#is SO noticeable. only to me. but it’s noticeable i swear

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I fundamentally don't think it's right to thank g-d for something you don't genuinely think He's responsible for. However, I love thanking g-d for every time I find a minecraft village. I'm imagining g-d backseat gaming an spawning in a village when I get too sad about not finding another one (very often because this world is allergic to giving me villages) 😭

[screaminglygay]

Hop on.

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: when your brother’s bike breaks down, you turn to natasha´s shop for help, what starts as a simple repair leads to a whirlwind of teasing banter. sometimes, fixing a bike can lead to mending more than just machinery.

warnings: bike accident, but nothing horrible, then just FLUFF!!, mild teasing, brother being an ass hehe

word count: 8.9k

an: i wrote this a while ago, but i still really like this one a lot, so i hope you´ll do too:) also yes, i don´t know anything about bikes:D

"What can I help you with?" The receptionist asks, but noticing you´re worried look right away.

"Um… my brother, he- had an accident," you mumble out to her.

"Can you tell me your name, miss?" She looks down at her computer.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," you show her your ID.

The lady gives you the ID back, makes a few clicks and looks back at you, "he is in the room number seven."

You basically sprint there, slamming the door open, thankfully your brother was the only person in there. But the sight of him made you confused, he was sitting on the bed, smiling as usual, just few bruises on his face and a bandage oh his leg.

"Hey, sis," he makes the peace sign, while your heartbeat is going milions per seconds.

"Hey, sis?! Hey, sis?! What the hell?!" You walk up to him and smack him.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He scratches his head.

"What was- are you kidding me?" You pull out your phone, "25 minutes ago, I got this message from your friend: 'hey, don´t freak out, but your brother is going to the hospital, bike accident.' I rush here, committing like thirty-seven crimes…and you´re here smiling and saying 'hey, sis?!'"

"Oh… Kevin´s idiot," he shakes his head.

"No, you are! What the hell happened?!" You move your hands around.

"Can you just chill for a second? Jeez." He stratches, "We were riding, normally, but then one of the cars cut me off and I slipped. I´m fine, but bike was pretty fucked up." As he tells you the story of what´ve happened, you scan his face, obivously you´re glad he is okay, but deep down you´re angry that he still rides that thing.

"Are you sure you´re okay? You look down on his leg.

"Yeah, nothing that didn´t happened before. But uh… I need ride back home." He shifts in his position, even when he tries to mask it, he is still in some visible pain.

"I figured. Stay here, I´ll get someone…"

After two hours he is finally let out of the hospital, you help him into the passenger seat, careful not to jar his injured leg. As you close the door, you mutter, “I swear, one day that bike is going to be the death of you.”

He rolls his eyes as you start the car. “You worry too much. It’s not like I haven’t crashed before.”

“Yeah, and you’re still riding that death trap.” You grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. “Why do you even keep that thing? It’s not like you can ride it anytime soon.”

He winces as he shifts in his seat, not meeting your gaze. “I just… I need it fixed, okay? I’ll be careful next time. Can you help me with that… pleaseee?

You let out a sigh. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up worse. Fine, I’ll take care of it, but you’re not driving that bike again until I’m sure it won’t fall apart under you.”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he says, softer than before, like he knows you mean well even when you’re pissed. He’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “You know, there’s a mechanic not far from here, Red Guardian.”

You nod, making a mental note. “I’ll check it out. But you, mister, are on bed rest.”

"Aren´t you three years younger than me?"

You glance at him, "and yet I´m the smarter one, so bed it is."

“Whatever you say, mom.”

...

Two days later you finally arrive at Red Guardin, a place that looks far more organized than you expected for a bike shop. The sign is simple, but the place has a charm, just like you’d heard. You park your car and walk inside, the smell of oil and metal hitting you as you step through the door.

A woman with fiery red braided hair is leaning over a motorcycle, hands deep in the engine. She doesn’t look up as she says, “Be with you in a sec.”

You clear your throat, trying not to be too obvious as you check her out. “Uh, take your time.”

She straightens up, wiping her hands on a rag before turning to face you. Her green eyes meet yours, and she gives you a small, confident smirk. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here about my brother’s bike,” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Your brother? The guy who got cut off and ended up in the hospital?” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head. “Yeah, I heard about him. Of what I´ve heard that bike’s a mess, but there is nothing I can´t fix.”

You blink, a little taken aback. “You already know about it?”

“Word travels fast in this town,” Natasha replies, that teasing smile still on her lips. “Plus, your brother’s been in here before. He’s not exactly subtle.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course. He didn’t tell me that part.”

“So, where’s the patient?” Natasha smiles as she takes some gloves.

You fumble with your words for a moment, feeling a little awkward. “Uh, it’s in my car. Or, well, in the truck bed."

You lead her outside to where you´re parked. Natasha walks around it, examining the damage with a critical eye. She’s quiet for a moment, then looks over at you. “Well, the frame’s a little bent, and the engine’s definitely seen better days. But it’s not totaled. I can fix this.”

You nod, relieved. “Thank God. I had no idea what to do. I mean, I know a bike has wheels, an engine, and all that, but that’s where my knowledge ends.”

Natasha gives you a teasing smile. “Good thing you came to the right place. I’ll need to take it inside and get a closer look. Mind helping me unload it?”

You quickly agree, and the two of you start unstrapping the bike. Natasha shows you where to hold it and how to carefully lower it down. As you work together, she starts explaining what she��s looking for.

“See this here?” she says, pointing to a section of the frame. “It’s bent, but not too badly. I’ll have to realign it, though. And this,” she taps the engine, “will need a rebuild. Your brother’s lucky it didn’t crack.”

You listen intently, trying to follow along even though most of what she’s saying goes over your head. Natasha notices your blank expression and laughs softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. By the time I’m done, it’ll be good as new.”

You can’t help but smile at how confident she is. “Thanks," you look down for a name tag, but there isn´t one,

"It´s Natasha," she smiles.

You nod, "Natasha, I really appreciate it. My brother would lose his mind if he thought he couldn’t ride again.”

She gives you a quick wink. “No problem. I’m used to fixing things, especially when they mean a lot to someone.”

There’s a warmth in her voice that makes your heart skip a beat. You swallow nervously, trying to focus on the bike and not the way Natasha is looking at you with that confident, playful smirk.

You´re glad that you found the right place.

…

As you pull up to your house, the sun already dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard. As you step inside, your brother is lounging on the couch, leg propped up on a stack of pillows, flipping through channels on the TV. He looks up as you walk in, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“Well?” he asks, cutting straight to the point. “Is it fixable? Am I ever going to ride again?”

You set your bag down and kick off your shoes, feeling the day’s tension start to melt away. “Natasha said it’s fixable, but it’ll take some time. The frame’s bent, and the engine needs a rebuild. But she’s confident she can get it back in shape.” You repeat what she told you earlier.

He visibly relaxes, “Natasha is fixing it? Good. I was worried it’d be a total loss."

“Yeah, well, you got lucky,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the doorway. “You’re not exactly gentle on that thing.”

He scoffs. “It’s a bike, not a porcelain doll. It’s meant to be ridden hard.”

You roll your eyes. “And that’s why you’re here, with a busted leg, instead of out riding. You should really be more careful.”

He shoots you a teasing grin. “You sound like mom agan.”

“Someone has to, since you clearly don’t listen at all.”

He chuckles, then winces as he adjusts his leg. “Okay, okay, point taken. But when it will be ready?”

Your expression softening. “Natasha said she’ll have it back to you in no time. She knows what she’s doing. It’ll be like new—maybe even better.”

He sighs, relief washing over his features. “Great-" you cut him off.

"You´ll take it easy when you get back on the road. No more stunts, no more pushing your luck. You got off easy this time, but next time you might not be so lucky.”

He rolls his eyes but nods. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be careful.”

“I mean it!” you say, your tone firm but caring. “I don’t want to get another call like that.”

His teasing expression fades, and he nods more seriously. “I know. I’ll be careful. Promise.”

You give him a small smile, reaching over to mess up his hair. “Good. Now, get some rest."

"I will, but can you promise you will check on the bike, when you can?" He gives you the best innocent look he possibly can.

"I will check it out tomorrow after work." You nod.

“Thanks, sis. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you reply, “and don’t forget it.”

As you walk away, you hear him mutter, “I won’t!”

…

The next day, you find yourself back at the shop, unable to shake the feeling of curiosity or maybe it’s something else entirely, that pulls you there. The familiar scent of motor oil and metal greets you as you step inside. Natasha is already hard at work, leaning over a bike with her back to you, her hands moving expertly as she adjusts something under the engine. You can´t help, but stare. Her toned hands are someting you can definetly look at forever.

She glances up as you approach, a smirk playing on her lips when she sees you basically drooling. “Back again? You know, most people don’t check in this often. Are you here to make sure I’m actually working?”

You snap back out of your thoughts, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that. My brother’s just obsessed with that bike. He’s convinced it needs constant check-ups or it’ll fall apart. Honestly, he probably cares about it more than is healthy.”

Natasha straightens up, wiping her hands on a rag as she walks over to you, a teasing glint in her eye. “Sounds like a lot of work, keeping up with all those concerns. You know, I could make it easier for you…”

“Oh?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “And how exactly would you do that?”

She leans casually against the counter, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips. “I could give you my number. That way, you can check in on the bike whenever you or your brother want. Get updates straight from the source.”

You laugh, feeling a little flustered by how smooth she is. “Right, for the bike.”

“Of course, for the bike,” Natasha says, her voice dripping with playful innocence, though the mischievous sparkle in her eyes tells you she’s enjoying this. She pulls her phone from her pocket, handing it to you. “Here, you can add your number.”

You take her phone, typing in your contact details, and then you pause. Instead of handing it back, you grin and ring yourself right away.

Natasha chuckles, clearly impressed. She takes her phone back and glances at the screen. Her expression shifts into one of amused surprise when she sees what you’ve entered. “Finally, I get to know your name. Pleasure to meet you officially, (Y/N).”

You feel your cheeks warm slightly as she says your name, her voice low and smooth.

She grins, leaning in just a bit closer, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “Well, I like to take my time with the important things. So tell you brother it will take some time, just to make sure his bike is ready for his awful riding."

You swallow, trying not to get too flustered under her gaze. “I´ll tell him that." You nod.

With one last shared look, you turn to leave, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. As you step out of the shop, your phone buzzes. You glance down to see a new text from Natasha: “Just in case you need another excuse to visit. See you soon, (Y/N).”

You can’t help but smile as you tuck your phone back into your pocket, already looking forward to the next visit.

...

Over the next few days, you find yourself returning to the shop more often than you’d care to admit. At first, it’s just to check on the bike, of course, but then you don´t even care to hide, that there is one more, bigger reason to come into the shop.

One afternoon, she catches you watching her as she tightens a bolt on the engine. “You know, you’re here enough that I should put you to work.”

You laugh. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She gives you her usual smirk. “I could show you. How about a crash course in motorcycle basics?” Before you can protest, she’s grabbing a helmet off the wall and tossing it to you. “Here, put this on.”

“Wait, what? I don’t even know how to ride.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “I’ll take care of you.”

"I- won´t this get you into a trouble?" You frown a bit.

"My dad owns the shop, I think I´ll be fine." You feel your cheeks heat up as you put on the helmet. Natasha swings a leg over the bike, patting the seat behind her. “Hop on.”

You hesitate for just a moment before climbing on, wrapping your arms around her waist. She revs the engine, the sound vibrating through you as she takes off, the wind whipping past your face. She’s almost intoxicating at everything she does.

When she finally stops back in the parking lot next to the shop, your heart is racing for more reasons than one. Natasha turns to look at you over her shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not bad for a first ride, huh?”

You can’t help but smile. “Not bad at all.”

Natasha swings her leg over the bike, smoothly dismounting and turning to face you. Ugh the stupid smirk on her pretty face. “You handled yourself pretty well back there. I think you’ve got some natural talent.” She helps you take off the helmet.

You laugh, still feeling the rush of the wind and the hum of the engine. “I was just trying not to fall off. But I’ll take the compliment.”

She steps closer, close enough that you can feel her parfume mixed with oil from the repairs. “You know, riding isn’t just about holding on. It’s about trust. Trusting the bike, trusting yourself… and maybe trusting the person in front of you.”

Your breath catches slightly at her words, and you realize she’s no longer just talking about riding. You meet her eyes, and there’s a tension between you, a pull that’s hard to ignore. “I guess I did trust you back there.”

Natasha’s smirk widens, and she tilts her head, studying you with a gaze that feels like it’s seeing right through you. “Good. I like that.”

You try to steady your breathing, but it’s difficult with her standing so close. “Do you do this with all your clients?”

She chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “I don’t take just anyone for a ride, (Y/N). Consider yourself special.”

The way she says your name makes your heart skip a beat. There’s a moment of a silence between you, making you aware of how close she is, how her eyes seem to linger on yours, searching for something.

Natasha’s gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and your breath hitches. “You know,” she says softly, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “there’s a lot more I could show you. If you’re interested.”

Your pulse quickens, a mix of nerves and anticipation coursing through you. The air between you feels charged, every second stretching out as you weigh her words. You know she’s definetly not just talking about bikes anymore, and the realization sends a thrill through you.

“I think I’m interested,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s smile deepens, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Good.” She steps even closer, her presence almost overwhelming now. “Because I don’t do half-measures, (Y/N). If you’re in, you’re all in.”

You feel a nervous flutter in your stomach, but it’s not enough to hold you back. “I think I can handle that.”

Her eyes darken slightly, her voice taking on a more serious note. “Are you sure? Because once we start, I don’t plan on stopping.”

The intensity of her words makes your heart race, but you don’t back down. Instead, you meet her gaze head-on, the challenge in her eyes only spurring you on. “I’m sure, Natasha.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the tension between you almost unbearable. Then, as if making a decision, Natasha leans in, her hand brushing lightly against your arm. The touch is brief but electric, sending a jolt through you.

“Glad to hear it,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin

Before you can respond, Natasha finally pulls back, though the look in her eyes tells you that this is far from over. She glances at the bike, then back at you, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You should head home. I wouldn’t want to keep you out too late… this time.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding. “Right. I should… probably get going.”

“Probably,” she agrees, though there’s a teasing edge to her voice that makes it clear she wouldn’t mind if you stayed longer.

As you walk back to your car, Natasha watches you with that same unreadable expression, like she’s already planning the next move. You reach your car door, pausing to glance back at her. “So… I’ll come check on the bike tomorrow same time?”

Natasha crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe of the shop, her smile turning into something almost predatory. “I´m counting on it, (Y/N).”

You give her a small smile in return, feeling that same mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside you. As you start the car and pull away, you can’t help but glance at her going inside the shop once more.

The cool night air feels refreshing on your flushed cheeks as you step out of the car going back home, the smile on your face almost impossible to hide. As you approach the front door, you take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. But the excitement from the evening is still buzzing inside you, making it hard to calm the butterflies in your stomach.

When you walk inside, your brother is sprawled out on the couch again, a half-empty bag of chips beside him and a game paused on the TV. He looks up as you close the door behind you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You’re home late,” he remarks, his voice dripping with curiosity. “What’s got you all smiley?”

You pause, trying to wipe the grin off your face, but it’s no use. “Oh, nothing,” you say, attempting nonchalance as you shrug out of your jacket and hang it up. “Just, you know… checking on your bike.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your casual tone. “Uh-huh. And since when does checking on my bike make you look like you just won the lottery?”

You shoot him a look, but it’s playful, and he knows it. “Since today, apparently.”

He narrows his eyes at you, sitting up a bit straighter. “Okay, spill. What happened?”

You hesitate for a moment, debating how much to tell him. But then you decide it’s harmless enough. “Well… I rode it, you know a test ride I assume.”

He blinks, clearly not expecting that. “Wait, what? You rode my bike? The same bike you’ve always refused to even sit on?”

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. Natasha let me try it out.”

His expression shifts, realization dawning as a smirk spreads across his face. “Natasha, huh? So, you finally decided to take the plunge… because she asked?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the blush that creeps up your neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, sure it’s not,” he says, leaning back with a smug grin. “You always said no to me, no matter how many times I tried to get you on that bike. But one pretty redhead asks, and suddenly you’re Evel Knievel.”

You try to play it cool, but you can’t help the smile that slips out. “Well, she made a good case. And besides, you know how scared I am.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, so scared until Natasha Romanoff turns on the charm. I see how it is.”

You grab a throw pillow and toss it at him, but he catches it easily, still grinning. “Shut up.”

He throws the pillow back, missing you by an inch. “Hey, no judgment here. I’m just saying, I knew something was up when you walked in all smiley. I didn’t expect it to be this, though.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress your own laughter. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yep,” he says proudly, then adds with a wink, “So, when’s the next ‘check-up’ on my bike?”

You roll your eyes again, but you can’t help the small smile that lingers on your lips. “Goodnight, dork,” you say, turning to head toward your room.

“Goodnight, bike thief,” he calls after you, his voice filled with playful teasing.

As you close your bedroom door behind you, you lean against it for a moment, your smile growing even wider. Just as you’re about to lay in bed and snuggle with your blanket, your phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification.

You reach over and grab it, your heart skipping a beat when you see who the message is from.

Natasha: Hope you didn’t get into trouble for coming home so late. Wouldn’t want to get you grounded ;)

You can’t help but smile at the playful tone in her text.

You quickly type out a reply: No, just had to endure a bit of teasing. My brother thinks he’s hilarious.

You hit send, still smiling as you stare at your phone, waiting to see if she’ll reply. It doesn’t take long before your phone buzzes again.

Natasha: Sounds like he’s got a good sense of humor. He’s probably just jealous you rode his bike.

Your smile widens as you think about her words, and the memory of the ride flashes in your mind. The wind, the speed, the way Natasha’s laughter had echoed in the air, it had been more fun than you ever expected. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as you type your response.

You type out: Maybe. But I think it was more because of the company than the ride.

There’s a pause, and for a moment, you wonder if you were too forward. But then your phone buzzes again, and Natasha’s reply makes your heart flutter.

Natasha: I was hoping you’d say that. Maybe next time, we can make the ride even more interesting.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your giddy excitement in check. There’s something intoxicating about the way she flirts, the way she effortlessly mixes teasing with sincerity. You decide to match her energy, your fingers dancing across the screen as you craft your response.

You: I’m all for interesting;)

A few seconds pass before her next message arrives.

Natasha: Challenge accepted, (Y/N). Sweet dreams.

You grin at the screen, feeling a warm, fuzzy sensation spread through your chest.

You: Goodnight, Natasha.

You set your phone down and curl up under the covers, still smiling as you think about her last text. The excitement from the evening lingers as you drift off to sleep. Whatever happens next, you’re ready for it.

…

A couple of days have passed since you lastly check up on the bike, some work got stuck up and you weren´t able to see Natasha as much as you´d like. Thanfuly the texting between you and Natasha has only gotten more frequent, filled with light-hearted banter, playful teasing, and the occasional flirty remark.

Then, one evening, just as you’re settling down after dinner, your phone buzzes with a new message. You pick it up, your heart doing that now familiar little flip when you see Natasha’s name on the screen.

Natasha: So, I was thinking… how about we do something that doesn’t involve bikes this weekend?

You blink at the screen, your pulse quickening. It’s not exactly a date invitation, but it’s close enough that your mind immediately starts racing.

You: What do you have in mind?

