#like so many of these are because i can almost hear it in their voices

[poison-doll]

on further reflection i think maybe one of the reasons this post is so challenging for so many people is that it reveals the friction between very different social circumstances coming against each other.

like, it is very true that there are a lot of corners of the world that are e x t r e m e l y resistant to trans people coming out, medically transitioning, or existing. like, some doctors offices, legislative bodies, and internet subcultures say variously things like "do you understand the risks of hormone therapy?" or "you know you can just be a feminine man/masculine woman, right?" or "but hormones will ruin your body!" or "let trans men be feminine/let trans women be masculine!!" and for people in/previously in those spaces, 'you don't have to transition to be trans!' can be like an echo of those same catchphrases which are deployed to slow or stop medical transition. and, like, for me, for some people, i am trans because of my transition. that's not universally true, but my perspective of my own womanhood is that i became trans/woman when i took my first pill.* when i hear "you don't have to transition to be trans" i hear a lot of the voices from my teen years that made it so i was not able to medically transition until i was well into my 20s, a delay that almost killed me.

and it's also true that there are places where the opposite is true! where trans people who don't desire medical transition are ostracized and denied their identity! for a lot of people in this position validation of their identity as transness is actually critically important. it's very different from the other thing i've described, but it's just as true, and—at least as is my understanding from friends who are cissexual trans ppl and my recollection from my closeted pseudo-nb years—it's for them that "you don't have to transition to be trans!" actually is liberatory, is an important stance against the transmedicalism that still crops up in wider cisgender society & the medicalindustrial complex & some other only slightly different internet subcultures**

and for people who are way deep in one of those mindsets or the other it's super easy to forget that the other perspective exists. i fall more, although not entirely, into the former camp and often forget about different subjectivities. it's pretty normal for human beings, i think. but posts like this come up and different people all respond in very different ways, all of which are totally in line with their own experiences.

idk man shit is complicated. more cisgender people should take exogenous hormones that's all i'm saying.

*blah blah blah pancakes waffles obviously this is not true for anyone i said "me/my" very deliberately blah blah blah

**your daily reminder that saying "the needs of medically transitioning trans people and non transitioning trans people are materially different" is not transmedicalism.

"you don't have to transition to be trans": overdone, dull, runs cover for taking away medical care from those who need it

"you don't have to be trans to transition": exciting, poignant, radical perspective on the right to bodily autonomy

[cuteandhughesy]

‘I Knew They Didn’t Actually Hate Each Other!’ | Leon Draisaitl

summary: lauren and connor mcdavid have very different reactions when finding out their best friends don't actually hate one another.

[word count] 2.8k

warnings: kissing | swearing | mature dialogue

a/n: a requested follow up part to couldn’t make it any harder! this is short and sweet but i’m absolutely certain this is how these interactions would go down if this was real life situation. ENJOY MY LEON GIRLIES 🧡💙

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

lauren knew.

okay, well, no she didn't know. but your best friend had a good incline that you were seeing some one.

it started with the smaller details. there was always fresh flowers—beautiful, expensive ones at that—on your kitchen countertop, accompanied by one of those little card holders. the note is always missing, meaning that you've put it somewhere. to which lauren says, suspicious.

less movie nights at lauren's because 'you're swamped with work.' more like swamped with sex. and you're always smiling, even when everyone is out together.

which unless lauren is fucking crazy and is completely remembering the past 7 years or so incorrectly, that was totally unheard of—especially when leon draisital is in the vicinity.

and lauren's pretty sure that she saw a hickey on your boob when your tank top shifted during hot yoga two weeks ago.

the math was just mathing, okay!

it started after the wedding. where as lauren was hungover and still wearing what felt like a million pounds of makeup from the night before, you waltzed into the room with a glow and a smile on your fresh face.

she'd honestly brushed that incident off until everything else starting falling into place like the perfect puzzle—but then lauren got to thinking. did you meet someone that night?

lauren has spent the past two months racking her brain for answers—answers to a question she wasn't going to ask you yet, because obviously she was determined to figure it out on her own before all else.

it was like the damn bachelorette in her head as lauren mentally assessed every single guy she and connor had at their wedding—trying to pinpoint which ones would capture her best friends attention enough for it to stick.

but no matter how many times lauren tried to work it all out, she came up short for answers.

you and this secret relationship are a mystery to her.

so it was this random september afternoon that lauren mcdavid decided she was going to get her answers—hold you down and physically pull them from your tongue if she has to. because your best friend is sick of being in the dark, especially when she knows….something is going on.

she can feel it in her damn gut.

so with an extra tight ponytail and her purse swinging loosely at her side, lauren knocks on your apartment door—so loud and aggressively that she almost scares herself. it's rather comical in the way she jerks her hand away from the wood at the sound.

she knows your home. wednesday's are your half days, meaning you only work in the morning. this time of year, just before the hockey season really starts up, connor's days are similar. and that’s how lauren remembers said information.

lauren was tempted to wait for her husband to get back from his suit fitting and make him come with her to your place—because like the whole good cop, bad cop idea sounded really appealing in her head—but lauren was too impatient.

she knocks again after a beat passes without any sound or sign of movement. it's only then that she hears your shaky voice through the door.

"sorry, one second!"

she squints incredulously at the door, even though you can't see her, her arms crossed over her chest like an impatient child. and sure, maybe she is impatient, but lauren feels that it's justified if you're keeping damn secrets from her like a freak.

finally, the apartment door is hastily pulled open, a gust of air pulling in the space between you and your best friend like the beginning of a storm. and perhapes lauren should've taken that as a sign.

at the sight of her, your eyes widen slightly, a wave of panic settling over your already frantic tainted features. you're slightly breathless, tank top a little askew like you've only just pulled it over the black bra lauren can see adorning your chest.

"hey," you greet, running a hand through your tousled hair, "I wasn't expecting you."

lauren's gaze narrows as she takes in your state, "I know. thought i'd drop in."

"oh," you swallow before giving a short laugh, "i'm actually just about to head out." another laugh, "yeah i'm just...I need eggs."

"eggs?"

"yeah!" you nod with seemingly panicked enthusiasm before giving a quick glance over your shoulder. you think it's discrete enough, but lauren catches it. 

she gives you a once over again, eyes trickling all the way down to your bare feet. it's then that lauren notices the shoes left hazardly by the front door. men's sneakers—men's sneakers that have been seemingly removed in a hast to be exact.

her lips part in shock, a tiny strangled gasp leaving her mouth as her eyes dart back to yours. "you're seeing someone! and he's in here right now, isn't he?"

this time, it's your turn to gasp. "i'm not seeing anyone!"

lauren raises a brow, "oh yeah?"

"yeah."

"okay, then who got you those flowers on your island?"

your jaw goes slack, mouth opening like you want to rattle off some sort of excuse, but the words never come.

lauren continues once she sees the little beige envelope still perched next to the beautiful arrangement of florals—pushing her way into your apartment like a woman on a mission. and that she is. "if you're not going to tell me, i'll just take a peek at that little card, mhm?"

"no!"

you dart past her, snatching the note before she has a chance to grab it.

and that’s the moment lauren’s knows that’s she’s been right all along. she makes a noise between a scoff and a laugh, dropping her expensive handbag to your barstool roughly. "okay, fine. i'll just find him then. 'cause I know he's in here."

"trust me when I tell you, this is not the way you want to meet him."

she stops walking, spinning on her heels as her inspector gadget brain starts up again. all half sarcastic hostility leaving her body as straight curiosity takes over—"so I haven't meet him before? because I've been trying to work out for the past few months if it was somebody at the wedding."

your eyes widen, "you've been sitting on this for months?"

"yeah! and it's been a damn uncomfortable seat because you didn't have the gut to just tell me about him," she trails off, "is he like a criminal or something?"

"no." you're quick to answer, "i'm pretty sure we'd both know that by now if that was the case." your slip up has your tongue going dry, eyes widening to a certain point that it looks painful.

"ha!" lauren points an accusing finger in your direction, "so I do know him."

"yes," you croak out, "but seriously let's just sit down and talk about this before you start searching my place like you're a FBI agent."

lauren doesn't even wait for you to finish before she's walking through your place, opening and closing closet doors on her way down the hall like a search dog. much to her dismay, the linen closet is empty, as well as the space you keep your holiday decorations.

the lack of man makes her scowl.

you're hot on lauren's heels, a blabbing mess of half strung together pleas falling on deaf ears as lauren pushes open your bedroom door.

there's a pair of jeans on the floor, half kicked under the bed like you—or whoever this man is—tried to hide them in a hurry. "is he in here?" lauren shoots you a pointed look. you wince, and she gets her confirmation. "is he in your closet?"

"i'm telling you right now, lauren, don't open the closet."

"i'm definitely going to open it."

and she does. and the sight before her immediately ignites a sound that can only be described as a wail. lauren shuts the closet door, a hand over her mouth while she blinks in a half shell shocked way.

a tense beat passes with lauren just staring off into space, and you anxiously biting the skin around your thumb nail, nervous gaze never once flickering from your best friend.

leon slips out between your closet doors a moment later, dressed in only his boxers. he has an awkward smile on his face and a hand cupping over his semi hard junk—trying to conceal all that from his teammates wife.

