#it's half timing and the other half's luck

[kick-a-long]

luckily antisemitism was also the key reason he lost. nazis literally chose killing every jew on the planet over consolidating and solidifying their power.

the nazis could have walked away with most of eastern europe, they could have allied with russia, and probably a lot of influence in north africa and arabia, then used that position to force (or realistically, gently suggest) the rest of the world make jews second class citizens or criminalize their culture in return for german economic and military favor. instead the nazis pushed their luck time and time again because they wanted to kill every jew in the world and they feared some countries wouldn't be willing to kill them all out right with aryan efficiency and precision. There are multiple instances of them choosing to kill jews over any and every other concern even when it lost them power, popularity or military wins. They over extended themselves, and pissed off countries that were willing to work with them, specifically because their antisemitism was so total and unbending. there was no way for hitler to win because his ideology was so out of line with reality.

and trump is not half as efficient, devious, popular, or driven as hitler. Trump wishes he was hitler. never confuse the egomaniac with the egomaniacal ideologue. one cares only for himself, the other cares for his ideology as if he and it were inseparable.

Its frustrating that people are going "hey look at all these things which trump is doing which is similar to what Hitler did when he was in power, we are so fucked" and then just not mentioning the rise in antisemitism.

Like antisemitism was a major part in why hitler was elected into power.

Hitler blamed Germanys issues on jews. During his election, he pulled back from spouting antisemitism to make himself look more sane, but all the issues he campaigned on were issues that were blamed on the jews.

He didn't say "jews are ruining the economy but I can fix it", he knew that people were already blaming jews and campaigned on that.

According to the ADL, only 3 months after Oct 7th, antisemitism increased 360%. And it's not like rates of antisemitism has started to go down.

You cannot talk about how facisiam in the US is on the rise, compare it to the rise of hitler and not mention the rise of antisemitism.

Jew hatred was essential to hitlers rise to power and his actions. You cannot talk about jewish history and erase us from the picture.

[eddiegettingshot]

your prompt for today: pink🩷

When their night out winds down, and they land on Eddie’s doorstep, Buck’s gut begins to prickle with sudden nerves, or maybe anticipation. He really can’t tell the difference. Strange, because he thought he’d been handling being on a first date with his best friend pretty well. After all, it’s a song and dance that’s usually about making a good first impression, and not only did that ship sail years ago, but Buck didn’t even get it right. So dinner just felt like dinner, except for the fact that Eddie kept their feet tucked together beneath the table the whole time.

Granted, there were a few days where Buck kept forgetting anything had changed between them if they weren’t physically together, if Eddie didn’t have a hand on him, like he’d lost all sense of object permanence where Eddie was concerned. What’s startling is that in most ways, nothing has. 

Like this: Eddie turns to him now as he unlocks his front door, brow arched. 

“What, you got somewhere else to be?” he asks.

Buck doesn’t bother asking what Eddie had seen in him, that he’d decided he needed to stake an explicit claim on the rest of Buck’s night (and, with luck, the morning?). It’s not like he’s in the habit of playing things close to the vest, but half the time he doesn’t even need to say a word—not to Eddie. He’d been peeled open long before he knew he had anything to confess.

Easy to imagine: himself, held in the tender cradle of Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s thumbs feeling down his center to find the tenderest spot, pushing deep all at once, prying him apart—through the rind of him, his ribcage, so all his insides, overripe with adoration, come spilling out into Eddie’s palms. That’s how it feels. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“No,” he says, shuffling closer. He’d been hanging back, playing with his car keys in his pocket.  “No, I—I’m coming in.”

“Good.” 

Eddie sounds so openly pleased. Warmth spills through Buck’s spine. He hadn’t considered that he wasn’t alone in this—bracing against some new humming energy, staring too closely at the back of Eddie’s neck—but he watches Eddie’s shoulders soften, right before he lets Buck inside.

Then, once Buck’s on the couch, thinking really intently about how they’re going to occupy it together (it’s been a busy week; they haven’t even seen enough of each other for Buck to have adapted to their new rules of engagement; can he crawl into Eddie’s lap?), Eddie pauses, says, “Uh, hold on,” and bustles off to the kitchen. 

He returns with a lighter for the candle sitting on the coffee table, which is—new. Buck hadn’t noticed until now. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie light a candle in all the years he’s spent in this house, and now his lip is trapped between his teeth as he does it, avoiding Buck’s eyes all the while.

It hits Buck hard and fast: Eddie is really, really nervous. And trying to be romantic, for Buck. And if he crawled into Eddie’s lap, probably Eddie would laugh, and let him; he’s allowed. And maybe nothing feels different but it’s all changed. That’s what Buck wants, for once. That’s what Eddie wants, judging by his wide dark eyes, flushed cheeks, the flickering candlelight. Sometimes Buck’s slow on the uptake. This time, he might have just been scared. 

“You look nice,” Buck says. 

Kind of bad timing—Eddie’s just in his socks; he’d shed his jacket and the fancy watch Buck’s only seen him break out a couple times; he’d undone the first couple of buttons on his shirt; he must have run his hands through his hair when he was out of sight, since it’s falling halfway down his forehead. Buck should have said something when he picked Eddie up—he’d thought it, then, but he had been so comfortable with Eddie in his passenger seat, he didn’t want to risk making things weird.

Eddie’s laugh is just a soft puff of air. He relaxes. “Thanks,” he says, coming around to sink down beside Buck, turning a knee out so they’re touching, as if by reflex. 

“I like that color on you,” Buck continues. “Always have.”

“Hm,” Eddie says, smiling. He’s in rose pink. He’s also leaning closer, lifting a hand and brushing his fingertips down Buck’s brow, his cheek. His eyes flicker, and suddenly they’re trained on Buck’s mouth. Buck’s stomach swoops boyishly. “It’s a good color.”

Holy shit, Buck thinks, head full of jasmine and honey and smoke and the cologne Eddie’s wearing, something unfamiliar with an exotic spiced note. They kissed before—they’ve been kissing all week—except this time Buck starts whimpering before their lips meet, and Eddie swallows whatever strangled noise he makes with a grin. Buck lurches in, fisting urgent hands into the front of Eddie’s shirt. 

“Eddie,” he pants after a while. It’s hard-won, because Eddie is demanding, and he bites. “Eddie, are you sure?” 

Now that they’ve done it, like, really crossed the line, gotten a taste—he’s gotta know if this is what Eddie was looking for, when he told Buck he loved him. Not just the sex, which they’re definitely about to have—all of it. Buck shoves his knuckles against Eddie’s chest to feel his heart gallop, hard but steady like it grew Thoroughbred legs. 

Eddie’s cupping his face in both hands while they kiss. He pulls away, not far, and surveys Buck the way he would a patient: like he’s trying to puzzle out what’s going on beneath Buck’s skin, in all the places he can’t quite reach.

“Buck,” he says, gently. “Of course.” 

He pushes his thumb between Buck’s teeth. Satisfied, Buck drags him back in.

[jungwnies]

wrong time, right person - carlos sainz (1/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : carlos sainz x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : years after a bitter breakup, you and carlos sainz reunite unexpectedly. old wounds resurface, but so does undeniable love. will history repeat itself?

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor, drama ୨ৎ : tws : mild language, arguing, friendships ending, bantering, suggestive humor, mentions of alcohol consumption. ୨ৎ : wc : 952

part one | part two | part three | part four

Spain was never supposed to feel like home.

You were just an exchange student, a stranger in a country where the language tripped you up, where conversations flowed around you like a current you couldn’t quite swim in. The other students were nice, polite even, but distant. They smiled, but no one really saw you.

Except for him.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t just friendly; he was relentless. He talked to you like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had made it his personal mission to make you feel at home. The first time he sat next to you at lunch, he didn’t ask the usual "Where are you from?" or "How do you like Spain?" Instead, he stole a fry from your plate and smirked.

“You always eat this little?”

It took you a second to process what he said, your brain scrambling for the right words. When you did, you narrowed your eyes and stole a fry right back.

“Mind your business.”

He laughed, loud, unapologetic. And just like that, best friends.

He made Spain feel like home. He dragged you to local karting tracks, shoved a helmet on your head, and laughed until he was breathless as you struggled to drive at half his speed. You sat on the asphalt after his races, drinking cheap sodas and listening to him talk about his dreams; Formula 1, podiums, championships. You still remember the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his father, the legendary Carlos Sainz Sr., how he wanted to make him proud.

“You think I can do it?” he asked once, voice quieter than usual.

You scoffed, nudging his shoulder. “I think you’re already doing it.”

And you were right.

He climbed the ranks, and you were right there beside him, just like he was there for you. Modeling started small, with local gigs, small shoots. but soon after, your face was showing up in magazines, whispered about in the industry. The first time you booked an international job, Carlos picked you up and spun you around like it was his victory too.

“You’re gonna be famous,” he said, grinning. “I’m gonna see your face on billboards, aren’t I?”

It was fun, easy, and natural, until it wasn’t.

The higher he climbed, the further away he felt. The more you succeeded, the less you seemed to talk. At first, it didn’t feel like a big deal. You still sent texts, still FaceTimed when you could. But slowly, the missed calls turned into silence, and suddenly, you were watching each other’s successes through headlines instead of in person.

Then, he made it to Formula 1.

And you? You were stepping into high-fashion modeling.

The night it all fell apart wasn’t supposed to be anything special. Just another call that went unanswered. Just another missed "good luck" before a race. But this time, Carlos called back, and he called back angry.

“You don’t even care anymore.” His voice was sharp, cutting straight through your exhaustion.

You blinked, phone pressed to your ear, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “You missed my race. Again.”

Your stomach twisted. “Carlos, I had a show. You knew that.”

“Right, right,” he said bitterly. “Another shoot, another runway, another excuse. Siempre tienes una razón, ¿verdad?” (You always have a reason, right?)

Heat flared in your cheeks. “Excuse me? Don’t you dare act like you’re the only one with a career! I support you, Carlos, but I have my own dreams too.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the kind that made your heart feel light, it was sharp, hollow, cold. “Support? ¿Eso es lo que llamas esto?” (Is that what you call this?) “Because it feels a lot like you just don’t give a damn anymore.”

Anger burned hot in your chest. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” His voice dropped, quieter, but somehow even more dangerous. “Entonces dime, when was the last time you actually showed up for me? When was the last time you watched me race, not through a screen, but actually there?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because the answer was obvious. And it wasn’t one you wanted to say out loud.

Carlos exhaled sharply, like he had been hoping, hell, borderline begging, for you to fight him on it. But you couldn’t.

He scoffed. “Eso pensé.” (That’s what I thought.)

Tears burned behind your eyes. “This isn’t fair, Carlos. You’re always traveling, I’m always traveling! What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to care.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. But it was enough to break you.

Your breath hitched. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and that hurt worse than anything else.

Because Carlos always knew. He always understood you, always read between the lines, always saw you even when you felt invisible to everyone else. But now? Now he wasn’t even sure.

The silence stretched between you like an open wound.

And then he said it.

“Quizás sea más fácil así.” (Maybe it’s just easier this way.)

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. “What?”

His voice was flat, emotionless. Like he had already given up. “Maybe we’ve just been holding on to something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You felt something inside you shatter.

Carlos had been your best friend. Your person. Your safe place. But now he was just...just nothing.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your voice was quiet, raw, aching. “I have an early flight.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Por supuesto que sí.” (Of course you do.)

Neither of you apologized.

Neither of you fought for it.

Neither of you said goodbye.

Carlos left for another race. You left for another shoot.

Neither of you looked back.

Until you were given no choice...

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[earlgreylatte]

Hi can you do yanderes with a hypersexual darling? Like they dont like their partner but still need it, its okay if you dont want to love your work (its up to you about yanderes)

Friends with Benefits

Hal Jordan: Your next door neighbour was annoying, incorrigible really, in how much he seemed to relish in being a bother. Loud and arrogant, flirting with you at every interaction, but infuriatingly attractive, you don’t like him, at all. Especially since he seems to wait until all he has left is a pair of sweatpants to actually head down to the basement to do his laundry, proudly showing off his slim waist and defined abs. Okay, maybe you want him in a purely sexual way. And he feels the same way, so you find yourself falling into a purely transactional arrangement with him; you’re both clean and neither of you expect a follow up call, so it works. And he’s gone half the time, leaving no room for awkwardness as he’s more concerned with jumping you. And he knows how to put that annoying mouth to use. But during one of his longer stints of absence, you find yourself calling an old hookup over instead. Before you can even take your clothes off, Green Lantern of all people is bursting into your bedroom and throwing the other man off you with a brutal punch, daring him to show his face near you again before throwing him out. And, oh god, Hal is Green Lantern. That explains the constant leaving he does. But you’re more concerned about his audacity. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend and he no right to interfere in your affairs. When his face goes blank, you’re almost thankful his eyes are covered. But he only smiles before yanking you towards him by the wrist, “Looks like I’ll have to change that then.”, and you don’t think you can say no.

Booster Gold/Ted Kord: It’s not that you disliked them or anything, you even found their antics humorous at times. But, that’s as far as you would go. The whole hero community wasn’t one you wanted to involve yourself in, preferring to just do your work and return home without having to go to any of their holiday parties. But the one time you are roped into going one, and after a certain beetle starts flirting with you, you find yourself in supply closet and being joined by Booster Gold who walked in on you two. And, it’s easy being with them, not having to explain your bruises and being able to take what you want, what you need. Ted even offers to create toys that could better fit your desires. And they both seemed to understand your arrangement well enough. But soon they goad you into playing Smash Ultimate after you shower, then they’re making you food and even bringing you pastries if you’re working together. But it’s still casual, even as they refuse to let you leave their cuddle pile and start wrapping their arms around your waist after you finally agree to platonically hangout. But when a villain gets the upper hand on you, and you find yourself whisked away in the Bug as Ted cradles you and Booster nearly beats a man to death, you realize you’re totally dating them, or at least they think so. Fuck.