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Natasha: I know a nice spot for dinner. How does Friday sound?

Your stomach flips with excitement. This is definitely a date. You type back before you can overthink it.

You: Friday sounds perfect.

Natasha: Great. I’ll pick you up at 7.

You stare at the screen, a grin spreading across your face. A date. With Natasha. Suddenly, Friday can’t come fast enough.

…

When Friday finally arrives, you’re a bundle of nerves and excitement. By late afternoon, you’re standing in front of your closet, pulling out outfits and discarding them almost as quickly. Nothing seems right - too casual, too dressy, not “you” enough. You groan in frustration, tossing yet another dress onto the bed.

“Uh… what’s going on in here?” your brother’s voice cuts through your frantic search, and you turn to see him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"Shouldn´t you be in bed?" You look at his leg.

He shakes his head, "what´s all of this?" Your brother nods towards the mess in your room.

“Nothing,” you mutter, but your flushed cheeks and the mess of clothes around you betray the truth.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he says, hopping into the room and picking up a discarded top. “Who are you getting all dressed up for?”

You hesitate, then sigh, realizing there’s no use hiding it. “Natasha invited me to dinner. She’s picking me up in an hour.”

His eyes widen in surprise, then narrow as a grin spreads across his face. “Natasha? Oooo (Y/N) has a date, (Y/N) has a date!"

You nod, biting your lip as you rifle through your clothes again. “Yeah. So, I need to find something that says ‘date,’ but not ‘trying too hard.’”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this. “Wow, you must really like her if you’re this worked up.”

You huff, grabbing a simple but flattering top that you haven’t worn in a while. “Maybe I do. But it’s just… I don’t know, I want it to be perfect, you know?”

He watches you for a moment, then his teasing demeanor softens. “You’ll look great, no matter what you wear. Just be yourself, and she’ll be into it.”

You pause, then smile gratefully at him. “Thanks.”

"But don´t wear that," he points at the top you´re holding, "take the black shirt over there." He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, but to be honest you´re really glad, that you have your brother there, to ease your nerves. When you look in the mirror, you feel a little more confident. You can do this.

Right on time, there´s a buzz from your phone. You grab your purse, take a deep breath, and head downstairs. Your brother, ever the nosy one, is already at the window, peeking through the curtains. “Your ride’s here,” he says, smirking. “And I gotta say, she cleans up nice.”

You roll your eyes at him but feel your pulse quicken as you reach the door. Sure enough, when you step outside, Natasha is waiting for you, leaning casually against a car. But tonight, she’s swapped out her usual work clothes for something a little more polished - dark jeans, a fitted leather jacket over a crisp shirt, and boots that complete the look. The sight of her takes your breath away.

“Wow,” you manage to say as you walk up to her. “It’s nice to see you in something other than grease-stained coveralls.”

Natasha grins, her eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “You look pretty well yourself. But don’t get too used to this, I’m usually more comfortable getting my hands dirty.”

You chuckle, feeling the tension ease a bit. “I like both looks.”

She steps closer, her gaze warm as it meets yours. “Good to know. Ready for dinner?”

“Definitely,” you reply nervously.

As she opens the passenger door for you, she suddenly glances over your shoulder and smirks. “Looks like we have an audience.”

You glance back to see your brother peeking out from behind the curtains, grinning like an idiot. He gives you a thumbs up, then waves cheekily at Natasha, who waves back with a teasing smile.

“Sorry about him,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat up as you climb into the car. “He’s… enthusiastic.”

Natasha just laughs as she slides into the driver’s seat. “He’s alright. At least he approves.”

“Yeah, well, he’s probably just happy I’m not yelling at him for riding that bike,” you reply with a grin.

As Natasha starts the car and pulls away from the house, she glances over at you, her voice taking on a playful tone. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure this date is worth the teasing you’re going to get when you get home.”

You meet her gaze, feeling the spark between you light up again. “I’m sure it will be.”

Natasha drives you to a cozy restaurant that you’ve never been to before. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t try too hard but still manages to be effortlessly charming. She leads you to a table by the window, where the view of the city lights adds a romantic touch to the evening. After you’re both seated, Natasha gives the server a nod, clearly a regular here, and within moments, two glasses of wine are placed in front of you.

“Do you come here often?” you ask, taking a sip.

“Every now and then,” Natasha replies with a shrug. “It’s one of those hidden gems. Not too crowded, good food, great wine. Figured it’d be a good spot to… get to know each other better.”

You smile, appreciating her thoughtfulness. “It’s perfect. And I agree, it’s definitely got a vibe.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, her gaze settling on you. “So, what else should I know about you, besides the fact that you’re fiercely protective of your brother and apparently a quick learner when it comes to riding bikes?”

You laugh, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, I don’t usually make a habit of riding bikes. That was… a first for me.”

Her eyes glint with amusement. “I’m honored to be your first, then.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck but decide to match her playful tone. “What about you? I know you’re amazing with bikes, but what else is there to know about Natasha Romanoff?”

She takes a sip of her wine, her expression thoughtful. “Well, I wasn’t always a mechanic. I’ve had a few different jobs over the years, but I’ve always liked working with my hands. There’s something satisfying about taking something broken and making it whole again.”

“Did you grow up around bikes?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Sort of,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips, "my father worked on bikes since I can remeber, but I learned a lot on my own, picked up skills along the way and after some years I was kinda stuck with it in his shop."

You nod, sensing there’s more to her story than she’s letting on, but you don’t push. “I get that. I’ve never been big into them, but I can see the appeal. The way you talked about them, showed me around your shop… it made me see them differently.”

Natasha’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the teasing edge in her eyes fades. “Less scary? I’m glad I could share that with you. I don’t usually open up about that stuff with just anyone.”

You nod, feeling comfortable and curious about discovering who Natasha really is, beyond the confident, flirty exterior.

“So,” Natasha says, breaking the silence with a smirk, “I have to ask… what made you say yes to this? I mean, I know I’m irresistible, but still…”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re definitely confident, I’ll give you that. But honestly? It’s because you’re… different. Not what I expected, in a good way.”

Her smirk softens into a genuine smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I was hoping I didn’t scare you off with the whole ‘let’s ride a bike together’ thing.”

“Not at all,” you say, meeting her gaze. “In fact, I think that’s what intrigued me the most. You challenge me, in a way that’s exciting. And I like that.”

Natasha holds your gaze, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away. “Good,” she says quietly. “Because I like it too.”

As the evening progresses, with ordered food, the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about your lives, your families, your dreams - sharing stories that are both funny and revealing. Natasha opens up about her past, hinting at the difficulties she faced growing up, while you share some of your own challenges. There’s a comfort in the way you can both be honest with each other, even if not every detail is fully revealed.

At one point, the conversation turns to your brother, and Natasha leans in, clearly curious. “So, what’s the deal with you and your brother? You two seem pretty close.”

You smile fondly. “We are. He’s a pain sometimes, but he’s my best friend. We’ve been through a lot together, and he’s always had my back.”

Natasha nods, her expression softening. “Sounds like you’ve got a good thing going. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have that kind of bond.”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m grateful for him. And it looks like he likes you, so."

Natasha grins, the playful spark returning to her eyes. 'Well, that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, though I think a 50% voucher to the shop might earn me some bonus points with him.

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Don´t worry, you’re in his good books. You ride a bike and you know everything about it, plus the voucher sounds amazing. Trust me, I´m the one who is on thin line here. He’s already convinced I’ve got a crush on you anyways, so…” You talk faster than you think.

Natasha arches an eyebrow, leaning closer. “And do you?”

You hesitate, but only for a second. “Maybe I do.”

Her smile widens, a mixture of satisfaction and warmth. “I´ll take a maybe." You take another sip of wine, your heart racing in the best way possible.

Eventually, the dinner plates are cleared, and the conversation winds down. Natasha pays the bill, despite your protests, and then you’re back in the car, driving through the quiet streets. The tension that filled the air earlier has softened into something more comfortable, more familiar.

When she pulls up to your house, she turns to you with that mischievous smile that makes your pulse quicken. “So, did I live up to your expectations?”

You smile back, unbuckling your seatbelt. “More than that.”

She chuckles, clearly pleased. “Glad to hear it. I’ll see you soon?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Definitely. And I´m paying next time!”

"I don´t think you will, but it´s cute that you´re figting for it." Natasha chuckles.

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and kiss her cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin. When you pull back, her eyes are sparkling, and there’s a pleased smile on her lips.

“Goodnight, Natasha,” you say softly, stepping out of the car. Even though the inside of your brain is just a big mess and your body is full of butterlfies that are buzzing through your body.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” she replies, watching every step of yours. You walk up to your front door, you glance back and see your brother peeking through the window again, grinning like a fool. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you give him a little wave before stepping inside. As soon as you close the front door your brother is standing in the hallway, arms crossed, with a grin that can only be described as infuriatingly smug.

“So…” he starts, drawing out the word with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How was it?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool as you kick off your shoes. “How was what?”

He snorts, clearly not buying your act. “The date. You know, the one you spent an hour agonizing over an outfit for? The one with the gorgeous redhead who just dropped you off?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you maintain a casual tone. “It was fine. We had dinner, talked… no big deal.”

“Oh, sure,” he says, nodding along in exaggerated agreement. “No big deal at all. That’s why you’ve got that goofy smile plastered on your face.”

You try to suppress your grin, but it’s no use. “Okay, fine. It was… great. Happy?”

“Very,” he says with a smirk. “But I need details. What did you guys talk about? Did she kiss you? Are you two going on another date?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his barrage of questions. “Slow down, detective. We just had a nice dinner and got to know each other better. And yes, we’re definitely going to see each other again.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No kiss, though?”

You pause, remembering the kiss you gave Natasha on the cheek before you got out of the car. “I´m not gonna discuss that with you."

“So that´s a yes. Ha! I knew it!” He points at you triumphantly. “So you like her. Like, really like her.”

“Okay, okay, yes, I do,” you finally admit, exasperated but still smiling. “But you don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

“Oh, but it is a big deal,” he says, leaning against the wall with a grin.

“You’ve never looked this happy after a date. I’m telling you, this Natasha is something special.”

You bite your lip, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah… she really is.”

He watches you for a moment, his teasing grin softening into something more sincere. “I’m glad, you know. You deserve someone who makes you smile like that.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his unexpected seriousness. “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“Don’t get too mushy on me now,” he teases, but there’s warmth in his eyes. “Just… if she hurts you, I’ll break her bike.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I think she’d rather face anything else than that.”

“Damn right,” he says with a chuckle. “But seriously, I’m happy for you, sis. Just remember, I still expect you to help me with my bike.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, waving him off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

“Sure, go dream about your redhead,” he calls after you as you head up the stairs.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you think about Natasha.

…

It’s early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you arrive at Natasha’s shop. The garage door is partially open, you push it up and step inside, where you find Natasha already at work on a different bike. She’s focused, her hands busy, but when she sees you, her expression brightens instantly.

“Hey, didn’t expect you so early,” she says, wiping her hands on a rag before tossing it aside as always. There’s a faint grease stain on her cheek, adding to her usual rugged charm.

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “I figured I’d take you up on your offer. Plus, I wanted to see how the bike’s coming along, of course.”

Natasha grins, nodding toward your brother’s bike. “Your brother’s baby is coming together nicely. A few more tweaks, and it’ll be as good as new.”

You walk over to examine the bike, but your attention keeps drifting back to Natasha. The shop is quieter than usual. As Natasha finishes up what she’s doing, you lean against the workbench, watching her with a mix of admiration and something deeper. She catches your gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

You bite your lip, then decide to be bold. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that ride we took… and how you said you don’t take just anyone out.”

She steps closer, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What about it?”

You smile, heart pounding. “I was wondering if that’s still true.”

Natasha chuckles, the sound low and warm, as she moves closer still. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were special, (Y/N). But what’s really on your mind?”

There’s a pause, a moment where you´re trying to calm your thoughts. You look up at her, realizing how close she’s standing, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of oil.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you say quietly, “I think you know.”

For a split second, Natasha’s confident facade wavers, replaced by something more vulnerable. But then she smirks, closing the distance between you with a deliberate slowness that sends a thrill through you. “You sure about this?” she asks softly, her voice a low murmur that makes your breath catch.

You nod, eyes locked on hers. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

And with that, Natasha leans in, her lips brushing yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s gentle at first, testing the waters, but the moment your lips meet, it’s like a spark ignites. The kiss deepens, turning into something more intense, filled with all the unspoken tension and longing that’s been building between you this whole time.

Natasha lingers close, her forehead resting gently against yours, a smile playing on her lips. But then she pulls back just slightly, glancing down at her hands still resting on your waist. “I should stop before I get grease on you,” she murmurs, her voice teasing but with a hint of genuine concern.

You glance down at her hands, noticing the faint smudges of oil and grease, and can’t help but laugh softly. “A little grease never hurt anyone,” you reply, feeling warm all over, both from the kiss and from the way she’s looking at you.

Natasha chuckles, giving you a playful grin. “True, but I don’t want to mess up your clothes. You look too good for that.”

You roll your eyes affectionately, feeling a flutter in your chest at the compliment. “So do you, grease and all.”

She smiles wider, the expression softening into something tender as she gently brushes a thumb along your jaw, careful not to smudge any grease. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Is that a good thing?” you tease, leaning into her touch

“Definitely a good thing,” she replies, her voice low and warm. There’s a comfortable silence, where the weight of the moment sinks in. But Natasha, being who she is, breaks it with a playful grin. “So, does this mean I get to take you on another ride?”

You laugh, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “As long as we make some more stops like this one.”

She chuckles, pulling you in for another quick kiss, this one softer, sweeter. “Deal.”

Just as you’re savoring the warmth of the moment, the shop bell jingles, signaling the arrival of a customer. Natasha glances over her shoulder, then back at you with a smirk. “Looks like I’ve got work to do.”

Before she steps away, she gives your waist a quick, playful squeeze, leaning in close to murmur, “I’ll be with you in a second, (Y/N). Don’t go anywhere.” Her tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying softness that makes your heart flutter.

With one last lingering look, she turns to greet the customer, her demeanor shifting effortlessly into professional mode. The customer, a man who looks like he’s in his mid-40s, nods at Natasha, holding a small bike that clearly needs some work. “Morning. Got a bit of a problem with my kid’s bike here.”

“No problem,” Natasha says, flashing him that easy smile. “Let me take a look.”

As she moves to inspect the bike, you can’t help but notice how her muscles flex with every movement, her toned arms and back on full display as she lifts the bike onto the workbench. She handles the machine with practiced ease, her focus entirely on diagnosing the issue. You watch, a little mesmerized by the way she works—effortless, strong, and undeniably attractive.

It’s only when Natasha finishes up with the customer that you realize you’ve been staring the entire time. She thanks the man and sees him off, then turns back to you, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Catching the look on your face, she strides over, a teasing grin spreading across her lips. “Need me to grab you a rag for that drool?” she asks, leaning against the workbench with her arms crossed, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

You feel your cheeks flush with heat, but you manage to keep your composure. “I wasn’t drooling,” you protest, though the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

Natasha steps closer, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Sure you weren’t.” She reaches out to gently tap your chin with her finger, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “But just in case, I’ll keep a rag handy for next time.”

You laugh, swatting her hand away lightly. "Ha ha ha, funny."

Natasha grins, clearly pleased with herself. “What can I say? I’m good at observing poeple.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. “You’re also good at being a tease.”

“Guilty as charged,” she admits, her gaze never leaving yours. There’s a moment where the teasing drops, replaced by something softer, more sincere. “But seriously, I like seeing you here.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sudden shift in her tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice quieter now, more intimate. “Makes my day a little better.”

You frown playfully, "just a little better?"

She makes your chest tighten in the best way, "maybe a lot more than a little actually." Before you can respond, Natasha leans in, her breath warm against your cheek as she says, “You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I might have to kiss you again.”

Your breath catches, and you look up at her, eyes wide. “Is that a threat?”

“More like a promise,” she whispers back, her lips curving into a slow smile.

You feel a rush of warmth flood through you, and without thinking, you close the gap, pressing your lips to hers in a kiss that’s tender, sweet. Natasha responds immediately, pulling you closer, her hands firm on your waist.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, and Natasha’s smile is brighter than ever. “Now that’s how you shut me up,” she jokes, her voice still soft, tinged with affection.

You laugh, feeling light, like you’re floating. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out to see a message from your brother: “Hey, need a hand with something. SOS!" You can’t help the small sigh that escapes you, your excitement tempered by responsibility.

Natasha notices the change in your expression and raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

You nod, a little reluctantly. “Yeah, just my brother. He needs help with something. Guess I should head out.”

She offers a soft smile, understanding but with a hint of disappointment in her eyes. “Duty calls, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small laugh. “Sorry to bail on you.”

“No worries,” she replies, her voice warm and reassuring. “Family first.” Natasha gives you one last quick kiss, her hands squeezing your waist, before stepping back. “Take care of your brother. I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” you say softly, and with one last shared glance, you head out of the shop, already missing her presence.

When you get home, you find your brother lounging on the couch, his leg propped up with a couple of pillows. He grins when he sees you, clearly not in any dire situation.

“Sorry for interrupting your fun time with the redhead,” he teases, his tone light and playful, “but I really could use some help with this stupid remote.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Really? I rushed home for this?”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” he says with a chuckle, holding up his hands in mock defense. “You’re the one who insisted on being so overprotective.”

“I-” you say, grabbing the remote and throwing it at him. He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “So I assume I ruined something nice, huh? Sounds like things are getting serious with Mrs. Redhead.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck, but you just shrug. “And you ruined it.”

He laughs, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh please, don´t tell me this is the last time you´re seeing her.”

It´s not, he knows it´s not. You do too. Everyone knows it is not.

“Now behave yourself, or I’ll leave you stranded next time.”

"Are you really just going to see her again?" He raises his eyebrows.

"No, I´m going to buy us some dinner, since you ate everything we had here!" He can´t help but chuckle a bit at your words.

…

It’s been a few days since your brother started walking without much pain, and he’s eager to visit Natasha’s shop to finally see his bike. You agree to take him, sensing that he’s also curious about the woman you’ve been spending so much time with.

When you arrive at the shop, Natasha greets you both with a warm smile. “Look who’s finally back on his feet,” she says, nodding at your brother.

“Yeah, feels good to walk again,” he replies, trying to sound casual, though you can tell he’s excited. “And to finally check on my bike.”

“Come on, I’ll show you what I did,” Natasha says, leading him to the back where the bike is stored. As they walk, you hang back slightly, watching them interact.

As they approach the bike, your brother takes in the sight of it, clearly impressed. “Wow, it looks brand new.”

Natasha grins. “Took some work, but it’s as good as ever. You’ll be back on the road in no time.”

He looks over at you for a moment, then back at Natasha, his expression turning a bit more serious. “Listen, Natasha, I like you. You seem like a good person, and it’s obvious my sister likes you too. But, I still have to do this.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, curious. “Do what?”

“The talk,” he says, crossing his arms. “If you hurt her, I will come and get you.”

There’s a brief pause as Natasha considers his words, then she glances down at his still slightly injured leg and smirks. “Sure you will,” she says with just the right amount of sarcasm.

Your brother chuckles, appreciating the banter. “Okay, fair point. But seriously, she’s my little sister. I’ve gotta look out for her.”

Natasha’s playful expression softens, and she nods. “I get it. And for what it’s worth, I care about her a lot. I’d never hurt her.”

