vergil scoffed, then dragged you by the arm over into his lap. With a grumpy huff that was probably caused by embarrassment for his uncharacteristically soft behavior today, he began to wrap you up like a burrito. Once he was done, he scooped you up and cradled you in his arms like a mother with her baby.

You were confused at first, but soon relaxed into your new blanket cocoon. "Are you warm now?" Vergil asked, after a few moments of silence. Believe it or not, you were. The cocoon, combined with Vergil's furnace-like body heat, did wonders for your own body temperature, warming you up much more efficiently compared to all the other methods you previously tried. "Yes, I am," You murmured, rather enjoying this treatment. "Good. I suppose I can unwrap you now, correct?" You shrugged, not really wanting to leave Vergil's lap. "If you don't mind....a little longer?" Vergil gave you a side-eye that could have withered flowers, but said nothing and made no attempt to move you. You yawned, now that you'd been warmed up, you were starting to feel a little sleepy. "Tired?" He inquired, bouncing his leg so as to rock you easier. "Yeah, a little," You sighed, yawning again. "I'm gonna take a nap...wake me in a few hours, ok?" Vergĺil nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Very well." As you closed your eyes and began to drift off to sleep, you could have sworn you heard him mumble "Sweet dreams, my little lump of coverlets."

[with-love-from-hell]

An update.

(Created June 9th, 2024)

Hello my lovely readers (both old and new). It has been a very hot minute since I have posted anything and I recognize that. I just wanted to give a short little update on some asks/comments I've been getting recently about my very low activity outside of reblogs.

A lot of stuff has happened personally over the past year or so that has left my thirst for writing completely dried up. I won't go into a lot of details, but there have been a lot of changes in friendships, amongst me training to be a supervisor at work (and completely changing my location of practice and working through a company merger), some more internal conflicts about whether me and my partner are having/adopting kids, amongst many other things. The time I would usually spend writing was during downtime at work, where I had no charting and many cancelations, and that has not been the trend lately- plus there is now a security blocker on my computer that completely blocks Tumblr from use, as well as Google Doc, which were previously the only two places I would draft my writings.

This is not me saying goodbye to writing all together. I still really love and enjoy it, but am needing to find some more free time and get back up the motivation to continue writing, which I have been hoping for over the past 9 or so months, but never happened. Because of this, I haven't moved my blog into "Hiatus", which I'm thinking I'm going to do now to avoid shame over having it open reciecing requests, and feeling too overwhelmed to even respond to them.

So for now, I am putting my blog into Hiatus.

Tips on Kofi are still accepted, but I will absolutely not be asking for any since I know I haven't been giving my all to writing lately, plus there are much more important things your money can be going to rn, like victims of the genocide in Palestine and Palestinian liberation.

In regards to my ongoing series:

I will eventually return to Melancholia, I really just don't know when. I likely will need to do a re-read of everything I've done with it and the parent series before that happens though, which is a lot to go through. I'm not making any promises, but my goal is to finish the series- I will say that much.

As for 5-sides: I completely stopped writing this one for now because I am going through a re-write of the series. Mostly because of the friendship shifts which resulted in 1 individual in the series being removed from my life, plus some shifts in other dynamics in that group. In addition, there were some things I felt I rushed and I could have done better at writing or incorporating devilgrams into the story, so I want to go back and comb through that one as well. I know this one didn't get much engagement because it's OC/my insert content, but it means a lot to me and I will be taking time to re-do it.

As for requests: I am going to put a pause on them until Melancholia is finished (which, like I said, doesn't have a clear timeline). I will also remind folks who do send in requests once they do open back up:

I am not your therapist, so please don't ask me for specific help with a problem you're having. I'm professionally trained and licensed as a therapist, but it is unethical (and illegal) for me to provide services without any agreements, HIPPA compliant technology, or respect for licensing laws that vary state to state, and even if it was, it is not something I want to do in this space. If you need help, please utilize Google or Psychology Today to find any services in your area.

Please keep requests somewhat simple and generalizable to a wider audience. I'm don't necessarily like writing for an mc with a Laundry list of diagnoses/problems occurring at once that seem *very* personal to the individual requesting, as I have many content enjoyers who want to relate to the writing I produce for free. This also takes up a lot more of my time researching to ensure I'm depicting everything correctly. This type of request is much better suited for a commission, given how much time and personalization goes into it. That doesn't mean you can't request writing for a specific diagnosis or problem (such as an eating disorder, self harm, or trauma) though. That I do encourage!

I am a person with a life outside of Tumblr. I have a full time job, an elder pet who needs significant attention, and a decent sized chunk of family and fiends that I am engaged with regularly off of the internet. Please don't harass me about your requests unless I have given you a clear timeline and am not providing updates. If you're just checking in that I have recieved them, I will reply to that and inform you that status of your request. However, you DO NOT need to send me a ton of messages asking the same thing when I had clearly indicated I was/am going to be working on it or that I'm not quite in the space to work on it, but would inform you when I was or tag you in it when its completed. This makes me far less likely to want to write your request. While it doesn't happen often, I've gotten it about commission requests a few times over the past few months and I just wanted this to serve as a gentle reminder.