"hey lauren, how's it going?"

"what the fuck!" she gasps, looking between you both.

"you?"

you grimace, but nod.

"and you?"

leon nods.

“oh my god,” lauren fans her face, a dramatic flare that she doesn’t even realize she’s doing. “I think I'm going to pass out.”

you, used to and recognizing her said dramatics, don’t respond. but leon fully begins to freak out, eyes widening as he eases towards your best friends pacing form—large hands that minutes ago were down your pants, held out cautiously.

“you need sit down.”

lauren holds her hand up, halting your boyfriend in his tracks. “no, I can't—this is too much.” she begins fanning herself again, “when did this start happening?”

“what part?”

you shoot him a half stern look, “leon.”

“how many parts are there?”

“well we kissed when you locked us in your bedroom.” leon says often handily, like he didn’t just drop the biggest bomb on this entire situation.

lauren gasps again—because what do you mean you guys kissed before the wedding? before today. “what?!” she all but squawks, big blue eyes darting between the two of you like you’ve just committed a crime.

she pauses, thinking back on that moment when she’d let you and leon out of her bedroom that day many weeks ago. were your lips swollen? was leon’s hair a mess? were you guys kissing when the door was opened?

it’s hard for lauren to recall when leon’s deep, gravely voice continues—“and we hooked up in muskoka.”

another gasp, louder and sharper than ever as lauren spins on her heels, focusing her attention solely on you—which really works in her favour considering leon is still half naked.

“I knew it started at the wedding! god, I didn't even consider leon. and for good reason! I thought you guys hated each other.”

“we did!” you confirm.

“actually for the record,” leon interjects cautiously, “I never hated her.”

“of course you didn’t.” lauren lets out a disbelieving sigh, running a small hand over her makeup free face while digesting the flurry of emotions coursing through her.

she looks between you both once again, a softer expression beginning to take over her sharp features. “so you guys are..?”

you swallow, “dating.”

“like dating dating.”

you cringe at the highschool tone of it all, giving leon a wtf squint. “were in love,” you elaborate after a second, eyes slowly falling back in line with your best friend.

she makes a noise, “oh god, this is like straight out of a romance novel. I kind of feel like i've got whiplash.” lauren rolls her lips together, “why did you guys hide this from me?”

the vulnerability lacing her words makes your heart squeeze, and the way her eyebrows draw upwards like a sad cartoon character only amplifies the feeling.

regardless of the guilt rattling your bones, you and leon had good reason for keeping the beginning stages of your relationship a secret—not just from lauren, but from everyone. reasons you immediately begin rattling off, and this time the panic is in your voice.

“it was your wedding! and for the first little bit we didn't know how to navigate everything.”

leon chimes in before you can blink, coming to your defense like he’s been doing for years—since before you even realized he was doing so. “and we spent years bickering and fighting and we just wanted to keep everything in the down low until we found our rythym.”

“yeah, and it just felt good—we were just ours.” you exhale loudly, running a hand over the flat of your stomach as if to soothe the wave of nausea, your eyes never once parting from your best friends. “i'm sorry, lauren.”

she nods, a natural glint in her eyes. “you guys are some of my best friends. i'm not mad...I just wish you felt like you could've told me.”

“I was a shitty friend,” you admit gently, chewing the skin of your cheek anxiously.

it’s instantly that lauren waves your comment off, padding on the carpeted bedroom floor to close to space between you. and she just hugs you, so tightly that it almost hurts, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“no, you could never be,” she mutters, “and this will definitely take me at least a week to digest but...i'll get over it.” the playful tone that lauren usually possesses eases back into her voice. “you guys look hot together.”

you practically snort, “thanks.”

she hums before her eyes drift back towards your boyfriend. “now leon please put your pants back on.”

“don't have to tell me twice,” leon breathes, already retrieving his discarded jeans from under your bed frame, tugging them up his thick legs in a way that makes you drool.

lauren pulls back from the hug, her small hands still holding onto your arms as a excitable grin pulls at the corner of her plump lips. “okay, now, tell me how leon confessed that he loved you.”

“oh god.” leon groans from behind the material of his t-shirt, only half way over his head.

but you just match her grin, thinking back to the night under the stars and the warm muskoka air. “you're going to die!”

—

it’s only a week after lauren forcing her way into your apartment and quite literally exposing you and a half naked leon into spilling the beans about your relationship, that connor finds out.

which, you’re surprised lauren didn’t spill the beans before then, especially considering her and her husband are still in that lovey dovey newly wed phase that makes them literally do and share every single thing with one another.

not that you can really say anything about being in a honeymoon phase, because you and leon are so deep in it that it’s almost embarrassing—you can’t recall a day since that night in muskoka that you haven’t been touching or kissing leon in some way.

anyways.

you and leon both decided that telling connor needed to be more of a formal conversation—compared to the way lauren found out, for example. so, you planned a dinner at leon’s condo and invited the happy couple over.

lauren, obviously sitting on this secret was practically buzzing on the way over in the passenger seat—connor sending his wife curious looks at every red light. but lauren only just grinned back at him like a cheshire cat.

it was kind of freaky.

and you and leon tried—really tried to get it right. dinner was in the oven on the keep warm setting, consisting home made chicken and veggies and potatoes that you drizzled with an amount of butter that would have the oilers nutritionists frowning, while you waited for them.

but it all started when leon reached above you to grab the plates, his hand enclosing around your hip and giving it a firm squeeze. half hard against your ass.

so really it’s your boyfriends fault, because soon enough you were making out on the kitchen island like horny teenagers.

you’ve got your legs wrapped around leon’s thick waist, hands running through his hair while he paws at your ass and legs. kissing like it’s the oxygen you need to keep breathing. and in a way, that’s what it feels like.

because this version of leon drasitial—hell, even the version you thought despised your guts just as much as he did beer nuts—is truly your lifeline. and yeah, he is the air you breathe. he’s the sun and the moon and you love him more than anything.

and leon loves the colour red now. especially when it’s your red nails tickling his arm while you watch a movie together. when it’s your red lips kissing his cheek in the lazy morning light. your red sweatpants that you always leave on his bathroom floor.

too wrapped up in one another to hear the door open, you’re completely oblivious to the sound of lauren and connor toeing off their shoes, only a half wall between you.

all you can hear is your thumping heart.

all leon can hear is your little breathy sighs.

until—"I knew they didn't actually hate each other."

lauren half laughs, half gawks as you and leon separate. she eyes her husband in disbelief—connor doesn’t even look phased. no, if anything he looks content.

like he knew. and not in the way lauren knew. but like, actually had a real gut feeling about their best friends.

"was I the only clueless one?" lauren questions, watching as you slip off the counter top, adjusting your frilly top as you do so—previously roughed up from leon’s wondering hands.

you send her a look, wincing at her question. clearly, that means yes.

but connor just shrugs, walking further into the delicious smelling kitchen. the oilers captain picks a grape off the vine sitting in the large fruit bowl, popping it in his mouth.

"nah, they were both clueless about each other's feelings for like…7 years. you pale in comparison to that."

[flvvffy]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . ❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋...𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 ❞

wc: 869. not proofread. anon.

your older bf!toji absolutely adored you. he loved every aspect of you. and he made sure you knew that. spending as much time as he can with you, buying you whatever you need and overall being and attentive boyfriend for you.

you loved that. very much. especially whenever he complimented you. he always called you pretty, beautiful, angel and the likes. his comments always gave you some confidence booster, but once the feeling was over, you felt like complete shit.

you disliked the face staring back at you in the mirror. the body that was attached to said face. some days you would spend hours endlessly checking yourself in the mirror, silently wishing you could change so many things. or avoiding mirrors all together.

you started wearing makeup around him and loosely fitted clothing. he had asked you about it. "why the sudden changes?", he raised at brow at you but you shrugged.

"just trying something new. i kinda hated my old style"

"i liked it. but if it's what you want you look great as always". it didn't work. you wanted him to at least say you looked better, but at the same time kinda glad you didn't really have to change yourself for him.

it got ridiculous to him when you denied getting on facetime with him. "switch to the video, baby. i wanna see ya. i missed you so much", he cooed on the other end and your chest tightened.

"i don't think that's a good idea toji..."

"hmm...how come?"

"my service is kinda shitty right now and the quality will be the same", he went silent for a while and you were praying that he believed you.

"alright. i guess your voice will do for now. but i really do miss you"

"i miss you too, toji"

but older bf!toji knew something was up. something was going on. something that you didn't feel comfortable telling him. and he was determined to find out exactly what that was.

on one random afternoon, when he knew you would be lounging at home doing whatever, he decided to show up unannounced. he got to your front door and knocked on the door.

you looked at it curiously and paused whatever you were watching on tv and opened the door, to find toji looking at you. you slammed the door in his face. that was the only response you had. you were not wearing any makeup, your hair was messy and your clothes were definetly not cute.

"what the fuck is he doing here?!?!", you held your head in frustration as he banged on the door.

"OPEN THE DOOR!", he banged his fist multiple times. "I DON'T PLAY GAMES, ANGEL. AND YOU KNOW THAT. OPEN THIS DOOR. RIGHT. NOW!", he banged again and again but you were not gonna let him enter.