Your brother studies her for a moment, then finally gives a nod of approval. “Good. Because I’d hate to have to hobble after you.” You laugh, stepping forward to join them. “You two done with your little standoff?”

Natasha chuckles, “I think we’ve come to an understanding.”

Your brother nods, "sooo when can I take my bike back home?"

"You can take it today if you´d like," this sentence makes you groan.

"Hell yeah!" Your brother states.

"Oh my god-" you exhale deeply.

"I´ll get it for you," Natasha smirks at you and goes to the back for the bike.

He winks at you, completely unfazed by your glare. “You should thank me for falling off the bike. Seems like it led to something good.”

Natasha chuckles softly as she overhear the conversation, clearly enjoying this. You resist the urge to smack your brother’s arm. “Don’t push your luck.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “You’re welcome, sis. I guess we are even now.”

Hehe thank you for reading!

[sherewrytes]

Plug Choso

Plug Choso: Who always cleans and pre-rolls your blunts and joints for free every time you buy from him, just to see the smile you give him when he hands them over.

Plug Choso: Always gives you his latest strains to try before anyone else, leaning in close as he says, "I saved this one just for you, ma."

Plug Choso: Who openly flirts with you during drop-offs, running his tongue over his bottom lip and smirking when you catch him staring a little too long.

Plug Choso: Always keeps your favorite munchies stocked in the passenger seat of his Hellcat, handing them over with a wink like he’s been thinking about you all day.

Plug Choso: Who insists on sparking the blunt with you every now and then, just so he can "make sure it’s hitting right," but really, it’s just an excuse to chill with you a little longer.

Plug Choso: Who texts you late at night with "You good? Need anything?" even when you haven’t hit him up, making sure you know he’s just a call away.

Plug Choso: Who swears he doesn’t do this for anyone else, and the way he looks at you? Yeah, you’re starting to believe it.

Plug Choso: Who always shows up smelling good, like some expensive cologne and a hint of weed, knowing you’ll notice when he leans in just a little too close to pass you your bag.

Plug Choso: Who always tells you to hit him up, "Even if you don’t need anything. I don’t mind pulling up just to see you, ma."

Plug Choso: Who makes sure to call you “his favorite customer” but says it with that look that tells you he doesn’t mean it like that.

Plug Choso: Who parks outside your spot blasting your favorite songs, knowing it’ll have you cheesing before you even open the door.

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t let you carry your own stuff when he drops off, walking it all the way to your living room while teasing you about how you always over-order.

Plug Choso: Who lingers at the door like he’s waiting for an invite, running his fingers through his messy hair and giving you that boyish grin that always makes you weak.

Plug Choso: Who tells you, "Let me know when you’re smoking, I’ll slide through," but really just wants a reason to chill with you again.

Plug Choso: Who always notices when you switch up your hair, complimenting it with a "Damn, that’s fire. You just tryna distract me now, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who casually brushes his fingers against yours when handing you something, watching your reaction like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Plug Choso: Who’s lowkey protective, side-eying any guy he sees you talking to and asking, "Who’s that? He treating you right?"

Plug Choso: Who keeps your favorite rolling papers on deck because he knows you’re picky and doesn’t want you going anywhere else.

Plug Choso: Who always makes it feel like you’re the only one on his list, even though you know damn well he stays busy.

Plug Choso: Who always lingers a little too long when handing over your bag, his fingers brushing yours as his dark eyes flicker to your lips. "You sure you don’t need me to stay a while, ma?"

Plug Choso: Who offers to roll up with you at your place, sitting so close on your couch that his thigh presses against yours, his voice dropping lower every time he leans in to light the blunt.

Plug Choso: Who teases you relentlessly, asking, "Why you always smelling so damn good? You trying to distract me while I work?" as he trails his gaze over you slowly, taking in every detail.

Plug Choso: Who pulls up in his Hellcat late at night, texting you, "Come outside, I got something for you," just to hand you a bag of snacks and a pre-rolled joint, his excuse being, "Thought you might need it after a long day."

Plug Choso: Who never rushes when he’s with you, leaning against your doorframe as he watches you sort through your stash, licking his lips as he says, "You really trust me to hook you up, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who shows up at the club unannounced one night, catching sight of you dancing with some random dude. His jaw tightens, and before you even notice, he’s cutting between you and the guy with a cold, "Yo, I think she’s good."

Plug Choso: Who leans in close after the guy walks away, his hand resting low on your back. "What you doing out here letting dudes like that in your space, huh? You know you could’ve just called me if you wanted attention."

Plug Choso: Who stays by your side the rest of the night, his touch lingering on your waist and hips as he “helps” guide you through the crowd, making it real clear you’re with him now.

Plug Choso: Who pulls you into his car after the club, his voice low and possessive as he says, "You don’t need them when you got me, ma. I’ve been making that obvious, haven’t I?"

Plug Choso: Who kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, his hands gripping your thighs as he whispers against your lips, "I’ve been holding back for you, but you keep testing me."

Plug Choso: Who texts you later that night, "Made it home yet? Let me know. Don’t make me come back and check on you."

Plug Choso: Who stays on your mind long after the weed is gone, making you wonder if this is more than just business for him.

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t just drop off your stash—he stays to light up with you, sitting close enough that his thigh presses against yours. His deep, raspy voice always carries a teasing edge. "You gon’ share, or you just like showing off in front of me?"

Plug Choso: Who runs his fingers along your thigh while you’re mid-hit, smirking when your breath catches. "Relax, ma, it’s just me. You trust me, don’t you?"

Plug Choso: Who, after the club incident, corners you in your kitchen later that week, his broad frame boxing you in against the counter. "You really had me twisted the other night," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Watching you move like that with him? That wasn’t it."

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t even wait for your response before his hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him. His voice is gravelly now, his tone all possession. "You know damn well you should’ve been on me like that. What were you trying to prove, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who has your back pressed against the fridge, his lips ghosting over your neck, heat radiating from his body as his tattooed fingers trace your bare skin. "I’ve been real patient with you, Y/N. But you keep making me want to break my own rules."

Plug Choso: Who finally snaps when you whisper his name, his lips crashing against yours, rough and hungry, his hands gripping your hips like he’s staking a claim.

Plug Choso: Who backs you onto the counter, his hands firm as he lifts you up with ease. "You wanna play games, ma? Let’s see how long you keep that same energy when it’s just me and you."

Plug Choso: Who takes his time, teasing you with whispered promises between heated kisses. "I’ve been thinking about this, you know. Every time I see you, you make it harder to keep my head straight."

Plug Choso: Who pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "You like making me crazy, don’t you?" he says, his voice dark and full of heat. "But now it’s my turn."

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t stop until he’s left you breathless, your body trembling from the intensity of it all. He pulls you close after, his lips pressing softly against your forehead as he murmurs, "Now you get it. No one else gets you like I do, ma."

Plug Choso: Who’s got you sitting on his lap later, still catching your breath, his hand tracing lazy circles on your thigh as he lights the blunt for you. "Don’t forget who’s really got you," he says, holding the joint to your lips.

[jungshookz]

teeny tidbits: jungkook gets hurt during practice and the only thing y/n has in her backpack are miffy bandaids 

➺ pairing; quarterback!jungkook x librarian!y/n

➺ genre; university!au!!! sfw!! soft soft fluff!! jungkook and y/n are so fond of each other wowowow it actually makes me physically nauseous please get a ROOM

➺ wordcount; 1k

»»————- ♥ ————-««

“ow!” jungkook hisses, wincing as you dab against the scrape on his arm with a cotton ball that’s been drenched in a generous amount of warm water, “ow…”

“sorry, i know…” you mutter, trying your best to be as gentle as possible as you reduce your pressure (you were already going feather light but jungkook has always been a big baby with cuts and scrapes) and toss the soiled cotton ball aside before reaching for another one in the big plastic bag, “i can’t believe you guys don’t have a proper first-aid kit.” 

“it’s taehyung’s fault, coach asked him to restock it and apparently he completely forgot.” jungkook snorts, glancing down at the rusty tin box sitting on the counter next to him - you managed to find it after about fifteen minutes of searching the changing rooms but you were more than disappointed when you opened the rusty old box to find practically nothing but dust 

but if this were a real emergency, jungkook would be bleeding out on the ground and all you’d have to try to save your boyfriend is a single q-tip and one dried out packet of rubbing alcohol

luckily, you always carry a mini first aid kit with you in your backpack - last winter you slipped on a rogue patch of ice and ended up falling to the ground, your poor books sliding across the sidewalk and your palms all scraped up and bloody, so ever since then, you’ve been carrying your little pouch with you in case of emergencies 

gauze, bandaids, cotton balls, surgical tape, and some hard candies - you have it all!! 

“explain to me again what the hell you guys were trying to do out there?”

“taehyung said that when one sense goes dark, the other ones become way stronger and we wanted to test that theory out-“ 

“so you did this on purpose-“ you pause, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “you blindfolded yourself and ran around the football field on purpose.” 

“i thought i had better instincts than this!” jungkook gestures to himself, his kneecaps all scraped up along with a few scratches on his arms, “and my head hurts…” 

watching jungkook run into the goal post full force would’ve been comical if it weren’t for the fact that that was literally what happened - he ran full force into a damn goal post and thank god he was wearing a helmet otherwise he probably would’ve knocked himself clean out

“i don’t wanna study anymore.” jennie huffs, leaning back against the benches behind you guys as she props her elbows up on them, “can’t we do something else to pass the time while they’re practicing?” 

“i don’t wanna study anymore either, but weirdly enough this is the only time i can really concentrate.” you shrug, keeping your eyes on your laptop as your fingers continue to dance across your keyboard, “is this the only google presentation the professor shared with us this week? i swear there’s another one-“ 

“all you care about are google presentations and taking notes-“

“it’s coming up to finals season, of course all i care about are google presentations and taking notes-“ 

KONK!

“oh, shit-!“ you look up when you hear taehyung’s loud laugh travel over to where you’re sitting, your eyes squinting slightly when you notice that jungkook on the ground, “wait, that was kinda sick, actually, we should do that again-“”

“aw, gross!” jungkook gets up from the ground and shakes himself off and that’s when you notice crimson smeared across his legs as he hobbles towards your general direction, taehyung trailing behind him, “yuck, there’s dirt and shit in my cuts-“

“oh my god, jungkook!” you slap your laptop shut and set it aside, grabbing your backpack and practically sprinting down the steps, “are you okay?! what the hell happened?!” 

and that’s how you ended up here - patching up your idiot boyfriend with nothing but miffy bandaids because that’s all the store was selling (it was miffy or hello kitty, and you’ve always loved miffy) - and you’ve practically used up the entire pack at this point 

“i just think that you have to think about whether or not an idea sounds stupid before deciding to do it.” you huff, tossing another soiled cotton ball into the bin before peeling open the thin wrapper for the bandaid

“well, how am i supposed to know if an idea is stupid or not?”

“you didn’t think blindfolding yourself and running around a football field was stupid?”

“no, i thought it was an innovative training technique that’s been undiscovered by coaches in the world of football!” jungkook perks up, sticking a finger up into the air before shutting his eyes so that you can tend to the little scratch above his eyebrow 

you settle in between his legs from where he’s sitting up on the counter and he instinctively reaches down to place both his hands a little above your waist before giving you a squeeze, “thank you, by the way.” he says softly, and you can’t help help but smile before leaning forward to press a little kiss to the corner of his mouth 

“you’re welcome. i’m gonna need a new box of miffy bandaids because you literally used up the entire thing.” you can’t help but frown as you place the last one on his brow bone, “on the bright side, you look really cute with miffy bandaids, so i don’t regret giving them all to you. but you seriously have to stop trying to kill yourself during practice.” 

“i’m more of a hello kitty guy, to be so real.” jungkook opens his eyes, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before pulling away, “and you worry too much about me.”

“you worry too little!” 

🎙️ ask y/n what kind of candy is in her first-aid pouch (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai, they miss you!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this!) 

[nereb-and-dungalef]

Ok for everyone in the tags who asked for a fic, here it is:

She first looked at me through the bars of my prison, with eyes like coal. Her husband took her hand and dragged her after him. But she looked only at me.

Queen Tar-Míriel. Quiet and plain. There was no fire in her. She couldn't resist my enchantments. And that was my salvation – my chance to escape.

---

“You deserve more than all this,” she told me once.

I laughed. More... Eru knows, I was capable of much more. “What do you have in mind?”

“Become my king. We don't need Ar-Pharazôn.”

“A worthy dream. But for now... we can only pretend, when his eyes are turned away.”

She kissed my neck. “For the night, make me your queen.”

I hated our romance. We had nothing in common besides hatred for Ar-Pharazôn. Every night I spent with her, I imagined Melkor in my arms.

Forgive me, Master. This is all for you, in the end.

---

I did little things to spite her. Bleach in shampoo, tar in mascara. It was the only way I could keep from losing myself amidst deception.

But maybe, in the end, I did lose myself.

I gave Tar-Míriel an oath. A false oath. The sort of oath that returns to you.

Maybe she wasn't the marionette I imagined her to be. She once lay next to me and whispered in my ear:

“Do you really know the secret you promised to tell my husband?”

“I didn't make any promises.”

“So you don't know?”

“I don't.”

“Promise me you don't know.”

I laughed. “You understand me better than anyone, my love.”

“Reveal it to me.”

“I can't. Not now.”

“Swear to me you'll reveal it.”

She kissed me with her sly tongue. And when she had stolen my breath and my mind, I gave my answer:

“I swear.”

---

Tar-Míriel spent many nights in my bed. Too many nights. And at the end of those nights, I noticed the same little evils that I had done to her. One earring from a pair, missing. My tea leaves, mixed together. And at the end of it – a key.

A very, very important key.

How she found it, how I didn't notice, how my servants didn't notice, was a complete mystery. But she found it, I knew she found it. And when I finally wrenched open the drawer, when I finally opened the hidden box in the back of the drawer – it was gone.

---

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Where is what?”

“Don't lie to me. You know what I mean.”

Tar-Míriel smiled. “So I guessed right?” She took the ring out of her pocket – her pocket – and spun it between her fingers. “Do you want to make me your queen or not?”

“Touche, my love.”

“Don't lie to me. You never loved me. You just wanted what I could give you. Now I'll tell you what I want. Make me your queen, and I won't tell Ar-Pharazôn our little secret.”

“If you tell him, it'll be your death.”

“And maybe yours as well.”

I chuckled. The ring couldn't have found a better master. “I underestimated you. Fine. Keep it. Just remember – in the end, you are my queen.”

Tar-Míriel tries to seduce Tar-Mairon so he’ll help her become queen and Tar-Mairon takes this opportunity to seduce Tar-Míriel so she won’t interfere with his plans and they go around pretending to like each other like the opposite of mutual pining

[coquettepascal]

felicitas and her general

summary: general acacius has caught your attention after being the first mortal to worship you in decades. you only face one challenge: don't get too attached.

warnings: rated g, contains spoilers for gladiator ii, follows the timeline of the movie somewhat, reader is the goddess felicitas (who is the goddess of good luck,) this fic is basically just an add on to the movie.

tags: goddess!reader x general acacius, emotional infidelity, lots of roman mythology stuff, writer is basing all her knowledge out of what she remembers from PJO and HoO, worship, complicated feelings, marcus does not cheat on lucilla physically, yearning, pining, grieving, guilt, major character death(s), stalking (kind of), a lot of obsession/dedication, angst, hurt no comfort but also hurt with comfort.

a/n: i watched gladiator ii and then was too emotionally devastated to finish this fic the way i planned. i really hope you all like this!! also, this fic is also dedicated to my dear friend @pascalssbabyy because she is my biggest cheerleader and i love her <33

wc: 7.2k (not beta read)

It was he who woke you.

A quiet sacrifice in the evening that felt like the freshest breath of air you could have, more intense than what you could have atop any mountain, near any spring. The scent of burning meat and smokey vegetables grasped at your lungs, and you almost choked on it. How long had it been since someone had offered you something so kind? Real food, not just scraps of something they didn’t wish for. 

You’d never complain about how difficult it is to be a minor Goddess, you know that you could be a mortal, but most don’t think of how Gods can fade. It’s a physical process, one where you’d notice how your fingertips passed through things like chalices and bowls, how a spoon slid through your hand once. The clatter of gold on the table was embarrassing, even though you were alone. Nothing about being forgotten, or fading, physically hurt. It was only mentally taxing, knowing that you weren’t as important as you once were, that mortals found you insignificant.

Generals used to come and offer things frequently sometime ago, but you couldn’t even begin to understand how long ago that was. When you’re immortal, or supposed to be, mortal lives seem fleeting. You had taken them for granted, and regret it now, for all you have now are the empty clouds above your temple. 

The last offering you can gather was from a young boy, who wanted to win a board game against his sister the next day. He had given you half a bun with strips of meat. Sure, it was thoughtful, but this was something rich. 

You finish inhaling the offering, and then hear the offerer's voice. But it’s muffled, and you want to see who it is anyways, so you swipe through the clouds and create a window to see. Then you can hear him clearly.

Someone who is clearly a general kneels at your altar, which is chipped and dirty. The ashes of the food are in front of him, smoking still, and you can taste the wealth in his meal. It can’t distract you from him though, he is striking.

Broad shoulders support a heavy, curly, grey, head of hair, which is bowed in honor of you. His body is widely built, sturdy for battle, and his voice is just as powerful. You’re so focused on hearing his voice you only catch the tail end of his request.

“... Allow me to come home safely, if not for Rome, then for my wife.”

Your heart squeezes, and you swear you can feel the ichor gushing through your veins. Scarcely when a General came to give you an offering all those years ago would he mention a wife, only ever wishing for luck in the upcoming battle or war. But here, now, you’ve been given a respectful request and offering. It isn’t a thought in your mind to not favor him now, your eyes closing and your mouth murmuring a blessing to him. It feels intoxicating to use some of your power again, especially on someone who asked for it. It also feels intoxicating to watch this General leave.

He looks around before he goes, seeming to note how degraded your small temple has become. The statue of you that lies ahead of your altar is yellowing, and ironically, multiple fingers have broken off. The General seems displeased by this, sighing as he exits the temple.

His gait is heavy, sandaled steps weighted as he walks down them and into the torch-lit night. You find yourself looking for him even after he’s disappeared from your sight, the warmth of gratefulness hugging around you. Part of you knows better than to play around with the thought, but still you wish to know more about him.

—

It worsens when he comes back. A few times a week he returns, offering rich foods. It’s been a month now, and you are coming back to life.

Fading didn’t feel like anything, but coming back feels like so much more. The first few offerings had your body feeling alight again, like the ichor in you was flowing again, but within the last two weeks you’ve gotten your fingertips back. They were tingling for a day and then the next you were able to properly grasp things again, nothing was slipping through you.

In that time you had also learned his name. A guard had come looking for him one night, and stood behind him whilst he prayed. You had found yourself smiling when he didn’t interrupt himself, instead acting aggravated once he had finished. The guard had apologized for interrupting and let him know that “Your wife wishes to speak to you, General Acacius.”

Acacius. 

You still don’t know his first name, but it is enough. You can think of it when you feel lonely, when you are bored. Something to associate with the offerings, with the blessings. The fact he has been so consistent hints at a desperation, which would usually repel you from blessing him, but he is the only one who seems to recognize you. His efforts are not going to go unseen by you, not when you have so little to do.

You can feel yourself conceding to your need to know him more, but just as you begin to fight yourself again, he shows up.