Kyle Rayner: Kyle’s never had the greatest luck with romance, so at some point, he just says fuck it and gives up on the whole true love thing. He just pours himself into the whole Green Lantern thing, remaining in space, exploring and tending to his duties, rather than try to cultivate a relationship back home. You enter the picture as a fellow lantern, assigned on a diplomatic mission with him, and those always take a while to complete. So when you two are bored out of your minds in your shared room, one things leads to another, and you two begin a series of flings with each other. By the time your mission is over, Kyle has already told the Guardians you need more training and that he’s more than willing to help you for the foreseeable future. He knows he said he was done with love, but he couldn’t help himself. He needs to stay with you just a little longer, just to make you feel the same way as him. And you can’t really say much, seeing as how he’s your superior and saviour of the Corps.

Johnny Storm: Everyone and their mother knew about the Human Torch, former teen idol now a general nuisance. It’s a bit hard not to be envious of him, with the glitz and glam of his hero/explorer life, surrounded by models and fast rides. So, when he asks you out after saving you, obviously you reject him. But you keep running into him afterwards, much to your annoyance, and eventually he’s grating on your nerves enough that you say fuck it, and skip the date and fuck him instead (and maybe the look of shock on his face was worth it). And that was your first mistake because god was he disgustingly good in bed, leaving you utterly satiated and covered in bite marks, so of course you proposed to keep things casual, seeing how he probably wanted sex too rather than something more intimate, playboy that he is. Until he starts referring to you as his future wife to others before insisting he’s joking when you confront him. And showing up at your work while suited up, causing everyone in your vincity to start recording. After appearing on TMZ, you decide to distance yourself from him, but kidnappings and villain encounters push you back into his arms, while his nephew starts to call you ‘auntie’ and his niece stares at you menacingly. Well, if the world is going to see you as the Human Torch’s lover, the least he can do is put his powers to some use in the bedroom…

Peter Parker: You can’t really escape him, or at least that’s how it feels like. You and Peter have attended school together since kindergarten, but that hasn’t necessarily forged a friendship. No, he’s just kid you’ll have in your class some years or see around. You thought you’d never see him again once you reached adulthood, but he’s a student of Empire State University too. You don’t have anything against him, really, but you’d rather have one of your friends show up as much as he does. But you can’t deny he’s attractive, muscle hidden beneath those baggy shirts he wears, toned stomach revealed when he stretches just so. So when you see him hanging around at a party, awkwardly nursing his solo cup, you approach and one thing leads to another, and you’re back at his place. He’s stronger than you expected, able to manhandle you into any position he likes with a near punishing force, so you stay a bit longer. You thought he knew things weren’t serious between you two until, he’s confessing he loves you, that he has for a while, as he’s climaxing in you. You wait until he falls asleep to sneak out, but you knock a box off his desk. One filled with pictures of you. And when you feel someone hovering above you while you were inspecting a particularly risqué photo of you, you don’t turn around in fear of the expression on his face. God, you’re fucked, in more than one way.

Matt Murdock: He doesn’t have the time or capacity for a relationship, but he has his urges, ones that he isn’t able to control, if his body count or meetups with the Avengers aren’t evidence enough. He knows that you’re like him too, and that you won’t get attached, so you two come to an arrangement. But the more time he spends with you and the more accustomed he becomes with your body, the harder it is for him to keep his feelings down. He knows you don’t feel the same way, from the reactions and chemicals he can feel and smell from you. But even then, he can’t bring himself to push you away. So he listens to your heartbeat from outside your home, makes sure no one even thinks of approaching you when you walk home, and continues to pine. And when he overhears a coworker plan to make a move on you, he pays them a visit as the Devil. Even if he wants more, he would rather die than have things change with you.

Thanks for the ask! Changed the request just a bit—

Also 2025 is the year of Johnny Storm, whose comic version has no fics here!! Hopefully marvel rivals creates some hype!!

Masterlist

[gilverrwrites]

Now hear me out, #10 on the room prompt with Bruce. I don't know just how to describe it, but something about him having to pay whomever checks the security cameras to stay silent after fucking our brains out is so scumptious. Or maybe not even fucking and just rubbing himself on our pussy to get himself off and leave us needy. Like you have no idea how badly I need this man to cum in my panties while we're at work and tell me to "deal with it."

Bruce Wayne/F!Reader, 1.4K words AN: I'm bringing back PA/Secretary reader cause they deserve to keep fucking after the whole pollen fiasco, and we’re going heavy on the Brucie charm for this one. Is this like the third thing in a row I've written that includes our dear old reader being denied? Yes. Am I upset about it? Hell no! Warnings: Semi-public | denial | power imbalance

It doesn’t matter how many times your boss charms himself out of the consequences of being chronically late for every important meeting or event, it always rubs you the wrong way. Fortunately for him though, he’d lucked out, or perhaps planned on it, by wearing those trousers. They may seem like any other of his no doubt massive collection of black fitted trousers, but these ones in particular hug his sturdy thighs in all the right places.

You’re calming down by enjoying the view when the private elevator comes to a bumpy, unexpected stop. You lurch forward, letting out an embarrassing squeal as the lights go out until a pair of steady and familiar hands catch you. He has you comfortingly pressed into his chest when the emergency lights switch on, and he keeps you there, with a firm, soothing grip as he pulls out his phone. As his assistant, it certainly should be your job to be making calls at this point, assuring his investors that you’ll be there when the elevator is back in service and amending his future appointments to make up for lost time but Bruce is already on the line with the 20th floor receptionist and security personnel before you have the chance to beat him to it.

“I could have done all that for you.” You scold when he hangs up.

He shrugs, nonchalantly, chuckling as his hand starts to smooth its way further down your back, settling on your hip, just a half-inch shy of your ass. “Now you don’t have to.”

“Are we going to be stuck in here for long?” As you ask, you lean back to look at him, straightening his tie after your impromptu cuddle had brushed it askew. His baby blues wander upward as he considers his next words and actions until he looks back at you with a playful smile.

“Long enough that we might need to find a way to pass the time.” It’s obvious what he has in mind as his sneaky fingers slowly, but decisively start to gather up your skirt, exposing a little more of your thighs with each curl of his fingers.

Obvious, but not acceptable. “Mr Wayne, the cameras!”

His wrist is too thick for you to wrap your whole hand around but that doesn’t stop you grabbing it. Your objection doesn’t stop him, and when you turn your head to gesture at the aforementioned cameras, he only uses it as an opening to lay his lips on the side of your neck. He rubs his nose against the soft spot below your ear, breathing in your perfume before he starts to press tender and intoxicating kisses to your skin. It's maddening, and you want to melt into them but neither of you want news leaking about Bruce Wayne and his assistant making it to print.

“Sir! I really don’t think we should be doing this in here.” When you object a second time he gives pause, pulling back just enough that you can still feel the warmth of his breath.

“Relax.” His bass-like voice whispers in your ear before he starts to kiss along your jaw until you’re face to face. “Nobody is monitoring the surveillance room right now, and it won’t cost much to have the recording scrubbed. Nobody will know.”

He’s already won his case, he won the moment he started, and he knows to; he’s already wearing his victory look, that lopsided smile, hungry eyes framed by dark and pronounced brows that are begging you to challenge him. But you don’t challenge him, you succumb under his gaze, leaning up to put your arms around his shoulders a kiss him. Now that he has your official permission, Bruce wastes no time hitching up the last of your skirt, trying and failing to keep his amusement under wraps as you gasp and yelp when lifts you by the backs of your thighs, pressing you to the cold metal wall with your legs spread around his hips until you’re rested upon the railing.

“Keep quiet.” He warns with mocking sincerity, eyes fixed on your flushing face as he unbuckles those pants and reaches beneath his boxers. “Unless you want everyone on the 12th floor to get an earful of those dirty noises you make for me.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve never had to take something that big before I’d bet.” You’re only half joking, and you know your words have stroked his ego just right by the way he shuts his eyes for a moment, suppressing his blush before he pulls out his half-hard cock. His fingers glide over it ease, bringing it to full attention without breaking his unflinching stare.

“You don’t have to take anything.” The fingers of his other hand hook into your panties, and your whole core clenches around nothing as it’s exposed to the air. He’s excruciatingly gentle he runs his finger along your slit, and you fidget on your precarious perch, desperate for more pressure as he keeps ghosting over your folds.

“I just wanna feel you.” He practically purrs, resting his forehead on yours as he lines up his crown at your entrance. “How wet you are for me.”  

True to his word he doesn’t even try to push into your waiting pussy. Instead, driving his length between your lips, sucking in a breath and bucking up until his tip drags over your clit and down again, one hand cupping the base of his cock to stimulate any parts of him that doesn’t reach between your warm lips.

“Hah.” His jaw grows momentarily slick, lids heavy as he revells in the feel of your wet and puffy folds. “You’re a very accommodating PA, you know. Always ready for me.” His voice breaks as he tries to jest. “Is this okay?”

Though he would have gotten the same response from you where he not stroking your clit with every thrust, the fact that he is certainly motivates your dreamy reply. “Y-yes. Yes Mr Wayne, keep going.”

“Good.” His breath is already shaken and heavy. “Goooood.”

He’s careful as he tucks your panties back into place, covering his cock with it before he connects his lips to yours for a heated, frenzied kiss. A messy kiss, which you deepen every time he grazes your clit just right to make your toes curl in your pumps and your grip on his suit jacket tighten.

A kiss that’s only broken periodically, when Bruce needs a second to bury his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his ragged, whimpers.

Again when you pushed back against him too hard, nearly falling from your improvised plinth.

And once more when the elevator begins to hum back to life, nearly blinding you both with the normal lighting, and causing you both to jerk as it starts to move once more.

“Shit!” You tap at his shoulders, urging him to stop, growing more angsty with each floor that flies by, ignoring how your pussy aches to finish.

“Just. One. More. Second.” Bruce growls between pants, too close to stop, unwilling to stop. Still pumping his length between your folds, each roll of his hips growing harder and further apart. “Almost- fff.”

His voice breaks completely, hard muscles softening in relief as he as he releases himself. The heady feel of his hot cum spilling against your achy pussy makes your body long for more even though your brain says no. Unconsciously you ride against him, smearing his load all over. The sight of it seeping into and staining your underwear making you lightheaded.

Despite your warnings, Bruce is the one to move first, letting you down from the wall and pulling your skirt back down before turning his back to the door just in time for the telltale DING sounds, alerting you both that you’ve reached your stop. With record speed; he tucks himself back in, neat and tidy just in time for the doors to open where Sam the receptionist is waiting to inform you that the investors are still waiting in the boardroom but are getting tetchy.

“I’ll meet you in there.” You tell him, already veering toward the bathrooms.

“No, I need you there.” His voice is terse, but his eyes are knowing.

With as much subtly as possible you gesture to your lower body, where his cum is still warm and seeping into the crevices of your pussy. Your panties, unable to contain it all; are leaking, and with every drop that starts to gradually trickle down your leg, you can feel yourself growing simultaneously more needy and paranoid.

“You’re just gonna have to deal with it.” He’s already got his charming, Brucie Wayne can-do-no-wrong face on as he places an arm around you, just high enough on your back as to not cause suspicion as he guides you toward the meeting room. “I need my best girl.”

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

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[littelovelunette]

Sleepy Baby

Fluff, gambling

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧��⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Sevika was out gambling for a long long time tonight and watching her gamble with the other henchmen was making you sleepy.

Today you weren't on her lap, mainly because the game was so intense you could barely take it with your anxiety. You were sitting beside Sevika with your head leaned against her right shoulder, her right arm was draped around you protectively.

People at the table were eyeing Sevika with frustrated stares and some groaning because of the amount of chips piling at Sevika's side.

It was clear, she'd win again but still then there was the tension in her room. It only heightened as Sevika took another swig of alcohol, forcing her senses to focus.

You yawned for the millionth time tonight and sighed, watching the game. You didn't wanna bother Sevika or make it seem like you weren't enjoying or whatever. You just felt sleepy was all, a bit later, your sleep got the best of you and your eyes shut down automatically before you could even protest.

"Rotten luck, boys," Sevika smirked, taking a long exhale of her cigarette. Your head fell limp against her shoulder making her turn to look at you, "Oh, lovebug must've been sleepy."

Sevika wrapped you up in her poncho, picking you up bridal style cradling you, not too delicately though. Cause c'mon it's Sevika we're talking about.

Sevika took you back to her place, kicking the door open but not loud enough to wake you from your deep slumber.

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

The next morning...

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

You wake up with a start, hearing Sevika's snoring right by your ear but once you see it's Sevika you calm down and lay back down next to her.

Sevika looked cute, asleep in all nude.

It looked like she had undressed you and taken your makeup off as well, because your hair accessories laid on the bedside table.

So cute.

You reached out and brushed some of her hair away from her face, she turned to your side, draping her right arm over your body, her snoring stopping slowly.

You smiled and stayed there in her arms.

"I love you."

Sevika didn't answer, just deep asleep.

When she woke up a few minutes later, she looked at you, blinking a little, "How long have ya' been staring?" She grumbled groggily.

"Just about half an hour."

[sabertoothwalrus]

GENERALLY the closer you are to a major city, the better luck you’ll have. But also, I live near LA and they’re more often in the smaller cities around LA than in it.

and straight up, half the time I find out about them because I drove past one and saw the big tent, or a friend did and told me about it. They’re usually visible from the freeway. Ask around, maybe someone you know has seen one!

The other way I find them is by searching “circuses near [zip code]” and seeing what comes up. Even if there’s an old result, I’ll go to the troupe’s page and keep an eye on their tour dates and see if they’re coming back soon. Some troupes might even be local to a small region.