I do look forward to getting the motivation to write again, and I appreciate all my readers who have supported me (not just with comments, likes, reblogs, and engagement, but financially as well when times were tough). I am so grateful for all of you and I appreciate so much that you all enjoy my writing enough to want to see more. I hope you all understand where I'm at, and can respect that while I take the time that I need ❤️

[childotkw]

Any tips on how to write a dissertation? I’m in my final year of uni & cannot stop procrastinating 😢

Oh god, I've never had to write one before and it's been a hot minute since I was in university 😅

For procrastination though? Yeah, I can provide some tips on how I try and combat it.

Begin saying "no" aloud when you catch yourself procrastinating

I find this starts slowly changing what type of tasks I drift towards and helps me break out of the headspace. Saying it aloud also makes it stick better for me. Makes it more official so my little gremlin brain actually listens.

Pace yourself

Break the work down into smaller (much much smaller) segments so they don't seem as daunting. Rather than looking at it as a chapter, or a page, or a paragraph, go right down to a sentence. Finish one sentence, then another, then another. Sentence by sentence, you'll find yourself chipping through the project a lot faster because you're focussing on individual trees without getting disheartened by the size of the forest.

Have breaks

Don't burn yourself out by trying to power through everything. Build breaks into your timeline and try and stick to them.

Have a reward / punishment system

This sometimes works for me. Depending on what you, psychologically, respond better to, implement a system to reward or punish yourself whenever you successfully avoid procrastinating / when you don't succeed. I respond better to rewards, so I give myself a little treat when I avoid procrastinating and complete the work I'm doing. You might respond better to a punishment - e.g., "I won't watch this episode of my show because I procrastinated for x hours", "I won't read this fanfiction of the rest of the week because I didn't finish xyz of my project", things like that.

I will say to be especially careful with the punishment side of things. It can be a slippery slope because this is a kind of conditioning and you should be aware of how it might backfire before attempting anything of the sought.

Set realistic timeframes

What I mean by this is set yourself a goal of "for the next ten minutes, I will only work on x" and then commit to it. If you work to a specific cadence (i.e., I often do 20-5-20, 20 minutes working, 5 min break, 20 mins works). This can be a great way to keep yourself on track.

Accept that it doesn't need to be perfect

This go through a drafting phase. Your first go through doesn't need to be perfection. Once you push through that mentality, you'll have an easier time getting your initial draft done. Then you can go through and edit.

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

Hope these help!

[yamikailyn]

I've been working on Ablaze's continuation, and since I haven't updated my drafts in a while, I decided to give you Haywire's first chapter. Haywire is unedited and unfinished, so I don't want to upload it on Ao3 yet.

Haywire

Summary: Jean and Floch are together, for the best but also the worst. Navigating differences in their relationship isn't easy, especially for Jean, who struggles to find the right balance. But keeping his hormones in check is soon the least of Jean's worries when Commander Zoë announces their new plan—to visit Marley to find new allies.

Chapters: 1/?

Ships: Flojean, past jeanmarco, past jeanrei

“So, did you fuck last night?”

“Connie! I don’t think that’s anyone’s business!”

“Come on, they left together pretty early, Jean is in rut, Floch is just fresh out of his first heat and weirdly late, I mean, do I even need to ask?”

“Then don’t ask!” Armin cries out again, and Jean winces—the mess hall is loud enough already. If only he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. “Why are you so invested in this anyway?!” Yes, why is he?

Connie leans his elbows on the table, averting his gaze. His lips twist. “It’s either that or talking about Marley, and I don’t wanna talk about Marley.”

Armin opens his mouth, looking ready to argue more, but steals Jean a nervous glance instead.

Great. At least one of them realises Jean’s trying his very best not to punch Connie’s stupid face and make him run laps around the courtyard. By the walls, that would be glorious. Not punching Connie, because that’s what any brain-dead alpha would do, and Jean prides himself to do better than acting on animalistic impulses. But it’s misty and rainy this morning, not a time to do any work outside. That would serve Connie right. Unfortunately, punishing Connie also means watching him to make sure he isn’t slacking off, and Jean would rather finish his breakfast and go hide in his office rather than being chilled to the bones. Though, if Connie keeps prying, Jean might end up behind bars for murder.

Deep breath. While Connie and Armin resume their argument, Jean rubs tired eyes and refocuses on the sad porridge filling his bowl. But even with the best will in the world, his body still lets him know that he got to sleep alone, to wake up alone, and that violet melissa or not, it is very, very against his nature to be alone in such time.

Some ruts are harder than others. This one is competing for a spot on the podium.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. Jean infused and drank some violet melissa flowers before going to sleep. But Floch’s scent still permeated everything in his room—clothes, sheets, mattress, and, damn it, it took only a few minutes before Jean started to bite a pillow, thrusting into his own hand and chasing a release more pathetic than satisfying. If the flowers helped, Jean doesn’t even want to think what would’ve happened without them. Or if he’d caved in and let Floch spend the night with him, his warm body pressed against Jean’s with just a thin, easy to rip layer of fabric between them.

His stomach heaves.