Tonight he’s dressed a little nicer. Usually he arrives in a plain tunic but this one has golden trim on it, and his hair is a little more tousled. He stumbles into your altar holding something in a cloth, but he’s walking like he’s… drunk? 

Acacius meanders to your altar, grabbing a torch along the way, and then empties the contents of the cloth. It produces a small dessert bun, a Libum, or honey cheesecake, and your mouth waters. So much of the food that is given to you is savory meats, masculine foods that are heavy on the senses, but this is sweet and delicate. You can, of course, eat whatever you’d like. You’re a Goddess, and though you aren’t major, you are still very fortunate.

But this feels thoughtful.

The General drops to his knees after lighting the bun ablaze, swaying slightly, and now you know he must be drunk.

“Goddess Felicitas,” he begins as normal, “I am sorry I am later than usual. Though I don’t know if Goddesses sleep. I was… caught up in other affairs, but I made it in time.”

He is less eloquent than usual and seems particularly focused on how it is nearly past midnight.

“I brought you this though,” he gestures to the half burnt bun. “I wanted to bring you something different than meat and… things. I thought a dessert would be fitting for that task.”

Acacius pauses now. His thoughts are probably muddled from whatever he drank, and you find yourself smiling. Foolery has never been so endearing to you.

“You have been listening to me, I suppose. My requests for luck in battle have been answered, as well as my safety being ensured. Your blessings have brought my wife peace of mind, something I could not previously afford to her.”

He looks so small in your temple tonight. Normally he is not so vulnerable, but his shoulders sag as he mentions his wife. Some sort of shame runs over him at the idea that he could not ease his wife’s worries, but it makes you feel better that you could help. 

“Goddess Felicitas, I come here tonight bearing no requests, just gratitude. Your blessings have soothed wounds I could not see, and I feel like a young soldier again. You invigor me.” 

Then, he leaves. 

You watch helplessly as he stumbles back down the steps and away from your temple, and more than ever you wish to chase him. The love he has for his wife is clear, and you hold no jealousy of that, but you wish it were you. Something in you is deeply attached to this General now. He has awoken you so much more than rekindling your power as a goddess, more than releasing you from the grief that comes with fading. Yes, Acacius has made your heart beat again, your mind curious again, and you feel seen. Being worshipped is not the same as being loved, if that were true you’d have had many children by now, 

But after so long being forgotten, this feels like what you remember being loved as.

—

You try not to interact with the other Gods for the most part. They tend to meddle in things they don’t need to, and are sensitive. You are not exempt from this stereotype, but that’s only more reason for the distance. 

But today, you venture to meet another deity.

Morpheus is not hard to find. He is pretty stationery where he is, usually lounging on a rock or bench near his temple, or above it in the clouds. He is a bit…dramatic, from what you remember, but wise. 

Today he is stretched out on a cloud above his temple, eyes shut. His pale skin stretches taut on his bones as his lean frame breathes deeply. But, he is not asleep. 

“Morpheus,” you speak. 

His body rolls toward your direction, eyes still shut, but a small smile on his face.

“O young goddess Felicitas, what brings you to me?” He questions.

It’s hard not to feel embarrassed. You’ve spoken to Morpheus on very rare occasions, but he’s always been somewhat helpful, though nosy. Dreams tell a lot about people, and when he’s the one giving them to people, it’s hard to hide anything at all.

You don’t want him to know of your true affection for General Acacius, just that he is… worthy of a visit. 

And so you begin to describe it to Morpheus, your need to visit Acacius. He doesn’t open his eyes at all, but he raises his eyebrows a lot and seems bemused at your situation. You’re only halfway through your rambling before he raises a gangly limb and waves at your words.

“Felicitas, you think you are the only Goddess wishing to visit her admirer? You need no explanation,” he says jovially. 

Morpheus reaches into the air and pulls 6 black berries into existence, then drops them into your open palm.

“When you know he is asleep, bite down on one of these and think of him,” he describes to you.

The berries smell like nothing, but a powdery residue is left on your skin as you roll them in your palm. It doesn’t repel you at all.

Tonight, you will visit him and express the same gratitude he did to you. 

—

Marcus lays next to his wife, Lucilla, with her hand in his. She fell asleep sometime ago, leaving him to lie awake by himself.

He didn’t make it to her temple tonight and the guilt is festering in his body. Marcus knows that she is a Goddess, that he probably isn’t a thought in her mind. He knows that he is just another whiney mortal, giving her food that isn’t nearly as good as whatever Gods eat. His insignificance grows as he feeds into his guilt. 

Stress has permeated his life for much of it, from his time as a young soldier up until now, as a General. Battles, politics, and his family, have created a breeding ground for him to be wracked with anxieties, but he stays strong. Thanks to his time in Felicitas temple, it’s been better.

Which is why failing to make it to her temple tonight is making him feel so bad.

He grabs at the linen sheets of his bed, stressing and trying to reassure himself until he falls asleep finally.

—

Being in a dream is weird. It feels much the same as it does when you disguise yourself as a mortal, the out of body experience is semi-familiar, but it’s weird because someone else is there.

You’ve been watching the General enjoy the lake in front of him for a few minutes now. He hasn’t slipped into it, but just walks along the waterline. It seems like he is looking for something. Surely his dreams usually contain more action, or perhaps are memories, so you assume it may be strangely understimulating for him.

The appearance you’ve chosen is one of modesty, but elegance. A seafoam green peplos hangs off your frame delicately, with golden clasps at the wrists and waist. You did your hair so it would be tucked out of your face. There is no guarantee that Acacius will recognize you like this, but you look much like your statue that’s within your temple.

Swallowing your nerves, you shimmer yourself into visibility. The grassy field is odd beneath your feet, and you walk toward him with uncertainty in each step. You’ve never met with a mortal before, and you haven’t stepped on anything earthy in a long while. His broad stature only becomes more daunting as you get closer, especially since he seems so focused.

You will have to speak first. You’re much too quiet in this environment, and you must act fast lest he wake before you get his attention.

“General Acacius,” you speak firmly, though your hands shake. 

This is so unfamiliar to you. You’ve barely even seen his face, as he’s usually bowed at your altar. It is the first time you’ll see him at an equal level, the first time you’ll have brought yourself to him rather than him to you. 

He turns quickly, an instinctual aggressiveness toward the unknown. You stand about 10 feet from him, eyes widening.

Acacius is striking. His nose is what you focus on first, strong in shape and line, but behind it are his eyes which look to you with wide acknowledgement. His hair curls around his head in greying ringlets, like a permanent laurel crowning him. The wide expanse of his back was once impressive, but now you can see the solid wall which he becomes when facing you. Nothing could push him over it seems, a man built to stand.

Your heart squeezes the way it did the first time he gave you a request, a tender rush tingling your whole body. No words come out of either of your mouths, and the General drops to one knee instantly. 

He recognizes you.

“Goddess Felicitas,” he rushes out in a breath. His chest is heaving as he bows his head and no, no this isn’t how you want this.

Your feet are moving before you can focus on your anxiety, bringing you so close to him that you can kneel too. Maybe a goddess should not kneel before a mortal general, but you are just on your knees rather than putting yourself below him. Your peplos billows a little as air rushes through it when you hit the grass.

He is above you like this, and you tilt your head to see his face again. His strong brow is furrowed, eyes squeezed shut like he is afraid of you. 

“Acacius,” you say softly, “I am not here for… for ill reason. Please relax yourself.”

You lean back as he relaxes, head tipping upwards as he kneels in front of you as well. Now you can meet his eyes, see the crinkles that are beside them, and really take him in.

An energy of anxiety is shared wordlessly, with him stiff from the sight of a literal goddess, and you with the fear of… something. 

The identity of your anxieties isn’t something that you can figure out. Maybe it’s too much to see such a handsome mortal, or maybe it’s that you’re going to thank him for his offerings so personally. Maybe it’s humiliation from this act. What would other Gods think of this? Is it not degrading to become so attached to a mortal? Are you no better than Zeus or Hermes, the gods who interact too intimately with mortals? 

The sound of his labored breathing alerts you, calls your attention back to the present moment. 

“I wanted to thank you,” you admit meekly, “for your offerings. You have been very generous and… devoted.”

His eyes are shifty, and you can see the terror in him still. You don’t want him to fear you, but you can understand why. Visits from Gods or other deities can mean trouble, but you aren’t significant like that.

“General Acacius you are the first mortal who has acknowledged me in a long time,” you offer a vulnerability, perhaps trying to soothe him.

It feels so backwards for you to be kneeling in front of him, speaking. He has done so in front of your altar for many weeks now, but now the spots are switched, yet you are still in power. You avert your gaze as you speak up, wanting to request something of him.

“You’ve been so generous to me, General, I was hoping to know more about you.”

And now, rather than scared, he seems suspicious. 

“To know me?” He clarifies. 

You nod.

“I only know your last name. I think I could offer more luck and splendor if we were more… personal.” 

Gods that felt awful to say. You’re no better than the whorish brutes on their thrones, offering petty glories for intimacy. Everything feels flirtatious but that’s not what you’re looking for. Acacius has a wife he clearly loves, you would never want to interrupt that. 

He seems to hesitate, but he knows he cannot refuse you. So far your blessings have brought ease to his life, he wouldn’t want to lose that.

“Then… yes, I suppose I can offer myself if it would please you.” He responds stoically. 

And it does please you, to know his name. Marcus Acacius, the one who woke you, the one who has saved you from being a fragmented memory within the temples. 

Marcus Acacius, who you are too fond of.

—

You visit him 3 more times. In an attempt to space out the usage of the berries Morpheus gave you, you only visit him once a week. The bleak tasting berries are sour on your tongue, a rotten sour which lingers once you wake up, but it’s worth it.

The two of you have grown closer, with Marcus opening up more. He tells you about the stresses in his life, how much anxiety is buried in him. But, he’s confident for the sake of his wife. You’ve learned that her name is Lucilla, and much more about her. Marcus talks about her a lot, in passing or retelling something she told him. In the small amount of time you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve gotten to know her as well.

It burns you with a strange warmth, a desire and envy which makes your stomach growl. You are hungry for him to admire you in the same way, to speak of you, but doesn’t he already? Shame grips your throat when you think of it. You are a Goddess who he sacrifices to, who he wishes to have blessings from. What more do you need? A mortal couldn't offer you what another deity could. 

After the fourth meeting, you found yourself lonely. Lazing back in the clouds above your temple, you woke with a deep hunger. Marcus is beautiful, an admirable man, and he loves passionately. You are already being such a glutton for even speaking with him, meeting with him repeatedly, so why must you yearn for him too? 

Worship isn’t enough, you want what you will never let yourself to have.

Nothing hints that he might feel similarly. His starry gaze which lands on you is not due to your beauty, your personality, or anything more. You have blessed him, and that is why his eyes glitter. Goddess status has never made you feel so low and isolated. Still, you are happy to help him achieve what he wishes, even as it cripples your heart.

Tonight you plan on visiting him. That fourth visit was a week and a half ago, he may be wondering where you are. He still comes to your altar each night, but the prayers are less personal. Marcus saves his stories and ramblings for when the two of you are in the field, or near the lake, when the two of you are really alone.

—

You bite into the berry at around midnight. Its tangy yet death-tasting juice floods your mouth, clinging to the crevices between your teeth and staining your gums. Closing your eyes, you think of Marcus, and his curls, and his eyes, and his nose, and his strong hands.

And then you are there, and he is waiting. 

It seems like his subconsciousness has picked to be at the lake today, and he’s sat in the sand at the edge of the water. You walk over to him, but notice how… down he appears to be.

“She is not happy with me,” Marcus confesses before you even sit down.

You stand a few feet back from him, looking at how his curls fall around his bowed head.

“Lucilla?” You ask softly.

He nods.

A wicked feeling begins to steep in your heart. She is upset with him, he is in need of you for something more than a blessing. 

And so you listen. 

It’s one of the longer meetings the two of you have had. Marcus doesn’t cry, but he seems truly upset. He’s been called to go off somewhere far again, to fight and kill. Reassurances that you will protect him as best you can only soothe him so much. 

He doesn't care if he dies, he cares that his beloved is distraught over this. 

The more the two of you talk, the closer you get. There are marks on the sand from where you originally sat, but now you kneel in front of him, with creased brows and worried eyes. This isn’t something you can fix, you aren’t familiar with love and its intricacies. 

His knees were tucked closer to his chest before, but they’ve loosened now and his fists rest atop them, clenching. Frustration sits on his face like a mask, one you wish to take off him.

Touching is not… something either of you partake in. Sometimes your shoulders will brush when you sit together, but nothing more has ever been initiated. 

That is why it doesn’t surprise you when he flinches as your hand reaches out to rest on top of his right clenched fist. 

“Marcus,” you say softly, wanting to offer comfort, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t,” he replies swiftly.

At first it hurts, watching as he waves off your hand from his own, but then you look at his face rather than where your hands were joined. The frustrated look on his face is gone, replaced with something worse, something guilty. His eyes aren’t glittering at you like usual, nor are they hardened with anger.

They’re soft pools of conflict that mirror your own.

It doesn’t soothe your burn, satiate your envy. You can see in his eyes that maybe you aren’t alone in these feelings of admiration, of want, but maybe this is not what you want.

Maybe you want a different universe, one where he doesn’t have to be a mortal and you, a Goddess. So you wouldn’t have to worry about him dying, and have this friendship survive off death flavored berries. Maybe you want a universe where he isn’t married, where he could be yours and you wouldn’t feel like a spectator to his heart.

Maybe you want that, but you won’t get it.

Instead the flames of jealousy die in your chest and are replaced with tumors of guilt. Your whole body feels bloated, embarrassed, and ugly. 

The pair of you stare at each other, a stupid realization between the both of you as you realize that your secrets have been spilled, even though it’s the same one.

His eyes don’t move from yours, so you move from his.

The sandy edge of the lake does not look so bright now, even though there are no clouds in Marcus’s dream. 

“When do you leave?” You ask softly. 

You will not follow him into whatever battle he’ll win. Don’t embarrass yourself, Goddess.

He tells you two weeks. You say you’ll see him before then.

Then you wake on a cloud again, with a cavity of guilt in your chest.

—

Marcus wakes alone. 

Lucilla had not wanted to sleep with him that night, choosing to stay elsewhere. She didn’t tell him where, she left in a quiet flurry of tears and anguish.

It’s easier for him to feel guilt over his Goddess than it is to hurt his beloved, even if it is the same.

In a moment of frustration he grasps at the sheets, turning over and biting at his pillow. The bed is so cold, and the room smells like stale air even though the window is open, the night breezy. 

He knows she is beautiful because she is a Goddess. All Goddesses are beautiful, ethereal beings that mortals cannot even comprehend at times. Marcus knows he is lucky to even perceive her, for her to have chosen to visit him.

Yet through all her blessings, he feels cursed.

A plague of emotional infidelity is crawling through his body, sticking to his bones and making him stiff. Everything he does has felt flat for so long, from pretending he is grateful to the Emperors, to now pretending nothing is wrong in his marriage. He’s scared, and exhausted.

Marcus rubs a hand over his face after rolling over and sitting up in bed, groaning into his palm. 

At first he tried to blame her for it. What would a Goddess want from a successful General other than a demigod hero son? What could truly be so special about him? He assumed she was manipulating him, using some sort of power to morph his heart, but now he knows it is not true.

If she had wanted to, she would have had him by now, and he knows this. If she had wanted to, her hand would have stayed where it was tonight, and pushed him further. It isn’t unlike the Gods to force themselves on a mortal, but she didn’t.

Instead, his hand feels hot where hers rested, and his mind is spinning. 

Marcus doesn’t fall asleep again, afraid that he’ll see her. 

—

You wait for a full two weeks before you visit him again. He had been coming to your temple less, and you had assumed he was busy with preparations for the coming battle. 

The stubbornness you felt that night has not left you. At first you did not leave your temple in fear that you would grow attached, now you remain there because you have grown attached. 

“Enough is enough,” you had thought to yourself. 

But it is hard not to miss him, and his soothing prayers. The way his offerings tasted of smoke and sweet, and how he’d always burn such a large portion. Marcus never gave you scraps, he seemed to refuse to. 

However, you can only distance yourself so far. 

It is quiet when you approach him. He is sitting in the field this time, the lake a distant glitter in your eyes. He does not face you, but his head isn’t bowed like before.

“Marcus,” you greet, your voice muted.

He raises his head, turning over his shoulder and nodding, as if to direct you to come closer, and so you do.

Tonight’s visit isn’t vulnerable, or even pleasant. Marcus seems so distant as he dryly tells you about how he’s preparing, and his wishes to return safely. His eyes barely meet your own as he talks, and he continuously twists the ring on his finger.

It grows tiring, watching him ramble about politics you could care less about, listening to him say things that have nothing to do with him. He’s so far from the friend you thought you had made. When the air between you goes quiet, you don’t fill it for a while. You listen to the sound of the wind in the grass as his eyes still will not meet yours. It’s breaking you apart.

This is the last night you’re able to visit him, unless you visit Morpheus again. You will not waste it like this.

“What is ailing you, General?” You ask, deciding to prod more than you usually do.

To your surprise, he scoffs in light laughter.

“You,” he responds quietly.

His words don’t hurt, at least not yet. You have the option to walk away now, wake yourself and leave him with his final blessings, but of course you don’t.

“Me?” You ask, “what have I done?”

Marcus rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head to look into the everblue sky above the both of you.

“You have made my life difficult, Goddess.”

Difficult? You have made his life difficult?

You have half a mind to tear him to pieces, curse him with something awful like snakes for toes, or spoons for teeth. After all that you’ve done for him, all the safety you’ve provided, he is telling you that you make things difficult? How dare he? Be outraged, Goddess, for he disrespects the holy luck which you bestowed to him.

That’s what you should think, that’s how most of you should feel.

But instead you feel small, and hurt. Yes, he is disrespecting all that you’ve given, but also you feel like a failure. Your physical existence is because of him, because he did not let you fade. All you wanted to do was make his life easier, help him to have an eased mind and a safer life.

But instead, he’s telling you you’re difficult.

It feels like your body is shrinking in the white peplos you’ve worn, the sheer fabrics swallowing you. Shame is flooding in the form of tears behind your eyes, wetting your orbs with an unexpected outburst of emotion.

“I am sorry,” you manage weakly.

Marcus does not look at you while you cry, and you want to believe it is because he cares too much to watch, but you cannot verify that.

The wind picks up again, but it does nothing to hide the soft cries you can’t hold back. Once you were a fading Goddess, now you are just a failing one.

There is no luck involved with love.

Eventually he speaks again, with his head turned away from you.

“I am sorry too,” he says. There’s a finality in his tone that makes you ache.

So much is said in such little words. He is sorry to you, for you, and with you. A sorrow is shared between the two of you, knowing that your hearts ache for one another as they are worlds apart yet on earth together. 

This last berry was only supposed to mark the end of your visits, not the end of everything. It feels like this is all there is for the two of you, since it’s too complicated to continue on like this.

That’s why he doesn’t move away when you move closer and rest your head on his shoulder as tears leak down your cheeks, or at least that’s what you’ll believe. 

—

Time moves weirdly when you’re immortal, but it all happens so quickly.

Marcus stopped coming to offer things for you, and so you were blessing him less. Admittedly you had kept an eye on him, but not a keen one. It didn’t feel right, not when you and him weren’t… friends anymore.