And if you find one, take your friends!! Seeing a live circus performance is such a short-lived experience, so why not share that moment with people?

ok my last post was silly but I AM being genuine when I say that people should go to circuses more. Yes I’m biased. But they’re all incredible feats of acrobatics and performance and costumes. I like how they’re ephemeral, how one week you’ll have a plain ol mall parking lot and the next it’ll be filled with a big colorful tent and dozens of the troupe’s trailers. and then the next week they take their equipment and their performances with them.

I’ve been to a lot of circuses in the past 2 years and it’s so sad when the stands are barely filled and they have to fight for the audience to interact and it makes me want to imagine how happy they’d be if circuses were more popular and they were constantly selling out shows….

[deadhands69]

Will you be my Valentine?: Heroes (masc characters)

How does your favorite hero act on Valentine’s day when they have a crush on you? masc characters edition ▷ fem version ▷ villain version Featuring: Katsuki Bakugo, Shouto Todoroki, Hitoshi Shinso, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Izuku Midoriya, Tamaki Amajiki, Hawks, Shouta Aizawa.

Bakugo is even more passive aggressive towards everyone most of the day: it's because he's nervous. The two of you often spend time at each other's places but tonight it's different. He's planning to make you a nice dinner and, if it goes well, tell you he likes you. When you arrive, there's a cute simple bouquet of your favorite flowers on the table and the smell of your favorite food. He did well. Everything goes to plan and you end up making out on his couch half the night.

How to handle this: Please don't tell anyone, he can't deal with them making fun of him for being soft.

Shouto read a lot of romance mangas to come up with a plan. He tried to chose ideas from the ones with main characters that remind him of you so it looks like your options will be: the mall, ice skating, and/or a nice dinner. If you're up for it, he's happy to do all three (but good luck dressing for that.) He stole Endeavor's credit card for whatever you want to do (at this point it's not really stealing, Endeavor just had cards made for each of his kids because he was sick of not being able to find his own.)

How to handle this: He has the basic structure of a date laid out, you'll probably have to fill in the rest with him. That'll be fun though!

Shinso listened to Aizawa's advice to do something low key for you. A few days in advance, he asks if you're free then makes some 11am plans to meet at a coffee shop then stop by the book and record stores nearby. It's laidback and easy, you get to talk to know him a lot better and each of the stops gives you an idea of each other's taste in media. Neither of you wants the date to end, so you pick up some takeout and head back to your place to listen to the albums you bought (and maybe other things.)

How to handle this: Keep him caffeinated, he wants to keep talking and get to know you better but he's soooo tired.

Kaminari knocks on your door just after 6pm on Valentine's day wearing a shirt that says “I’m with [giant picture of you face]”, he had one made for you too! Surprise!! After a few cheesy pickup lines, he asks you to go to the arcade with him. At first you think he's joking, because his tone is the same as the bad pickup lines, but you quickly realize he's completely serious about all of it. When you get there, you discover he's surprisingly good at the claw machine and wins you more plushies than you can carry. He also likes playing lightly competitive games against you, but it's mostly an excuse to playfully bump/nudge you when you pass him at Mario Kart. As you're leaving, he asks you on a second date to play mini golf, then celebrates you saying yes by kissing you excitedly and knocking all the plushies out of your arms.

How to handle this: Just go with it. Some of it's a little cringe but in a fun dorky way.

Kirishima volunteered to work Valentine's day a few months ago. He'd still like you to be his Valentine though, so he asks if you'll go out with him the day before. Fortunately, you're free that evening and get dinner reservations somewhere you both wanted to try. It's cute, he walks you to your doorstep, and kisses you goodnight. While at work, he spends all of Valentine's day texting you whenever he gets a chance. You have so much fun talking all day that you invite him over to hang out after his shift ends.

How to handle this: He's already happy you gave him a chance and were willing to work with his busy schedule. Also, tell him he's manly, he'll love it.

Midorya wrote 56 pages of plans over the past half a year, detailing exactly how he'd like to take you out, where you might be interested in going, how he'll ask, and rankings of the best and worst gift ideas. In the end, he ends up asking you out a week in advance, hands sweating so much he could barely text. When he arrives at your door, he's dressed cute and hands you some pretty flowers. The two of you walk to a nearby cafe. Overall, the whole thing is really sweet, even if he's super nervous.

How to handle this: Hold his hand on the walk back and his heart might jump out of his chest.

Amajiki wrote you a four page love letter complete with the most beautiful poem to ever grace the planet. Unfortunately, even with his friends hyping him up, he couldn't work up the nerve to deliver it to you so it lives in a box under his bed now.

How to handle this: You can try talking to him, but he'll probably get scared. Maybe just start with acknowledging his existence and if he doesn't run away immediately go from there.

Hawks takes you to five different parties over the course of the evening. At first, you figured he was asking you as a date. By the end of it, you're not so sure because nothing about this evening has been particularly romantic. That is, until he kisses you at the last stop - making his intentions very clear.

How to handle this: He's so excited you said yes and wants to publicly show off that you're willing to be his date, let him and he'll do all the sweet stuff later.

Aizawa isn't up for a huge fancy dinner or anything like that. But he does know it's Valentine's day and he does want to do something with you. He invites you over to his house to hang out, orders takeout, and rents a movie. You're ten minutes into the movie when you look over…and- fuck, he’s asleep.

How to handle this: Honestly, he’d probably prefer it if you just let him sleep.

masterlist

will aizawa fall asleep in every one of my hcs? yes.

[cosmiclily]

For the writers block: I hope this is okay to request this kind of snippet but I think this idea is very cute. -🎸

It’s raining and Vi plus reader are coming out of a bakery with fresh strawberry muffins, a dog catches a whiff of the delicious muffin and chases them in the rain running away from said dog, Vi throws a muffin so far the dog leaves them alone and they run again not trying to find out if that dog will come back for them. The both of them find some sanctuary away from the rain and the dog. So out of breath laughing at their exhausted faces and taking a long look at each finally kissing. They sit somewhere dry and eat their muffins peacefully listening to drips that hit the ground.

“Thank Janna, for the rain” - I just realized I basically just wrote a lil mini story but like I feel like if you tweaked it, it could be better, it would be softer like the way you write the both of them is refreshing ✨

You don’t have to use this if you don’t want to at alll

“thank janna, for the rain.”

• vi x reader

wc: 1.4k

notes: i’m on a fluffy roll, this is the cutest thing i’ve ever written. thank you so much for the request!!! i loved writing this 💕

I met Vi through a mutual friend, and the first time we ever saw each other, I was helping that friend puke outside a frat party. Vi stepped in to help me get our friend home, and before parting ways, we exchanged numbers so she could check in on us later.

After that day, we started talking—constantly texting, sharing random thoughts, late-night confessions, and jokes that only made sense to us. It felt effortless, like we’d known each other for years. But every time we tried to go on an actual date, something went wrong. It was almost comical, like the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

The first time, we planned a simple outing to the park. The day we scheduled it, the skies decided to punish us for no reason, unleashing a torrential downpour that flooded half the city.

The second attempt was at a restaurant everyone was raving about. We were excited, certain nothing could go wrong with a reservation. But on the very day we were supposed to go, they suddenly announced a temporary closure due to “unforeseen circumstances.”

The third time, Vi got hurt—badly—during a hockey game. She took a nasty fall, ended up with a sprained wrist and a trip to the hospital.

Now, we were trying for the fourth time.

“I don’t care if it rains, if the café catches on fire, or if a piano falls on my head. We are going out!” Vi declared over the phone, determination radiating through her voice as we both got ready for our date.

“Don’t put those things out there; they might actually happen,” I replied, half-joking but also slightly paranoid. At this point, I didn’t want to take any chances.

Vi laughed on the other end of the line, that warm, effortless sound that always made me smile, even when I was trying to be serious.

“If a piano falls on my head, at least I’ll die knowing we tried,” she teased, her voice full of that stubborn charm I’d grown to adore.

“Yeah, well, if you die, that’s going to make date number five even more complicated,” I shot back, slipping on my jacket and checking my reflection one last time. My heart was racing—not just because of the string of bad luck, but because this time felt different. Like it might actually happen.

We hung up with promises to see each other soon, and as I stepped outside, I held my breath, half-expecting the sky to open up or a rogue piano to come crashing down from the heavens. But the air was calm, the streets dry, and for once, nothing catastrophic seemed to be on the horizon.

When I arrived at the café, I spotted Vi instantly. She was leaning against the doorframe, scrolling through her phone, her pink hair slightly messy from the wind and a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She looked up, our eyes met, and just like that—everything felt right.

No storms. No sudden closures. No injuries. Just us.

“You made it,” she said with a grin, as if she didn’t quite believe it herself.

“We made it,” I corrected, walking up to her.

We stepped into the café, the warm scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries wrapping around us like a cozy blanket. We ordered, found a small table by the window, and sat down. Everything felt calm, effortless—like the universe had finally decided to cut us some slack. The date was perfect, just the way I had imagined it.

Vi had this awkward sense of humor that never failed to make me laugh, the kind that sneaks up on you, catching you off guard in the best way. She’d say something completely ridiculous with a straight face, and it would hit me a second later, leaving me in stitches. And God, she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen—like she didn’t even have to try. It wasn’t just her looks; it was the way she carried herself, unapologetically real, with a spark in her eyes that made everything around her seem a little brighter.

After we’d finished our drinks, Vi leaned back in her chair, that familiar grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“We could get some muffins and coffees to go, then head to that park I was telling you about. I really think you’d like it,” she suggested, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

And that’s exactly what we did. We ordered a couple of strawberry muffins, grabbed our drinks of choice, and set off toward the park. The walk was perfect—easy conversation, hands brushing occasionally, stolen glances that made my heart race. It felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Until that stupid dog showed up.

Out of nowhere, this scrappy little thing came barreling toward us, barking like we’d personally wronged it in a past life. Its eyes locked onto me with what I can only describe as pure, unfiltered hatred. Like it had been waiting its whole dog life for this exact moment.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the universe—clearly bored with our happiness—decided to spice things up. Dark clouds rolled in out of nowhere, and within seconds, fat, cold raindrops started pelting us.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled at the sky, my arms thrown up in frustration as the rain soaked through my clothes.

Vi burst out laughing. Not just a little giggle, but a full-on, doubled-over, can’t-catch-her-breath kind of laugh. She was drenched, her hair sticking to her face, mascara smudging just a little, and she’d never looked more beautiful.

Her laughter was infectious. I tried to stay mad—I really did—but it was impossible. Soon enough, I was laughing too, standing there in the middle of the downpour, trying to shield the box of muffins in one hand and my heart in the other.

“Here, let me take this,” Vi said, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she reached for the box. Without hesitation, she popped it open, grabbed one of our precious strawberry muffins, and chucked it toward the ugly little dog like it was some kind of sacrificial offering.

The dog’s attitude shifted instantly. It sprinted after the muffin with the kind of determination it had previously reserved for us, leaving us blessedly alone.

“My savior!” I exclaimed dramatically, throwing my arms around Vi’s neck and planting a wet, exaggerated kiss on her cheek. My lips met cold skin, damp from the rain, but her warmth still bled through, making me forget just how soaked we both were.

She laughed again, gripping my hands with a firm, playful squeeze before pulling me along. “Come on, Romeo. Before we melt.”

She led me toward a small gazebo nearby, tucked just at the edge of what I assumed was the park we were supposed to be going to. The rain hammered against the roof like it had something to prove, but under the shelter, it was just us—breathless, dripping, and still laughing.

Vi set the slightly damp muffin box on the bench and turned to me, her hair a mess of wet strands sticking to her face, her cheeks flushed from both the cold and the laughter. She didn’t bother to fix it, and honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted her to. She was perfect just like that.

“Well,” she said, brushing water from her forehead with the back of her hand, “this wasn’t exactly the plan.”

“Yeah, but when have our plans ever worked out?” I replied, stepping closer, our soaked shoes squeaking slightly against the wooden floor.

She smirked, tilting her head. “Fair point.”

The air between us shifted—still light, still filled with laughter, but underneath it was something else. My heart was racing again, but for a completely different reason this time. I reached up, gently tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering just a second longer than they needed to.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she leaned in, her smile fading into something softer, something that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. And then she kissed me—soft at first, like she was testing the waters, then deeper, like she’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

The rain kept falling, the universe still doing its chaotic thing, but none of it mattered. In that moment, it was just us—messy, soaked, laughing—and somehow, perfectly right.

“Thank Janna, for the rain.”

──────────────────────

masterlist

[olenoidedserratuspilled]

So I'm a gay man from a completely different part of the world from any of you, and so I don't have much insight into the dating culture of the US because I've never participated in it - or dating culture at all, really. Nonetheless, I'm gonna leave my two cents on this under the cut. Feel free to ignore them if you'd prefer to.

what's essential is understanding that other people including women are full humans just like you, who matter just as much as you.

I'm mostly sure OP already understands that. There's no indication that he doesn't, at least. In either case, this is by your own admission the bare minimum. We both know that the bare minimum isn't gonna cut it here.

there are so many women who are out there who want a guy who is caring and on top of his shit. like the bar is so low for some women, it's not hard to clear it.

See, showing other people that you're caring is hard, especially when you're showing it with the intention of pursuing them romantically - which, let's not kid ourselves, is the intention here. Even if you do mange to convey that - again, it's still only the bare minimum. It's good, sure, but not enough.

less dating apps, more befriending all sorts of people through hobbies and volunteer work.