To Sasha’s greatest joy, Jean pushes his bowl towards her. The porridge is a far cry from last night’s feast anyway. Armin gives him a sympathetic look. What does he think? That it’ll alleviate Jean’s torment? Cute. He’s not hard—not yet. Maybe the violet melissa does work, after all. But every smell, sound, and movement grinds his senses.

The friction of his clothes on his overheated skin sends pins and needles along his limbs. Connie’s laugh rings in his ears like a gunshot. And the smell of a group of omega drifting to him reminds him that even if they aren’t in heat, their wet, hot flesh pulsating around his knot would feel good all the same.

He could power through it. Not his first rut. Not his last. Mornings and evenings are always the worst because his mind isn’t busy enough to ignore the intrusive thoughts and his body going haywire. But he doesn’t want to trial his self-control today. And one glance across the mess hall to Hange tells him they already know he’s forfeiting and yearns for the quietness of his office, where no one will challenge his restraint. Even if there’s also an amused sparkle in their eyes telling Jean they can’t wait to see how things are going to turn out.

Jean finishes his tea in one gulp and gets up. But as he does, his nostrils tickle. Notes of lavender and irritation hit him before he even turns around and meets Floch’s pale face.

Bed hair and dark circles. Creased uniform smelling like slicky desires and urges. Did he sleep badly? Did his heat resume? Did he even change clothes, or does he still wear yesterday’s? Stupid question. Of course Floch still wears yesterday’s clothes.

Jean takes a step forward, aching with the need to reach, touch, kiss and steal his partner away. His omega. But piercing golden eyes bore into his, and he stills, a shiver running down his tensed spine.

People. Public. Floch doesn’t want that. Intimacy isn’t something he’s comfortable with yet, love another thing he doesn’t know if he’s still capable of, whatever that means. Jean needs to back off. Back off. Right now!

So he backs off, peeling his eyes away.

Eren watches them from his seat with that bored, distant expression that never fails to make Jean’s knuckles tickle. Fuck him. What does a beta like him know about what they go through? Has he ever fucked anyone? Armin? Mikasa? No, not Mikasa, for fuck’s sake! Armin, just Armin. Yes. Better. Though Armin is too cute and smart for Eren. Damn it! Jean balls his fists, the wildfire of his jealousy bursting.

It’s not that he cares that much about Armin, it’s just that Eren shouldn’t have all the nice things.

“Jean.” Floch sighs, and Jean swears he moved closer, but he won’t turn his head to check. Because if he does …

He steps to the side, glaring at Eren, who just chews on his food as if he couldn’t care less. Is he trying to provoke him? And why did Armin and Mikasa join in the staring? What do they want? Are they siding with him? Oh, of course they are!

Jean grits his teeth. Exhales through his nose. Not the 104th training years anymore. Commanding officer, now. Can’t pick a fight with Eren in the middle of the mess hall like he used to. Can’t see if he’s as punchable as before.

A hand brushes Jean’s arm. Little sparks of pleasure heat up his nerves and drowns the rage into syrup. He swallows. Hard. So. Hard. Fuck!

“Floch … I’ll … I’ll see you later.” Or in a couple of days, when the rut eases off, and he isn’t picturing himself trailing his tongue along the curve of the omega’s neck, hands kneading his firm ass. He’d nuzzle the area over Floch’s scent glands. No bite, no claiming, of course. Just gentle licking and nibbling. Just a taste before he … before he …

Crap.

Pulling down on his jacket, Jean rushes out the mess hall. Can’t think of any other way to fight off the hormonal storm brewing in him. Or to hide his embarrassing boner before someone—Connie, it will be Connie—points at it.

He walks to his office in a daze, barely noticing the thin rain on his face as he crosses the courtyard, or the warmer air inside the administrative building once he enters it. His head is spinning by the time he closes the door and leans back against it.

The office is still a new thing Jean isn’t quite used to yet, but the lack of omega scent hanging in the air—in particular the lack of Floch’s oh-so-alluring scent—helps him to contain the fire. But not to extinguish it.

Wet hair sticks to his forehead. He should dry. Instead, Jean trails a hand down his stomach and between the lapel of his jacket to grab himself through his uniform pants. He groans. “Fuck …!”

The back of his head hits the door, but only jolts of pleasure shoot through his groin. He rubs his palm up and down along his trapped cock. It leaks. Pitifully.

It’s nowhere the place, nor the time, but does it stop him from unclasping his belt buckle, opening his pants and lowering his boxer briefs? No, even if the air licking his wet tip tears a hiss from him. But it could be worse. It could be the damp, cold fabric of his underwear sticking to his skin for the rest of the day.

Jean spits into his hand and wraps it around his length. It’s not his own touch he craves, but it’ll do. Eyes closed, he can pretend for a second Floch is leaning against him, whispering intoxicating words into his ear. ‘Look at you, all hard and dripping for me. Do you like my hand that much?’ Yes, yes, he does. Fuck! He does!

If only Floch’s heat and Jean’s rut could’ve been perfectly in sync. He wants to return back in time, before that insane meeting in Mitras and the disappointing night he spent in his room, alone. It could’ve just been them, in bed, exploring each other’s bodies and achieving new heights of pleasure. It doesn’t matter that they’ve only been intimate for a few days, they’ve known each other for years. Comrades in arms. Friends. More than friends. How did they even live this whole time without even a kiss, an embrace.