"LEAVE ME ALONE", and the it stopped. it went completely silent. you let out a breathe of relief but to your utter shock he was climbing in through your window. you tall and muscular boyfriend was getting into your apartment through the window.

"WHAT THE HELL!!", you rushed to go and close the window but he was already inside and he looked pissed. he straightened his back and was walking towards you.

your back ended up against the wall as he towered over you with his imposing height. "now why would you go on and slam the door in my face. what is going on with you these days. refusing to get on video call, the excess make-up, the change in clothing style. why won't you talk to me?", his brows were creased.

you turned away, tears in your eyes and his eyes softened. he pulled you in for a hug and you cried into his chest. "let it all out, angel...let it out", he whispered as your face was buried in his chest while he's soothing your back.

he held on to you until your sobs died down and were reduced to sniffles. he lifted your face with his chin and wiped away your tears.

"am i ugly?", frozen. shocked. he almost thought he didn't hear you. was this a joke?

"absolutely not! your so gorgeous sometimes i'm jealous"

"but you're only saying that just because your my boyfriend-"

"who gave you such ridiculous ideas? you really think you're not gorgeous. you're the only face i think about when i wake up and before i go to sleep. the only body i want to press kisses all over and carry around and hear your adorable laugh. your the only person who was able to plague my mind and i think your beautiful angel...always have been and always will be", he cups your face in his hands looking deep into your eyes. "everything i'm telling you isn't because i'm just your boyfriend, but it's the way i see you. you're perfect and don't you ever forget that", you nod in his hands and he presses his lips to yours, sharing a long and passionate kiss.

older bf!toji lifts you up and you wrap your arms around his hips with a gasp and he kisses your neck. "now let mw show you just how gorgeous i think you are..."

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

[likelysobbing]

come back i miss youuuu

also maybe could you post another kk x reader 😀

𖥻 NAVEL TO KNEE. kk arnold x reader

synopsis: kamorea is yours—everything is just for her.

notes: ‘come back i miss youuuu’ nonnie said. with extra letter u’s. nonnie, speak to me like that, and i am going to fold—flattery will get you everywhere with me i fear. i miss you too… school’s been beating my ass, but i’m almost out (for the summer)! so, trust, i’ll be back soon. buuutt you know i had to write something for MYYYYYYY woman…. come on now. taking a lil break from the grind cuz it’s her birthday… everyone say happy birthday kk. this is ridiculously short and i wrote it in ten minutrs… SO ITZ LOWKEY ASS… but i hope it suffices. i luv yawl… i miss you all bad please talk to me 💔 HAPPY BIRTHDAY KK

cw: RIDICULOUSLY SHORT. MORNING AFTER. Implied intimacy… implied top!reader…. reader is DOWNBAD for kk, and understands the privilege she has being kk’s girlfriend and literally comes in clutch. readers gifts can be things she bought or made by hand— they’re not exactly specified. reader loves kk. sleepy!kk.

kamorea is yours.

yours in a way that feels like a victory, and it is. it’s more than just that: it’s an honor. kamorea ‘kk’ arnold is yours, and when the sunlight hits her skin as she sleeps on your sheets, in nothing but her bra and boxers, you relish in it.

you love the mornings after.

there is nothing you love more than seeing the body you trailed kisses down on; forehead to navel, navel to knee— in utter reverence of her beauty. there is nothing you look forward to more than waking up to a warm bed and light snoring that definitely isn’t yours. nothing you adore more than drawing circles on her back while dealing with the sting of the scratches she left on yours (it’s okay, they’ll heal). nothing you need more than her.

kamorea is yours.

even as you pull open your drawer and pull out the gifts you wrapped weeks ago (your woman deserves the best), and she whines because you’re too far away, accusing you— very sleepily— of ‘hating her and wanting her to die’—she is still yours.

“why are you so far away.” she says it like a statement, not a question, and you rest on your elbows, tilting your head at her with a teasing smile.

“i can… move even further. like this.” you start to move, scooting to the edge of the bed before hearing her tone get snappier: “go ‘head.”

“what?”

“move even further. i’ma get you.”

“you’re going to get me? baby, i’m not even near the edge. you can get me.”

“oh… i knew that.” she muttered sleepily, even when she definitely did not know— she stretches her hand out, and at the feel of your skin on her palm, she visibly relaxes. “see?” you murmur, “you got me.”

she laughs. “i did. last night.”

“you definitely got it last night.” you chuckle, carefully looking to the influx of gifts you’ve been absentmindedly lining across your suddenly filled nightstand. from the little gifts to the gifts as big as to ones so big you had to put them into the (considerably spacious) drawer first, they’re all either on the floor or on your bedside (which is already full), and you blink. maybe you overestimated your side of the rooms (the entire room is yours, but whatever kamorea wants, kamorea gets—and she wants a little more than half of your room) capacity to fit in gifts.

that’s okay.

kamorea deserves the best.

kamorea, who is just now sitting up beside you, jaw dropping so hard it nearly locks—for sure deserves the best. infact, she deserves everything.

you aren’t surprised when she gasps and goes, “baby, for me?!” — and you reply, softly, sweet, achingly gentle because you never raise your voice at her even though she always lights up rooms with her volume: “everything for you, kk.”

—everything for kk, indeed.

to have her gaze on only you when there are so many in the crowd, her cheek against yours when you greet her hello, and her lips pressing kisses to your cheek when you bid her goodbye. for the opportunity to kiss from her forehead to navel, from her navel to her knees, to have her nails down your back when you tell her to lay back, and for the victory and honor that comes with the fact kamorea is yours—it’s all worth everything.

and everything is just for her.

@likelysobbing.

[moon-fics]

Pepper Spray Lovers

Pairings: Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: You're a well-known bartender at the Hard Deck and friends with most of the pilots who enter through the doors. However, you've caught the eye of one specific weapon systems operator.

A/n: I'm going to need a break after this one. Holy shit.

It was the same every night for you. Serve drinks, clean cups, chat with pilots, and never give out your number. It was a loop that you found comforting and easy to follow. At the Hard Deck, there was a guaranteed safety with the amount of trained pilots around.

You never have to memorize names because the call signs they have are way too ridiculous to forget. They stand out, and based on their personality, you can match them easily. For Hangman, you chalk it up to him always talking to a woman at the bar, but never taking her home. For Rooster, it's because his mustache sometimes looks like a beak to a bird.

You treat each customer the same and smile when they order. You highly doubt any of them know your name, but why should they? You serve them drinks, and they pay their tab. That's all you need or want from them.

"Can I get a water?" A soft voice asks from behind you. You're cleaning a pile of cups while Penny takes orders. You aren't supposed to be bothered, but you assume Penny is busy. You can fetch some water and return back to your cleaning.

Without even looking at the person who ordered, you grab a clean cup and fill it with water from the water dispenser. You spin around and place the cup on the bar top. You only look up for a second but you immediately stop on him.

It's his smile that catches you off guard. It's almost silly how adorable a Top Gun pilot can look by just smiling. His hair is gelled back neatly, and his glasses are a little lower than where they should be.

"Thank you," He nods while taking the glass. His fingers graze yours, and you realize you're still holding the cup. Your hand flinches away automatically. "Busy night?"

You force yourself to speak because you cannot just stare at him. "Yeah, it's definitely busier than usual," You say while clearing your throat. He nods and takes a sip of his water. "There must be something huge happening for so many Top Gun pilots to be here." You glance around the room to see it practically filled with people wearing navy uniforms.

"I'd tell you if I could," He chuckles. "I'm Bob," He holds out his free hand to shake. You gladly take it, and there's a shiver that goes up your spine at how nice his arms look. Before you can respond, someone is calling him over. He gives a little wave as he parts from you.

Throughout the night, you catch him staring at you. Usually, you'd find it creepy or enough to cut him off, so he leaves. Instead, you try to catch him. It gives you some enjoyment to watch when he nervously looks away after getting caught. After a while, he understands the game and begins playing along.

--

It's closing time, and by now, everyone has left, including Penny. The beach waves are all you hear as you check the register and count the cash left over. There's still a smell of alcohol in the air, but it's mixed with salt and sunscreen.

After shutting the register and turning off the lights, you lock the doors. Right as you pull the key out, you hear rustling. No one should be out this late on base. So, either you have a wild animal nearby or someone is stalking you. Either way, it could mean trouble.

Silently and slowly, you reach for your pepper spray. You unlock the safety feature and press your thumb over the top of it. The rustling gets louder, and your body trembles from anxiety.

"Do you need someone to walk you to your car?" A familiar voice rings from behind you. On instinct, you swing around and aim the spray at them. "Hey, hey, wait!" The person yells while putting their hands up in surrender.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness to see Bob standing in front of you. You don't put the pepper spray down, but you remove your thumb from it.

"What are you doing? That was so scary!" You scold. One corner of his lips turns up in a half smile that is still charming.

"I just wanted to make sure you got home alright," He explains. He lowers his hands and puts one in his pocket. He looks concerned that you're going to spray him anyway, but you decide not to. "It's late, and I know that sometimes it can be dangerous on base." He mumbles.

"So, you waited out here for me to close up? It's been like an hour since I saw you leave the bar." You raise an eyebrow. There's no way he waited that long for you.