"Befriend" is the key word here. Dating people you were friends with befrehand is complicated to say the least, we could have an entire separate thread about it, but to summarize my outlook I think it's half a matter of luck and half one of finesse. If you don't do everything exactly, perfectly right, it can easily end with both of you sad, angry and potentially traumatized - and it will be your fault, not in the sense you'll be blamed for it, but in that it'll be objectiely your fault.

figure out what you have to offer to the world, offer it, people will take notice.

Sure, they might. If they do though, will anyone want it? If they want it, why would they not seek it from someone else? Someone who's been doing it for longer, who's more skilled at it, or who's just got more to offer besides it? Just "having something to offer" isn't good enough, it's the bare minimum.

There's nothing you can offer that can't be easily found somewhere else. It doesn't matter who you are, there's always gonna be a billion other people exactly like you except better. And what, you want somebody else to settle for you when it'd be easier, less risky and more gratifying to just look for somoene better instead? That's selfish. I'm not being coy here, it is objectively, undeniably selfish to want that. I do need this to be clear: I'm not blaming anyone other than OP/the hypothetical man this advice is aimed at in this scenario.

it also really really sucks for straight women, my god does it suck ass. you need to understand the ways it sucks for women before you can improve your game, btw.

I mean, I think the ways it sucks are fairly obvious. A lot of people do it but at least for me it's kind of hard to ignore the murders, rapes and domestic abuse. By all means seek to understand them and work to not perpetrate them, but "Don't be a piece of shit" really doesn't paint a very clear picture of what, specifically, you're supposed to do beyond that point.

so many people want out of the box and are out of the box. go befriend and dare them.

If you pardon me being cynical (it's sort of my gimmick, if you couldn't tell), what reason do the people out of the box have to give some dumbass newcomer who just crawled out of the box the time of day? Just thinking "out of the box" isn't enough. It's the bare minimum. It's still just objectively not good enough.

you've set up an equation that means that you must always lose, and it's the type of equation that is primed to make you hate women.

I mean yes and no? From what I understood, one of the equation's components is "if a man fails to find a relationship, the failure is all his". If you interpret this as a false preconception that the world around you holds then yeah I can see how it'll lead down that path, but if you interpret it as true then at worse it'll just lead to hating oneself. Not ideal no, but at least no women are impacted as a result.

this equation is false, and based on false premises, that you and a ton of men and women think is gospel.

It depends on how you define false, really. If we go by objective, observable reality then actually both the presented equations are false and all human interaction is nothing but the absurd acts of chemicals (this is what I believe, to put all my cards on the table).

If you wanna be less Reddit-ey about it though, one could easily argue that - because "the equation" is, consciously or otherwise, upheld by the majority of the population (at least the ones involved in the straight dating scene anyway), then it's true in the sense that it is the social norm that you're expected to abide by. You can say it's morally wrong, sure, but it's still just as "true" as things like dining etiquette and formal grammar.

Feel free to ignore dining etiquette all you like, but you're gonna get a lot of mean looks from relatives and restaurant staff.

one of your falsities is that straight and bi women don't like feminine men. this is patently false. have you met a goth woman? have you met a woman who is in fandom? they are jerking it to the most pathetic and wet sissy rat men.

Fictional men and real men are radically different. For starters, fictional men are just plainly easier to grow emotionally attached to because they come with none of the... "Baggage", for the lack of a better word, and just because someone thinks baby-faced white twinks (because make no mistake, that is what 99.5% of fandom, regardless of gender, imagines when they hear the words "feminine man") look hot on TV doesn't mean they'd ever want to actually date one. Hell, even baby-faced white twinks are becoming kinda passé. Himbos are all the rage right now and I'm sorry but the average guy just isn't himbo material.

Another reason you shouldn't use people's attractin to fictional characters as a baromater is because fictional characters are just kind of... Innately superior to real people, in the sense that it's much easier to glance over all the less palatable aspects of their characters and focus exclusively on the aspects that appeal to you. You can't really do that with a real person.

This is of course not even taking cultural differences into account. I am gay myself and even I'm afraid of presenting as femininely as I'd like to beause (body image issues nonwithstanding) I live in rural Brazil and that's just not socially accepted here, be it by women or men. If I were a straight guy and I did try being A Little Gender and Gay I'd get rightfully told to go fuck myself.

So for my conclusion, I definitely don't know enough about the topic to say whether or not you're right about it, but the advice offered is only a basic foundation that only really helps if you've already got okay to good social skills - which let's be honest, just doesn't describe most men, straight or otherwise.

Even if a guy does every single thing you've advised here though, all he'll have accomplished is... Being a sort of okay guy, maybe. That's a good start for sure but even then you're still gonna fall short. You're still not gonna be interesting, or special, or exciting... Or good enough. And in my experience, if you aren't these things already, you'll probably never be.

TL;DR, here's my point: I think your advice is ultimately harmless, but commits the usual error of only providing a semi-real sense of hope. I'm willing to bet a lung that you and your casanove friends all have much, much more to offer to potential partners than anyone in this thread has or ever will have... And that's kinda the problem. The harsh reality you're avoiding is that some people aren't meant to find love - and if you haven't already found it, that probably includes you.

For what it's worth, I do at least have a boyfriend. We'll probably never meet IRL, but it's good enough for me. Maybe the real lesson OP and other guys should learn is how to acept the cards you've been dealt.

I looked at this thread

and it's another signal from the world of something like "sociosexual realism". Which is like, feminism or whatever told us that men and women were equally agentic, but unfortunately it was lying, and actually it's men's responsibility to be seductive, and if they fail at that then TFR goes down and the Amish win.

It's not just the thread, a lot of relationships and dates make me feel this way.

I'm stuck believing this unpleasant belief. What am I missing? Is the world not like that?

[araybiaaa]

❝ old flames, r. cameron. ❞

ooo. 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈… rafe cameron x original black female character.

ooo. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔… exes, mutual pining, unresolved feelings, jealousy, heavy angst, unrequited / requited feelings, college alternative universe, asshole!rafe cameron, original!black female reader, black!fem oc. possible love triangle (undecided at the moment!).

ooo. 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔… where working on group project with her ex stirs up unresolved feelings and drama.

ooo. 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔… nothing!

sometimes, she thinks that the universe is conspiring against her; that’s the only plausible conclusion that makes sense — that or she just has shitty luck. either way, this unfortunate situation has laure currently perched at a table in the far corner of the library, impatiently waiting for her ex-boyfriend to arrive so that they could start on their project for their research class.

she despised group projects in all aspects.

she didn’t like the lack of proper planning, half-assed attempts or procrastinations. and she especially didn’t like when someone relied on her to do all of the work. she preferred to be graded based on her own merit not someone else’s. especially if they didn’t obtain the same attentive heed about their grades like she did.

laure had always excelled in school. she was smart and liked getting good grades and had a plan of becoming a lawyer that’s been cemented since she was ten years old.

there were several times where she became overwhelmed with stress about whether she would actually pass the bar exam and law school and it had her contemplating if she should switch her major and concede to becoming a doctor like her parents originally wanted. but she managed to prevail through her trepidations and persevere through her courses all while finding a better way to balance studying and her personal life.

it was far from easy and there are still times where she wants to cry in frustration at all the work that she has to complete. but she’s decided to take it one day at a time to help alleviate some of the pending stress.

what wasn’t helping her to not be stressed was rafe’s lack of punctuality and consideration of her time. she told him to meet her at the campus library after his last class of the day so they could begin preparations of their assignment. he told her that his last class ended at 4:15 and when she asked what time would be most convenient for him, he told her that 4:30 worked best. laure’s last class of the day ended at 2:30; so after her last class, she went to the library to start on a few assignments for her other classes while she waited for him.

she plucked her airpods into her ears and sat her laptop in front of her, pressing shuffle on her playlist then began working. she was so indulged into her work that she didn’t notice that two hours swiftly passed by. she grabbed her phone to see if she missed a text from him about arriving a little later than expected.

but she hadn’t receive any notification whatsoever. the last thing he sent to her was a monotonous “okay.” but that was after she told him to meet her at the library which was nearly half an hour ago and she was still waiting on him.

so, yeah, the universe had to be playing some kind of cruel joke on her to have her partnered with someone so inconsiderate and irritating like rafe cameron.

it’s around five thirty when he finally arrives; he’s sauntering towards her, smiling roguishly in a way that makes her narrow her eyes in annoyance at him. she heeds at his appearance noticing that he walked in without a book bag or anything remotely studying / project related for him to offer some kind of contribution to today’s meet up.

when he walks by her; the saccharine smell of citrusy perfume lingers past him and fills her sense. laure rolls her eyes as she soon comes to the realization that the reason for him being late was because he was with a girl.

rafe slides his body into the chair that’s seated athwart from hers. he looks up at her, still smiling roguishly, undaunted by the narrowing scowl she’s giving him.

“you’re late,” she laments, folding her arms across her chest as she stares across at him.

“i’m here though, aren’t i?” he rebuttals, much to laure’s abhorrence and annoyance. “i had something important to handle, but i apologize for being late.” the humor lilting in his voice along with the smirk that’s tugging on his lips immediately lets her know that the apology’s disingenuous and that there was a high possibility that he purposefully showed up late today just to annoy her.

laure pursed her lips and exhaled deeply, resisting the urge of cursing him out.

she knows that’s exactly what he wanted; he found this amusing, annoying her and getting her riled up like this because he knew that of all the things she could control in her life, her feelings towards him was not one of them. but she wouldn’t reward him with the satisfaction of seeing her upset. laure shakes her head, saying an inward litany to help her persevere through the next half hour. she grabs her laptop and logs into blackboard; clicking onto the project’s assignment link. “do you have an idea of what you want to do? she gave us the option of doing something visual or—”

rafe interjects with a scoff. “you do know that this project isn’t due until the end of the month, right?”

laure raised a brow at him, “you do know that i have other classes, right?” while the due date wasn’t approaching any time soon, she preferred to at least have at least a general idea of what they were going to be doing and what their respective contributions would be for the overall project.

she liked being ahead with her assignments. procrastination of any kind would have her behind and she could not accept that. not to mention, her other classes had equally as much work and she wanted to assure that she had enough time to complete everything so she could finish the semester off with a high gpa and good grades.

rafe chuckled, raising his hands in the air in defense. “i know, i’m just saying...you don’t have to hurry up and try to finish this thing in one week. we have more than enough time to get it done,” he paused, the grin spreads evenly across his mouth as he raised his eyebrows in an amused expression. “are you trying to finish this quickly so you don’t have to see me? is that what you’re doing, laure?”

there’s a coquettish tease in his voice as it decimates a few octaves into a low murmur.

she parts her mouth open, preparing to reprimand him for his lack of focus but then his eyes are wandering down to her lips, openly staring at them and she’s pursing her lips together to prevent herself from instinctively licking them.

at this, rafe’s eyes avert upward to her eyes again, and laure hates it but she could feel her face flushing underneath his smothering stare. there’s a stir that tugs in her stomach as they sit there staring at each other and it all begins to feel too familiar; the way he’s looking at her, how he’s talking to her in that flirtatious voice, how her body’s instinctively reacting to him.

she knows what he’s doing; teasing her, challenging her to reciprocate or succumb to his advances. she would be lying if she said there wasn’t a small part of her that contemplated on saying fuck it and grabbing ahold of his hand and leading him to the nearest available corner of the library and fucking him senseless. but those thoughts were dismissed as quickly as they arrived as laure suddenly remembered the reason why they were broken up in the first place.

she harrumphed softly, immediately retracting away from her brief sexually repressed stupor and averted her focus back onto their school work. “look, if you want to half-ass your way through college do that on your own time. you might be able to afford to do that but i can’t. this is a group project so i’m asking you to take something seriously for once in your life, because my grade will be affected by this. and yes, being as far away from you as possible is one of the benefits of getting this project out of the way. so if you don’t mind…”

rafe’s expression falters slightly, and the flirtatious bravado that he once had, immediately dispels from his face at her remarks. throughout the rest of the session, rafe remained quiet, only offering monotonous responses to her questions while he sat there petulantly.

“we can meet here again whenever you’re free later in the week,” she suggests, sliding her laptop back into its case and zipping it close.

she looked up at rafe, expecting him to argue about being too busy or offer her some other excuse as to why he couldn’t find time in his schedule to work on the project again. but he only nods, sliding his hands into the front of his pockets as he looked over at her.

“i’ll let you know,”

she nods, sliding her arms through the strap of her bag as she stands to her feet. “alright.”

rafe nods again before eventually sauntering off until he’s out of view.

…

he calls her a little later in the night.

she’s in her room, laid sprawled out on her back with her laptop propped on her stomach and a big bowl of buttered popcorn sat on the bed beside her. she’s rewatching what a girl wants, laughing at amanda bynes’ character’s antics when she feels her phone vibrating.

she pauses the movie as she patted around on the bed in search of her phone. when her fingers brush against it, she extends her arm out further and grabs ahold of it and picks it up.

she was surprised to see rafe’s name appear across the screen. outside of class, there hasn’t been any communication between them since the breakup. she ceased all contact with him; blocking him on of her all social media accounts, deleting his number and avoiding him on campus.

it’s not until recently when professor thames assigned them as partners that she asked him for his number again so that they could communicate properly while they were working together on it. (truthfully she still had his number memorized but there was no way in hell that she would give him the satisfaction of knowing that) and since then; it’s only been brief text messages exchanged between them solely about the project.

they made progress regarding their responsibilities with their parts of the project, what each of them would be doing, how they would be doing it and so forth. so she’s a little curious to know why he’s suddenly calling her so late in the night.

she contemplates on even answering because if it’s what she thinks it is, then she had no interest in indulging in rafe’s behavior. her curiosity ends up getting the best of her and before she realizes it, she’s sliding her thumb over the green button and is bringing the phone up to her ear.

“hello?” she doesn’t know why it suddenly feels so strange talking to him on the phone. but there’s a lingering awkwardness there. it’s palpable and has her anxiously waiting to end the phone call just so that pestering feeling could go away.