Shit, Levi was right, Jean’s been in love for quite a time, and Floch? Well, whatever this is, Floch cares about him. They just needed a pinch to be together. If it hadn’t been Floch’s heat, it’d have been something else.

A bit of pressure on his swollen, oversensitive knot, and it’s enough to make him whimper and work his hips into, well, just his fist. But it could be different. It could be Floch surrendering to the pheromones and bending over for him. He’d let Jean slide up and down between the cleft of his ass and tease his puckered, slicked entrance. Yes. He’d beg for Jean’s cock, his knot, his mark—fuck!

The tightening of his hot flesh is the only warning he gets. Jean bites down on his lip to muffle another groan. Toes curling into boots, he rides waves of sheer ecstasy, only slumping back against the door once he’s spent. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, mouth spreading into a blissful grin.

But the cum rapidly cooling on his knuckles drags him back into the harsh reality. He’s not in bed, his dick deep buried into Floch’s wet warmth. And the mess he made on the floor is more than beyond disgusting.

*~*

The cold air drifting from the open window is a caress Jean is aware of but not bothered by. It’s better than the alternative—sitting in the smell of his shame while he’s trying to tackle a report on the new recruits assigned to his squads.

Reports. Marco would’ve loved that. Always writing down his observations, even if it was just scribbles on a scrap of paper. When Jean offered him a notebook for his last birthday, Marco’s whole face lit up. Never thought Jean noticed his interest. How could he not?

But Marco’s dead, and Jean lost more than his best friend that day—Marco would’ve been a better commanding officer than Jean could ever dream to be. And a better alpha. Not the kind to wank off at the thought of submitting and knotting an otherwise unwilling partner. Floch made his boundaries clear, and Jean promised he’d respect them. But can he?

Piece of shit.

That’s all Jean is, a piece of shit, getting high and hot at the fantasy of defiling Floch. But that sad realisation won’t get any of his work done.

Jean stares at the words he wrote until they blur and his eyes sting. ‘The recruits from the 108th Training Division are …’ The recruits are what? Future dead meat, because once Marley attacks, most of them will die, no matter how harshly they are trained? No. He can’t write that down even if it’s the truth.

What about their political views? It didn’t escape to his attention some are radicalised already, especially the youngest. Floch is particularly good at rallying them up. But Jean can’t report that either. Their feelings are only natural. They grew up in a world scared of the colossal titan breaking through Wall Rosa, and now they have to live with the fear of other humans plotting their end. They shouldn’t be punished because no one can give them hope.

‘The recruits from the 108th Training Corps are still lacking in some areas. Despite three years of intense training, they struggle with 1) safely handling thunder spears 2) anti-titan ODM gear maneuvering. I recommend’

Jean stops writing and raises his head, nostrils flaring. Levi’s scent reaches him before the Captain even knocks at the door.

Don’t move. Don’t say anything.

No. That’s stupid. Levi has to know Jean’s here. Where else would he be? Obviously, he’s not supervising any training. He’s not working in the quietness of the storage rooms, either. Or tending to the horses. The office is the only other place. Levi handled some of his administrative tasks during the past few days, but he must know how behind Jean is. Besides, it’s the perfect shelter for an alpha in rut who doesn’t want any company.

Except it isn’t anymore.

Jean clears his throat, but Levi lets himself in before he’s invited to. Typical.

Sharp steel eyes quickly survey the office and zero in on the open window. “Damn, brat, either you want to catch a cold or you’re trying to hide you shat your pants when you stormed out that mess hall.” Of course Jean knows better than looking guilty. And, of course, he still can’t help a glance at that specific spot on the floor. He scrubbed it until he couldn’t feel his fingers, and yet, when he returns his attention to Levi, the captain glowers harder.

“Really?”

Face burning, Jean ducks his head. So much for not looking guilty. “It’s not what you—”

“No, it’s exactly what I think it is. But you look ashamed enough already.” Levi strides across the office and posts himself next to the window. Crossing his arms, he looks outside. “Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”

Jean doesn’t move right away. But he can’t just ignore Levi’s order, so he pushes his chair back and gets up from behind his desk. Wanting to keep a safe distance, he places himself on the other side of the window and forces his attention on the courtyard. A few recruits are doing laps around it, even if the rain is heavier now. The fat droplets crashing on the sill sprays Jean’s hand with cold mist. Autumn is starting to show its true colors. And Levi smells like soap, tea, and unshakable resolve.

Don’t breathe in. But of course Jean does, and his belly tightens with something that isn’t quite arousal but isn’t quite platonic either. Comfort? Safety? Is it because Levi is bonded to someone else, even if that person is gone? Or is it because nothing seems to shake him, not even the presence of an alpha in rut who’s a head taller than him? Not that Jean could even dream of submitting the captain. He wouldn’t even try to.

“This is your doing.”

“What?” Jean detaches his eyes from Levi—when did he even start staring?—and glance down at the courtyard again.

“Pack of little beta and alpha shitheads from the Garrison. 103th Training Corps. Trained together, served together. They teased the fuck out of Floch because you blew him off this morning and wasn’t even there for lunch. So, guess what happened next?”