"I waited," He admits with a nod. You suck in your cheeks at how honest he is. It's refreshing but also a bit odd. "Sorry that I scared you. I thought you heard me walking up to you." He chuckles to himself.

"It's alright. Just, next time, announce yourself or maybe wear a bell." You smile.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, "I'll think about tying a bell around my belt next time."

"Next time?" You tease. You aren't sure what he means by it, because it could simply be a joke. You don't know if he'll be back at the bar because sometimes people show up once and never return.

He seems caught off guard by your repeating his words. "I mean, it's a popular bar. It's the best one on base, so I just assumed I'd come back," He clarifies while scratching at the top of his lip nervously.

"Would you walk me to my car every time?" His eyes practically twinkle at your question. As if your offer has brought a genuine joy inside him. "You did say it's dangerous on base at night."

"I'll walk you to your car as many times as you'd allow."

It takes longer than you expect to get home. Mostly because you're enchanted into a conversation with Bob way past curfew. Once you walk through your door, you get a sense of excitement for your next shift.

--

The music is loud, and so are the pilots. After a long day of training and sweating their asses off they've returned to the bar. Not that you mind anymore.

You get to continue your favorite game with Bob as he plays pool. Every time he makes a shot, he looks for you to see if you saw. When he gets a ball in one of the pockets, he waves. When he scratches, he talks to you until his turn again.

This continues until the end of the night, until he walks you to your car.

[oh-no-its-dragons]

Step One

Ridoc isn't entirely sure how it happened, but he has no complaints now that it's in process. 

For @empyreanevents' Bodhi Week, day 4: Perfect, it's Ridoc!

Personal challenge checklist: ☑ don't mention Xaden ☑ Bodhi has a nice day

(cw for Ridoc's mouth, but no actual dicks appear in this fic. inspired by look around, look inside by @theoppositequeens, I'm leaning in on aegosexual Bodhi 🖤🤍💜)

"I feel like I'm lucky I'm your friend and not your fuckbuddy," Bodhi said, and something about it seemed so funny- we were laying on his bed, because we'd been sitting on it and he'd flopped over after saying something and then I'd laid next to him, because he was there and I wanted to and he let me.

"Why not both?"

"It doesn't really seem like both is something you do." Bodhi said it with more finality than it deserved. "You've got your squad and then you've got everybody else, and you only fuck one of those groups, Ridoc."

"Wait, let me break that down for you," I laughed, hoping he didn't hear the way I was forcing myself to stay casual even as I turned my head to watch him instead of the ceiling. He's much more fun to look at than the ceiling. His face is expressive-- not controlled like so many people around here are. "There's Violet, and I love her with my whole self. I wouldn't say no if she asked except that I don't want to die. There's Rhiannon, who's bi but I'm pretty sure has a strong preference for partners without a dick."

"Didn't she and Henrick-"

"Not my story to tell." I held up my hands like I was protesting my innocence, as if I had any, as if it was just an accident that when I put my arms back down one of them was perfectly placed to wrap around Bodhi's arm and trace my finger along his palm. "And speaking of Sawyer, he's so quiet about his sex life, would you even know who he's fucking?"

"I guess not." He didn't pull away.

I nodded. "Well there you go. There's Quinn, and she's absolutely head over heels, the same as Violet, and there's Imogen... well okay, I wouldn't say no to her if she was up for it either, but same caveat. I don't want to die."

Bodhi laughed and curled onto his side so he was facing me. "For someone who doesn't want to die, you take a lot of risks."

"Like what?" I rolled onto my side, mirroring him, letting my hand rest on his hip now. He still didn't pull away, but he did get quiet and I could see his smile twisting.

"I didn't mean to- it's not that I'm trying to be your fuckbuddy, you know? I like that we can just hang out and talk and be- be close."

I looked down at my hand on his hip and then back up to his eyes. "What else do you like, Bodhi? What's your most impossible fantasy?" I don't know what came over me, I just needed to know what he needed. What he wanted. I was suddenly hit by the force of how much I wanted to be the one to give him whatever that was.

"Cuddling," Bodhi answered so fast he looked surprised at himself.

The moment suddenly felt fragile, like when I did somersaults on Aotrom's back while he was flying. I needed to make sure every step I took was a sure one. 

"That doesn't sound impossible. I like cuddling," I said carefully. "I'd like to cuddle with you."

"Even if it isn't-" Bodhi stopped, and I waited. I thought like a million different things, and I didn't say any of them because I could see how many words were spinning around in Bodhi's eyes while he waited for the right ones to surface and I didn't want to cut him off. "Even if it doesn't lead to anything? I was told it's leading people on to be physical and not want to follow through with it. You'd be okay with that?" 

It was almost a challenge, and I do love a challenge. 

"Whatever you want is perfect. I know I have a reputation that largely involves my dick and the many excellent things I can do with it," I told him, letting just a little swag sneak into my voice, "but mostly I want to make people feel good, and make myself feel good in the process. Cuddling with you would feel good, regardless of whether or not it's a prelude to doing anything else."

"Oh. Well, yeah, then I'd like that."

I scootched closer until I could feel his warmth all the way down my body and slung my arm over his chest so I could rub his back. He wrapped his arm around me too, his shoulders broad enough that I felt enveloped. 

And then… we kept talking. After that, I felt more confident touching him, always watching, always checking in, but if anything it was like a dam broke. The guy wanted to be touched, and I wanted to oblige: my hand was on his hip, his thigh, his forearm. I was rubbing his neck, massaging his shoulders where he carried all his tension. He helped me study, the two of us splayed across his bed in a tangle of limbs while we talked. We talked about a lot of things. It felt like everything. It started to feel like he was everything. 

I didn't stop flirting, dating, having fun, sleeping around, though sometimes when I offered to join someone in their room they asked "aren't you and Durran…?"

And I laughed it off the first five or six times but eventually I had to ask myself: 

Are we?

[alexanderlightweight]

For writing Wednesday:

I know you only just posted the first part an hour ago, but maybe malec meeting and bonding in your new sentinel/guide au? Or magnus reacting to alec's childhood in the new sentinel/guide au. I really liked the first part and I'm weirdly fond of sentinel/guide AUs.

If you don't want to write any more sentinel/guide stuff, maybe something about how Alec growing up in the New York Institute made him weirdly connected to the wards or angelic core.

Your writing is a major highlight of my week! Please make sure to get some proper rest and dring lots of water!

Either nsfw or sfw is good

no you're good! I ended up having a flareup last night that hit pretty bad. I took my meds and got through it but I couldn't think straight so I'm finishing now, today lol there's a piece that goes before this here because you are not the only one who asked for more! and I love sentinel/guide au's so like, I definitely get being weirdly fond since i'm extremely weirdly into the trope.

thank you! I am definitely working to hydrate and drink water not just tea today! I hope you hydrate as well and have a good day and everyone who reads this! drink and rest <3

i hope you enjoy <3 lumine

currency of fate

Magnus frowns at the way his magic is tugging frantically at his levels, trying to beg for more magic yet he refuses. Recognizing exactly which one of his many wards are currently running out and unwilling to assign more of his magic to shadowhunters.

Fifteen minutes later, Magnus catches a fire message out of the air and when he goes to ignore it, Cahya’s growl deters him.

There’s a moment where Magnus meets eyes the same blue as his magic and then he rereads the message carefully. 

“You want us to go there, despite insisting we ignore everything to do with the Institute for almost two decades?”

Cahya growls, a stubborn note to the rumble.

“Then off we shall go.” Magnus steps into his closet to change and instead, his clothes are magically swapped. Cahya is unrepentant as they impatiently nudge Magnus and well, they have impeccable taste and are unwilling to wait.

Magnus’ outfit is dark, elegant and deadly.  It’s a statement piece of power and wealth and Magnus wears it with ease as he summons a portal and appears just outside the Institute doors. It’s with a sigh that he straightens his back and lets a smirk grow across his mouth.

The doors don’t open until Magnus flares his magic but there’s no one on the other side, in fact it isn’t until he’s already down the corridor that he hears voices at all. 

“Sentinel Bane!” There’s a call of recognition as a shadowhunter with dark, shoulder length twists greets him.  He’s clearly worried even as he nods to Magnus, politely refraining from offering his hand. 

“There’s a problem with the power levels of the wards, correct?” Magnus doesn’t want to waste time, he wants to get to the bottom of the issue so he can hunt down whatever is causing the restlessness in his soul to wake up.

“No, the wards are a problem but the real problem is Alec and his guide abilities and how the wards are isolating him.”

“What?” Magnus needs to be certain he heard that correctly. 

“Alec Lightwood, the Head and Commander, he’s a guide. We can’t get anyone close to him and the wards are shutting down in a pattern that’s locking us in our Institute but away from him. Medical can’t reach him and everyone who got past the wards before lockdown started are already unconscious from Alec’s abilities.”

That doesn’t make any sense.

None of it.

Magnus would have known if there was a nephilim guide on his territory, he couldn’t have been hidden under Magnus’ own wards. There is no reason for his own magic to betray him so intimately. There’s a slim chance the guide recently came online, or is visiting from Idris, but Magnus still should have been able to feel or at least notice them.

“Why wasn’t his pride called?”