“i just wanted to let you know that i’m free to meet up again on friday.” the raspy tenor of his voice echoes through the phone as he speaks.

laure sits upright on the bed, setting the laptop aside as she leans against the stack of pillows propped up against her back. “oh.” she certainly didn’t expect him to reconvene with her so quickly about that, she assumed he would slack off about it like he did everything else.

“okay, yeah, i’m free on friday too.” she almost tells him that it wasn’t necessary for him to call and tell her this; that a text message would’ve easily sufficed but she relents in doing so.

“cool.” there’s a pause between them and for a moment, she begins to wonder if he hung up. “i know you’re ready to finish this so you can get away from me so…” he murmurs despondently, the remainder of his sentence trails off airily.

(ah, so that’s what this about.)

she nearly makes an offhanded remark about him reacting overly emotional about her comment. rafe’s one of the most insouciant people that she knows and has a tendency to disregard things without a second’s thought. he was cavalier in a way that she almost envied because he didn’t care about a lot of things whereas she cared too much — sometimes to her own detriment.

and she assumed that would’ve carried that same nonchalance in this situation as well, but there’s something unrecognizable in his voice that almost sounds like sincerity that has her wondering if he really did hold offense to her earlier comment at the library. there’s no playful or flirtatious tease when he says it like there would usually be and there’s a lack of hostility in it as well, which meant that he was genuinely hurt by her retort.

laure bites on her lower lip, pushing a few flyaway pieces of hair out of her face. “i didn’t mean—” she pauses, shaking her head as she squeezed her eyes close.

what was she doing?

why did she care about hurting his feelings? she should’ve just said “okay” and ended the phone call right there, but here she was still listening to the softness of his breath as he waited for her to speak. at her prolonged silence, he decided to take the initiative and began speaking again.

“i know that i fucked up but i really do miss you.”

maybe she missed him too.

or maybe she finally decided to succumb to her libido after enduring months of pent up sexual frustration. she doesn’t dwell on whatever the actual reason is for too long, ultimately deciding that she’ll have enough time to lament over this choice another time. because before she knows it he’s pleadingly asking to come over and she’s stupidly agreeing.

he’s knocking at her door minutes later and it’s almost pathetic how avid she is to answer it, already feeling her body thrumming in excitement at the thought of him being inside of her again.

“hey—mmfh!” he’s taken aback by her lack of preamble when she opens the door.

she reaches out, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into the room with the door slamming shut behind him. she approaches him, standing on the tip of her toes so that she’s able to wrap her arms around his heightened neck. rafe’s large, sinewy hands slide over the curve of her waist as he tugs her closer until their bodies are pressed so tightly against each other’s that there isn’t any barrier of space between them.

he cranes his neck down so that their faces are now leveled and ravenously slides his mouth over hers. “missed you,” he murmurs softly against her lips, slacking his jaw wider so that he’s able to deepen the kiss.

it’s pathetic how she practically mewls and melts into the kiss (she decides to blame her sudden hypersensitivity solely on the fact that she’s been involuntarily celibate and that she would’ve responded just as viscerally to anyone’s touch like this, not because she has some residual feelings for him that she was unaware of.) then wraps her fingers around his neck and pulls him closer so that he’s crowding in her space.

a breathy moan falls off of her parted lips when she feels the outline of his cock protruding through the fabric of his sweatpants; it’s stout and swelled in its girth as it curves against her inner thigh. and when he lurches his pelvis against hers, chafing in just the barest of friction, she feels her cunt pulsate at the stimulation that has her toes curling and her body pleading for more.

rafe’s just as carnal and wanton as her, because he’s suddenly hefting her into the air and securing her legs around his waist so that he’s able to carry her over to the bed.

laure’s mouth never retracts from his as he maneuvered around the room. she kisses him with a feverish vigor as she shimmied herself down low enough to where their pelvises are aligned and she’s able to feel his cock brushing directly against her clothed cunt.

“fuck,” rafe murmurs, hastening his gait as he finally reached her bed and lowered her backwards onto the plush mattress.

her hands reach up and grab ahold of his face, her legs spread open invitingly as she tugged his body down along with hers so that he's sprawled out atop of her. he nudges himself between the crux of her thighs, his lips wetly retract away from hers in favor of kissing at the exposed skin on her neck and clavicle.

his lips brush over her skin, imprinting dark love bites wherever his mouth could reach.

“rafe,” she laments through bared teeth, the frenzied haste of her hands slipping underneath the waistband of his sweatpants and tugging them down emphasized her impatience. he’s immediately reciprocating her frustration, retracting away from the embrace just enough so that he’s able to discard the sweatpants and his briefs over his hips until they’re pooled around his ankles.

he lifts his arms up and tugged off his sweatshirt, absentmindedly tossing it aside somewhere forgotten on her dormitory floor.

he’s hovered halfway on top of her; shirtless, with his cock half-erected and spurting bits of precum from the flushed tip. his hands reach outwardly, slipping beneath the hem of the oversized shirt that she was wearing and thumbed the edges of her underwear, tugging them down until she’s left completely bare underneath.

he discards her underwear, then makes a haste effort of prying off her shirt and the remainder of his clothes off until they’re both completely naked. he leans forward and kisses at her lips, the weight of his cock is heavy between their bodies as it curls against her stomach. he kisses her slow and soft, heeding each of her lips with a genial delicacy, pecking and nipping at the plush skin.

there’s something intimate about the way he’s kissing her, how his thumb’s caressing her cheek and how he’s gently brushing his nose against hers that almost has her keening in adoration.

she’s breathless by the time he finally stops kissing her, her chest’s heaving and her senses are slightly disoriented. she looks up at him through her glossy, heavy lidded eyes, watching as he slicked his tongue over the swollen flesh of his lower lip. he nudged her legs open with his knee, staring down at the evidence of her arousal as her cunt glistens with wetness.

his throat bares, clicking, as a groan rips through. and she knows from the ravenous look in his eyes and the way they lulled over with lust that he’s intending to eat her out. “later,” she accents impatiently, needing him inside of her now.

her impatience is completely extinct at this point and she’s almost certain her body would combust if she didn’t cum soon.

she wriggles from underneath him, extending her arm out and reaching into her desk drawer. she rummages through the top drawer, nearly crying out in frustration when she doesn’t find a condom in sight. relief settles in her bones when she continued to search, absentmindedly tossing out all of the clothes that were neatly folded inside until she finds one at the bottom of the drawer.

she tears it open then snuggly allotted it over his arousal slicked cock. just as she’s reaching in between their sweat slick bodies, preparing to grab ahold of his cock and align him up at her opening, he’s wrapping a hand around her waist and hefting her up so that he’s able to slide himself underneath her switching their respective positions.

“i always liked it better when you rode me,” he murmurs, flexing his fingers around her waist and sliding her body forward so that she’s straddling him.

he stares up at her with a knowing look that has something stirring in her stomach. she bites on her lower lip, steadying a on his chest while the other grabbed ahold of his cock. she alleviates the weight of her body off of his lap just enough so that she’s able to align their pelvises.

laure arches her back, leveling her hips just enough so that the tip of him is caught at her entrance. she whimpers, fluttering her eyes softly in content as she slowly lowered onto him. there’s a painful twinge that spreads through her at the intrusion, his girth stretches her inch by inch, continuing its primal penetration.

the pain is immediately substituted with pleasure as she accommodates to the swell of him inside of her; he’s thick and rigid, curled so deeply at her hilt that she nearly feels him in her stomach. she breathes softly through her parted lips, fluttering her eyes open as she peers down at him. rafe’s face is almost dazed; his eyes were affixed on their conjoined bodies, heeding in awe at the penetration and how she’s clenching so tightly and fittingly around him.

pleasure tugs in her stomach again and she has to bite down roughly on her lower lip to prevent a loud, guttural moan from falling off of her lips when rafe grabs her hips and nudged the rest of his cock into her so that he’s now completely bottoming her out.

“ah, fuck!”

her back arches as her body sprawled forward. her forehead’s leaned against his as they both took a few moments to accommodate to the stimulation. it’s laure who initiates the first move; she perches herself in an upright position again, stretching her legs further apart as she pressed her hands against his chest.

she undulated her hips forward; slowly, teasingly, torturously. her cunt gapes around the shape of his cock in a tight squeeze every time he slides back inside of her. the friction of it feels so good that it has her temporarily questioning why she’s deprived herself of this for long so.

“laure.” she moves slowly and deliberately, wanting to feel every inch of him everywhere until her whole body's trembling with pleasure. she breathes softly, her eyes hold the smothering weight of his stare as she looks down and watched him unravel helplessly underneath her.

“fuck, i almost forgot how good you feel,” he’s a blubbering mess now, his fingers are shaky as they held tightly on her gyrating body while she pistoned full body rolls.

he’s curled and swollen; pulsating so painstakingly hard that she feels the tremors of his body reverberating against hers as he holds onto her for leverage.

her jaw goes slack as her mouth parted open slightly ajar while she crooned loudly in pleasure. he holds her by the waist as he sits in an upright position. they’re nose to nose, their breaths tickling each other’s face, their eyes never wavering from each other’s gazes.

he recited his own thrust, lurching his hips forward with a shallow rut and lingered against her. she hikes her legs up further, pulling them up until they’re completely bracketed around his waist which elicits a sharper and deeper change in his stroke. and he does this move, where he grabs her by the ass and roughly shoved her down on his cock until he’s bottomed her out where she curled past her cervix and fucks her.

tears gather in the back of her pupils, her stomach coils in pleasure and her bottom lip trembles. she pulled his mouth to hers and intertwined her tongue into the wetness of his hungry mouth. he thrusts into her with abandon, grabbing her ass, pulling her already working hips closer to him.

he slides his hands on her thigh, her cunt squirms just at the feeling of his hand touching her skin; almost as if it’s anticipating what’s inevitable to come. he slides his hand upward, brushing his thumb over the sinuous crease that dipped at her waist. air catches in her throat and when his hand finds comfort between her inner thighs.

brushing through a few curly pubic hairs he finds down there, he gently puckered a finger inside of her; warmth and wetness from her arousal drenches his finger. she breathes softly, nudges her hips forward, nonverbally telling him to insert another. he complies; adding another and further stretching her seeping folds open until her cunt swallows his fingers.

he presses his finger against her clitoris, teasing ministrations against her sensitive flesh. she huffs ragged moans in his ears, her forehead drops to his shoulders as she feels her lower abdomen clench. she thrusts her hips feverishly against the callus padding of his nimble fingers, stretching her thighs wider, giving him a better view of her swollen cunt. he watches avidly as he subtly pushes his fingers in and out of her in a fluid, motion.

a shudder rolls down her spine, goosebumps prickle her skin in excitement. “rafe!” she keened, his name is the only coherent thing that rolls off of her tongue.

he could feel her swelling around his fingers, could feel her thighs clamping down on him when he flicked his wrist he curled his fingers deeper. “that’s it baby,” he purrs huskily in her ears, pressing a gentle kiss against her temple as he increased his efforts.

her teeth are biting at his shoulder, hips rolling in a lazy tandem against his thick and slightly calloused fingers.

“like that, baby. just like that. fuck you feel good.” he murmurs, the encouraging words causes a high whine to fall from her lips. he withdraws his sex-seeped fingers, continuing his onslaught as he thrusted his hips upwards.

her legs stretch further until pain gathers in her thighs, but she never ceases in the catch and release of his cock as it fills her, too indulged in the way he feels and how she close she is now. their heavy breaths mingle and she chokes back a sob once she feels the precipice of her orgasm creeping up on her.

rafe grunts as he thrusted shallowly inside of her. she cums mercilessly moments later; feeling the relief spill throughout her whole body in a lurch. rafe continued to fuck her through it, milking her completely dry until she goes boneless. his hips jerk and it’s not long before he’s succumbing to his own orgasm. his face is flushed and sweaty and his breathing is labored. laure’s chest heaves as she falls forward onto him, body trembling from her post-coital orgasm.

rafe’s hands are attentively rubbing at her backside, his mouth’s pressing soft kisses in her hair and she doesn’t find herself immediately recoiling away from his touch.

what the fuck did she just get herself into?

[lynnie-s3all]

Either chance or two time and my life is yours 🙏🙏

If i take both to become a whole trio ship, what would i think of that honestly? eh.. I'm going for chance.

(im so tired i did not sleep the whole hour.)

Chance x Support reader headcanons

Being a gambler eh? Must be a tough luck each time.

Remember that small imagine heads up for Chance i made? If i add that here, i think i can finish up the whole oneshot about that so far. But anyway let's start from how he REALLY. met you.

This one probably took place where you all are trying to survive from that John Doe killer. Yeah you heard me right.

He was almost dying low on health and you we're the survivor, or at least i should say the support survivor. You're basically like elliot but a special one. But still killable anyway.

Well how did he find you, BEHIND A WALL OFC (im joking you know almost all maps have a wall to hide from them yk.)

Well you're good on being on at least 80 percent of your health before you start rapidly dying if you get hit by one of his spikes.

Yeah. So chance came up to you and ask if you have any medkit, and of course you do have one but you didn't plan on using it anyway.

He kinda told you that while he was outrunning from the dude with a spiky arm on his left arm, his luck apparently got worsen cause it gave him weakness for half a second. You of course. Well what can you do?

You made a deal with him that if he can distract John Doe and let him attack Shedletsky and Guest, they would take care of the whole thing while he can basically just stun him out after.

He agreed to that deal. WELL WHAT'S YOUR SKILL THOUGH? You basically removed his weakness passive skill and replace it with speed (2). Ok but like, that's pretty unnecessary Zyran.