Jean shakes his head. “I didn’t blow him off. I just—”

“That wasn’t my question, now, was it?” Levi narrows his eyes at him, and whatever warmth Jean felt congeals into the ice of the captain’s glare.

“Floch picked a fight.” Levi nods, and Jean’s chest caves in. Because, if Floch isn’t running laps too, where is he? The infirmary? Did they gang up on him? Is his omega wounded?

Jean spins around, a growl in his throat and eyes set on the door. But a firm hand grabs his elbow before he can go raise hell on the recruits.

“Glad to see you actually care, but I’m not done yet. Why are you avoiding Floch? Surely you didn’t notice his oh-so-charming personality just now?”

Does Levi really have to ask? Did he forget during the night? Jean’s fingers twitch. “I’m in rut.”

“A fact I’m disgustingly aware of.” Levi releases his grip and steps away from the window. Jean drills holes into the back of the captain’s neck. “Usually, when an alpha is in rut, they seek the omega they claimed.”

Jean’s face burns. “I didn’t claim him!”

Levi shrugs and sits down on Jean’s chair, crossing his legs. His attention turns to the report for a second, then flicks back to Jean. “Forget about marking—it can happen even between sworn enemies. Feelings matter more because they can’t be forced on anyone. I saw the way you both behave. To me, you claimed each other. You should be skipping duty to fool around, and I should be chewing you out for that. But this morning?” Levi clicks his tongue. “That was a pitiful show. And it gave those recruits the impression that you not only used Floch during his heat, but that he’s also not ‘good enough’ to satisfy you during your rut.”

“That’s not—” Jean doesn’t finish his sentence and rubs a palm over his face. Urgh. Why is everything so complicated? He wants to kick or punch something or someone, but he can’t. So he just strides left and right, fists clenched by his side and anger trapped without a single crack to escape through. “Fuck!”

This time, Levi doesn’t say anything. He just grabs a sheet of blank paper and the fountain pen to scribble down what looks like a list. His calmness doesn’t ease Jean’s bubbling rage, but he eventually settles on the opposite seat, elbows propped on his thighs and chin resting on his clasped hands. However, it doesn’t take long before he starts bouncing his leg.

Levi stops writing, folds the piece of paper and meets his eyes. “You’re scared of hurting him, aren’t you?”

Jean freezes. Then drops his gaze. “I crave things he can’t give me.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Jean presses his lips together, waiting. But only silence answers back. Levi expects him to elaborate, doesn’t he? Jean shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. His whole body cringes at his vulnerability. He shouldn’t be trapped in his own office, interrogated by an omega. No. He should be tearing through Levi, even if it’s just with words. But it’s also not who Jean is. So, he forces himself to still, rests his hands flat on his thighs and takes a deep breath. “We talked about it. I can be very … well, lustful and promiscuous, I guess. He’s not. And I’m fine with that. But. The rut … I’m scared of crossing boundaries.” Jean shivers. His heart sinks, and his fingers tingle. The same fingers he used to grab Floch’s hips before they went to sleep. Did Jean bruise him? “I … I did that yesterday and—”

“Did you like crossing those boundaries?”

Jean jerks his head back up. “What?! No! I felt awful! I still feel awful! But part of me, my instinct, my body, really wants to. When I’m with him … Even when I’m not with him … It’s all I can think of! And it’s wrong!”

Levi arches a brow. “What’s your plan, then? Stop yourself from thinking bad thoughts and never see Floch again?”

“Maybe it’s what I should do. For him.” Even if Jean’s heart breaks at the notion.

Levi stands up, hitting his palm with the folded piece of paper. He moves to close the window and stays in front of it, as if he needs time to ponder. The silence between them drags long enough for Jean to stirs on his chair with relentless energy. So, when Levi finally speaks, he snaps to attention even faster.

“Erwin wasn’t interested in sex. You could barely tell when he was in rut. My heat didn’t affect him at all. Was this another biological oddity or just his personality, I still don’t know. But we made it work.” Levi doesn’t add anything for a little while, and Jean doesn’t dare pry. This confession is probably all Levi is willing to say about his relationship with the late commander. And after what happened yesterday during the meeting, Jean should be glad he’s willing to say anything at all. “You’re scared of losing control and obeying your most primal instincts because of the rut, but here you are, having a conversation with me, an omega.”

‘Omega.’ The word feels so wrong in Levi’s mouth. Levi is so much more than an omega. Without him, they’d already be dead. “You’re my captain,” Jean corrects. “Humanity’s strongest.”

Levi turns around, a small, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “The son of a whore who would be put in better use as one. A thug picked up from the Underground’s filthy streets by the Survey Corp. An omega slut that hasn’t been properly tamed by his alpha. Or who needs a stronger, better one to break him into a more pliable plaything.”

Jean gapes. “Capt—”

“I heard it all from the nobles and the top brass, and often swore to myself I’d slice their throats. Thoughts are just thoughts. You need to trust yourself more.” Levi crosses the distance separating him from Jean and tucks the piece of paper into his breast pocket. “I sent Floch to clean the stables before he maimed a recruit. Hopefully, the stench of horse shit will help you keep your mind clear. And if not, pretty sure the little prick can knee you in the balls.”