But this feels too soon, too fast, too unfamiliar. Has your sadness caused you to be blind?

You watch as a man kneels in front of Marcus, panting and bloody with a sword beside him on the ground.

The only reason you are here was because you had felt the roar of a crowd all the way at your own temple, a wide distance away. It had drawn you in, and instead you had found this.

That roaring which you had heard crescendos to a new height around you as you shimmer into existence, cloaking yourself to the mortal eyes in the stands of the coliseum, but existing enough to touch him.

Arrows stick out of his front, more crushed beneath his back, as he is slumped on the white, gravel, ground. His hair is curled with tacky blood streaking through it, and he is so, so, still.

You drag your hand across his forehead, feeling the remaining heat, and in the echo of the crowd you begin to sob. 

Everything around you is moving, changing, fighting, and screaming, but you sit invisible in the center of the coliseum, running your hands over the now dead General Acacius. There is nothing you can do to bring him back, to ease Lucilla, to save him and apologize. He is dead beneath your fingers, with arrows lodged deep in his irreparable, mortal, flesh. 

You were supposed to keep him safe.

Hot tears run down your cheeks as you keep grasping at his armor, unable to move him or yourself. The last visit felt official, but this feels final. There is nothing more for you here, no friendship in a corpse.

Thoughts are running through your mind at the rate that your breath is puffing from your chest. The question of where he will end up in the afterlife is overwhelming you, and the chance for him to go to Elysium feels reasonable. It’s where he should be, where he deserves to go, especially after all he had done for Rome. You don’t even care why he’s here, or why he seems to have been brutally killed, but after the time you spent with him, Elysium seems right for him.

—

It’s where he should be. Elysium is where he should be.

And it’s where you find him.

His place there is somewhat similar to his and Lucilla’s home back in the mortal world, with lush greenery and airy drapes that flutter in various colours. It seems like he has left space for Lucilla here too, with space left in the chests for her things, and a permanently made half of the bed.

Elysium offers a true celebration of life for heroes, demigodly or not, and you’re sure Marcus has been enjoying that. Anything that he had been shackled to in his mortal life was gone now, and it seems that all he would have to miss is his wife. 

Most of your time is spent there, in his afterlife home. You peer from behind curtains when he comes back, hidden in drapes and keeping yourself small. 

He is already dead, but after the last time you abandoned him, you cannot bear to leave him alone again.

The vision of him, bloodied and murdered on the coliseum floor, flickers into your mind every time you see him lying in his bed. It’s an obsession to be near him, to be looking after him. Pluto might not even know you’re down here anymore, but what does it matter?

Marcus Acacius was the last living mortal to worship you. In the underworld, you are beginning to fade. Your fingers are slipping from you again, which is making it easier to lurk near him, but it is a painful process.

You want to speak to him. No longer do you yearn for his love, not after being in his home and seeing how dedicated his heart truly is to Lucilla, but you yearn to speak to him again. A panicked emotion runs through you at the thought of fading alone, of being entirely forgotten. 

It didn’t matter before he died, fading was just something bound to happen, but now it’s more. Is he forgetting you?

—

You’ve lost most of your arms by the time you work up the courage to speak up. Lucilla arrived sometime ago, joining Marcus in the afterlife. Watching them together brought some warmth to you, some kind of happiness that you couldn’t have for yourself, but seeing it for him was enough.

You sit on the terrace of their home, invisible to their eyes, and somewhat to your own. From the tips of your fingers to just below your elbows, you are a specter. Grey shadow fills where your limbs used to be, and they pass through all objects. You couldn’t tap his shoulder if you tried.

Oftentimes you sit, hidden, and ponder by yourself about more than Marcus. There were so many things you were adamant about when he was alive, and you regret it all now. Your determination to avoid your feelings, or at least not show them, and your need to not become attached… it bites at you now, a stinging, grieving, venom, that won’t leave. Your status as a Goddess blinded you to how tender that friendship could have been, and now you sit as a ghost spectator to his afterlife, obsessed with a mortal as a fading immortal. 

The tips of your fingers pass through the glass you try to grab as you think of this on the terrace. You’re glad that you’re such a minor deity, so at least you do not have to feel so humiliated about fading. A smile has just graced your face as you feel blessed for being so unimportant you can essentially stalk this mortal, when suddenly his voice cuts through the humid air of the space.

“Felicitas?” Marcus’ voice asks.

It’s so hesitant that you think you’re imagining it. You thought you had their home to yourself right now, thinking they had gone to do… whatever souls do in Elysium, but when you turn your face, he is there.

Marcus has not worn fancy clothing in a long while now, and right now is no different. He stands before you in a plain looking tunic, which just graces his knees. To see him at ease has been so nice, but he looks distressed at your sudden appearance.

You cannot find your voice as you awkwardly stand up, trying to think quickly. There is no good way to explain what you’re doing here, hidden away in him and his wife’s home. You could just vanish into thin air, but that feels wrong. He has seen you already, any attempts at pretending you aren’t here would be ridiculous.

His eyes scroll from your face down to your arms, and the smoking shadows that used to be there. Concern pinches onto his face with knitted brows and pressed together lips.

Something in you wants him to turn away, so you don’t have to think about why he is worried for you, even after all the trouble you caused, but he doesn’t.

His sandaled steps are heavy as he comes to you, reaching for your hands but finding the gesture fruitless as his own slip right through yours.

“Dulcissima,” he speaks weakly, shock woven in his words.

You had told him about fading a little while ago, when the two of you were in that field. Now it seems the severity of it has hit him.

What is hitting you is the name. Dulcissima, or sweetest. How long had it been since you had been referred to so fondly? All at once you are being remembered, recognized, and shown some affection. It feels like too much and tears are falling out of your control.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, “I was supposed to– to keep you safe.”

Marcus is shaking his head already, refusing your apology.

“No, no. You did keep me safe, you did. I pushed you away, I couldn’t control myself and I caused this,” he argues. 

It does not comfort you that you both blame yourselves. You wish to reach out to him and touch his face like you should have when he was warm and alive. You want to know if he is cold now, and it’s as if he hears you.

Marcus places a hand on your cheek, a softness in his eyes and hold that says that he missed you.

“I saw you,” he claims, “when I was on the ground. You were the last thing I saw.”

Somewhere between life and death for mortals, there are moments of godly clarity. Some see the light, others see their families and memories, but in that tiny glimpse of time, some see Gods. 

He was able to see you as you knelt over him, sobbing as you were cloaked to any mortal's naked eye.  You were the last thing he saw, and the last thing he truly regretted. 

All you can do is stiltedly nod at him, feeling like you were in trouble even though it seems he’s not upset.

For a moment, his eyes flick away, contemplative, but then he meets your gaze again.

“I told Lucilla of you, before I died. Not– not of my feelings which I struggled with, but that you were a close friend, a blessing in many ways.”

A blessing in many ways.

Another choked sob is wracked from your chest, your bottom lip curling out embarrassingly as your face contorts. He almost coos at you, the thumb on your cheek rubbing away your tears.

“Goddess, I have missed you,” he admits. 

Stupid nods are all you can offer, your voice imprisoned in your ever tightening throat which cries. When he was alive he was never this tender, too confused and insecure to ever touch you, but it seems he has been regretting things too.

“Felicitas,” he says quietly, “do you come here for ill reason?”

You shake your head this time, rather than nodding. You have no reason to be here, other than the fact that guilt has taken over your mind and heart since he died.

“Then relax, dulcissima. I have an offering for you.”

Marcus relaxes his stature, eyes still gazing over you. He looks at your fading palms and you watch him swallow nervously.

“I will worship you again, lending you offerings here, and all I ask in return is for our friendship again.”

It’s the opposite of how you met, almost completely, but it’s everything you need. You will not fade, he will not struggle in marriage, and you will have one another again. 

Again, you are nodding stupidly, but soon you’re embraced by him and nodding into his chest. His hands grasp at your back as he tells you how much he missed you in his final weeks, how he regrets losing you entirely, how he requires you as a friend. 

You are satiated in his arms as he comforts you, awakening you again there on the terrace. Unbeknownst to you, Marcus has let tears slip down too as he holds you close. 

“You will keep me safe here?” he asks jokingly.

It makes you smile, the idea of offering luck to a man who already died.

“Yes, General. I will keep you safe here, from all the horrifying glory and splendor,” you assure.

The two of you laugh, breaking the embrace but staying close. A passionate connection is still between the two of you, but in a different way now. Maybe when he was alive it was romantic because it is all you could think of, but through his death the two of you have come to understand it more. 

You require one another in a unique way, and leaning on one another does not have to be intimate the way he is with his wife. Marcus does need you, just as you need him, and now that you are both immortal in a way, you will never be separated again.

please leave a comment, like, reblog, askbox, or ANYTHING. i'd love to hear thoughts on this <33

tags (people who seemed excited for this) (sorry if these dont work)

@pascalssbabyy , @moonshapedflan , @gossipgirl-03 , @kyloispunk , @frannyzooey , @coocoolahh , @bug-boy32 , @honeymarvel , @magicalmorg , @1deakybass , @tuquoquebrute , @harryshousewhore , @teeagain, @chewie-bars , @vampyyweek , @queenslandlover-93 , @amijenn , @aquanatalie

[jifloulette]

it was foolish enough that you fell for his trap, but now you know how to play the game — no way were you going to let him win.

what ? . . . hcs of blue lock men reacting to what you did the second you found out about their hidden affairs. who ? . . . shidou ryusei, reo mikage, itoshi sae warnings ? . . . swear words, reader is a diva, toxic men, cheating

SHIDOU RYUSEI !

The second you found out he cheated on you through a call he had with his so called “manager” when he was stepping out of your shared house, saying things like “don’t worry, babe.. y/n’s dumb as fuck. they’ll never know.” — you really didn’t mean to eavesdrop but when you heard him mentioning your name it got you curious. And like what they say, curiosity killed the cat.

It was safe to say you had your fair share of cries and screaming that night. Not because you were sad — well you might’ve been but it was mostly due to anger. Why couldn't you stop the tears flowing down your face and your eyes from going blurry when you knew this was always going to happen? He just dated you for clout. Swarms and swarms of fans came flocking to him so in order for them to stop, he chose to love one of them. You were just an easy victim.

You were oblivious to his plan to keep you with him for his own good at first but his actions inside and outside of the home you two shared showed that he really couldn’t care less about you.

You went from always asking him if he ate, packing him lunch, “i love you” messages daily to barely doing the bare minimum in a relationship.

You weren’t lying if you said that you did want Ryusei to notice about the change in your behavior recently — to reassure you that he genuinely loved you. Adding that it was a honest mistake and he’d try to change.

It was a stupid thought really. How delusional did you have to be to think that? Looking at the man who you once loved so sickly makes your blood boil knowing about his true intention about being with you was.

So when an article blows up about Ryusei getting caught by paparazzi making out another with another woman in a soccer event of his, you could only laugh bitterly.

You immediately packed your things, a medium-sized white luggage and a black duffel bag ready to go. You didn’t pack all of them, some of your trinkets and clothes were things he gave to you because of how “special” you were to him. It irked you knowing that he only gave it to you out in public, never in private.

So imagine his surprise when he sees you with your things on the way to your car, immediately running towards you so he could stop you.

He hugged you tightly, it really disgusted you knowing that this man who was holding you in his arms like his life depended on it had touched countless of women too. 

You could only do so much to push the behemoth of a man off you before laughing hysterically at how he looked so pathetic.

You told him to drop the act because you already knew what you meant to him. You were nothing more than someone who he used for his own comfort and privileges. You were a backburner, a rebound, a temporary person in his life full of fame and soccer.

He pleaded for you to hear him out so you let him, at least wanting to hear what this pitiful excuse the man in front of you had.

“Please don’t leave, y/n..! It was just a small mistake, she came onto me! I was drunk, I couldn’t do anything.. please I can’t live without you. You know everything I need, you know what to say and what to do. You’re everything I have besides soccer, I’ll be damned if you leave me.” 

You could almost feel like cussing the man out in front of you. I mean, the audacity? Saying that you were the love of his life, that he can’t live without you? It’s almost as if he never did anything to you, he was making you seem like the culprit!

You applaud his acting before giving him a nice, good slap to bring him back to his senses. You weren’t stupid, you know more than this feeble man could ever know in his entire life. 

Before leaving, you say something that leaves him speechless. 

“You know? Be glad you chose soccer as your career because you could never cut out for acting. Plus, shouldn’t you be happy that I’m leaving you? You can fuck around all the girls and guys you’d like! Don’t worry, it’s not like I’ll expose you or anything, oh wait! The public already knows.. boohoo”

REO MIKAGE !

You and Reo loved each other more than the two of you could ever know. Everyone knew that. You, Reo, and Nagi were the dynamic trio in your school, everyone saw that. You loved Reo because you just did, not for his popularity, his looks, and his money. 

Well maybe you were considering that last part ever since you discovered that he was fucking around some random girl in your class.

You really only found out when Nagi told you about it after 2 weeks of your boyfriend’s secret affair. Nagi really only knew after he eavesdropped the conversation the girl Reo was cheating on you with, saying that the girl said she was using him for clout and for his money. Something you’d never do to him.

To say you were angry was an understatement, you were fuming. The audacity of this man who you considered to be your first and last to do something as cruel and shitty as this?

So, you did what you had to do. Use his own fears and insecurities against him, being used. You knew it was brutal doing something like this, but was it really that bad compared to what he did to you?

You started off slow, asking him for a few hundred bucks before spending it on your heart’s desires. Reo noticed how most of your conversations was just you blatantly asking him for money before kissing him goodbye. To be honest, he was scared. Not because there was a chance of you using him but because you might’ve known about what he was doing behind your back and you were doing this as revenge.

Then, you started doing something bigger. He gave you free will of his credit card, saying that you deserved to treat yourself because you were his so called “love of his life”. You bought designer brands, buying jewelry that god knows you can’t afford, treating your friends for days and days. You had no thought behind your eyes but to just hurt the taro-haired boy for whatever he's worth.

And when he noticed the fatal drop in his savings, he finally confronted you. You could only really laugh at him for now only noticing your intentions recently.

He became disheartened — but really, who has he to be disappointed in what you did when he had done something much more evil? So when you told him that you knew about his little act, he could feel his heart drop.

He tried telling you that the girl who he supposedly “fucked” was just a bitch who could only create fake rumors but you’re not dumb, he knows that.

Shortly after, he became mad. He was screaming at you as if you started all of this. Victimizing himself, saying that if you really loved him, you would confront and talk to him about it like a normal person.

“You know what y/n?! Fuck you and your shit! If you really loved me, you would’ve done everything you could to keep me by your side! But not, you had to be a cunt about it and hit me with this mess! You know how insecure I am about all of this so w-why..?”

You were flabbergasted at his sudden breakdown — to be honest, you had more right to be mad at him than he was to you! I mean, who cheated in the first place? His father was a billionaire, so why did he care so much?

Likewise, you screamed at him. Telling the teared up boy in front of you that no one could ever love him like you did, adding that everyone who has ever had a crush on him were only after his status and fame.

“Okay, who the fuck are you to talk about shit like this again? The last time I checked, I wasn’t the one who cheated, huh?! So why do you care so much about what I do with your money? You did say that I deserved to treat myself so here I am! Go fuck that litte cunt all your life because all she’ll really love is your money, nothing else. Can you really call yourself a man? It’s funny how you make yourself the victim when I have more right to be mad at you?!”

Not to mention, you and Nagi also had something going on the second you found out about what he did. You told that to him as well, saying that even if Nagi was sloth-like, he took much more care of you than he ever could.

Oh and, the girl he was cheating with you on left him shortly after, her reason being that she had enough money to leave him, lol.

ITOSHI SAE !

People would view your relationship with Sae as destiny, i mean it certainly had to be fate, right? The light pink-haired man really didn’t let anyone in his life except for you. The two of you were happy in the world that you had created for yourselves! Or so you thought.

It turns out that Sae actually never loved you that much, you were just a replacement for his ex. You knew how harsh his past relationship with this girl was and boy, it frustrated you because how did he manage to play with your heart for two whole years?

Your efforts to make him love you didn’t go to waste, right? He did say he “loved” kissing you,  making sure to cuddle you every now and then. But who were you kidding, you could see right through his ice cold heart.

He never loved you for you, you were just an easy target, prey in other words. He knew you couldn’t deny his irresistible charms and fuck, was he right.

You fell for him the second he held your hand that one night in the club. It was a dangerous game to play, the relationship you two had was like russian roulette, except Sae knew where the bullet was. He made sure to let the bullet hit you.

How did you found out a bit, you ask? Well, when the two of you were on the couch, cuddling. He was whispering sweet nothings in your ear. unbeknownst to him, he had accidentally said the name of his ex. He didn’t notice he said it and as the lovestruck person you are, you didn’t say anything. You couldn't afford to confront him and have the possibility of him leaving you.

It happened a little 5-6 times before you really knew that it wasn’t you that was on his mind whenever he was with you, it was his ex. It was always going to be his ex. 

You’ve had cries and screams the moment you created that conclusion. It seemed as if you were pierced through the heart yet you still remained alive.

So, what better way to get revenge than letting him get a taste of his own medicine? Let him think you were cheating on him? Why not make him think you had something going on with his brother?

You had met up with Rin a few times before, but was only usually because he wanted help with something outside of soccer. Sae had seen you with his little brother enough times to know that your intentions to him were good. Even if they aren’t in good terms, he still has to care about him.

You started doing in minimally — only doing it every now and then. But now, it seemed as if you couldn't stop saying his little brother's name, it was like the man holding you as he was caressing your hair was no other than Rin. You wanted him to get hurt, it was the only reason you could think of as why you were still with him.

It's only when Sae had enough that he blew up on you, for the first time in years has he showed true emotions and anger. He was scary when mad, but you were terrifying. How dare he say that you were a bitch for supposedly cheating on him with his little brother?!

But really, you were just giving him a taste of his own medicine. A spoonful of what he was doing to you. If he's doing it to you, it's okay — but when it's you doing the same, you're suddenly the antagonist, the villain?! How narcissistic can someone be?

He was screaming all sorts of swears at you, adding that the only reason he was with you this long was only because you were a mere duplicate of his ex. A mirrored version of her, except you already knew that. It was a useless attack in order for you to get hurt.

"What the actual fuck, y/n? How the hell are you here cuddled up with me when the only person you could think of is my little fucking brother? What?! Did that bastard treat you as good as I did? You know, be glad I'm still here with you because you're nothing more than an exact replica of my ex. Yeah! That's the only reason I'm with you! You're just nothing but a gullible bitch!

To say you were revolted was an understatement, no words could describe the burning hatred you felt towards the pathetic excuse of a man in front of you.

You obviously would never back down from an argument. I mean, you had more reasons to be mad at him than he was to you. As much as you wanted to scream at him back, shout words that would be too harsh to say again, you just stayed quiet. He was throwing whatever was on the bed at you — blankets, pillows, even his own jacket.

You waited for him to cool down before saying your own side of the story. You were never the villain after all, he had to know that.

"I didn't even do shit with Rin, I was only doing the same thing you were doing to me! You think I don't know that your ex was on your mind just right now as we were cuddling? You think I don't know the reason why you're still with me?! I knew at least 2 months ago, the audacity you have to say all sorts of words at me as if I did something wrong? It's no wonder your ex was such a bitch to you!"