“He doesn’t have one. I can’t tell you why, it’s classified and I don’t personally know.” The implication is he’d tell Magnus if he did know is not unappreciated.  “They said restraining and healing magic are our best hope and as local Archon, you shouldn’t be overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?”

“He’s powerful and the sentinel who caused this had been decently powerful. The Clave sent him through from Idris but he was sent back catatonic before the wards started to rampage.”

Cahya growls and flicks their round ears before knocking a large paw into Magnus’ calf followed by a hurried snap of their teeth in the air. Impatience suddenly sharp as the frost beading on their silver fur.

“Oh.”

There would be a reason, and not one that could be considered a betrayal. In fact it explains why Magnus magic is so desperately trying to sequester the guide, to hide him away from intruders or other sentinels.

Sentinel’s who aren’t Magnus if what Magnus thinks is right.

Magnus portals through the shuddering and quickly closing wards.  

They are locking in on themselves, just as the nephilim at the entry said. The fragmented magic was running out of power and it latched on the angelic core like a leech. Layering shields around the shadowhunter guide, his surroundings and finally the very Institute.

—

Alec tries to forget the rage trembling through his body, tries to clear his mind and ignore the fact that the Clave is pushing their agenda on him. There’s a strange noise that the wards don’t react to and a presence Alec doesn’t recognize is suddenly in the same space as him.

Alec’s mind reacts first and yet instead of a foreign intrusion, he’s met with nothing but familiar comfort and his mind unravels, reaching out to pool against the stronger power. It’s slightly different from what already guards his mind, but it’s too familiar for Alec to be thwarted.

It’s exactly what he needs after the slick, disgusting feeling of someone else's mind trying to influence his own from earlier.

“Oh darling, do you even know what you’re asking for?”

The voice is rich and makes Alec feel like he can do or ask for anything. It also doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know the words for what he wants, when he knows instinctively it’s what he needs.

“I’ll settle you enough to get you out of here. Then I’ll bond you properly.” 

—-

Magnus' mind luxuriates in the feel of rich, raw energy nestling against him and his senses instantly calm. Layers upon layers of Alec... Alexander's mind wraps around him in protective defense. The restlessness is purged, instead being replaced by urgency.

Magnus frowns as his guide growls, clearly displeased by the suggestion and the fact that Magnus isn’t yet touching him.  However, the last thing Magnus wants to do is bond to his guide in an unfamiliar and dangerous location, no matter that his magic is wreathed about the Institute.

The euphoria of being right, of having his guide here and now and already begging to be his — as if he hasn’t always been. Considering that Magnus can already feel the reciprocal energy of shields on his boy’s mind and doubts Alexander’s ever been anything but his.

Magnus knows that with his own tendency to go feral and the way Alexander’s rage coils like veins of lava bubbling beneath the surface that he should go for the kind of bond that will stabilize them. However Magnus has always been accused of being ‘too much’ and perhaps, he wants to prove people right.

In his own special way, of course.

After all, it’s a gift from Magnus, a choice that he’s making, to ensure someone else is correct for once.

So as much as Magnus wants to fuck Alexander through the Institute’s floor and sear their bond into existence and would be happy to do so. He also doesn’t want to share a single moment of their bonding euphoria with any shadowhunter beyond the one that’s his.

“I’m going to leave a note and then I’ll take you somewhere we can bond.”

Alexander grumbles at the delay, his familiar echoing displeasure and then a sharp-toothed maw and soft muzzle nudge Magnus’ fingers as if in acceptance.

Which is sweet, because no how much Magnus wants to sink his senses into Alexander here and now, he can’t with the knowledge and sense input of all the enemies around him.

AN:

typically sentinel/guides kind of project emotions when bonding etc and Magnus doesn't want to share that sensation. he could share it with his own pride as like a morale boost but he might not ever share that.

Alec is dissociating right now because after another year of ignoring attempts, the Clave sent one of the sentinels who work more directly under their influence to uh... seduce him. It didn't work and Alec's mad and the wards had a panic because they don't want to risk losing Alec for Magnus' sake and Alec's safety.

i'll get more into descriptions later, Cahya is ice natured as a representation of Magnus' future guide and Jayr is fire natured for the same reason

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

Cg!Van x Little!Reader (me)

This is the most self indulgent fic you’ll probably ever read. So. Yeah.

Notes -> crying, lots of crying, negative self thought, the most brief mention of sh, she/they papa Van, fem little!reader (who has had a very bad day. Probably got yelled at by their principal or something, I wouldn’t know), a weird anecdote because im not used to this writing style.

Word count: 1034

The water is hot - burning really - where it had been ice cold only moments before. It had been a feeble attempt to calm your breathing, jolting your body with cold water to slow your heart. It’s a fact you learnt in 10th grade science, from your batshit crazy teacher who warbled on about genetic modification all year and quit with no warning. It worked for about ten seconds today before you were back to hauntingly achy cries. The tears - at least - don’t burn in comparison to the water you’d just shot up unthinkingly in temperature. They won’t leave tracks after you get out, either, the only worry you need to have right now is that you are being so loud and everyone can definitely hear. At least the thought of everyone knowing how much of a pathetic cry baby you are is distracting your mind from the real reason you’re here. The bone rattling, bower constrictor wrapping around your chest, levels of anxiety you’d felt today from only a simple miscommunication. One you hadn’t been able to explain because you were crying - loud and ugly in front of too many people who now all knew how wrong, and bad, and stupid you were.

You cry a little harder- simply because the thought of today is too much for you. Everything is - in this headspace - too much for you. At least that’s how you feel, when all you can do is tighten your arms around your shins and cry for your Papa. They aren’t coming, though, because Van is out at the shops and doesn’t know this is happening. You shouldn’t let the next thought in but you do anyway - even if they did know what was happening, they wouldn’t care. Because you’re a stupid, over dramatic, crybaby. Your body hurts, you feel sore and raw as you claw at your skin for some sort of solace. Nothing works. Water pools in your mouth, which you have to garble over to breathe. At least, you think, the snot is being washed away as you cry - unlike earlier today when a tissue box had been shoved into your hands because it was just awkward to watch how your face became so stricken with tears and snot and red, hot shame. No one’s watching you now, you have to remember, cry as loud as you want.

There’s a knock on the door - the kind of sound which feels unreal and you almost second guess its existence until it comes back accompanied by a voice. “Kiddo, can I come in?” It’s Van’s voice - sturdy and calm like it always is. You want to respond, but all that comes out is a pitifully desperate whine and another wave of pathetic tears. Van lets herself in anyway - because they know you need them right now, because even if you don't have words to ask for it you still deserve comfort.

“Oh, baby,” their voice is low and gentle as they crouch down by the side of the bathtub. Van rolls up the navy fabric of their sweater sleeve and stretches an arm out to hold against your bare back. ��Poor thing,” she coos - and the gentle tone is enough to still your tears for a moment. Just long enough to notice the growing ache spreading across your forehead. Van’s hand rubs back and forth across your back - they don’t seem to care that the shower water is splashing up onto their clothes. You lean into the touch, desperate to be held and reminded that you’re still worthy of this gentle touch. “I need you to take gentle breaths with me baby.” You’ve stopped crying, yes, but your breath is still coming in and out with such speed you might inflate your lungs so much that you just float away.Van is breathing loud, and slow, she doesn’t tell you to copy her breathing but it’s there for you if you want it. And you do. You copy her slow breaths until yours match perfectly and your hearts are probably beating at the same time. You can finally jam your thumb into your mouth, that feels nice. “Let’s get you out and cozy,” Van hums. There isn’t any pressure in her voice, just a level of certainty which makes you feel not in charge for just this moment. It’s ok to let Van take control when you’re like this.

She lets you stand up on your own time, holding your arm tightly when you start to sway. Everything feels heavy and you want to drop back to the shower floor and start crying all over again. But you don’t, and you won’t, because Van is holding you and she won’t let you fall. “That’s it, you’ve got it,” she praises gently as you finally step out of the bathtub and onto the soft mat. Van is quick to wrap you in your towel - it’s pink and still a little damp from when you’d showered this morning. “Can I help?” Van asks, though definitely still in charge here, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable the whole time. You nod - words still feeling too far away - and let her dry you off and squeeze the remaining water from your hair.

“Such a good girl for me,” she hums as she works. You don’t think you’ve done anything particularly good today, or ever really, but the praise is comforting nonetheless.

Van takes you to her room, which is clean and grown up and warm. They tell you to lay down on the bed and you don’t fight because being a baby right now doesn’t feel bad or wrong. It feels like Van dressing you in a pair of her boxers and a jumper which is way too big, and that is undoubtedly good. She climbs up onto the bed next to you once you’re dressed, wrapping her arms tightly around your body and pressing her lips to the top of your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she promises - a distant part of your kind wonders who told her what happened but it’s quiet and you don’t have the energy or words to press it now. “And even if you did - I’d still love you.”

