#look at me realizing things last yet again

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.7

Chapter Seven: What Are You Doing To Me Now?

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, 

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: ISTG last chapter— ya’ll comments had me wheezing and dying of laughter PLEASE— MY BAD, I DIDN’T MEAN TO GIVE PEDRO A HEART ATTACK LMAOOOO. Anyways, enjoy this little filler of a chapter. That’s 8k words long LMAO…

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The blue by Gracie Abrams

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

“You still need to change.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into a hole. Out of everything you could have said, that’s what your brain decided on?

Pedro blinks at you.

Then, as if just realizing it himself, he looks down at his suit—a bright, unmistakable blue, the bold insignia stretched across his chest.

Mr. Fantastic.

A literal superhero, walking through the lot, guiding you with steady hands like you were the fragile one. It’s so utterly absurd you almost laugh.

“Huh,” he says, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. “Guess I forgot.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-fond. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving a dull ache in its place, and for the first time since the accident, the weight of everything presses in.

The stitches in your arm pull when you move too fast, a sharp reminder that this was real. That you’d actually shoved Pedro out of the way and taken the hit yourself.

He hasn’t let you forget it, either.

Not in the way his fingers still ghost over your wrist, as if testing to make sure you’re solid. Not in the way he keeps looking at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to work through something in his head but hasn’t found the words yet.

And now, on top of it all, you still need to check in with Jess, confirm with Matt that you’re cleared for the day, and figure out if you need to file for medical leave.

So much for an easy afternoon.

You make your way across the lot, Pedro still at your side, his presence warm and steady. When you find Matt and Jess, they’re already deep in conversation with Rob Beggs, the safety manager. The area where the light rig fell is cordoned off now, crew members carefully maneuvering around it as they assess the situation.

The moment Jess spots you, her face crumples into something equal parts relief and guilt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward like she wants to hug you but stops herself at the last second, eyeing your injured arm. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Jess, no,” you interject quickly, shaking your head. “This wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“Still, I feel awful,” Matt adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should have double-checked the rigging before calling everyone in.”

“And we’re going to,” Rob says, tone firm but even. “I’m running a full investigation on this. We’ll figure out where the breakdown happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You nod, appreciating the sentiment but also not wanting to linger on it. The last thing you want is for everyone to start treating you like glass.

“I’m okay,” you say, offering them what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Just a few stitches. I’ll live.”

“Damn right you will,” a familiar voice cuts in.

Daisy.

She and Omar appear from the side, both of them looking equally relieved and exasperated.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Omar says, shaking his head. “One second everything was fine, and then—boom. We see you on the ground, bleeding.”

You wince. “Yeah. That part wasn’t fun.”

“No shit,” Daisy mutters. Then her eyes flick to Pedro, who still hasn’t strayed far from your side. Her gaze sharpens just slightly.

“You sticking to her like glue for the rest of the day or what?” she teases, but there’s an underlying note of curiosity there.

Pedro doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yep.”

You glance at him, surprised by how easily the answer leaves him. His expression is relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes, something quietly unwavering, that makes your stomach flip.

Daisy arches a brow, but she doesn’t push.

Instead, she just shakes her head, smirking slightly. “Figures.”

Omar huffs a laugh. “Well, at least she’s in good hands.”

You feel your face heat, and Pedro, the absolute menace, just looks utterly unbothered, like he was always meant to be standing here next to you. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright,” Jess sighs, rubbing her temples. “You’re cleared for the day. If you need extra time off, just let me know.”

You nod. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Now,” Matt adds, giving Pedro a once-over, “please tell me you’re not actually taking her back to the hotel like that.”

Pedro glances down at himself again.

Then he shrugs. “I dunno. Kinda think it adds character.”

You groan, covering your face with your good hand.

“Just go change, man,” Omar snorts.

Pedro grins, but then his attention shifts back to you, and the humor fades just slightly, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, voice low. “Stay here, okay?”

You nod, and the second he steps away, you exhale, feeling the weight of everything settle just a little heavier on your shoulders.

Daisy nudges you.

“So,” she drawls, a knowing glint in her eye. “Anything you wanna share?”

Your face burns.

“Nope.”

Omar snickers. “Yeah, sure.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you don’t say anything else. Because honestly?

You’re not sure how to explain what just happened.

Or how you’re supposed to go back to normal after it.

You don’t know how Pedro managed to convince Matt and Jess to call it an early day, but somehow, he did. Maybe it was the way he asked, firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument, or maybe they saw the concern in his eyes—the kind that couldn’t be faked. Either way, production had been shut down for the day.

Besides, Rob had said they needed to check the cameras, review the footage, and determine exactly what went wrong.

Now, you were surrounded by Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph, their voices overlapping as they checked in on you.

“Oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?” Vanessa asked, wide-eyed, her hand hovering near your arm as if she was scared you’d break.

“Yeah, you took quite the hit,” Ebon added, shaking his head. “Looked bad from where we were standing.”

Joseph crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “They need to get that sorted out before we continue filming. It could’ve been worse.”

You nodded, offering them a small smile, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline and the way their concern made you feel more fragile than you wanted to admit.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured them. “Just a couple of stitches. No big deal.”

But your voice wavered slightly, betraying the truth. Your hands were still cold, your heart still hadn’t settled into its usual rhythm. You wanted to be strong—to be the girl who brushed things off with a laugh. You’d always been that girl.

Then Pedro emerged from his trailer.

He’d finally changed out of the Mr. Fantastic suit, trading in the blue spandex for a soft black sweater and dark jeans, but he still had that look—the same one he’d had since the moment the accident happened. Like he hadn’t been able to let out a full breath since.