Then, you left his house shortly after. but of course, you wanted the public to know as well. Your ig bio had Sae's username tagged in it, which you removed. As well as any posts you had with him on all of your socials.

Let him clean up this mess he had created, let him put the fire he started out. Let the public and paparazzi attack him, asking for questions as to why you did all those actions which seemed as if the two of you were over. You were done with him after all, everyone clearly knew. You had made him do all the 'clearing up', it was his fault after all — why should you have to clean up after him?

©🇯​​🇮​​🇫​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇪​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​, do not steal, translate, or repost any of my writings anywhere else.

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 23 | Fractured Bonds

summary: you and Chris never got along, until your parents forced you to at least attempt to be civil with each other since you’ll be flying out for vacation soon to be on good terms, you were getting along pretty well until a truck comes crashing into you but Chris pushes you out of the way, causing the harsh injuries to himself, suffering a broken leg & two fingers and a slight concussion, making your good relationship crush and crumble, or did it?

warnings: FLUFF&ANGST, car crash, mild swearing, harsh injuries, bleeding, kissing & possibly more!

authors note: hii guys, this fic is inspired by that one episode of Icarly so if y’all think heard something like this than thats your answer, I’m not rlly sure what else to put here my brain is starting to just

Soft chatter mixed with the sweet scent of ice cream fill the air around us, somehow me and Chris managed to be at least civil with each other today and saw each other from a different perspective. Our time together would consist usually of hard banters, arguments and frequent fights between each other, I never had a specific reason on why I dislike Chris so much. It was rather a feeling of knowledge and he just built his whole person around that fact, our feet step and walk down the cement sidewalk in a visible rhythm, stepping their own way instead if trying to sabotage the others step.

“Never would I expect to see you acting like a normal person in front of me,” I conclude all of the thoughts swirling in my mind at once, I’ve learned to enjoy the present day and the things happening in the moment than to constantly worry about the past, a small smile spreads across my face as I look at the moment I’m spending with the person I once called my worst enemy. “Never thought I would see doing something else than trying to rip my hair out.” He jokes, pushing away the slight tense air that had accumulated in the single moment of silence between us before soft chuckles break through it.

I glance over at him, starting to see soft peaks of a side I’ve never thought my eyes would notice of him before which only intensifies my smile, he notices my gaze lingering for longer than it should be and a faint blush hints on his cheeks. “You’re not such a bad person after all, it’s actually pretty nice just talking to you like I would talk to any of my friends.” I confess, tasting my ice cream as the different flavors burst and spread across my taste buds, creating a sugarcoated layer of deliciousness on the outside of my tongue. “I can say the same about you, sweetheart” He teases as he takes a taste of his own ice cream, his expression becoming shadowed with empathy as well as the slightest hint of… attraction?

I couldn’t really tell all of the emotions apart no matter how hard I tried, my mind immediately went to dismiss the small detail as irrelevant and we continue to walk and chat among each other but the happy and safe space that surrounded us soon came to a tragic and sudden end, as we were crossing the street I noticed a pair of truck head lights coming towards me at a ungodly speed, my whole demeanor shifter dramatically from positive to instant feat for my life, just as I was accepting my faith and thought it was too late — a pair of strong arms pushed me out of the way of the truck — I fell on to the hard concrete and caused it to scratch my skin but my eyes look over at Chris who had pushed me out of the way as the reckless truck driver hit his body with full force, it crashing into a nearby ditch as Chris lays on the road like a pathetic roadkill.

My features flood with panic and horror, running over to his now unconscious body with my arms shaking like an earthquake as they spring to the bleeding parts of his body, trying to stop the blood from coming out of the wounds and keep him from bleeding out, “f-fuck! Chris! A-are you-?…” I cut myself off as Ireach into the pocket of my pants with shaky arms to retrieve my phone to call the ambulance or any kind of help I could reach in this moment. As I speak into the phone my voice trembling and slipping over words, the pain evident in my voice while the medical help attempt to calm me down through the phone when they notice how freaked out I am but their attempts don’t work, even though I once considered him as an enemy and we both wished upon our downfall but never actual death.

I wait for the ambulance to come as fast as they can while I try to keep Chris stabilized, heavy tears mixing with the bloody mess on my hands as I go wipe my tear stained cheeks, causing it to catch some of the blood off my hands and transfer onto my face. A quiet curse leaves my mouth as I put my hands over the more severe wounds until I hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance, paramedics rushing over to the scene and taking me and Chris both to the hospital.

- a week after Chris got discharged from the hospital

My eyes flutter open as I stirr awake, my body immediately becoming tense when I sit up on my bed, running a hand through my hair as I search around for my phone to check what time it currently is, the weekend has officially started and my mother has sent me to visit Chris today again. Ever since the accident happened, my mother has told me I need to go visit him as much as I can but every time I do, we just fight over who’s fault it was and other minor things and I would always leave with a slam of his door, it’s like the good relationship we slowly build and started to warm up to each other it just flew right out of our grasp after the accident, I blame myself entirely for it, it shouldn’t have been him who took the fall — it was supposed to be me and not him — and he blames himself for jumping in to save me and took the harsh injuries upon himself.

I get out of bed and slump over to the closet, getting dressed into more appropriate outside clothes before grabbing all of my stuff and walking downstairs to eat something for breakfast before I get going, my mom was already in the kitchen drinking a freshly brewed coffee to wake her up and a cooked breakfast infront of her m, she sees me and glances up from her dish. “You’re going to visit Chris today?” I nod my head, putting my bag down on the counter as I see some left over breakfast. “I left you some breakfast on the stove and eat it before you go.” She informs me and goes back to her own business. I grab a place at put the food on top of it, sitting down at the table I eat my breakfast and get going.

- one car ride later

After a long fifteen minutes of driving to Chris’s house, I finally make it into their driveway and turn off the engine, unbuckling my seatbelt and exiting the car, my feet drift over the stone path as I make my way to the front door and letting myself in. His mom was in the living room, her hands clutching the edges of the newspaper she was currently reading, I give her a welcome nod and she speaks. “There’s a bowl of soup in the kitchen for Chris and since you’re here, could you bring it to him? He can’t constantly walk down the stairs with his broken leg” “Of course I can, Ms. Sturniolo,” I state politely, walking into the kitchen and cradling the bowl in my hands while steadily making my way upstairs to Chris’s room. “Thank you sweetie” I faintly hear Ms. Sturniolo’s voice as I enter the room, Chris sitting up in his bed while reading a random book, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he looks up at me.

“What are you doing here now?” He questions, his face shadowing with confusion and slight annoyance as he puts out the cigarette and drops it into the ashtray on his bedside table. “Are you here to fight with me again? Because if that’s the case then save it for yourself.” He states before putting his nose back into his book, ignoring my presence in the room. I roll my eyes at him, walking up to his bedside table and carefully place the bowl of soup his mom made down next to the other clutter on it, sitting down on the edge of his phone. “I’m not here to fight, can you acknowledge me for a minute or are you going to be stuck in that book forever?” My words make him look up at me, a visible mixture of annoyance with slight empathy in his eyes.

“Then why are you here?” He asks again, putting his book down onto his lap and turning his attention towards me. “I came to visit you, if you haven’t noticed yet” “Your mom forced you again?” “No, understand that I actually care for once.” I speak, the soft undertone of guilt hidden in my tone. “I never wanted this to happen, surely not when we were finally getting along with each other.” I state, fidgeting lightly with my fingers at the thought he did this for me, so I didn’t have to suffer how he is now, my heart aches each time with guilt as I think about what could have originally happened and he seems to notice my deep in thought state. “Can you stop blaming fucking yourself for this? It’s not your fault, I was the one who pushed you out of the way. If it’s anyone’s fault it should be mine,”

He grabs my hand into his to stop my fingers from fighting with each other, his eyes landing on mine and staring deeply into them. “But you shouldn’t have, I should have been the one who suffered, you didn’t deserve this.” The guilt starts to crack through into my voice, being now more evident. “We both blame ourselves for it at the end of the day, and there’s no agreement happening soon with this whatsoever so there’s no point in fighting about this longer.“ I spill out, my mind swirling with a million different thoughts all at once. He doesn’t agree, nor disagree with me, leaving us to just stare deeply into each other’s eyes, the tension becoming more tense by the minute until I decide to break it by capturing his lips into one simple kiss with a deeper, hidden meaning behind it.

I could feel his body freeze in place before he melts right into it, his arm coming to rest around my waist as I feel the soft cold metal on my skin of the embrace his fingers have been encased in, sending a slight shiver down my spine as our lips fight a small battle for who gets to be the best kisser. We pull away eventually and faint pants leave our mouths and mix together from how close we are to each other, “Are we good now?” “Yeah but I was the better kisser for sure” “Who said that?” “I did, and it’s true.” “I call bullshit, I was better” I stand my ground, knowing I was definitely better than him, he smirks and rolls his eyes playfully “Oh you wanna fight? Fine, I’ll give you a little fight” with that said, he pulls me back into now a more fierce and dominant kiss as we fall back on to his bed.

𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🏷️ | @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknott - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - @sturniolosiphone - @sophand4n4 - @zombiesturniolo - @luvleyangeldust - @owensbabygirl - @sturnina - @leoslaboratory |

[heeseungiez]

nothing i don’t have | pjs (1)

pairings! park jongseong x reader, ft. huening kai x reader

summary! it was supposed to be simple, you and jay would fuck whenever either of you felt horny — no feelings. but it was hard not to catch feelings where park jongseong was involved. so you took the easy way out: you ended it.

genre! texts, written fic, college au, love triangle (corner)

word count! 1500

content warnings! swearing, jay is delulu and jealous

author's note! toenze is my new roman empire... i don't think i'll ever shut up about it. also realistically i'm only posting this bc yolo since i have nothing ???

masterlist | next

It didn’t affect Jay anyhow, really. That you ended whatever the two of you had for another guy. Like, this was all just casual. And you still wanted to be friends which was exactly what the two of you were before… so not much had to change between the two of you. Other than, well, the lack of physical intimacy.

He didn’t care, really. It wasn’t like you were the only girl he hooked up with (you were) or that he couldn’t get any other girls, but… you ending the situationship was kind of exactly why he liked you. Because you understood everything was casual and there were no expectations, no feelings. The others, they always got attached.

And, look, Jay understood that maybe he was being too nice or whatever, but it was in his nature to help out when necessary, or to cook for people in the morning — it wasn’t like he made breakfast only for those girls anyway. He had roommates to feed, too.

You ended the deal because you had no feelings for him. Which was exactly what he wanted. So why the fuck did it bother him so much? And for Huening Kai, no less? The tall emo kid that barely spoke and people thought he was being mysterious or whatever.

What could you possibly see in him?

What did he have that Jay didn’t?

Jay let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, eyes still fixated on the conversation between you and him. So Huening Kai asked you out. And you liked him enough to say yes. That was certainly not on his bingo card. Realistically, he thought the type of guys you liked were someone like Sung Hanbin or Choi Soobin or… him. Not Huening Kai. 

What the hell?

“What’s up? Someone steal your cat?” Heeseung entered the shared living room with a grin. Jay had to dryly laugh at the irony of his question since, in a way, yes.

“Nah. It’s Y/N,” Jay replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Wants to be just friends.”

“Damn, got tired of you already?” Heeseung teased, but he knew not to go further when Jay’s scathing glare nearly burned him. “What did she say?”

“Huening Kai asked her out and she said yes.” Jay shook his head. You and Kai weren’t even dating yet, and you already wanted to be exclusive with him? Why? Who even does that?

“Oh, Kai? He’s got music classes with me,” Heeseung said with a grin. “He knows how to play like five instruments. He’s kinda cool. A band kid, too. Pretty sure he has a band.” Jay didn’t need to know any of that. Not yet anyway. And then Heeseung added: “I think he was planning to ask Y/N out for a while. I caught him asking around about her once.”

Jay clenched his jaw. How long had you been talking to Kai before he asked you out? Was it out of nowhere or did you befriend him before? Which gave him another reason to be upset because if you did befriend him before, you didn’t tell Jay anything. In fact, you hadn’t been telling him anything about yourself or your life for a while now.

Which stung.

“Kai’s a good guy. You should be happy for her.” Heeseung made a point, giving Jay a long, meaningful look. There was more he wanted to express, but chose to not push his limits. 

Jay huffed.

Thinking about it, maybe he’d have actually preferred it if you were in love with him.

Upon entering the Sanctuary Café, you noticed that it was already packed. But you were instantly recognised by Taehyun, who greeted you with a bright smile and led you toward a table that was empty, save for your reservation. It was in front of the stage set up for live performances, and it occurred to you then that Kai’s surprise was very likely just that. He prepared a performance for you.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the stage. It had a full instrument set up for a band. Drums, bass, keyboard and an electric guitar. The sight of it made you think of Jay for a bit, but you shook your head and got rid of the thought.

This would be your first date with Kai. The boy who actually doesn’t only want to sleep with you, but also wants to do everything else that real relationships include. Like holding hands and hugging in public and being affectionate without being judged. (The things you wished you could’ve had from Jay.)

A group of three guys entered the stage, none of which were Huening Kai. They glanced toward your table every now and then with a knowing smile, though. You watched them set up their instruments — the guitarist, the bassist and keyboardist. But the drums were empty. 

Because of course, he knew how to play the drums. He was a genius that never flaunted his skills, and the reality of it hit you just now. Huening Kai was a drummer — which was actually sexy as hell.

“Hello, everyone, welcome to the Sanctuary Café,” the guitarist spoke into the microphone with the largest smile. He had a cute dimple as well, and you thought he perfectly fit Kai — whenever he wasn’t closing in on himself. “I’m Kim Taerae, lead singer and guitarist of our band, Toenze. We’ve prepared a very special performance today because one of our members wants to dedicate it to a special girl.”

A round of awes went through the crowd. You looked around in hopes of catching a glance of Kai, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, your eyes locked with a person you did not expect to see today — at all.

Jay stood at the back of the café with Heeseung by his side, and you wished you could unsee him. Your heartbeat raced, and your mind felt like you needed to come up to him and apologise. But what would you even be apologising for?

“On my left is our bassist, Choi Beomgyu, and on the keyboard, you’ve got Han Yujin. And, of course, we’re missing a key member — the drummer,” Taerae spoke lightly, his smile hearable in his voice. “Some of you already know him from our previous performances, but for those who have yet to meet him — please give a round of applause to Huening Kai!”

Kai wasn’t even inside the café. He entered through the main door in a dark grey hoodie, the hood covering his face. The whole shop held its breath as he looked up. And when his eyes met yours, a smile spread across his lips. Taking off his hood, he revealed his face and carefully styled bangs. 

From the pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a bouquet, and when he aimed through the crowd toward you, your heart nearly melted. All thoughts of Jay being here, too, evaporated from your mind. All you could think about was Huening Kai, looking beautiful as ever, heading toward you with a bouquet of flowers.

“For you, my lady.” He knelt down to hand you the flowers, and you stared at him with wide eyes. Grinning, he winked before standing up and heading toward the stage, leaving you absolutely flustered and frozen in place.

“Hello, everyone! This performance is dedicated to the girl that didn’t reject me. It’s for you, Y/N,” he said into the mic jokingly, but there was a hidden meaning behind his words.

The memory of how he asked you out lingered, and you giggled. You could still picture him, approaching you with his hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans. And then he asked you, in the most embarrassing way possible, if you were dating Jay. The smile that spread on his lips when you said that what you had with Jay was only casual was an unforgettable sight, really.

“I can make you forget him,” was Kai’s closing argument, and the confidence with which he had said it sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t possibly reject him then.

Jay’s glare was palpable. You could feel it at the back of your neck, but you ignored him. Why was he glaring at you anyway? If there were no feelings involved, he shouldn’t care about any of this. 

“The first song we prepared for today is called Higher Than Heaven,” Taerae informed the crowd. “And the second song is Kill the Romeo. Hope you guys like them!”

Both songs were amazing, and both conveyed one pretty clear message: I’m better than him. You couldn’t help but laugh and enjoy yourself while Kai’s band performed. They were good — really good. And eventually, you even stopped sensing Jay’s gaze burning through you. 

Naturally, you turned around to check on the spot where Jay had previously been. Except he wasn’t there. Instead, you were met with Heeseung, who shrugged when he noticed you looking at him.

“He left,” Heeseung mouthed.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains brief allusions to smut.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends -> lovers] 

Summary It’s the morning after your first time with Eddie, and the two of you navigate the quiet intimacy of it all [fluff, 1.4k]. 

A/N This is the third installment to the little friends to lovers universe I created. They all work as standalone fics, but I clearly can’t get enough and keep adding onto their story. 

PART ONE | PART TWO 

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Eddie wakes up alone. It's a reality not unlike every other day of his life. Except, the sheets gathered at his waist aren’t black and no heavy metal posters adorn the walls. Everything is neat and airy and bright, softly screaming of you. The only anomaly in the room is his leather jacket hanging on the back of your desk chair. When he reaches out to run his hand over the empty space on the bed beside him, he’s unsure if it’s warm from your body heat or the pale streaks of sunlight streaming in through the flowy white curtains. 

After rolling onto his back, he stretches his arms with a satisfied groan as his muscles pull. That’s when the sound of your footsteps emerge from the hallway, growing closer and closer. As you push your bedroom door open, you catch him quickly shutting his eyes as if getting caught. The faint smile that pulls on his lips exposes his wakefulness. 

He’d been asleep when you first stirred. After a few minutes of combing through his hair and relishing the steady sound of his breaths, you’d slipped out of bed to check the voicemail box. But not before padding to your dresser to put on some clothes. There was a pleasant ache in the muscles of your thighs as you moved, your whole body alight with the memory of him. 

Last night, you’d been too preoccupied with the dizzying proximity of Eddie hovering over you to answer the phone when it rang. 

As you press the playback button, it comes as no surprise when your dad’s voice crackles to life to bid you goodnight and remind you to make sure the front door is locked. For their own sanity, you call your parents back to apologize and assure them that everything had been okay the previous night. 

Back in your room, the mattress dips as you crawl into bed, forcing Eddie to fight a smile. He continues to feign sleep as you settle beside him with a content sigh. Once you’re tucked beneath the sheets, you place your hand on his chest as if swearing an oath to a truth larger than yourselves. 

The tattoos on his skin are so bold and intricate that you can’t help but trace over them. Your featherlight touch makes him open his eyes and turn his head to look at you, blinking slowly. His hair is roused and his eyes are a little puffy and red from sleep. 

There’s a flutter in your stomach upon noticing the faint lines on his cheek. In the few years of your friendship, you’d never had the pleasure of waking up to each other. The intimacy of it all makes it feel like you're buzzing. 

“Sorry for leaving,” you murmur. “You didn’t feel any of that earlier?” 

“Any of what?” His brows furrow, voice a little rough from sleep. 

Before getting out of bed, you’d kissed him as well. Not once, but three times over his face. Admitting to such a tender thing feels harder than just having done it. 

Instead, you shake your head in a shy dismissal. Not the kind of shyness that’s brutal and consuming, but the type that cradles vulnerability gently. After baring yourselves to each other last night, you suppose there's nothing more to be shy about. It’s just that the way Eddie looks at you makes it seem like you’re worth being figured out. Like it’s worth knowing about all the little things you do. 

Everybody talks about the pain of being overlooked, but few consider how terrifying and wonderful it feels to be seen. 

He’s quiet for a moment, searching your eyes. “Tell me what I missed, angel.” It’d probably be better to show him.