[xoxojisu]

thinking abt codependent!reo..

he doesn’t say please stay.

well, he does, actually. all the time. usually jokingly, usually in that whiney, babyish tone. usually accompanied by dramatic clinging and fake sobbing. but when he really means it, he says it not in so many words.

he just looks at you, eyes soft and almost sleepy, like he's at peace only when you're near. like he doesn’t want to blink in case you disappear.

he holds you in a way that conveys more than words could ever say. softly, gently, yet firmly. like he's trying to tell you something. like he's hoping you can hear the way he's saying "please don't go" in his head.

you’re in his room again. third time this week. he says it’s because he sleeps better when you’re around. jokes that your presence “balances out his brain chemistry.” he says it lightly, like it’s funny.

but you’ve started noticing the shift in his behavior. how he texts you when he notices that you’re not in your usual seat. how he always knows what time you’re supposed to get out of class or finish practice. how he walks you home without asking if he should.

it seems like he just needs to make sure. makes sure you’re fed. that you’re warm. that you’re okay. that you’re still there.

you’re lying beside him now, blankets tangled between you, soft instrumental music playing low through his speaker. his head is turned toward you on the pillow, eyes tracing your features like he’s trying to memorize you for later.

you meet his gaze.

he doesn’t look away.

"i love you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "like seriously, i think about you way more than could ever be considered healthy."

you want to laugh, maybe. or say something teasing. but something's stopping you. his voice is too sincere. too raw. and his hand is inching toward yours under the blanket like it’s instinct.

“…reo,” you say, quiet.

he exhales. doesn’t let go of your hand. doesn’t open his eyes when he speaks next.

“i feel like i only breathe right when you’re around.”

it’s not said dramatically. not like a confession. he's not trying to win you over.

it’s just true.

you squeeze his hand. and he squeezes back — like that’s the only answer he needs.

you don’t say it out loud, but maybe you feel it too.

maybe you both need each other more than you should.

masterlist

[halfway-happyyy]

sooo.... whatever happened to the brax fic about him looking up at reader all big doe eyed, pawing at her chest, mumbling he's been good all week and needed her finally. god, he'd be so pretty begging.. my boy<3

ahhhhhhh I can't tell whether this ask added 10 years to my lifespan or took it away... either way, I'm here for it.

the one where brax likes being told he's a good boy, and reader indulges his (obvious) oral fixation - everything fun below the ✂️ because we're gettin' spicy with it.

I think one of the things that gets me the most is that it really doesn't take much for brax to slip into a submissive headspace in the bedroom (whether he'll admit it or not...) like - the man spends so much of his time on - that it's nice to be able to just... shut everything off for a little while, ya know?

your apartment takes on a different feeling when he's gone for work. there is a lack of light, a lack of colour, a lack of warmth, even a lack of sound - really just a general lack of everything good. it never matters how much you fiddle around with the thermostat, no matter how many sweaters you put on - the pervasive chill remains no matter how hard you try to drive it away.

but then brax will waltz through the threshold of the front door, and the heat and the colour and the sound will return immediately, as if they'd never vanished at all.

he doesn't reach out much when he's away. you'll get a text or two because he knows how much they matter to you - just landed in Montreal, baby. miss you more than words can say. or - just leaving Morocco, don't wait up. so when he gets home, you're often hit with a tidal wave of desire for him that cannot be satiated no matter how hard you try.

tonight is no exception to that rule.

it's late when your bedroom door creaks open. you finish the page of the book you're currently nose-deep in, and glance up to meet his gaze. he's watching you from the doorway, and he's tired - evidence of it can be found in the circles that bloom violet beneath his warm umber irises.

"hi brax," you breathe - and it feels like the first proper one you've taken since he's been gone.

he lifts a hand in greeting. "hi, baby."

"come here, and let me look at you."

he immediately does as he's told - always aiming to please, and always so damn good for you.

he's got on a favourite t shirt - the inexplicably soft waylon jennings one, a worn pair of jeans, and his raven hair still bears the moisture from the rain outside. you close your book and set it on the wooden stand beside the bed.

"did you miss me?" you ask, despite already knowing the answer.

he nods, and it isn't until then that you notice the subtle swell in the hollow of his throat.

he's so touch starved, he has no idea what to do with himself.

"only every second of every day, baby."

you caress a palm to the rounded curve of his stubbled cheek, and marvel at the tension he's carrying in his jaw. shimmying to the edge of the bed, you take his face in your hands and ask, "will you be a good boy, and get on your knees for me, braxton?"

he nods before dropping to the floor beneath you.

"how badly do you want to touch me?" your voice hovers above a whisper, but he catches it the same way his teeth catch the soft flesh of his bottom lip, and he gazes up at you with irises that are already glassy and blown wide from want. "i- i want to so badly, baby, please - you have no idea..." he reaches a hand up to tease the pearl buttons on your pajama top before stopping himself midway because he knows he hasn't really earned it yet.

the pleasantly warm ache grows between your legs, and you shift ever so slightly to ease the pressure mounting there.

"you think you deserve to?"

he nods at you with wide doe eyes that carry a desperate and almost pleading intensity to them. wordlessly, he reaches for the buttons again, this time undoing the top three so that more of your skin is exposed to him and the humid air before you.

"need to hear you tell me, braxton."

you don't miss the whine that rises in his throat before he mumbles, "I've been real good all week baby, I swear." he brushes a deliberate thumb over the hardened bud of your nipple and sighs. "I've been so good and I need this, need you," he swallows hard before murmuring a soft "please."

you fight the moan rising in your throat and concentrate on the task at hand, but while holding your gaze, he brushes another fingertip over your nipple and that's all it takes to wreck your resolve. it's been too long; your desire for him has reached a fever pitch.

"touch me, braxton."

his gaze lingers on yours while he tears your shirt the rest of the way open and then leans in to press a series of scorching kisses to your chest. the only sounds in the room are the pearl buttons as they scatter across the hardwood floor. your fingers find purchase in his damp hair, and every taut muscle in his body seems to soften the moment he wraps his lips around your nipple and latches on.

his eyes fall shut, and his arms wind their way around your back - tethering you to him - and it's all you can do to keep from coming undone on the spot.

he'd be there all night if you let him, but after a while, you're able to coax him out of his clothing and onto the space of bed beside you. his erection is unignorable - the head of his cock red and swollen and drooling pre-come; he must have been sporting it from around the time he got home.

he settles into your lap and latches on to your other breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple before starting to suckle rhythmically at it.

"would you like me to touch you, braxton?" you whisper, while carding a hand through his hair. "want me to jerk your cock for you while you suck on my tits?"

brax moans around your nipple and nods his head before shamelessly rutting his hips into the air before him.

"yeah, I thought so." you simper, and trail your hand down the length of his toned abdomen, past the thatch of dark hair just above the base of his dick. you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead before wrapping a tight fist around him, and your nipple falls from his mouth as he moans into the sensation.

"you stop, I stop." you murmur, stilling your hand against him.

brax whines - the sound of it high pitch and almost pathetic - before latching back onto you, his hands pawing and clawing at the soft flesh of your back, as you begin working his cock again.

"what a good boy," you gasp when you feel the rumble of the groan from his throat against your sensitive skin. he's already close. you can feel it in the way his cock twitches in your tight fist; the sensation of his pre-come as more and more of it leaks down the rigid base of him and onto your hand. the urge to lap it up is overwhelming, but you ignore it in favour of the way his hips slam into your fist, fucking it with reckless abandon.

"I want you to make a mess, braxton. can you do that for me?"

your words cause him to mewl against you, and his teeth gently graze the oversensitive skin of your nipple, causing you to curse out into the stagnant air around you.

"be a good boy, and come for me, braxton."

your nipple slips from his hot, wet mouth again, and a desperate, high-pitch moan travels up from the base of his throat as his hips still against your hand. he comes in thick, powerful surges then, painting most of his abdomen and your hand with his warm spend.

you card your fingers through his hair, holding him tight to you as the tremors from his release wrack his body, before suggesting that you both head to the washroom so he can get cleaned up.

he peers up at you with eyes that are somehow more glassy than before and asks, "after that, can I keep doin' this?" he paws at the soft skin of your breasts. "I've missed you too much baby, can't get enough."

and all you can do is nod your head and beam down at him. "'course you can, brax."

because he is yours - will be yours until your last, rasping breath - and there is nothing you could ever deny him of.

~

I'm used to writing for frank, (who doesn't really have a submissive bone in his body - pun very much intended) so this was so fun to write??? perhaps I'll consider writing more for sweet brax. hope you enjoyed !!

[mybworlds]

Chapter 6

Paring: Joel x F!Reader (NO Y/N)

Warnings: pre!outbreak and post!outbreak, AU (there will be some characters, Joel's backstory is different), no Sarah, no Ellie (maybe!), a lot of flashback (at least in the first chapters!), age gap (reader is approx. 10 yrs younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, SMUT, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), language, attempted SA, trauma, death and violence, abortion.

Rating: M

Masterlist

W.C. 2.9k

Summary: You work in the Millers' company, you are their friend, you have a job you love, your coworkers esteem and love you. Your life is perfect. Suddenly, one day, you wake up in the hospital, you are alone surrounded by silence and strange noises, your door is barricaded, but what happened? And what happened to the world out there?

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Thanks @saradika for the divider and the banner. Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner.

Taglist @harriedandharassed

SEPTEMBER 2012

You and Kyle broke up, and it's not because you don't get along, on the contrary. You just realized that you don't feel that attraction, that feeling that should really bind two people; you look good together, you have a lot in common, you love each other a lot, but it's not love. You're sure of it.