Jean snorts. It’d hurt like a bitch.

Anger and worry melt down into a different feeling. It’s not quite relief, but it’s warm and comforting enough for Jean to slump down on the chair, legs extending in front of him. Like the good kind of exhaustion that comes after a harsh but fruitful day.

Maybe Levi’s right. Floch isn’t defenseless. He proves that again and again. And if Jean doesn’t trust himself much right now, perhaps he should trust Floch.

He pats his breast pocket and fishes the piece of folded paper. “What’s that?”

“The proper dosage and brewing technique for violet melissa.” Jean’s brow shots up. How does Levi—“Floch told me.” Oh.

Jean puts the paper back in his pocket. He licks his lips, nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. “Are you going to tell the Commander?”

Levi curls his lips over his teeth, recoiling at the whole idea as it seems. “That little weasel, stealing the Military Police? Hange would be far too entertained! I don’t need that.” Even after years, Jean still can’t tell if Levi likes Hange. What are they to him? A superior? A comrade? A friend? More than a friend? It’s not like he can ask. Levi would tell him to mind his business.

Boots click on the floor. Levi moves to the door, and if Jean doesn’t turn his head to watch him, he can’t resist breathing in his scent one last time. Usually, the captain is more guarded, discreet. Maybe it’s how he shows his trust in Jean. Or, most likely, the peak of Jean’s rut still exacerbates his sense of smell.

“Take the day off. You’re useless anyway.”

Jean nods, then turns around on his chair to thank Levi. But the door closes.

*~*

Hay. Straw. Sweat. Shit.

The musky stench greeting Jean weighs on his tongue. Nose wrinkling, he walks further into the horse stable. Dust particles dance in the lights of the shining stone lamps. Low nickers and the stomping of hooves echo in his ears. But Floch is nowhere to be seen, which allows the courage Jean mustered up to wither even more.

He almost jolts out of his skin when Levi’s black mare sticks her head out of her stall, sniffing his hair and trying to chew on it. Despite the growing churning in his stomach, or perhaps because of it, Jean strokes the velvety coat of her muzzle up and down. But the mare’s nostrils flare, and she pulls back with a loud snort, most likely because he has no apple or carrot to give her. Bitch.

A few moments later, Jean finally finds Eren’s horse tied up outside a stall and, inside, Floch, napping on the clean bedding of straws he spread on the floor.

He looks so peaceful, with his eyes closed, his mess of bed hair, and his hand resting on his stomach, Jean doesn’t dare to step in right away. Instead, he leans against the door frame to watch him, sighing with relief. No bruises despite the brawl. Or no bruise anywhere visible yet.

Breathing in Floch’s alluring scent, Jean moves closer like a moth drawn by the flames. He kneels in the straw and reaches out for his partner. His companion. His ome—

“I haven’t forgiven you.” Jean freezes, his hand only a few centimeters away from Floch’s cheek. The omega doesn’t crack his eyes open, but his lips purse into one of his sullen pouts. “You’ve been an asshole.”

Jean blinks, then withdraws his hand and sits back on his heels. Floch’s irritation curls around them like a snake ready to strike. It’d be so much easier to lash out, pin Floch to the floor, show him who’s in charge, but … Jean shakes his head, swallowing the angry impulse down, even if it’s like gravel scraping against his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” Floch hisses. “And a lot of people seem to think it’s so fucking funny. ‘Oh, look at that, the little male omega put back into his rightful place—a slut, just good to be knotted. Jean will find a good omega woman to bear his kids soon enough.’”

Jean flinches. Is it really how people see him? “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Do I?” Floch rolls to his side, offering his back.

Jean grabs a fistful of straw with a trembling hand. It’s rough against his palm, and cracks when he tightens his grip. Or perhaps he’s just imagining the noise, because he wants to break the recruits’ necks so damn hard. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Floch scoffs with a small shrug.

Jean sucks in a breath, his heart beating fast. “From me. I was afraid of losing control.”

Floch turns around again and sits up, narrowed golden eyes fixed on Jean. Is he angry? Suspicious? Pondering? Hard to tell. But when he speaks again, his eyes are watery. “So what now? Do you plan to avoid me whenever you’re in rut? Did you try the melissa, at least, or did I steal it for nothing? Because I stole it for you, not for me!”

“I know! And I did! I drank it!” Jean shouts back, taken aback by Floch’s accusation and whiny tone. But the way the omega blinks at him, equally in shock, makes him lower his voice. “It’s just that it didn’t seem to do a lot for me.” Jean touches his breast pocket, feeling the edge of the folded piece of paper tuck in it. “Maybe because I didn’t know how to prepare it correctly.”

“Oh …” Gaze shifting away, Floch bends his legs and wraps his arms around them. He rests his chin on his knees, letting out a strained sigh. “What about now? How do you feel?”

“I’m … alright. More clear-headed. But maybe it’s because it smells like horse shit.”

Floch rolls his eyes. “You sound just like the captain.”

“Because I’m quoting him.”