When you scoot closer, he instinctively turns to face you, placing a gentle hand on your hip. The fabric of your pajama shorts is too soft to be straight-up cotton, he thinks to himself. Before he knows it, warmth blooms beneath his skin as you lean in to kiss his forehead, the tip of his nose, then the corner of his mouth. 

A hum vibrates in his throat as he runs his hand further down your leg, stopping as his palm reaches the bare skin of your thigh. All of this—your nearness, being kissed, touching you—seems like a luxury that should’ve expired after last night. At the risk of seeming pessimist, he isn’t unaware of how many good things in his life are fleeting. Except this. Except you. What the two have found feels more set in stone than anything else ever has. 

As you pull away, he smiles at you as easily as breathing. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asks. 

“Good. Really good,” you say. 

He begins to stroke your thigh. “Me too. I think you have that effect.” Even now, his body is pleasantly heavy with a bone-deep sense of refreshment. Like he was bearing the weight of being a new person in this morning light, with you. 

You open your mouth to say something, but stop yourself. 

“What’s up?” he insists because he somehow catches everything. 

“Nothing,” you huff a weak laugh. “I just feel…” you trail off, and Eddie keeps looking at you with those Bambi eyes. 

His chest shakes with a chuckle when you whine and tuck your face into your pillow. Even though you can’t see it, his gaze turns painfully soft. You peek at him just as he’s reaching out to touch your cheek. 

“You make me nervous.” It’s a quiet admission. “In the best possible way.”

Eddie doesn’t frown or insist you shouldn’t be, he just offers a small smile and strokes his thumb across the apple of your cheek. You press into his touch like you need it to survive. One thing he’ll never get over is how eternally fortunate you make him feel. He’ll spend the rest of his life either relishing the fact that you chose him or forever remembering these small moments. 

Your nerves don’t worry him and neither do his own. It’s how he knew all this meant something. The longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes “nervous” might not even be the right word. Surely, there was another way to describe the feeling of caring about someone and their thoughts so deeply that you didn’t want to risk disrupting a single thing. A care so great it rang true within the innermost parts of you. 

“We should probably get the day started before we end up stuck here,” he says. “I don’t know if you had any plans, but I can go if you want me out of your hair—” 

You take his hand from where he’s still stroking your cheek, and kiss over his knuckles. “Absolutely not,” you say into his skin. 

Eddie waits for you to continue. 

“Will you stay for breakfast?” you ask. “I make really good scrambled eggs.” He’d stay for breakfast even if you couldn’t. 

His eyes sparkle in amusement. “I’ll be the judge of that.” You can’t help the laughter that rises up your throat when he pushes you onto your back and props himself over you. 

Your attempts to stop him from nibbling down your neck are all in vain, and you halfheartedly push at his shoulders as your chest squeezes and flutters. When he pulls away, you’re still hiccuping over your giggles, and you pray you don’t look as silly as you feel. Eddie, however, gazes down at you with the most tender depth in his eyes.

“You’ve got the most killer smile ever, you know that?” he asks. 

You reach up to tuck his hair behind his ears, trying to distract yourself from the warmth rising to your cheeks. 

“Evidently not. It hasn’t killed you.”

With a dramatic inhale, Eddie grips his chest, rolling over to fall onto his back, feigning death. 

You prop your forearms on his chest. “Please don’t die, I need you around.” 

That makes him grin and tap your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Say that again, I didn’t quite hear you.” 

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head. “I need you around, Eddie Munson.” 

He grows a bit more sober. “I think I need you more.” 

You could get used to this feeling of needing and being needed. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see and appreciate them all. 

PART ONE | PART TWO 

MORE

[nobodyknowsimalesbian777]

Anderson - Abby (Tlou 2)

NSFW tags - enemies to lovers lowkey, hate sex, masturbation, powerbottom!abby, face-fucking (r!receiving), orgasm denial sorta (a!receiving), 18+

authors note: need to dominate a buff woman so bad oh my goddddddd. hoping to release something for ellie too if i get any requests or ideas 😈😈

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

you bolted straight up as you awoke, instinctively reaching for the pistol that sat on the nightstand next to you

you pulled your hand away, noticing the way the cold of the morning seemed to envelope you, making every inch of your skin quiver

sweat gathered on your brow in spite of this, gathering on your palms as you rested your head in your hands

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you reached over to grab your worn journal

the cover was sturdy, with only a few scruffs and scratches, probably from you throwing it against your wall so often

the inside however, was absolutely filthy, filled with lewd drawings and stories of the woman you adamantly hated, abby anderson.

she was a wlf soldier, who you worked far tot close to. you had been on the same unit for years, which ment years of you enduring abbys hate-flirting

you knew she did it on purpose, because she saw first-hand how it riled you up. you would think the physical fights would be enough to split you two up.

you couldn't help it, the frustration made your face, and cunt, become unbearably warm. and she was just so easy to catch off guard when she got flirty.

so you had moved to journaling about abby, aggressively.

'had another sex dream about anderson again??? i swear to god she can't won't leave me alone, even in my dreams. i can't stand her.'

you slammed the cover shut, burrowing back under your blankets and trying to clear the image of abby's bare thighs from your mind

of course it was all you could think of. you couldn't catch a break.

it was andersons fault, you didn't mean to walk in on her changing. maybe if she fucking answered when you knocked it wouldn't have happened.

instead you're here, burying your hand between your legs and thinking about her toned thighs, the way they met with her plump ass

and her back, oh my god, her back.

you wanted to watch her back muscles ripple and flex while you fucked her from behind,

tugging on that stupid braid and drawing out the most needy moans

slick pooled under you as you fantasized about abby,

thinking about all the ways you would show her how much you hated her

"fuck you, anderson" your voice was low as your fingers sped up, the feeling on your clit drawing out quiet groans

and just as it was starting to get good, you felt your blanket come flying off you

an all too familiar voice echoing through your quiet room "well fuck you too-"

you met eyes with Abby just in time to see them shoot open, her jaw dropping while she took in the sight in front of her

"oh my god." you were surprised by the lack of disgust in her voice, which you expected

still, you felt your stomach sink as you realized abby had just caught you thinking about her,

with your hands down your pants.

her muscular frame took up so much space in your room, space that you had never imagined she'd be here to fill

"they told me to come wake you up..i- you didn't answer when i knocked" her voice trailed off as her eyes traveled down your body,

clad in pajama pants and a sports bra, not nearly enough clothes to be having this conversation with her

you swear you were in shock, and you opened your mouth to explain yourself, but no words came to your defense

"so...you're not going to tell me why my name is in your mouth right now?" her voice was challenging you, questioning if you really knew what she had just saw

"wrong anderson, i was thinking about your...uh, your...dad?" you really hated her for being an orphan right now.

"right. my dad. ohhkay." she cocked her brow at you, "didn't think you were that fucked up."

"NO! not your dad, thats not what...not like that" you looked up to see abby fucking laughing at you

a real laugh, one you had only seen from a distance, it seemed to light up her whole face,

that is until you sent a pillow flying off of it

"it's not fucking funny, abby!" her laughter just grew, almost doubling her over as she damn-near snorted

"i just caught you masturbating for me, after telling the whole unit how much you can't stand me," she had to fight off another fit of laughter "how is that not funny?"

your head landed in your hands, yet again. maybe this was just a nightmare, a horrible, cruel nightmare that you would soon wake up from

but it wasn't a nightmare, and when you felt abbys body press up against yours, you didn't think you wanted it to be.

her lips met yours in a harsh collision, both of your bodies a flury of passion and hatred as you both grabbed at every bit of flesh you could

your hands landed on abbys shirt, tugging it over her head in one movement with her sports bra

her tits sat perfectly, right in front of you. they were small, mostly muscle from her vigorous training, and they were absolutely captivating

your mouth found its way to her rosy nipples, sucking them harshly, one after the other

abbys pretty moans bounced off the walls while your tounge worked circles around her nipples,

her back arching off the bed, pressing her chest farther into you

you couldn't stop yourself from blindly searching for the waistband of her jeans, popping your mouth off her chest when you felt her belt

abby watched you with a smirk while you fumbled with her belt buckle, every frustrated grunt you made sent a shock right down to her pussy,

she was too impatient to let you struggle for long, however. you watched as she reached down and flipped her buckle open with one hand

"i need you on my tounge." you muttered, so incredibly turned on by her casual behavior and shit-eatting grin, which she was very aware of

her hips bent upwards, allowing you to pull her jeans and boxers off, eliciting a small gasp from the woman above you as the cold air hit her core

you hadn't pegged abby to care much about body hair,

nobody did anymore, with everything else there was to worry about these days

but sitting pretty under her boxers was a little landing strip, guiding you right down to her soaking cunt

you thanked god when you saw it connected to a little happy trail, you found your lips drawn to it,

leaving little kisses down her stomach, the wiry hairs tickling your lips

abby was writhing under you while you took your time, kissing all around her thighs and stomach,

making sure to give her attention everywhere except exactly the place she needed it

the woman grabbed your hair, tugging it up and forcing you to meet her steel blue eyes

"stop fucking around and eat my pussy." her words were nowhere close to a request,

abby anderson was bossing you around, and you fucking loved it

her hands stayed in your hair as she pushed you down to her cunt, watching as you licked slow, experimental strips up her pussy,

seeing the way her face contored gave you the confirmation you needed to continue sloppily dragging your tounge from her aching hole to her swollen clit

nothing you'd ever had tasted more divine then her, and you found yourself gripping her thighs,

shoving her into your face like you needed her to breathe

no part of you doubted that her scent alone would be enough to get you off,

but you found yourself grinding down into the bed anyway, searching for some form of friction

abby took note of this, watching your pretty ass jiggle with every movement of your hips,

she couldn't even register the absolutely maddening sounds coming out of her,

every moan made your stomach flutter, and you felt high off her voice already

"mm, gonna make me cum if you keep that up pretty girl" abby was trying her best to stay in control, and she was failing miserably

her cocky words held no weight, you could hear the bliss in her voice, and you felt it against your face

every motion you made drove her closer to her release, and she was very vocal about how close she was getting

thoughts of her teasing and flirting came to mind, you couldn't shake all the times she had that stomach-curdling power over you,

and as much as you wanted to continue, you wanted to have that power over her more

so when her moans were getting uncharacteristicly high, and her hips were grinding up with a near painful force,

you pulled back

abbys muscular body squirmed under your gaze as her whines and pleas filled the room,

"wh- what? no, no, no i was so close" you wanted so badly to dive back between her legs, to make her shake and come undone for you,

but she just sounded too good begging for you, so you placed a firm slap on her ass,

eliciting a surprised yelp from her as you gathered your clothes and started getting dressed

abbys desperate eyes followed you, watching with confusion as you threw her clothes into her lap

"they're gonna wonder where we are, better hustle anderson." you said as you head out your door, watching her scramble to get ready and get back before any questions arose.

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

you watched as abby scrambled over to the meeting table, all eyes on her and her flushed face

she tried to steady her breath, asking "what?"

manny looked between the two of you, eyes landing on you as you shared a knowing look with him.

"didn't expect you to be so loud abby, ." manny said with the same shit-eatting grin you had seen on her earlier,

both of you doubled over in laughter as her face lit up, random sounds sputtering out while she tried to explain herself.

you were looking forward to having the upper hand over her now.

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

listening to abby whimpering audio rn 🧘‍♀️🎧

[sevs-corner]

Another one of my wild dreams coming to me, I swear the voices are having too much fun when I’m unconscious, where its the usual Soulmate-Reincarnation trope but the Tf 141 guys always get to meet each other but…you.

Every. Single. Time.

In each new life, they’d always happen to meet, but nearing the end of theirs— a longing always seem to linger in their hearts. Pieces of their memory always missing with a piece of their soul not being fulfilled.

At first, they don’t notice it— it was already rare enough to have 4 soulmates all tied together. So, to think of another partner being somewhere out there? Yeah, that was outrageous.

They were already thankful enough that they had each other, how could they still feel so greedy and longing?

We’re they not enough for each other?

What was lacking? What were they lacking?

When then they hear murmurs of soulmates being together, they all said they’ll feel something snap into place.

They think its the soulmate bond being locked into place, their soul finally complete and fates intertwined.

Yet… they only got to the first couple of steps to that. Seeing that zing in each other’s eyes that recognizes each other as soulmates, the bonding ritual, the return of past life memories…

Every time they get to that point, they’d remember that something was just… missing.

So they try, in each life to the next, to find some way to fix that last piece into place— test out all their theories.

What if there was something wrong that they did? Were they truly partners? What if one wasn’t their mate with the other?

It wasn’t until Price offered the idea that there may be… a fifth person… involved that their tactics changed.

But they never got lucky.

How come it was so easy to find each other but not…you?

They were just about to give up in this timeline, their lives being ran rugged in the military made their hearts weak and souls crushed already— why would they make the extra effort when they already had the partners they wanted right besides them?

But they regret saying that, bringing it up and believing in it when that familiar zing rings across their brains and underneath their skins as they see you— fresh eyed recruit sent right to their team.

It was like their prayers have finally been answered, all the sacrifices their past selves made now coming to fruition—

But you see no zing- you’ve never had one.

That must be another reason why you always happen to miss them- whether it be through an early death, a bad relationship, an unfortunate event, living across the country from them.

But no, you were always right near them. You just couldn’t find them like they did with each other.

It just didn’t click until now for you and they are distraught for you.

They are so happy, souls now complete and their memories as well— but you had nothing.

That feeling of wholeness and unconditional love— you couldn’t feel it.

So they swear, that from then on, they’d always find you next— no matter how many times they’d repeat it, all the struggles and pain, it was incomparable to you who felt nothing from a forced severed soul bond.

My sleepi and awake mind are cooking but im not in the kitchen- send help what the

Masterlist here! Prev dream idea i was talkin about here- its becoming a saga oml

[theywantedplayer]

Master list

PromptList

AN-this is longer than what I usually do I hope yall fuck with it since I haven't been writing lots bc I got exams in 2 weeks fm

You started noticing Nico acting differently—not just on the ice but also when it was just the two of you at home. He always had a nurturing attitude, which his teammates liked to tease him about by calling him "Mother Nico." He was always a caring and intuitive guy, picking up around the apartment even though you knew he had a stressful schedule during the NHL season.

He handled it all well, balancing everything quite skillfully. You’d often hear stories from your friends who were dating other players on the team about how their boyfriends always prioritized hockey, but Nico wasn’t like that.

Then, around the winter months, things started to change. He seemed slower, quieter, and less talkative like a dark cloud constantly hung over him. The Devils weren’t performing as well in the standings as usual, and Nico took it personally as the captain. He acted like the team’s struggles were entirely his fault, carrying the weight of it on his shoulders.

Nico had always been your rock. He let you talk to him about anything that was bothering you, offering a listening ear and unwavering support. But as the winter months set in, you started to realize that the dynamic only seemed to go one way. You could sense something was troubling him, but he never opened up about it.

Little things began to slip. He forgot whose turn it was to make dinner, skipped doing the laundry, or left the dishes undone—things he’d always been on top of. At first, you didn’t mind picking up the extra load, understanding how stressful the season must have been for him. But as October came, you decided it was time to bring it up. You never expected his reaction.

"I’ve noticed you’ve been off, and I’m worried about you," you finally said, folding laundry on the dining room table. Your voice was calm but firm, wanting to make your concern seen.

"What makes you say that?" he replied, his gaze fixed on the TV.

Your eyes flickered between him and the screen. He was watching SportsCenter, listening to reporters make critical and unsupportive remarks about the Devils' performance. It was clear their words had struck a nerve

“Well, you haven’t been picking up around the house lately, and you’ve just been quieter. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” you said as you folded his t-shirts.

Truthfully, you didn’t mind picking up more around the house. You’d always told Nico he didn’t need to do as much as he did, but he always insisted. Still, as you tried to talk to him, it felt like walking on landmines. He was so quiet, and you were afraid he might explode at any moment.

“Seriously?” he said coldly, finally turning his head toward you.

“You know I don’t have a problem with you not doing housework. You just haven’t been yourself lately,” you said, trying to keep your tone gentle. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“If you don’t have a fucking problem with it, then why are you bringing it up?” he snapped, his tone ice-cold.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You could feel where this conversation was headed. Setting down the hoodie you’d been folding, you rested your hands on the table and turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable, and that familiar resting bitch face of his—the one that intimidated people who didn’t know him—made you hesitate for just a moment. You knew it wasn’t truly who Nico was, but even now, it unsettled you just a little. Seeing someone who was always the sweetest and more caring one in the room suddenly has the face of one who at first glance didn't seem like it was a shock, but you always knew your boyfriend and knew that wasn't true.

“Nico, I’m not trying to start anything,” you said softly. “I just know something’s wrong, and you won’t even fucking talk to me about it.” you regretted the swear as soon as it left your mouth knowing it seemed like a push to him.

“Because I don’t need to,” he stated flatly.

You sighed again, frustration and worry bubbling inside you. Nico was the guy who always told everyone else they could talk to him, but he never talked to anyone about his stuff even rarely at times with you.

“Well, I think you do,” you said, your voice firmer this time as you locked eyes with him. You weren’t trying to start a fight, but you couldn’t let this slide. “I think talking about it would really help. You’ve been so quick to anger lately, so quiet, and I’m worried about you. You can talk to me. Why do you feel like you can’t?”

You noticed the slight clench of his jaw before he responded. “I have a lot of shit going on. I’m sorry if I’m not picking up around the house anymore. Just leave it alone,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance. “Just leave me alone.”

With that, he turned his body and full attention back to the TV. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he turned up the volume at the same time. Whether it was intentional or not, it sent a clear message: he wasn’t continuing this conversation. And as much as you knew it needed to happen, you didn’t have the energy to force it either.

About a month later, near the end of November, you could tell things had only gotten worse. The Devils were in the middle of a six-game losing streak, and it was eating at Nico. The frustration came to a head after a particularly brutal loss—shut out by Vegas, 5–0.

The walk back to the car was painfully silent. The only words Nico said as he handed you the keys were, “You drive.”

You nodded wordlessly, slipping into the driver’s seat and starting the car. The drive home, which should’ve been 20 minutes, stretched to nearly 45 because of post-game traffic. Normally, after a tough game like this, Nico would vent to you—sharing ideas for new plays or strategies to motivate the team. But tonight, he sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly at the sea of brake lights in front of you.

At every red light, you glanced over at him, silently checking in. He didn’t say a word, but you could see the storm brewing in his mind. This wasn’t just a bad game or a bad week; it was months of mounting pressure. He wasn’t himself anymore, and you knew he was close to breaking.

When you finally pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, you turned off the car and opened your door. “Come on, Nic, let’s just go to bed,” you said gently, stepping out.

You expected to hear the passenger door open, but instead, there was silence. Turning back, you saw him still sitting there, unmoving. His hand hadn’t even reached for the door handle. It was like he hadn’t even heard you.

You walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, crouching down slightly to meet his eye line. “Nico,” you said softly, your voice laced with concern. “Let’s go inside.”

You could see it—the weight of everything he’d been bottling up for months. The pressure, the expectations, the emotions he refused to show. He was on the verge of breaking, and you just wanted to help him before he shattered completely.

He was too prideful.

But still, you were met with silence. You reached out and softly grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. You tried to pull him out of the car, but he pulled his hand back, holding yours tightly in both of his. He stared down at your hands, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. You sat there, unsure of what to say, just trying to comfort him in the smallest way possible. In two years of dating, you’d only ever seen Nico shut down like this once before—after the Devils' playoff run in 2023.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “What the fuck is going on?”