You confided this only to Tommy who was happy that your story was over so there was still hope, to quote his words. You shook your head and told him that his brother sees you as a friend and therefore not to count too much on a possible flame between you and Joel. He shrugged and hugged you and said, "Hope is always the last to die."

"Let's forget it, I'm going to work." You tell him. "You can't live on hope." You add, winking at him.

MARCH 2014

You open your eyes with a start, waking up with the phrase, "You can't live on hope," echoing in your head. You are in the middle of nowhere, Joel prepared a fire with your help where he then remained on guard, while you went to sleep in the back seat of a jeep you found abandoned on the side of a road.

It's very cold despite your coat and the blankets you brought with you from that house. For a while you stay under the covers watching the man who is adding more wood to the fire, you close your eyes and for a few moments you seem to see him wearing a blue suit, you can almost hear him thundering orders. Who knows if the Joel of some time ago was really like this, if something is coming back to your memory or if it’s just all in your head!

There are so many things that are still not at all clear to you in his tone of voice, in his looks, in his words. It's as if he were hiding something from you. You don't know exactly what it is, whether it's more bad news that he doesn't have the courage to tell you or whether you're losing your mind trying to remember something that doesn't seem to be in your head anymore.

You decide to stop wondering for now, you don't know if you're really ready to know the truth. A part of you fears it. You don't know what you can really expect from your past, you feel that they are not just good memories.

You get out of the car being careful not to make too much noise with the car door, as soon as you put your feet in the mud under your feet, Joel turns to you, he looks very tired and has a slight pallor on his cheeks. Without saying much, you pass him your blanket, placing it over his shoulders. He gives you an initially annoyed look, but slowly becomes grateful for your gesture.

“How are you?” you ask, sitting down next to him.

"I'm the one who should be asking you that." He states with a slight huff. "Well, anyway. It was just a scratch." He adds, "And you?"

"My head doesn't hurt anymore. I just feel a little dizzy, but it's less frequent." You answer him, rubbing your hands together near the crackling fire.

He nods, "And memory?" he asks, looking at your face.

You sigh, "Part of me wants to remember, wants to do so with all my heart, but there's another part that thinks it's probably best to leave things as they are. I mean, we live in an already broken world and I don't want to have to endure further trauma and pain." you answer almost in one breath, then look down "The truth is I'm scared." you admit staring into the flames "I don't know what's waiting for me."

Joel lingers on your face for a while before returning to the flames, "Not all memories are necessarily bad, you know?" you look at his face and observe his tanned skin turned orange by the flames "You, me and my brother worked together. We were inseparable. I was almost.." for a moment Joel doesn't speak, you don't know whether to press him or wait, you decide not to insist and wait for him to continue "jealous." finally he says and then moves his eyes to you who instead makes them wander towards the woods surrounding you.

You're scared. You are afraid of the world you live in, of never being able to find yourself again and reconcile who you were with who you are today, you are afraid of never finding a purpose again, nothing that can make you feel better.

You decide to push him a little despite your fears, "Why were you jealous? I mean, we were... Um, was there something going on between us that I don't remember?" your heart is in your throat when you look up at his face and meet his dark eyes that seem to be clouded with sadness.

You see him tighten his lips and look down at the fire, with an indecipherable expression on his face as if he were fighting a silent war with himself.

"Joel?" you get his attention. "Please answer me. I deserve to know. It’s my past too."

You see his nostrils flare and then narrow as he breathes deeply, "We were together." he finally answers you and you don't know what to think or what to ask him "Until I ruined everything." he adds leaving you completely speechless and empty-headed.

Were you two together?! Did he ruin everything? But all what? How, why?

You can't put any order to the questions that suddenly compete to be asked, but then there's something else that holds you back: fear. Fear of not knowing the full extent of what drove you to separate, fear of learning something that right now you wouldn't even know how to handle, fear of feeling lost before the truth.

"Why didn't you tell me right away that we were together?" you ask him, now having trouble looking at him.

"If I hadn't told you, maybe... we could both forget what happened." He answers you in a low voice.

You can't comment on his words. You think it's something really serious and terrible if Joel himself wants to forget what happened. You suddenly wonder who the man is with whom you are traveling. You think that he's probably also telling you a lie about the destination you are going to. If you hadn't seen those monstrous creatures yourself and hadn't seen the world as it is now, perhaps you would have even doubted his words.

You're cold, you have a strange anguish gripping your stomach.

Now, more than before, you are afraid to remember.

From that point on, you and Joel barely spoke to each other, mostly answering him in monosyllables or with fleeting nods.

You continued on foot passing through a forest invaded by ferns, the trees are tall and their tops thick, the sun filters through only in that place making it extremely cold and humid. The man looked at you and asked if you were cold, but without even looking at him you replied, "'m fine." and continued on past him.

A part of you struggles to put aside some of the truth that Joel finally revealed to you, but the other part of you wonders what could have happened to end your relationship.

Were you happy before? Have you made love? Were you planning something together as a family, a house together?

You're cold now, but you keep going. Head down, you keep walking, you have no idea why you feel so dizzy. You just know that maybe you should know the whole truth and not just the end.

Are you ready to listen to it? No, but you're tired of not knowing.

"Joel?" you call him when you've been silent for almost a couple of hours. He looks tired, his expression strained, his eyes darkened, his beard longer, "I want to know the reason why we broke up."

He shakes his head, "No." He replies, stopping and looking straight into your eyes. "I'll tell you about the good times before and then... the end. I can't tell you everything from the end of the story."

You swallow, but then find yourself simply saying, "Okay. I'm listening."

At that moment a shot pierces the air making you jump, you don't know exactly where that noise comes from, but it's followed by others, your heart is pounding in your chest and for the first time in hours you look up at Joel but he doesn't look back at you, instead he grabs your hand and drags you with him. You run as fast as your muscles can, when you catch sight of a small group of houses, "There! Look over there!" you shout, pointing out some villas.

"Come on, move!" he urges you, pointing with his chin to the first house with a sloping roof.

When you arrive, the first thing you notice is the extremely unkempt grass and the trees surrounding it are bare and unfruitful, then you notice the fences typical of construction sites that warn you to be careful of falling materials from above and therefore to stay away from the scaffolding. So, you notice that there are some tiles missing from the roof and therefore it's likely that it has also rained inside. The windows were broken from the inside as there are pieces of glass on the outside.

You look for Joel's gaze but he looks around cautiously, he's not worried about the conditions of the house but about your safety and survival. It's not safe to venture in there, but apparently it's not safe to stay out either.

With some hesitation, you climb over the barriers and continue on. The door has been torn off so only the jamb remains. Joel squeezes your hand lightly as if to help you recover from that state of agitation and fear, you know he has it too, but he manages to hide it much better than you. You nod as if to reassure him that you're there and ready for anything, even if, actually, you're not.

You cross the door and immediately the very unpleasant smell of humidity combined with that of paint invades your nostrils, almost causing you to feel nauseous, you cough as you lean forward toward an unfinished wall whose bricks are still clearly visible.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joel says, holding your shoulder and wrapping his other arm around your hip.

"I'm fine. I just ran too much and then... this smell bothers me." you say closing your eyes and swallowing back the bile.

"The paint, I know." he says. "You've always been amazing at designing, but when you came to the construction site..." you hear him chuckle "you barely stayed there five minutes and as soon as you entered you put on a mask to cover your nose and mouth." he almost smiles at those memories.

“Really?” you ask, noticing his reaction to memories you no longer have.

"Yes." he sighs. "Listen, I'll tell you everything, but not now, not under these circumstances, little one." He continues, stroking your back.

Little one.. was that what he called you?

Did he use this sweet nickname with you?

Did you like it?

Did you have one for him too?

And did he like it?

You nod, taking small breaths and then taking small sips of water, which helps control the nausea you feel. Once you've regained control, you stand up straight and look around, "Well, let's see if any rooms are finished or if we should move on." you say in a low voice, turning on the flashlight, as does the man next to you. In the room there are pieces of furniture such as chairs, tables, sofas covered with white tarpaulins, as if someone had started living there despite the ongoing construction work.

Joel discovers a couch, raising a cloud of dust, "Well, this looks like it's comfy!" he exclaims.

You grumble as you continue on, you find the kitchen, it's fully furnished, but you find nothing but a bottle of water and some packets of crackers that you promptly put in your backpack.

Joel is just behind you, he too is looking around, "I hope this isn't a house from my company!" he exclaims.

"Your company?!" you ask, turning your head towards him.

"Yes, my brother and I had a business together." he replies.

“Did we get along?” you ask him again.

He nods, "You were very good. You always knew how to make something happen, even after sleepless nights, the next day you were able to bring great projects to life." you find yourself smiling "Charlotte hated you for that too!"

"Charlotte?" you repeat, but her name doesn't sound new to you at all when it comes from your lips.

"Oh, fuck." Joel blurts out, pointing the flashlight a short distance away from you. You turn around and see fresh blood on the ground. Joel quickly reaches you, passing you and pointing his rifle forward.

“What are we doing?” you whisper under your breath.

"Let's go away, in silence."