Well did he do something? Yeah. He decided to bride carry you to a safe zone where not any killer can find you, i really have no idea where he can find that place..

You stayed there for a while, and throughout the whole run, he was energized like he took 5 cans of energy drink straight up in his mouth. Anddd he did shoot John Doe to stun him too. How nice.

Hey, at least you're okay. I mean, in less than a few minutes you'll be fine. The round is almost over.

He went back to the same spot where he had placed you, and you just greet him with a casual "hi again" and act like nothing just happened.

Surprise surprise, he wasn't that amused a lot. But his heart definitely can tell he HAD FEELINGS?

(Wow what a bad story romance you got there zyran.)

Yeah possibly, HE DOES HAVE FEELINGS, but at the same time, why did i write a whole story headcanon about what happened instead of thinking about THE WHOLE LOVE STORY?

Top it off the notch, you two met each other at the bar once again from what happened like a few weeks ago since you two just wnated a break from that whole survivor killer thing...

and there. that's where the whole entire imagine heads up Chance started.

Do i need to tell more? Oh yea I WOULD.

(You might ask, Zyrannnnn, isn't this already a perfect one made by you so far? )

(Uh I'm gonna be honest with you, that whole entire writing thing wasn't really a satire stuff i do mostly because i saw other people write a whole oneshot about forsaken and i really wanted to get back into writing because my motivation is deep down shit. And back like in 2022, i used to write a whole onshot fanfiction that's based from a fnf mod. Yeah my old 14 year old self was proud into making one of those.)

(sorry for the ramble, i just want people to know that.)

[uracutieraka]

My kind of woman

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You're makin' me crazy

Really drivin' me mad

That's alright with me

It's really no fuss

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Monoma Neito x f!reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Synopsis; Monoma Neito absolutely hates class one a, with a burning passion. What happens when class a gets a new transfer student that matches his energy almost exactly?

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Joint training days always had Monoma giddy in anticipation. Mulling over the different insults he was going to use on them today in his head. He's already spewing off taunts as he walks up on to the platform. Teasing the other class about how they were surely going to lose today.

A few of the one a students begin engaging in his banter, egging him on. He begins to say one insult he's been holding on to since the last training day. His eyes dart out to the side and he's glad to see Kendo is across the platform talking to Momo.

But before he can go to say anything he feels a flick to the side of his forehead.

"I might be new but you can't talk to my class that way asshole."

For a moment he thinks he might be hearing wrong. A new student?

His eyes dart over to you, a witty reply already loaded on his tongue, ready to shoot off when he sees whoever is to blame for interrupting him but the words seem to fall short when his eyes lock on you.

You are the most beautiful thing he thinks he's ever seen. Then your words register.

His eyebrow raises as he grists his teeth in frustration. Class one a just stays getting ahead don't they? Stealing all the spotlight and now this? Getting a hottie transfer student in the middle of the year? Yeah, to say he was pissed off would be an understatement.

"Oh? And who are you?" He now throws a sleazy grin your way.

You scoff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms.

"Y/n L/n. Don't forget it." A smirk tugs across your mouth, that he notices is shiny and gloss covered, he wonders what flavor it might be. Would it taste like cherries? Strawberries? Or maybe it didn't taste like anything in particular.

For the first time in his like, Monoma Neito has nothing to say. Well almost nothing.

"How could I forget a name a pretty as that?" He mentally pats himself on the back when he sees you blush and your body freeze, it wasn't long, within half a second you had the same smug look.

But it was long enough for him to feel himself buzzing inside, the kind of buzz he gets when he's successfully wound someone up.

He wants to keep this high going, but words keep seeming to fail him.

"Y/n!" You both look to your left to see who's calling you name and you're greeted with with warm sight of Mina waving you over, wanting you to join their group. He frowns slightly as you nod back and turn to him.

"Well, Monoma, I guess I'll just have to talk to you later." A sly wink and you saunter off towards your friends. How did you know his name?

"Wow, Neito, I think that's the first time I've ever seen you that quiet."

The voice sends a cold chill down his spine. Breaking his train of thought.

"Oh. Kendo, when did you get over here?" An awkward smile crosses his face but she just chortles and walks away. His eyes trail back over to you, curiosity filling them.

You chatter with your friends, happily laughing among yourselves. The same since of jealousy washes over him and he turns around to his classmates.

"Oh we so have to beat them today."

They lost, and Monoma made sure that everyone knew it was only because you played unfair. In his defense you did.

By some stroke of luck his group was paired conveniently with yours. He could feel his heartbeat quicken at the idea of talking to you again.

He might have been known to have a sharp tongue but you were an unknown to most, and it seemed he had finally met his match.

He was fast, but you were faster. Dodging his attack, while making quips at his constant failure to catch you.

"I heard that I was supposed to watch out for you, but I'm honestly starting to think my classmates were just pulling my leg."

oh? You had just made his blood pressure spike. His eye is twitching at this point.

"Your quirk would be amazing to see in action," You stand a few feet in front of him, hand on your hip as the other taps at your chin. "If only you could actually catch me." Now you shoot him a smirk, and another wink.

He tries to run towards you but he's so wrapped up in watching you and trying to find the right words to say back to you, and you're too quick. Hurling insults and attacks at him left and right.

He finally think he has a one up on you, he had used Mina's power to try and slide around behind you, you're even faster to turn around and press a kiss to his cheek before jumping away.

He didn't have enough time to register or activate his quirk as your group swiftly took him down, rendering him immobile and securing your win.

You watch him get dragged away by his red-haired friend, and you wonder if maybe she was more than just his friend. It's a silly thought but it's nagging at the back of your head for the rest of the day.

You're quick to exit your classroom, rushing off down the hall to the other one. You just have to know if the cute boy from class one b has a girlfriend.

You spot him walking and you go to say something to him but the girl from earlier walks out of the classroom and smiles at him before they start talking and walking away.

I guess that answers your question.

The next week goes by and you can't help but stare every time you see him, specifically at lunch, when he's sat at the table directly across from you and your friends.

"Y/n?" Kirishima says.

"Oh!," You snap your eyes back over to your table. "Sorry, kind of zoned out..."

Mina snaps up a knowing eyebrow before talking.

"Yeah on Monoma from the other class." The other students at the table now look at you expectantly, waiting for your rebuttal.

You roll your eyes and scoot before picking your tray up with a 'definitely not' walking away to dump your tray, unaware of the way blue eyes are watching your every move, and have been for the past week.

Finally after two weeks pass and you come to the end of your first full month at UA, your friends have had enough of watching you longingly stare at the annoying boy from their sister class.

Mina told Kirishima who then told Bakugo, but he didn't care and told him to stop wasting his time, so then Kirishima told Denki who told Sero and then Sero told Jirou, who told Yaoyorozu, who finally relayed the news to Kendo.

See the thing about Momo that you didn't know, was she was a freak for romance. She literally squealed when she found out you had a crush on the boy from the other class.

Thus, Momo set her grand plan into action.

It was your fifth week at your new school when Ochaco comes up you, Denki following her.

"Why is he with you?," Your face contorts in disgust and confusion and Denki gives you a confused and hurt scowl at your sudden animosity towards him but you only giggle and turn back to your brunette friend. "So what's up?"

She laughs before inviting you to study with her and a few other friends, but you’re quick to notice the way her and Kaminari exchange a quick look at each other.

“What are you two planning?” They stumble over their words but Sero saves them by swinging his arms around their shoulders and giving you a reassuring smile.

“These idiots are just embarrassed because they realized nobodies invited you to a group study session yet, right guys?”

“Right!” They both say.

You sigh and continue doodling in your notebook before looking back up to them, palm lazily supporting your head.

“Fine.” You’re still unsure of what they were up to but you knew it was something devious.

Monoma has the same reaction as you did. Sending TetsuTestsu a weary glance as Kendo tells him its important to study and keep his grades good. He sighs, deciding this battle is not one he wants to fight, especially with her.

“Whatever, but I swear if you guys are up to something…”

“We’re not!” She reassures her friend.

He knows shes lying, but he plays dumb. Curious as to what they were planning.

Mina and the other girls in your class are sitting in your dorm. Tsu is digging through a few boxes that you have left to unpack out of curiosity.

“Wear something cute!” Ochaco says.

“Why? We’re just going to study at the cafe in the school?” You ask.

Mina rolls her eyes at you. “Uhm because what if we run into cute boys or something?”

Your eyes dart around the room.

“Then why are you guys dressed normally?”

Jirou then scoffs and waves her hand around.

“Uhm, because we’ve already seen the guys at UA, so obviously you gotta make a good first impression.”

You give her a blank stare.

“That makes zero sense.”

She pouts and you turn around, still digging through your closet for something cute to wear.

“What about a summer dress? It is getting hot outside.” Tsu says.

You hum and pull out a few you have hung in the back corner of your closet.

“Good idea, but now the real test, which one?”

20 minutes and trying on each dress at least three times later you land on one. It’s simple and light pink. Perfect. Casual and cute!

Mina does your makeup for you because you said you felt too lazy to do it, and riding on that you convince Ochaco to help do your hair.

After 2 hours you are finally done getting ready. Looking over at your clock the time read 12:16 p.m.

“Shoot! We’re late!” Tsu says.

“Late?”

“Yeah we’re meeting up with some of the guys remember?”

You hum, but you’re still unsure of what the true motives are behind this random study session.

The girls walk with you to the school, and right on past the cafeteria.

“Uhm guys? Arent we supposed to meet them in there?” You say, fighting the girls who are pulling on your arms to keep you moving.

“Code red!” Mina yells and all of the sudden Ochaco has you floating in the air while Tsu has you wrapped up with her tongue. You fight desperately to break from there hold, to no avail. Eventually you give up and allow them to do whatever, accepting your fate.

Eventually you reach a study room that you didnt know existed. Tsu flings you in and Ochaco releases her hold.

You fall to the floor and groan in pain.

“Sorry!” She says and closes the door.

You run and try to turn the handle, sighing and allowing your head to rest on the door.

“They got you too?”

You jump and turn around at the sudden voice.

“Monoma! Oh god you scared me,” you chuckle a bit before looking back up at him. “Do you know whats going on?”

He sighs and shakes his head no.

“I wish I did.”

You frown and go to call Mina, who seems to be the ring leader of this whole plan.

You dig around in your bag and groan loudly when you realize that you either left it, or one of them snatched it.

You sit at a table and put your hand in your arms in defeat.

Monoma sits across from you and puffs his cheeks out while tapping on the table awkwardly.

After a moment you look up at him and let a huff of air blow a loose strand of hair from your face, head falling into the palm of your hand.

"So, uhm, why do you think they trapped us in here?"

He hums and shrugs.

"No clue."

You roll your eyes and get up, looking for another way out of the room. He watches as you move around the room, noticing the way you're dressed up, then starts thinking about his friends forced him to look nice even though they had only planned on studying. He thought it was weird when Tetsutetsu was shoving jeans and a nice sweater in his face.

Its as if something clicked in him at the idea of both yours and his friends randomly doing all of this. Heat creeps up his neck and he clears his throat in an attempt to stop it but fails when you turn around to look at him instead.

"What?" Annoyance laces your tone and he slightly shy away for a moment before feeling irritated at you.

"I was just clearing my throat, damn." He spews back, scoffing slightly and filing his arms over his chest.

You roll your eyes and put your hands on your hips, sneering at him.

"Okay, well are you going to help me figure you how to get out of here or what?"

"There's no other exits. We'll just have to wait until someone lets us out."

Your hands cover your face as a frustrated groan sounds from you. Dropping your hands you look at him for a moment. His blond hair looks surprisingly maintained for a teenage boy. You think for a moment before sitting down across from him.

"So, uhm, where's your girlfriend?" Your voice is slightly shaky and he notices. You watch as his face contorts into confusion at the question.

"Girlfriend?"

"Yeah the one with the ponytail." You say, confusion also all over your face.

He laughs for a moment and then looks back at you.

"Kendo is not my girlfriend."

Your face flushes in embarrassment.

"Oh." You say back quietly.

He chuckles before shaking his head and leaning back in his chair.

"Though I'm sure she wishes she was, who wouldn't?"

"Well, do you like her? You guys always seem awfully close."

He raises an eyebrow at you and a smirk sits on his lips.

"Why do you care so much? Ya' like me or something?" Though he comes across as cocky, his heart is nearly beating out of his chest at the idea.

You now feel heat completely envelope your face at his question, you roll your eyes and look away.

"You wish." Though your words are confident he doesn't miss the way your voice falters at the end.

"What if I do?"

You now quickly look back at him, eyes wide at the statement. Was he being for real or just teasing you?

"Whatever you're just saying that to get a reaction out of me." You cross your arms and watch his movements closely. His brows slightly furrow together at your words and for a moment you feel bad.

"What if I'm not though?"

"You don't even know me."

"I want to."

You hum in thought, wondering if he was being for real or just being a teenage boy.

“Well, what do you want to know? We got time to kill.”

You can see a smile cross his face but it’s quickly replaced with the same smug grin he always seems to have.

“Anything you want to tell me.”

You scoff playfully and rest your chin in your hand.

“You gotta be more specific.”

He sits back and strokes his chin in thought, humming loudly, only slightly glancing your way when a small giggle leaves your lips at his dramatics. Finally he looks back to you, eyes narrowed and the same shit eating grin on his face.

"So, you think I'm cute?"

You can feel the pang of annoyance in your eyebrow. Is this guys serious? You grit your teeth before scoffing, though you can feel the butterflies swarm your stomach at the current situation you're in.

"What if I do?" You quip back. This time you watch as his face grows red. Your eyes carefully scan over his every movement, watching as his adam's apple bobs down and back up slowly.

You slightly relish in the fact he's so nervous at a few simple words, but it's short lived as his cocky smile comes back.