You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you, to himself, or to no one at all. His voice wavered, trying to hide the emotion threatening to break through. It pained you—he’d seen you cry countless times, about everything from stress to happiness, but he still couldn’t bring himself to let you see him like this.

“I know it’s tough,” you said softly, squeezing his hand again.

“It’s more than just fucking tough,” he said, his voice rising with frustration. “We’ve been playing like shit, and there’s nothing I can do. The reporters are tearing us apart, and I have no idea how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix them. I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

His voice cracked, but he kept going, the dam finally breaking.

“In the locker room, on the ice—everyone looks at me like I have all the answers. Like I’m supposed to solve all our fucking problems. But I don’t. What kind of captain can’t even fix his team?”

“It’s not your job to fix your team,” you said plainly, your voice steady.

For the first time since the game, he looked up at you, and your heart broke at the sight. His big brown eyes glistened, tears pooling just at the edge, threatening to spill over.

“I’m the captain, Y/N,” he said, his voice shaking. “It is my job. It’s my responsibility to keep the team together, to make sure we don’t fall into shit like this.” His eyebrows knitted together in frustration, and he shook his head, as if rejecting your words outright.

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” you said gently. “You’ve been doing that for years.”

“Pressure?” he scoffed bitterly. “If it’s not me putting it on, it’s everyone else.”

Your expression softened, and you brought your other hand up to run your fingers through his damp hair. “If you’re the one putting it on yourself, then you can also take it off,” you said quietly. “I’m right here, Nico. I’ve been telling you that since the day we met. If you’re feeling anything—everything—you can talk to me.”

He shook his head again, looking up at you with so much guilt it made your chest ache. “I can’t do that to you. You’ve got enough going on with school and exams. I can’t be one more thing.”

“That’s bullshit,” you said, sighing. “I love you. Nothing is more important to me than you. Keeping all this bottled up is only making it worse, Nico. You need to let it out. Talk to me.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his eyes softened as you wiped away a single tear that slipped down his cheek.

“But I’m the captain. People are supposed to look up to me and lean on me. It’s my job to take care of everyone else,” he said weakly.

“Yeah, and it’s my job to take care of you,” you said firmly. “I knew what I was signing up for when we got together. Dating a pro athlete comes with challenges that most people don’t face, and I knew it’d be hard sometimes. But Nico, you make it so easy to love you. The only thing that makes this hard is that you don’t talk to me when you’re struggling. I want to be your rock, too. I want you to come to me, vent for hours if you need to, cry if you need to. I just want to help you.”

A shaky sigh escaped his lips, and his voice cracked as he said, “I feel like I have to hold it together all the time. Half the time, I’m not. If we’re losing, I feel like it’s my fault. If I can’t lead us to a win, what kind of captain does that make me?”

“You’re playing fucking hockey, Nico,” you said bluntly. “You’ve been doing this your whole life. You know what you’re doing, and you know what your team needs. But it’s not your job to fix everything. They’re grown men with their own shit going on. The best thing you can do is be there for them, support them. But you can’t carry the whole team on your back.”

A bitter laugh left his lips. “Everyone thinks we’re a shit team right now. We’re getting blown out almost every game.”

You smiled softly, glad to see the tension beginning to leave his shoulders as he let everything out. “Don’t you think Quinn felt like that, too?” you asked.

His brows furrowed in surprise at the mention of his friend's brother.

“He’s captain of the Canucks. They were a mess for years but look at them now. They’ve turned it around. People respect them because they fought through it. You will, too. You’re not the only one who’s ever felt like this. Why don't you try and talk to him about this, Quinn's a really helpful guy he's helping me so much, growing up he was the first person I'd go to"

Nico knew your history with the Hughes you guys grew up together and spent nights at the lake house together, even though Nico didn't know Quinn as well as he knew his energetic little brother, Jack,  he could tell from the few times that they've met that he was a great guy to go to for advice.  He honestly really liked Quinn,  one time during the summer during the off-season the Hughes family invited you and Nico to spend a couple weeks at the lake house with the original group. Being Cole, Trevor the Hughes brothers, and some other buddies from Michigan, Nico was a little nervous about going since he only really knew Jack, Luke and You but Quinn and Nico honestly gravitated towards each other and got along quite well, he introduced Nico to the rest of the group and everyone hit it off from there on.

and during one of those nights at the lake house he and the eldest brother were sitting out by the fire when everyone was inside they ended up having generally deep talk and confided in each other about being captains of a team at a very young age. At the time Nico barely knew Quinn this was really the first time he was actually able to sit down and fully get to know the young defenseman but still he talked to him knowing they shared the same worries and since then they've always kept in contact.

Everyone always loved it when New Jersey played Vancouver because they called it the "Hughe's Bowl" since the three brothers were playing on the same ice against each other for the first time in a long time. Nico always looked forward to that since usually after those games if Vancouver wasn't heading back that night Nico and the three brothers would go out and always get a beer together. 

 Nico could slightly feel his face heat up with embarrassment. not about opening up but about not doing it sooner.  he loved you and he knew you always wanted the best for him so he just felt stupid for not realizing that sooner and trusting someone with his problems but it wasn't just somebody it was you 

He was quiet for a moment, processing your words. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a deep laugh. You blinked in surprise at the sudden shift, squeezing his shoulder gently.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m an idiot,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve been sitting on this for months, and after less than ten minutes of talking to you, I already feel better. No wonder you were pushing me to open up.”

You laughed with him, relief washing over you as he climbed out of the car and pulled you into a tight hug. He buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping securely around you.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your skin, holding you close.

You hugged him just as tightly, feeling the warmth radiating from his body after the game. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Nico. And I need you to know you can always talk to me about anything.”

He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his own still glistening but now softer. He just saw you prove that too. him but he really needed to hear you say it. He kissed you gently, then rested his chin on your head, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said with a soft laugh. “I’m fucking tired.”

[ask-codeearasure]

STOP LEAVING THIS SHIT IN THE TAGS I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD DUDE

This is the kind of shit that wakes me up from the afternoon sluggishness, the mindset of "fuck everyone I'm not going to work today and everything is shit".

Jesus Christ I'm gonna get you one day. I will make myself an idiot sandwich when I do. I will make you understand the brainrot you curse me with, the dull sense of fascination I feel about these faggots, stages and headcanons and all.

It has become a great point of borderline-obsession for me to imagine Stage 1 and Stage 2's complicated dynamics with Color before they finally both understand he's got no ulterior motives. Then they turn against each other full-force because Stage 1 is a wuss with attachment issues.

I think it would be funny if Stage 2 is the Stage that starts trusting Color first, no apprehensive questions asked, and then Stage 1 starts having a fucking conniption over it, like they don't understand what the fuck #2 is doing or why so they automatically assume the worst when really #2 is just happy to finally have a guy that doesn't treat him like the odd one out or try to alienate him over premeditated assumptions.

#1 recognizing Color is safe and trustworthy is the equivalent to strangling themself to not fuck up the one good thing they have going for them while #2 would appear to just accept it, like a simple "okay" while he's constantly making calculations about the what-ifs anyway. They're both paranoid, but #2 picked up the habit of scheming so he always has a semblance of a plan if anything goes wrong while #1 constantly obsesses over the potential of everything going to shit, not so much how they'd react aside from breaking down, running away, and maybe finding a way to finally die.

Color gives #2 basic fucking respect then goes beyond that as they keep interacting and #2 finds he likes that a lot actually, only for #1 to try and sabotage their relationship through their paranoid bullshit.

And like, I'm not saying #1 has no reason to be this way, they do, it's all just popping up at the wrong time where these behaviors and habits aren't necessary anymore.

#2 is bound to get pissed at #1 openly at some point. He just wants to be around his pookie and chill, no bloodshed needed, and the constant hot-and-cold, yes-and-no, will they-won't they, push-and-pull attitude #1 resorts to makes him realize that maybe, just maybe, he's gonna have to invest in a notebook to start communicating with this bitch thoroughly. Cause his main man, his one trusted guy being pushed away is not doing them any favors and he wouldn't know what to do if Color had enough at some point and just left like #1 seems to want.

So they have this back-and-forth for several months while Stage 3 is the one actually chilling. It gives no fucks about the other two imbeciles, it's enjoying every minute it spends with Color, but may or may not scream when #1 or #2 try to switch in.

...imagine what a blend of #2 and #3 would act like. I think they'd be extremely clingy to Color, maybe hug him with their entire body and stay like that even as he's moving around doing his own thing, but retains the #2 behaviors of studying everything that piques their interest and not responding to much emotional stimuli, and all while they're heavily dissociating. Once separate, neither of them remember where they got that information but just accept it.

ANYWAYS I hate these fucking people, I should stick them in the pear wiggler and lock the door behind them.

#2 I believe, while he's trying to do better through his bond with Color, still has manipulative habits compulsively. He knows he has an issue with that but the problem is he doesn't recognize the hows and why's. But #1 does and reacts the completely wrong way in getting anyone to notice the signs. They are set in fucking over #2 when what #2 actually needs is a clear reference in how he can change these behaviors.

He really does value Color, all of them do, but he feels like at this point in time he's the only one actually being productive about it and that's gonna be another reason why he's so infuriated with #1.

He's trying to get better for his own sake, taking notes and observing Color's needs as well so he can stick by him more effectively. If only #1 stopped destroying those notes under the pretense #2 still thinks of Color as a jumbo-sized lab rat and not the most reliable ride-or-die in existence.

I am waiting for the time #2 finally snaps openly and Color receives a rant about #1 being a bitch while he's stuck in sleep paralysis. That would be one hell of a way to find out yo boy's got suppressed issues he's struggling to sort out himself.

-- Sarco

the way stage 1 handles the other stages and advises others to the same is just both hilarious and sad

“Yeah no don’t trust me when im like that. im sure being told that everything i do or attempt to express is just me manipulating and lying won’t have consequences”

“oh yeah just kill me when im like that. what? I tried to defend myself against being murdered and killed when I was like that? gee golly im just so insane and crazy and violence is all I know you simply must kill me”

“what? hiding this part of myself and trying to suppress and resist it and pretend it doesn’t exist has consequences in that it will only make itself more know the more I resist?..I need to hide all evidence of its existence even more! In fact you should kill me before i ever become like that!”

like is it any wonder you feel so threatened in other stages when you actively turn others against you and encourage them to dehumanize and demonize you, thinking you’re doing anyone any good

[frogchiro]

If you're still up to do some college au! Could we have a part 2 for the krauser one where there's next time/next attempt to make reader his? I've been living for the krauser content especially the college au! It's so unserious and entertaining to read! <3

Ahh thank you dear! I honestly love the college au too! I've never done anything like this before so it's like a breath of fresh air for me ;;

Tbh I see Krauser as being just as relentless in his advances as Leon just less pathetic and whiny; I wouldn't exactly call him a macho man but he definitely considers himself to be a 'real man' (whatever the fuck that means) and real men don't whine for pussy! (at least that's what he kept telling himself lol)

It's not stalking, he swears it's not, but maybe it's a strange coincidence that he knows where you usually hang out alone or with Ashley or even with the rest of your friends. Jack is just very aware of his surroundings and he kind of just gravitates towards you (h/c) head and your sweet giggle whenever he hears it, it just comes natural for him.

This was one of those times where he accidentally spotted you sitting in a cozy little cafe, tucked away from the usual hustle and bustle of the town so it was much less crowded. His huge and bulky figure was hard to miss for obvious reasons, his face bisected by the gnarly scars even more so, but you were quite engrossed in whatever you were doing on your laptop to the point where you completely missed the moment of Krauser ordering his coffee and standing right over you, only noticing him when his large body threw a shadow over you.

He almost grinned when your surprised face morphed into a small, questioning frown, not smiling but not grimacing either which Jack took for a damn good sign and using the opportunity he asked if he could sit with you to which you agreed, your confusion growing. It's not like you will tell him to fuck off outright, it's not like Jack did anything bad to you, it's just that he hangs with the not so pleasant crowd and you still remember his advances towards you and Ashley from a few nights ago.

I feel like he'd try to change his approach to you a bit! He's still a cocky sleaze, don't get me wrong; ego through the damn roof and he still jerks off to the upskirt pics Luis took of you but after he realized that you shoot down those very direct advances immediately he knew it was time for a change of tactics, he didn't want to spook you away.

He remembered how Luis gushed and praised you to high heaven about how you helped with his paper, how it was only thanks to you that he didn't fail the subject and it was what got Jack thinking. You obviously shut down any very direct flirting, but what seemed receptive to helping others...Maybe you will help him? Krauser is very much aware that he's not the smartest, in fact he's pretty sure that the only thing keeping him from failing is his old man's money and influence and his sports scholarship, so for him to ask you to tutor him wouldn't be that out of the blue...

[sillygoose067]

A Masked Promise

Ch. 3

Dick Grayson (Nightwing) x Reader

Somehow, the universe always seemed to be watching your every move and throwing you curveballs. So when you had told Dick Grayson that you’d be doing your part in trying to find Rachel, of course, you just had to run into her in a dark alleyway.

 You were only keeping a watchful eye for her on the news and the shady districts you passed through on your way home. But then, one dark night, as you walked through the damp alley a couple of blocks away from your place, you heard a rustle. At first you’d thought it was just a couple of dumpster cats scavenging for food—but as you’d peeked around to catch a glimpse and perhaps feed the cats the cafe’s leftovers you were carrying, you’d found a young girl instead. She was huddled under a couple cardboard boxes, trying to generate heat in the cold, wet night. 

Carefully, you inched closer to her. She had yet to notice you. 

 “Hi.” 

The girl whirls around in panic, her hands splayed out in front of her in an odd display of defense. 

 “Get away from me!” 

Your eyes adjust in the dimness. Squinting, "Rachel?" you whisper. 

The girl seems to tense up even more. “How do you know my name?” 

“I saw you on the news," you tell her. Her eyes widen as she tries to plan an escape, but you beat her to it. “I don’t want to hurt you, I promise. I won’t turn you in. I swear.”

This makes Rachel freeze. “Why should I believe you? You could lead me right to the police right now if you wanted to.” 

“I swear, I won’t do that. Actually, a friend of mine wants to help you. He sympathizes and—”

 “Fuck his sympathy," spits the purple-haired girl. “Your friend can go to hell with his pity.” 

"No, Rachel, he doesn’t pity you. I— I think he understands how you feel. He also knows what it feels like to be alone and to not have anyone to trust. Please, come with me. You can stay with me at my apartment, have a nice warm shower, clean clothes, and food. I promise I won’t let you get hurt.”

 She huffs in frustration but seems to finally concede to the thought of a warm place to stay this frigid night. "Okay, but—but remember that I killed my mom, and I can kill you too if you betray me.” 

Your heart breaks a little as you hear her say those words. She didn’t kill her mother, yet she carried the guilt of the action. “Rachel, I know you didn’t kill your mom, okay? You don’t have to pretend in front of me," you whisper softly. Her breath shakes as she soaks in your words. 

 You reach out a hand and help her up. “Why are you helping me?" she asks out of the blue. 

 “I guess… I also know what it’s like to be all alone and not have anyone to fall back on. And I would never wish that kind of loneliness on anyone,” you shrug.

 “Well… You know my name, but I don’t know yours. What do I call you?”

 “Y/n.”

…

 Unfortunately, you had no way to contact Dick Grayson, so you decided to wait it out and take Rachel with you to work the next day.

"Okay, Rachel, I’m going to need you to stay in the backroom. My coworkers can’t know you’re here, but I’ll come back to you once Mr. Gr-My friend is here. Deal?” 

She nods reluctantly. You give her your phone. “Here, use this to keep yourself busy. Play some games or read something. Stay safe, I’ll be back.”

… 

Not long after, Mr. Grayson walks in around his usual time.  

“Welcome to The Chariot! Would you like an order of your usual?”

He nods curtly, swiping his credit card for payment. As he turns to leave, you remember Rachel. 

Reaching out quickly, you grab his elbow. “Wait!”

He gives you a funny look, eyes glancing down to where you held him. Hastily, you release your grip and brush your hands down your apron nervously. “Sorry. Um, wait. Can you meet me behind the counter? I have something to tell you.” 

Dick squints at you in confusion.  

“Please? It’s important.”

He looks around the sparsely populated cafe and follows you around the front. You drag him unceremoniously to the backroom. 

“What is this about?" his deep voice resounds behind you as you peek through the door to the backroom. 

“Um, yeah. So, uh, remember that girl you were telling me about? The one you wanted to help?”

A perfect, thick eyebrow rises. “Rachel?”

“Yeah, Rachel. So, funny story, I actually found her last night, and she’s been with me since then. I told her that I have a friend that wants to help her, and she’s still apprehensive, but she’s willing to meet you.”

Dick’s eyes widen at this. “Are you telling me Rachel’s in there right now?”

You nod quietly, biting your lip. He makes a move toward the door, but you grab his arm again. 

“Wait! I need to know that you won’t hurt her. And that you won’t turn her in to the authorities. She’s been through a lot, and I think she could use some honesty.”

Dick sighs as he looks to the ground for support. God, he could kiss you right now—not only for making his job easier and finding Rachel—but for having such a big heart. He hopes that the action of looking down masks his smile. Once he’s collected himself, he faces you once again. 

“Y/n”, He breathes. “I won’t hurt her or put her in harm’s way. You don’t know how much you’ve helped. Both of us.” This time you’re the one searching his eyes for any sign of dishonesty. “I promise," he says. You finally loosen your grip and gesture for him to walk through the door, following after him. 

Rachel seems to notice the commotion and stands up. “Y/n?”

“Hey Rachel. This is the friend I was telling you about.”

Dick reaches his hand to shake. “I’m Detective Grayson.”

"Detective!" Rachel turns to you furiously. “You promised you wouldn’t turn me in! You bitch! I should’ve killed you last night!”

“Hey, hey, hey," Dick intervenes. “I’m off duty, and I’m not taking you to the station. Just let me explain.” He’s trying to damage control, but you’ve already taken the blow. You stand silently on the side. 

 “I think I’ll leave you two to it. My break ends in two minutes anyway.” Dick watches your retreating form and sighs.

 “Look, Rachel. You shouldn’t have said those things to her. She only did what she thought was right, and I’m not going to turn you in. I’m working on a personal case, trying to find kids like us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. Misunderstood, weird abilities, orphans, all of the sort.”

Rachel scoffs. “You have abilities?” 

“Not like you do, but yes. And before you ask how I know about your abilities, I did my research.”

Rachel’s skeptical as she allows him to continue. “There’s something big coming; I can feel it. And I need all the help I can get to protect the citizens of this country.”

"And how do you know I can help, not just cause more damage?”

“I’m going to train you.”

“...Okay… and assuming I believe you, how many people do you have on your so-called ‘team’ as of right now?”

“You’re the first. I have more, but they’re a little further from the coast, and I was in the area.”

“...”

 …

“I should apologize to her, shouldn’t I?" Rachel asks Dick as he leads her out of the room. 

“Yes, you should. She did her best to help, not knowing what else to do and putting herself in potential danger. I don’t think she deserved that outburst.”

"Fine, I'll apologize," huffs Rachel. “You know, you’re such a dad. You got any kids?”

“Just you," he quips back. 

Someday I might have some of my own with Y/N. Wishful thinking, but one can hope.