When you're about to turn around, you hear something slithering and then it makes those noises. Your blood freezes in your veins and you become paralyzed, Joel pulls you away by the arm making you hide just in time behind a kitchen cabinet when one of those things appears from the darkness. You just lift your head to see them and you realize that it's one of those things you've already seen in the hospital, now what do you do?

You're both on all fours and hiding back there, but you have to get out somehow. Joel gets your attention with his eyes and mouths they're blind, you nod even though the news doesn't reassure you in the least. He makes the gesture with the flashlight and you slowly sneak out of the room, you're almost back in the entry room when you place your hand on a piece of glass and let out a little scream, Joel turns with a terrified expression behind you, as you hear the sound of that thing approaching. You cut yourself, but this is not the time to think about it, you know you are about to die because that monster is approaching and you don't know how to escape it except by running, but your body seems not to respond to your will. Joel picks up a rock from a short distance away and, before you get face to face with that monster, throws it in a direction diametrically opposite to yours. The hideous creature stops a couple of steps away from you and then heads towards the stone Joel threw.

You can breathe a sigh of relief, you get up and can silently walk away, you are almost outside when something else catches your attention: the corpse of a man. He's dead, he has a gun in his hand, his shirt full of blood, his mouth twisted into a grotesque expression.

"Let's go." Joel says, moving to walk away, but you remain there. It's not the man's expression that troubles you, but his shirt. Blood dripped profusely across it.

"I'm scared." You can almost hear yourself say, "Joel! Joel! Help!"

Joel pulls you away this time and succeeds, you are out now and you quickly climb over the fence, moving away from that house again and returning to the woods. You are troubled, you are cold and a new terrible question is making its way inside you. Your path is fortunately calm, but that question is creeping deep inside you. It's almost dusk when you take refuge in a heavily looted gas station, there's no one there and no one has been there for a long, long time so at least for tonight you're safe.

After you make sure that nothing and no one is around, you sit down to rest a bit and at that time, Joel disinfects your wound. Your eyes often meet, you wonder how or what you will do from tomorrow, you wonder who you were in the past and if you will ever be able to reconcile who you were with who you are today.

Everything seems calm. However, you decide not to light any fires to avoid attracting the attention of anyone nearby, you are both wrapped in blankets. You try not to chatter your teeth, but at a certain point it becomes unavoidable and Joel approaches you, surrounding you and him with another blanket, now you are next to each other.

"Joel?"

"Mh?"

"Were we happy before... before it all ended? Before you and I broke up?" you ask him "I know it's stupid because... you know, usually when you break up with someone it's because you're not happy, but I'd like to know more," you add, sniffling in the cold.

"We were. So much. I was very happy with you. And you with me. We had everything." He sighs, "We could have had it."

"But then why?" you ask him.

He looks at you with eyes full of sadness and regret, "I cheated on you."

You stare into space before you then look up at him with a puzzled expression, "Why?" you should feel anger, pain, but the truth is you don't feel anything, you don't know how to feel. You're just so confused.

He nervously clenches his hands and you, as if moved by invisible threads of a distant and perhaps not entirely erased memory, reach out and slip your hand between his. You frown in surprise at the gesture and Joel also seems shocked because he looks up at you with his lips parted in amazement.

"I - I dunno - I don't know why I did it." You say, pulling your hand away from his.

Instead he holds it back, warming your cold hand, "It's something we always did." He says in a low, bitter tone of voice. "It was your way of calming my nerves after a hard day at work. You sat next to me and, you didn't even have to ask me if I had a good or bad day, you rested your head on my shoulder in silence." he tells you.

"You could see it all over your face what you were feeling." It's meant to be a question, but it comes out of your mouth like a fact, like something you're sure of.

He nods rubbing your hand between his to warm it, both of you looking at your joined hands for a while.

"Did we always do this too?"

He smiles, nods weakly, "I'd like to tell you everything... do you want to listen?"

You swallow, “Okay.”

[baocean]

𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪

⤷ chapter eleven - crushcrushcrush

the party wasn’t supposed to be this big. just the group, rafe had said. just a small, chill thing rafe had said.

but rafe’s definition of “just the group” apparently includes half the campus, three beer pong tables, and the entirety of the kildare u's mens lacrosse team.

you’re in the kitchen, holding a drink that’s long gone flat, leaning against the counter. and across the room, half-sunk into the couch, hood up, bruised and unsteady, is jj. he shouldn't be here. he barely got cleared to play, definitely didn't get cleared to drink.

but he’s here, and he’s watching you.

you haven’t looked back. not once, not since the game, not since he smiled at you with a mouth full of blood like he knew you’d been scared.

cleo’s off with pope somewhere, kie’s talking to rafe, and sarah’s playing dj on the world’s most cracked bluetooth speaker. you're busy looking around the room, trying to find anyone you know, when you feel it.

some guy you don’t know presses in beside you, too close. he says something, slurred, too loud, you shake your head, try to sidestep. but his hand catches your waist. fingers digging in because he thinks no one’s watching.

“get off.” you snap, shoving him back. he stumbles a step and laughs like it’s funny. and then he comes back. faster this time, angrier, hand reaching for your wrist.

you go to backhand him across the face. you don’t get the chance, because jj moves out of nowhere. no warning, one step, one clean punch, and the guy drops hard, right onto the tile, knocked back so fast the room gasps.

“take a fucking hint, dude.” his voice is low and kind of scary, in that way that only happens when he’s not joking anymore. the kind of tone you’ve only heard once from him.

the guy stumbles as he gets up, swears, holds up his hands like he didn’t mean it, but jj’s already shaking, like his body hasn’t caught up with how hard he just moved on an injury that should’ve kept him home.

jj finally turns to you, breathing uneven, like it cost him.

you actually look back, for the first time tonight. “what the fuck, jj?"

“he touched you.”

“i had it handled.”

“he was like, a foot and a half taller than you, yn.” his hand stuck out in the direction the guy disappeared to. jj’s voice came out louder than he meant, sharp, cutting through the hum of the party, and people turned.

he blinked, chest still heaving, hand still pointed in the direction the guy disappeared.

then he seemed to hear himself. his shoulders dropped just a little. his voice softened.

“i’m sorry, i’m just-” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, quieter now, gaze flicking away from the crowd and back to you.

you take a deep breath, then close your eyes, then tip your head back. barely audible, barely above a whisper, you say, “thanks, jayj.”

his eyes flick up fast, like he wasn’t expecting it. something hits somewhere deep in his chest and sticks there. your voice, your face, the way you made his stupid nickname yours.

“yeah.” he breathes. “yeah, of course.”

the party hums back to life behind you, music crawling back in through the walls, but jj’s still standing in front of you, wrecked and wired and probably bleeding somewhere. you can tell he’s coming down now, the adrenaline’s wearing off. now, he’s just a boy with too many bruises and not enough ways to say what he means.

he shifts on his feet, winces a little, but never take his eyes off you.

“i just…you know i wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, right?”

his voice cracks a little at the end, like he’s not used to saying stuff like this. like it tastes unfamiliar in his mouth.

“i mean, you’ve…you’ve put up with enough of my shit already, so…”

his laugh is soft and nervous. almost self deprecating. his eyes flick to the side, then back to you.

you blink, the weight of that sinks in slow. jj’s not smiling, not smirking, just looking at you like he means it.

your heart does something ugly in your chest, something uninvited.

you just nod and smile, enough to make jj exhale, just barely, and look down, like he’s a little surprised you didn’t backhand him. he expected you to roll your eyes, shove him away, call him dramatic or stupid or jj.

he gives you a nod, and then heads into the crowd before he says something that will.

her phone

his phone

xoxo, mimi

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[angermango]

reasons not to get hit right in the face

[mbat]

"this house is so full of ghost activity!!"

the house:

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Oh, poor, Ragatha

You must be having one of those nightmares you get when you’re awake

Ragatha checks in on Kinger

[solaceseven]

breath of fresh air

you storm out in the middle of an argument. featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.

you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.

“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.

“nope.”

you groaned. “i need space.”

“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.

you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”

gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”

“gojo.”

“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”

you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.

when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”

you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.

gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”

you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”

“you always pay,” you deadpanned.

“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”

gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.

as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.

you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—

yeah. you’d be okay.

GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.

not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.

but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—

and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”

you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

you glare. “how did you even find me?”

he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”

geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”

you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.

his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”

you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.

his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”

a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”

you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”

“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”

a pause. then, finally—

“okay.”

he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.

NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.

you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.

at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.

you sighed. “kento.”

a pause. “hm?”

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.

“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.

nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”

and yet, he didn’t stop.

you didn’t push him away, either.

the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.

eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.

nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.

the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.

after a long moment, you broke it.

“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.

nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.

“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”

and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.

SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”

his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”

you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”

“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”

you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”

silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.

but sukuna didn’t let go.

for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.

“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.

you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.

sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.

the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—

you two were going to be okay.

TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.

he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.

but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.

he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.

it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.

you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”

“not happening,” he says flatly.

you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”

you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”

and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.

you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”

“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”

you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.

the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.

after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”

you huff. “i’m not sulking.”

“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”

you hesitate. “i dunno…”

he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”

you squint. “bribery?”

toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”

you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.

“where are we going?” you mumble.

“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”

and somehow, that’s enough.