“So, he visited you too …”

Floch doesn’t add anything else, and for a while, Jean doesn’t know what to say either. Doesn’t know if he should try to reach out again, now that Floch’s hostility has fizzled out. He opens his hand, releasing the straw, and rubs clammy palms over his thighs. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

“Look, after what I did yesterday … I was worried it’d happen again. I don’t want to cross your boundaries.”

Floch shakes his head, sighing again. “Yesterday was … overwhelming. My heat, that stupid meeting, your rut starting … But you did nothing wrong. I asked you to stop and you did. You gave me space, time. I … I still regret that I couldn’t … that I was so distant when you needed me …” Floch’s voice trails off, and his expression darkens.

Even if Jean stays riveted to the spot, he aches with the need to pull Floch into a tight embrace and to pepper him with kisses.

But if he starts, he won’t stop.

“This morning, I was really looking forward to seeing you, you know?” Floch continues in a whisper, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “Because the night was shitty without you.” His cheeks turn red, and he hides his face between his arms. Being vulnerable is still not something he’s comfortable with. “I wanted to hold you and wake up next to you,” he croaks.

Jean crawls closer, his arms almost locking around Floch’s curled up body. But he picks the straw out of his hair instead. So close, he can smell Floch’s scent more vividly. It ranks sadness, which helps to qualm his arousal. But it sweetens with bubbles of joy too, and Floch eventually raises his head again. He’s still red-faced, but a small, almost mischievous smile plays on his lips.

“I want to spend the night with you.”

“Floch—” A finger presses again Jean’s lips.

“Don’t treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing. I trust you. I also trust my own strength. So, can you trust me?”

Jean exhales. “Yes. I trust you.”

“Unlike you, I actually have a plan.” Jean quirks a brow, but Floch doesn’t elaborate. He cradles Jean’s face instead, and this simple touch is enough for Jean’s eyes to flutter shut.

Jean moves closer, right into Floch’s comforting heat, and buries his head in the crook between Floch’s neck. Of course his cock stirs. The scent glands are just a few kisses away. But Jean is nowhere as aroused as he would’ve been this morning if they had hugged in the middle of the mess hall. If anything, he’s melting, all tension and stress leaving his body. Incredible what talking can do to alleviate one’s anxiety.

“Stupid alpha,” Floch mutters, but it sounds more affectionate than insulting. He tangles a hand into Jean’s hair and pets his head. It’s nice. Soothing. Jean wraps his arms around Floch and slots himself between his thighs. He nuzzles Floch’s neck until he finds his pulse. It’s when they lose their balance, but the straw mattress is here to collect them, so Floch barely huffs in protest.

It’s everything Jean needs. Floch’s presence, his warmth and scent surrounding him until Jean gets drunk on it and his brain clouds. It’d be even better without their clothes on, skin against skin, both bodies intimately entwine, but he shouldn’t be greedy. Even if he can’t stop his hips from grinding up and down against Floch’s thigh.

Too much pressure down there. His cock throbs, hot blood rushing into his inflating knot. Is it Floch’s hand on his ass, pulling him even closer? Inviting him to hump him? Does Floch finally want to know how an alpha’s cock feels? Jean tries to suck and pinch the curve of the omega’s neck. But the collar of Floch’s jacket is in the way, and the buttons of his shirt are so, so complicated to undo.

“Easy! My clothes stay on.” Floch warns, the hand in Jean’s hair tightening its grip.

“But I love you,” Jean whines. And, shit, why does Floch not let him prove it? He’d make him feel so good, so full, so—

Floch pulls on Jean’s hair, forcing him to raise his head. Jean growls and bares his teeth, desire turning into aggression, until he meets narrowed golden eyes.

Alphas don’t submit to omegas. This is the natural law. But the glare is like a slap in the face.

Jean withdraws his hands, apologies burning the tip of his tongue. Floch, however, seems to have a different idea. Expression softening, he pulls Jean closer again. Their lips brush. And Floch kisses him first.

Jean’s eyes flutter shut, and even if it’s sloppy and hesitant, he slumps against Floch’s warmth, kissing him back until they are both breathless.

“See?” Floch pants, his hands cradling Jean’s face again. “You listen to me. I’m more than my instinct, and so are you.”

“Yeah …”

“So …” Floch licks his lips and looks away, a bit red in the face. “Do you wanna get off?”

“Yeah! No! Wait? Are … are you even hard?” Jean blurts out.

Floch glances back at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and rubs his thigh against Jean’s crotch. “No. But you are. So flattering to know I have this effect on you.”

“Like, it’s new,” Jean breathes out, his face burning hot.

“You were smoother during my heat. Where did all your experience go? Southward to meet your other brain?”

“Shut up,” Jean snaps before sealing their mouths together again. He repositions himself, grinding down. It’s nowhere as good as if they were humping each other naked, but the friction still tears a guttural groan from his throat. His tongue slides over Floch’s. His hips rock back and forth, chasing the pleasure he’s been fantasizing so much about. Floch grabs his shoulder with one hand, fingers digging into his jacket, while the other reaches down to knead his ass.