"Well, I guess I'd have to say I think the same about you." He might have a cocky look, but you don't miss the way his face is flushed and his voice slightly shakes.

You both stare at each other for a moment, but you allow another shit-eating smirk to sit on your face.

"Well, Monoma, then I'll tell you the truth," You lean backwards until your back hits the chair, hands gripping the edge of the table. "I do think you're cute, yeah."

He shoots backwards and stand up quickly, you slightly jump at his reaction.

He laughs, and it reminds you of those corny villains out of hero movies.

"Finally! I have a one up on class one a!" He continues rambling on about how he 'won' and he's totally bagging the hottie ew girl before any of the other guys. You roll your eyes but the giggle that escapes your lips gives away you're true feelings.

He stops what he's doing to look back down at you. His eyes are wide when he looks back down at you.

"Wait do you think our friends planned this on purpose?" You hum back at his question, signifying you think they did.

He drops back into his seat and you nearly get whiplash at his change in emotions.

"Man, they suck, but also, I'm grateful they do."

You dryly chuckle at him, going to respond, but before you do the door swings open. Aizawa and All Might stand in the doorway.

"What are you two doing in here?" All Might asks.

You shrug and look back over to the blond boy.

"Ask your other students.," You grab your bag and start walking out, before you do you turn around to look at Monoma. "You coming?"

He jumps out of his seat and grabs his bag as well, hurrying over to you.

"Obviously!"

You just roll your eyes and walk through the doorway, turning to thank the teachers for letting you out. Monoma does the same and walks over to where you're standing in the hall waiting for him.

"So, wanna go get some Soba?" He nods quickly at you and slightly nudges you with his shoulder.

You beam up at him and nudge him back.

"Oh, by the way, you're totally paying." You skip off a head of him and he stares at you, jaw slack. He finally checks back in and chases after you, saying it's not fair to invite someone to lunch then make them pay. You just laugh as you keep running off, laugh echoing through the nearly empty hallways.

"That's an odd pairing, don't you think Aizawa?" All Might asks the long haired teacher next to him.

"No, definitely not." He replies, shouting the door and walking back towards the teachers lounge, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

playlist

[buckybarnesleebodecker123]

Hybrid AU! Task Force 141 x Female!Reader

Final Part: No More Running

The facility was falling apart.

The explosion had set off a chain reaction—**fire licking at the walls, metal groaning as it threatened to collapse.** But none of that mattered.

Not when you stood face to face with the man who had been hunting you for years.

**Cole Stanton.**

He looked almost amused, his sharp eyes flicking between you and **Ghost,** who was standing half a step in front of you.

“Didn’t expect you to have company, little hybrid,” Stanton mused. “And here I thought you liked being alone.”

Your claws twitched. **Ghost was tense beside you, silent but deadly, waiting.**

“I stopped running,” you said, voice even. “Figured it was time to end this.”

Stanton smirked. “Brave. Or stupid.”

Ghost’s gun was up in an instant. “**Try your luck and find out.**”

It happened fast.

**Gunfire. Movement. A blur of chaos.**

Ghost was a shadow beside you, a whirlwind of **violence and precision,** tearing through Stanton’s men while you focused on the real threat.

**Stanton was fast.** Strong. He moved with a predator’s grace, blocking your strikes, countering your attacks.

But you were faster. **Angrier.**

A sharp **slash—your claws catching his side.** A snarl of pain. **A misstep.**

That’s all it took.

You surged forward—**one final strike, a blade through his chest.**

Stanton’s breath hitched, shock flashing in his eyes.

“You—”

You twisted the knife. “**You lost.**”

And with that, you let him fall.

The fight was over.

Ghost was at your side instantly, gripping your arm, scanning you for injuries. His hands were rough but **gentle, grounding.**

“It’s done,” you whispered, half-disbelieving.

He exhaled. “Yeah.”

But the facility wasn’t done collapsing.

“We need to move,” **Price’s voice** crackled through the comms. “Now.”

Ghost didn’t let go of you as you ran.

---

### **Outside – Aftermath**

The night air was cool against your heated skin. The facility burned behind you, but you barely noticed.

**Ghost hadn’t let go of you.**

Not since the fight. Not since you won.

The others were regrouping, checking injuries, securing the area, but **you and Ghost stood apart.**

Finally, he spoke.

“No more running.”

You swallowed, staring at the ground. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Ghost’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up. His mask was still on, but his eyes—**those piercing blue eyes—**were filled with something raw.

“Then let me show you.”

Your breath caught.

And then **he kissed you.**

This time, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed, fueled by adrenaline and fear.

It was **real.**

A promise.

No more running.

Not from him.

Not from this.

Not anymore.

[dahliah-blackened]

The Golden Boy

Ahhh this is a long one! I've had this idea cooking for a while so forgive me for indulging. This is a hungerfic about two of my other OC's, Julien Lee and Kobi Theres. They both attended the same culinary school and that's where their rivalry began, but those feelings are soon pushed aside when Julien begins to overwork himself. Contains hunger that is eventually satiated, stomach rumbling, and food as comfort. Let me know if you'd like to see part 2 where we stuff Julien to his limits :))

Kobi wiped her hands on the front of her apron and glanced up at the clock on the wall. The ice cream parlor had just closed, and the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only noise in the otherwise quiet space. The sweet scent of vanilla and caramel still hung in the air as she began to pull her jacket over her uniform. It wasn’t a glamorous job by any means, but Kobi didn’t mind. At least she was on her own terms. The other job offers after culinary school had all felt like a trap—a stepping stone to something that wasn’t hers, something that wasn’t her dream. She shoved her hands into her pockets as she stepped outside into the crisp evening air.

The bright lights of Le Ciel, the fine dining restaurant, gleamed across the street, catching her attention like a moth to a flame. Through the large windows, she could see the bustle of service—silver trays in hand, waiters weaving expertly between tables, the quiet elegance of it all. But then her eyes found him.

Julien Lee.

She remembered the way Julien used to walk into every room with the confidence of someone who knew they were always going to get the top grade. The way he always had the best knives, the finest ingredients. The best of everything. Meanwhile, Kobi had scrimped and saved just to get by, working part-time jobs and never feeling like she could catch up. She’d spent hours laboring over dishes that he would finish in half the time, his pristine work barely breaking a sweat while she wrestled with the pressure. He had it all, she thought, the bitterness creeping up in her chest again. The day they graduated from culinary school, they promised they’d never speak to each other again. Kobi’s luck, however, ensured she ended up working just across the street from him.

But as she continued to watch him, something past her resentment made her furrow her brows. Julien looked much different. He wasn’t the confident, untouchable figure from school. His movements had lost their precision; his face was too pale, and there was something about the way his shirt clung to his frame that made him look even thinner than before. Her arms crossed instinctively as she leaned against the bus stop sign.

Kobi’s silvery eyes rolled as a smug smirk tugged at her lips. It served him right. After all, this was the guy who always thought of her as an underachiever. Who always got what he wanted. He deserved to know how the struggle felt. “Sucks, doesn’t it, Lee?” She muttered under her breath into the chill air. But as the minutes passed, and as she saw how ragged he looked, something about the way he hunched over the counter, wiping his brow, felt wrong.

He moved frantically, dashing from one end of the restaurant to the other, adjusting silverware, delivering dishes, coordinating with the kitchen. His dark brown hair was slightly disheveled, his dress shirt too loose over his shoulders, sleeves rolled up in a half-hearted attempt at efficiency. The stress that flashed through his eyes sent a pang of pity through Kobi’s chest, much to her annoyance. “It’s not your business.” She mumbled. Yet, she couldn’t pull herself away.

She let out a huff and pushed off from the bus stop sign. It wasn’t her business, but something told her she couldn’t stand by and watch him crumble without at least saying something. She marched across the street, ignoring the discomfort that crept up on her at the thought of facing him. Just a few words, nothing more.

Stepping into the restaurant, she felt all the familiar weight of the place, the high-end decor, the clink of fine china. She wasn’t supposed to be here—wasn’t supposed to be this close to the world Julien had created. She was just a speck in it. Kobi waited by the entrance, watching him scurry across the room. Then, finally, he looked up, and their eyes met. Julien’s face went stiff, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t have time for her now.

His eyes darted around the room before quickly making his way towards the girl standing in the middle of his dining room. “Do you need something?” he said, voice cold, clipped, chocolate brown eyes scanning her as if trying to figure out what she was doing here. Kobi smirked, though it felt hollow. “I was just passing by. I noticed you’re not lookin’ so hot.” She tilted her head with a teasing grin. “Not that you looked any better before.”

Julien’s jaw clenched. The briefest flicker of frustration crossed his face. “Go away, Kobi. I don’t have time for your crap.” She caught the words and took a small step forward, her smirk faltering slightly as she looked him over again. There was something about him that felt different. More fragile than she remembered. His hair was too messy, his eyes sunken. But instead of pushing those feelings away, she pressed on.

“Are you getting enough to eat?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it, and for a moment, they both stood there in silence.

Julien blinked, taken aback by the question. His lips parted, but the words got caught in his throat before coming out. “What kind of question is that?” he finally scoffed, though the sharpness in his voice didn’t match the exhaustion in his eyes. “I work at a restaurant. I’m literally surrounded by food.” Kobi didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched at his sides, nor the slight hesitation in his tone. He was offended. And yet, she could see something else beneath it—something raw.

“Yeah?” she challenged, arms crossing over her chest. “Then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?” Julien bristled. His mouth opened, but before he could fire back a retort, the low, painful sound of his stomach rumbling filled the space between them. Kobi almost thought she imagined it. But the way Julien stiffened, his entire frame going rigid, told her she hadn’t.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Kobi raised an eyebrow. Julien’s face burned. A flicker of panic crossed his features before he turned his head away sharply, jaw tight. “Tch. It’s just—” “Oh, this is rich.” Kobi smirked, tilting her head. “Julien Lee, starving in a restaurant? You see the irony, right?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, too quickly, too defensive. But Kobi wasn’t buying it. She had spent too much time competing with him, too much time watching him, to not notice when something was wrong. “You’re running yourself into the ground,” she muttered, her voice lower now, not teasing anymore. “Are you even—”

“Excuse me, madame?”

A voice cut through the air, and Kobi turned to see one of the waiters eyeing her with mild confusion. The man, a polished and poised server with a neatly pressed vest, flicked a glance between her and Julien. “Is there a problem?” Julien straightened immediately, as if shaking off whatever vulnerability had slipped through. His lips pressed into a tight line before he turned to the waiter. “No,” he said coolly. “She was just leaving.” Kobi scoffed. “Oh, come on—” Then, just as subtly as ever, Julien shifted his foot—just enough to nudge her ankle. It wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to send a very clear message: Drop it. Kobi shot him a glare, but the waiter was already waiting for her to move along. Julien didn’t look at her again. With a sharp exhale, Kobi rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” She spun on her heel, throwing a pointed look over her shoulder as she walked away.

But as she stepped out of Le Ciel and back onto the quiet street, her smirk had faded completely. She knew what she saw. She knew what she heard. And whether Julien liked it or not, she wasn’t going to let this go.

Another day, another close.

Kobi wiped down the counter of the ice cream parlor one last time before tossing the rag into the sink. The shop was already dark, the lights dimmed save for the neon sign flickering outside. It cast a soft glow onto the sidewalk as she locked up, stuffing her keys into her pocket. The night air bit at her cheeks as she made her way to the bus stop, but for once, the relaxing ride home wasn’t the first thing on her mind. It was Julien.

Kobi scowled to herself, arms crossing over her chest. She hated that he was taking up so much space in her thoughts. It made no sense. She didn’t care about Julien Lee. He was an arrogant, insufferable workaholic who had spent all of culinary school one-upping her at every turn. Yet she couldn’t shake the way his dress shirt had hung looser on his frame, the sharp cut of his cheekbones that hadn’t been there before, or the way his stomach had betrayed him with that awful, hungry growl. It nagged at her—biting, insistent.

With a huff, Kobi reached the bus stop, but she didn’t sit. Instead, her gaze drifted across the street to Le Ciel, the restaurant’s pristine glass windows revealing the usual flurry of movement inside. But before she could spot Julien—

Bang!

The glass doors of Le Ciel swung open violently, crashing against the frame as a figure burst through them. Kobi’s breath hitched. Julien.

He staggered forward, his steps unsteady, his chest heaving. His hair was a mess—strands sticking to his forehead with sweat—and his normally pristine uniform looked disheveled, the sleeves rolled up unevenly. Then, without warning, his knees buckled.

“Shit,” Kobi whispered, already moving before she even realized it. The Maître d' rushed out after him, his polished demeanor cracking just slightly as he hovered over Julien’s collapsed form. “Lee!” The older man’s voice was clipped, impatient, but there was a sliver of concern beneath it. “Are you alright?” Julien pressed a trembling hand against his temple, trying—and failing—to push himself upright. “I’m fine,” he muttered, but his voice was hoarse, barely above a breath. The Maître d’ didn’t look convinced. “Should we call an ambulance?” Julien’s head snapped up, his eyes sharp with something close to desperation. “No. I don’t— I just need to… Stay here for a moment.”

Kobi felt something twist in her chest.

The Maître d’ exhaled through his nose, clearly weighing the situation. But after a beat, his shoulders relaxed, and the concern in his gaze dulled—like Julien’s insistence was enough to settle the matter. “Well then,” he said, straightening his sleeves, “catch your breath, but I expect you back inside in ten minutes. Understood?”

Kobi froze. Seriously? Julien didn’t even have the strength to stand, and this guy was still expecting him to work? Julien, for his part, said nothing. He only gave a small, tight nod, his fingers curling into the pavement beneath him. The Maître d’ took that as confirmation, brushing nonexistent dust off his cuffs before turning on his heel and heading back inside. The glass doors shut behind him, the restaurant returning to its usual elegance, as if nothing had happened at all.