Jean freezes at first, rut-fuelled instinct rebelling with all its might. But the anger flickers away, and he licks Floch’s bottom lip. “You could fuck me. I’d let you.” It might not be what an alpha primarily needs, but it’ll scratch the itch regardless, Jean knows it. He just has to wrestle his instinct, and then—

But Floch pulls a face. “Disgusting. Not touching your asshole.” His harsh words don’t stop him from grabbing the back of Jean’s neck. They exchange another heated kiss, and Floch hooks a leg around Jean’s waist. Floch’s scent, sweet and soothing like rarely, wraps them into a soft cocoon.

Is his companion getting excited or is he just indulging him? Jean can’t quite tell. Doesn’t wanna know either. Hell, indulging him is not bad anyway, Jean can work with that.

The bucking of his hips grow more desperate and urgent by the second. He abandons Floch’s lips to bite down on his collar, the rough fabric brushing his tongue. A poor diversion, but it still quenches the urge to claim and mark and make sure Floch belongs to him forever. As long as Floch is covered with Jean’s scent and Jean with his, it’ll be proof that they own each other, right?

Fuck, he’s so close, so close, so—“Are you serious now? In my horse’s stall?!”

*~*

Nothing can kill a boner faster than Eren Jaeger. Well, an attack from Marley would too, but the annoying prick’s indignant yell is still high on the list.

Growling his frustration, Jean pushes himself up and turns to the entrance. Eren glares, of course. And Jean stomps forward, eager to punch Eren’s lights out. But Floch firmly grabs Jean’s arm before he can.

Maybe it’s for the best. The beta has always been strong. Probably another nice gift from his titan shifter’s blood. It’s not like Jean can win against someone who heals fast and never lacks stamina.

But more than that, Jean would regret the violence once he cools down, because it’d be the rut acting for him.

Jean breathes in and out, and relaxes fists he didn’t realise he clenched. “Sorry about that.” Apologizing stings his tongue. Still, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

At least Eren’s gaze softens—a rare sight these days. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances away and clears his throat. “Well, it’s just that I didn’t expect to stumble on you two. Could you do this in a room?” Eren gives Floch a quick glance. “And also, why are you even here? I was supposed to clean the stalls.”

“The Captain made me,” Floch dryly says, his hand still locked around Jean’s bicep. Why? It’s not like Jean still wants to pick a fight.

But here it is again, Eren’s annoyed look. “He did what? But you’re not even good at cleaning!”

If it weren’t for Floch, Jean would lunge forward and shove Eren to the ground. “Hey, shut up! He’s amazing!” Especially when he washes and grooms Jean in a bath. Yes. Right. They should do that. Now. Or take a shower, even if the water is cold. Anywhere where they can be naked and exploring each other. They still have that lavender soap. They don’t need more to rinse the awful stench of horses off their skin. Then Jean will carry Floch to—

“Can you not be horny for thirty seconds?” Eren curls his lips, his body tensing as if he’s about to throw a punch. Jean readies himself too, even if his mind still clings to his sensual daydream. Why does Eren always have to ruin everything?

Floch squeezes Jean’s arm, forcing back his attention to him. But the omega’s eyes are fixed on Eren. “If you’re so eager to clean the stalls, be my guest. I’ve done enough.”

Eren’s eyebrows shoot up. “But you said Captain Levi tasked you with—”

“Do I look like I care?” Floch shrugs, an insolent smile flicking on his face.

“Floch,” Jean warns, but Eren is louder than him. For once.

“You’d disobey the Captain’s orders?!”

Floch rolls his eyes. “Oh, wow, truly an unexpected event, me being reluctant to carry a superior’s order. I’m not on a quest to get his approval, and I thought you were aware of that …”

Instead of arguing more, Eren shuts his mouth right away, which is one of the least Eren-thing he ever did, especially with Floch.

Huh.

Jean looks between the two of them. Did he miss something? They always quarrel, although … Jean frowns. When did that happen for the last time? During the festival in Trost to celebrate the opening of their first railroad almost two months ago? Not even. Floch had been a bitch about being tasked with watching Yelena and her volunteers, but Eren didn’t fight him on that. However, he did several times before that when Floch would accompany Hange and Levi to the railroad building site. Hard to blame Eren. Floch liked to loudly remind them their efforts were fruitless and they’d be better off coercing the volunteers into giving them modern artillery schematics. Not that Floch was wrong either …

The air surrounding them thickens with the mix of their scents. It’s not quite hostile but the tension still tastes sour on Jean’s tongue and urges him to move between Floch and Eren, puffing his chest out. Even if he’s not sure which one he should protect from the other …

“Eren, you’ll follow your initial orders. I’m taking responsibility for him, so don’t worry.”

“Oh, I know. You always do.” Eren steps aside to let them pass and crosses his arm, his gaze turning serious.

This unshakable, stoic front he has been putting up a lot lately is nerve-racking. Jean can’t squash the feeling that he’s still missing some context, but he also doesn’t want to linger to find out what’s going on in Eren’s brain. Most likely, he’s thinking the same thing as everyone else—their impending doom. And his own death, that’ll happen sooner than Jean wants to, even if they rarely see eye to eye. However, it’s a conversation he’s in no state to have now, and besides, Eren made his point clear before—he won’t burden any of his friends with his power.

Eren wants them to live long lives. But can they really? The notion feels ridiculous, even as Jean interlocks his fingers with Floch’s.