But something had happened.

Julien was still on the ground, his breath uneven, his hands shaking. And Kobi was done just watching. She moved.

Kobi didn’t rush. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because she knew Julien would bolt if she came at him too fast, or maybe it was because she still wasn’t sure why she was doing this in the first place. Either way, she took slow, deliberate steps toward him. Julien was still on the ground, one knee bent, his palm braced against the pavement as he tried to steady himself. His breaths were shallow, his fingers twitching where they gripped his black pants. When he caught movement in his periphery, his head snapped up. His shoulders went rigid. Kobi stopped a few feet away. She wasn’t close enough to crowd him, but she wasn’t far enough to ignore, either. For a brief moment, something flickered across his face—something raw, unguarded—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. His features smoothed over, his usual mask slipping back into place, though there was a crack in it now. A fracture.

“I don’t need your pity,” he said, voice quiet but sharp. Kobi almost rolled her eyes. Typical. Even now, when he was at his absolute lowest, he still had his pride. She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she let out a slow breath before lowering herself down beside him, stretching her legs out like she had all the time in the world. Julien’s gaze snapped to her, eyes narrowing. Kobi didn’t look at him. She just stared straight ahead, arms draped over her knees. “I don’t pity you,” she said simply. “But I do know when something’s seriously wrong.”

Silence stretched between them. Julien’s jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. His hands curled into his pant legs, as if trying to physically hold himself together. Then, before he could come up with another excuse—

Grgggllrrrrk.

The sound that tore from Julien’s stomach was long, raw, and absolutely miserable. Kobi blinked. Julien stiffened, his entire body going taut. His hands clamped over his abdomen like that would somehow take back what had just happened, but there was no hiding it—not from Kobi, and certainly not from himself. His face burned. “…Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible. Kobi arched her brow. “You talkin’ to me or your belly?” Julien groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “For the love of—”

Another deep, pained rumble rolled through his gut, cutting him off. He clenched his teeth as his stomach twisted, curling in on himself slightly as tears pricked his eyes. Kobi didn’t smirk. Didn’t taunt. Didn’t take the easy win. Because for the first time, she wasn’t thinking about the guy who had beaten her at everything back in school. She wasn’t thinking about the smug, arrogant, privileged chef who had looked down on her. She was looking at Julien—the person. The man who was clearly running himself into the ground, too exhausted to even eat. And something inside her softened.

“How long?” she asked. Julien blinked up at her. “What?” She didn’t waver. “How long has it been since you’ve had a real meal?” His lips parted, but no words came out. He looked away, his grip tightening on his slacks. Another slow, hollow growl gurgled from his stomach, dragging out into the night air. Finally, in a voice so quiet it nearly got lost to the wind, he admitted: “A few days.”

Kobi exhaled through her nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Julien let out a bitter, humorless chuckle. “I wish I was.” He leaned his head back against the wall behind him, shutting his eyes. “I get home, and I’m too damn exhausted to cook anything. So I just… sleep.” Until the next shift. Until the next demand. Until the next impossible expectation. His stomach clenched again, the sharp pang pulling a small wince from his lips. Kobi saw it—saw the slight twitch in his brows, the way his fingers dug into his knee.

She sighed, running a hand through her strawberry blonde hair. “…Alright,” she muttered, pushing herself up. “C’mon.” Julien cracked an eye open, wary. “What?” She rolled her eyes. “You need food, dumbass,” she said, extending a hand. “Let’s go.”

Julien didn’t move right away. He glanced at her outstretched hand, then back at the restaurant. The golden glow of Le Ciel’s grand entrance spilled onto the pavement, its pristine glass doors shut tight, but inside, Kobi could see the movement of staff weaving between tables, the ever-rotating dance of fine dining. Julien exhaled sharply through his nose. “I need to be back in a few minutes.” Kobi snorted. “No, you think you need to be back.” He shot her a look, but she crossed her arms, unimpressed.

“Come on, Julien,” she said, tilting her head toward the restaurant. “With your degree, your qualifications, your reputation—do you really think they’d fire you over one meal?” He hesitated. She could see the war waging in his mind—the deeply ingrained fear of failure, of being seen as anything less than perfect. But then—

Grgghhhrrkk.

Julien flinched as another slow, dragging groan rolled through his stomach, louder than the last. Kobi grimaced at the sound. His ears burned red. “…Shut up,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her. Kobi sighed, shaking her head. “That thing’s practically begging you to eat, dude.” She extended her hand again. Julien let out a quiet, defeated breath. His shoulders sagged slightly, and after a moment’s hesitation, he reached up. His fingers curled around hers, his grip weak but warm. Kobi steadied him as he shakily rose to his feet, his body sluggish, stiff from exhaustion and the deep hunger that curled within him. He wobbled slightly, and her grip instinctively tightened. “…Fine,” he muttered, voice low. “Where are we going?” Kobi smirked. “I know a good place.” She gave his hand a small tug, and this time Julien followed.

Kobi led Julien down the street, her pace slower than usual to match his sluggish steps. The crisp night air carried the distant hum of the city—passing cars, muffled voices, the occasional flicker of laughter from a late-night wanderer. Streetlights buzzed softly overhead, their glow casting long shadows on the pavement. Beside her, Julien walked in silence, shoulders slightly hunched.

Gggrrrrghhkk.

Kobi’s eyes flicked toward him. His stomach had been growling non-stop since they started walking, each protest more insistent than the last. He kept his gaze forward, jaw clenched, but she didn’t miss the way his hand twitched toward his midsection before balling into a fist. Kobi hesitated. For a brief, fleeting second, she considered reaching out—placing a hand over his stomach, a quiet attempt to soothe the ache. But she quickly stomped down the thought. She was just making sure he didn’t keel over from sheer stubbornness—that was all. She wasn’t here to coddle him. She shoved her hands into her pockets and picked up the pace.

A few minutes later, they arrived. Kobi’s favorite 24-hour diner, just as dingy and reliable as she remembered. The warm glow of neon signage flickered above the entrance, casting a soft pink hue onto the sidewalk. Through the glass windows, Kobi could see red vinyl booths, a long counter lined with spinning stools, and a few scattered night owls nursing mugs of coffee. A bell chimed as she pushed open the door, stepping into the inviting scent of butter, bacon, and maple syrup. Behind her, Julien froze. The smell of food hit him like a freight train. His stomach let out the loudest growl yet—an aching, hollow sound that made him recoil slightly as it rippled through him. Kobi glanced over her shoulder, watching as he stiffened, his ears tinged pink with embarrassment.

She smirked. “Guess your stomach likes the place.” Julien groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Kill me.” Kobi chuckled. “Eat first. Then I’ll consider it.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside.

They slid into a booth near the window, the red vinyl cool against Kobi’s arms as she leaned forward. Across from her, Julien settled in stiffly, his fingers absently tugging at the cuffs of his dress shirt, as if trying to compose himself. A middle-aged waitress with a warm smile approached, flipping open her notepad. “What can I get for you two tonight?” Kobi stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. “I’ll take a cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla milkshake.” The waitress jotted it down with a nod before turning to Julien. “And for you, sweetheart?” Julien hesitated. His eyes flicked to the menu, scanning it as if searching for the smallest, least intrusive option. “…Just a—” He cleared his throat. “Just a side of toast.”

Before Kobi could say anything—

Grrrrrrrggggghh.

Julien shut his eyes, exhaling slowly as his stomach let out another deep, drawn-out groan.

The waitress raised a brow, biting back a smile. Kobi didn’t even try to hold in her laughter. Julien slumped, dragging a hand over his face. “…Sorry.” Kobi grinned, nudging his menu toward him. “Don’t be modest, chef. You’re not impressing anyone.” The waitress chuckled. “She’s right, hon. You sound like you need more than toast.” Julien sighed, clearly reluctant to let himself indulge. Kobi rolled her eyes and plucked the menu from his fingers. “He’ll take a double stack of pancakes with extra butter, scrambled eggs, and a side of bacon.” The waitress hummed approvingly as she scribbled down the order. “That’s more like it.”

Julien shot Kobi a look. “I didn’t agree to all that.” She smirked. “Your stomach did.” Julien groaned, slumping against the booth as Kobi grinned in triumph. The waitress chuckled, flipping her notepad closed. “I’ll have that out in a jiffy.” As she walked away, Kobi rested her chin in her hand, watching Julien with an air of amusement. “You’re so bad at taking care of yourself, Lee.” Julien sighed, shaking his head. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

The diner hummed with late-night chatter, the clinking of silverware against plates filling the comfortable silence between them. Kobi tapped her fingers against the tabletop, debating whether she should let the quiet linger or dig a little deeper. Against her better judgment, she chose the latter. “So.” She leaned forward slightly, watching him. “Why are you running yourself into the ground? Neglecting your poor belly like it’s some kind of inconvenience?” Julien exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the booth. “It’s just… expected of me.” Kobi raised a brow. “To starve?” Julien quickly shook his head. “To work myself to the bone.” He rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight pressing down on them. “My family has high expectations. They invested a lot in me. It’s my job to meet them.”

Kobi studied him. His exhaustion was bone-deep, the kind that seeped into a person and made a home there. This wasn’t the Julien she knew from culinary school—the arrogant, well-fed prodigy who seemed to have everything handed to him. No, this was someone else entirely. The person underneath what his family wanted him to be. A pang of something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. Pity? Sympathy? She shoved it down before she could give it a name. Before she could say anything, Julien’s stomach let out another miserable groan, louder and longer this time. He shut his eyes, as if that would somehow block out his body’s very clear demand. Kobi sighed, shaking her head. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Julien let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “I know.” His voice was quieter now. More unsure. “I just… I don’t know what to do about it.” Kobi watched him for a moment before leaning back against the booth. “Well, for starters, you can stop acting like you’re above basic human needs.” Julien shot her a dry look, but before he could retort, the waitress arrived, balancing two plates stacked high with food.

The waitress set the plates down with an easy smile. “There you go, hon. Get some food in that belly, yeah?” Julien lowered his gaze, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it was clear. Kobi didn’t comment on it. Instead, she picked up her burger and started eating, figuring it would make him feel less like she was watching his every move. From the corner of her eye, she saw him hesitantly take his fork, twirling it between his fingers before spearing a small bite of food. Slow. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure if his stomach would accept it. The first bite went down fine. Then another. His chewing was methodical, almost reluctant, as if some part of him still thought he didn’t deserve this.

But then something shifted.

The moment the warmth of the food settled in his stomach, his body seemed to realize just how deprived it was. His hunger fully awoke, clawing at him from the inside, and before he could stop himself, he was eating faster, each bite filling a void that had been gnawing at him for days. Kobi glanced up briefly, watching as his careful restraint crumbled under the sheer force of his need. He wasn’t just eating—he was devouring, as if he were afraid the food might disappear if he didn’t finish it fast enough. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t tease or make some smart remark. She just let him eat.

Julien set his fork down with a quiet clink, his plate wiped completely clean. For the first time in what felt like days, his stomach wasn’t hollow and aching. Instead, it was pleasantly full—maybe even too full. Kobi, still working on the last of her meal, glanced at his empty plate and let out a low whistle. “Damn, you really were starving.” Julien stiffened slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. He sat back in the booth, exhaling slowly as his overworked stomach settled heavily against his dress shirt. The comforting warmth of the meal was quickly giving way to a dull pressure, and he shifted in his seat, trying to discreetly ease the strain.

“I don’t usually eat food like this,” he admitted, rubbing his fingers along the seam of his cuff. “I think it… sat a little heavier than I expected.” Kobi leaned her chin against her palm, studying him. She could tell he was trying not to grimace, and that only confirmed her suspicion—his body wasn’t used to eating this way, not with how long he’d been depriving himself. Idiot. Still, she decided not to call him out on it. Not directly, at least. Julien reached for his wallet, pulling out a few bills and setting them on the table, but before he could push them toward the check, Kobi reached over and snatched it up first. “I got it,” she said simply.

Julien frowned. “Kobi—” She gave him a look, daring him to argue. “You can get the next one.” His brow furrowed, processing the weight of that statement. The next one. For the first time since this night started, he allowed himself to believe—just for a second—that maybe this wasn’t the last time they’d share a meal.

As they stepped out of the diner, the night air hit them with a crisp chill, a stark contrast to the warmth of the meal settling in Julien’s stomach. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before instinctively glancing down the street. The glowing sign of Le Ciel flickered in the distance, the restaurant still alive with movement. “They’re gonna be pissed,” he muttered, more to himself than to Kobi. She barely spared the restaurant a glance, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “They’ll be groveling at your feet by morning,” she said with a dismissive snort. Julien huffed but didn’t argue. As much as he wanted to dispute it, the truth was… she wasn’t wrong.

They fell into step beside each other, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between them. Julien still couldn’t quite understand how they got here, how they went from barely tolerating each other to this—whatever this was. Then Kobi spoke up again. “You should come over.” Julien turned his head sharply. “What?” She shrugged. “My place,” she clarified, her tone casual—too casual. “Figured you could use a proper night’s sleep.” His brows knitted together, suspicion creeping into his expression. “Why?” Kobi rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation. “Because somebody has to nurse that stomach ache of yours. And, well…” She shrugged. “Thought maybe you could use some company.”

Julien studied her for a beat, searching for an ulterior motive. But there was no smug amusement in her voice, no teasing glint in her eyes—just an easy sort of honesty that made something shift uncomfortably in his chest. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. But before he could overthink it, his stomach gave a soft, residual gurgle—nothing painful, but just enough for Kobi’s lips to twitch into a smirk. “See? You’re still a mess.” She nudged him lightly. “Come on. Let’s go.” And for once, Julien didn’t fight her on it.