His eyes found yours instantly.

“Hey.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Pedro ignored everyone else, his focus entirely on you as he closed the distance between you. The warmth of his presence was immediate and grounding, and when he reached out—his fingers ghosting over the bandage on your forehead—you felt yourself sway slightly.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer, meant just for you.

“I’ll rest when I get home.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but something in your expression must’ve given you away, because Pedro exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face before he could think better of it.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You were very aware of the way the others had fallen silent, watching the moment unfold. But Pedro didn’t seem to care, and you... you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I didn’t mean to.” The words came out quieter than you intended.

His brows knit together like he was about to say something else, but then Matt called out from the other side of the lot, breaking the moment.

Pedro sighed, dropping his hand, but not before giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “Let me take you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be dealing with all of this right now.”

Your instinct was to protest, to insist that you were fine, that you could handle it. But the truth was, the idea of getting away from set, from all the eyes and whispers, sounded... nice.

So you swallowed your pride, glanced up at Pedro, and nodded.

“Okay.”

His shoulders loosened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to agree. “Okay.”

And just like that, he was guiding you toward the parking lot, his hand ghosting over your lower back, protective, steady, like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled.

You exhaled, letting yourself lean into the warmth of him, just a little. Just for now.

The black van was already waiting at the curb, engine humming softly as the late afternoon light spilled golden streaks over the lot. Pedro kept a firm but gentle hand on the small of your back as he guided you inside, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.  

Albert, the driver, glanced back as you climbed in. “Miss,” he greeted with a polite nod, his eyes flickering briefly to Pedro as if silently assessing whether you were okay.  

You gave him a small smile. “Hey, Albert.”  

Once everyone was settled, the doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you into the familiar bubble of the ride back to the hotel.  

“I think after today, we deserve drinks.” Joseph stretched out his legs with a groan, his head thumping lightly against the headrest. “Preferably something strong. Maybe something that could wipe today from my memory entirely.”  

You let out a quiet laugh but shook your head. “Thanks, but no alcohol for me.” You scrunched your nose, pulling a face. “Kind of wanna keep all my blood inside me for now.”  

Pedro made a noise next to you—something between amusement and disapproval—as he shot you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, no tequila shots for you, querida. Not when you just got stitched up.”  

“Ugh, I was gonna say wine, but sure, make me sound like a total mess,” Joseph quipped.  

Vanessa smirked. “You are a mess.”  

Ebon chuckled. “At least you admit it.”  

The conversation carried on, the lighthearted teasing making the tension from earlier slowly fade. You felt yourself relax, your body sinking a little deeper into the seat. But even as the laughter filled the van, you remained acutely aware of the warmth beside you—the way Pedro’s thigh pressed lightly against yours, the way his arm rested along the back of the seat, close but not quite touching you.  

And when you glanced at him, you found his gaze already on you, something unreadable in those deep brown eyes.  

You looked away first.

The drive back to the hotel stretched longer than expected, traffic turning the usual route into a slow crawl. London streets, thick with impatient drivers and red taillights, blurred into a haze outside the window. Rain had started to drizzle, streaking the glass with soft, uneven patterns. The low hum of conversation filled the van, punctuated by the occasional groan from Joseph whenever the vehicle lurched forward, only to stop again moments later.  

You let your head rest against the window, watching the world pass in slow motion. The warmth of the van, the steady rhythm of the rain, and the quiet murmur of voices lulled you into something close to drowsiness. Your body ached—not unbearably, but enough that exhaustion tugged at you with each passing second.  

Pedro shifted beside you, the movement drawing your attention. His arm, which had been loosely draped along the back of the seat, dipped slightly, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder in a touch so light you almost imagined it.  

“You okay?” His voice was low, meant only for you.  

You hummed, turning your head slightly but keeping your gaze on the rain-slicked streets. “Yeah. Just tired.”  

His fingers flexed, the briefest hesitation before he let his hand settle—gentle and warm—on your arm. Not overbearing. Just there. Just enough.  

You should sit up straighter. You should move, make some joke, shake off the way his presence settled around you like something protective, something safe. But you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself relax, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavier against you.  

The next time the van jolted to another stop, your body leaned instinctively toward the nearest solid thing—Pedro.  

You felt it the moment your head made contact with his shoulder. The way he stiffened, just for a beat, before exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. You started to move away, an apology forming on your lips, but before you could, his hand found your knee—just the lightest touch, grounding, reassuring.  

“Stay,” he murmured.  

You weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it.  

But you did. And you stayed.  

The voices around you blended, fading into the background as your eyelids grew heavier. Pedro’s breathing was steady beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort. His scent—faint traces of cologne and whatever they used to take off the makeup from set—wrapped around you, familiar and warm.  

Outside, the rain kept falling. The city moved in slow motion.  

And in the middle of it all, you slept, tucked safely into the space Pedro had made for you.

Pedro stilled when he felt the full weight of you against him.  

At first, he thought you were just resting your eyes, letting exhaustion settle in after the long, chaotic day. But then your breathing slowed, deepened, the kind of rhythm that only came with sleep.  

Carefully, he glanced down at you. Your face was relaxed now, lips slightly parted, the tension that had clung to you all day finally melting away. A soft, barely-there snore slipped past your lips, and—fuck—his heart clenched.  

Then he felt it.  

A faint warmth against his shoulder.  

He shifted ever so slightly, and sure enough—yep. You were drooling.  

He should probably mind. He should probably shake you awake or shift you off of him. But the thought didn’t even cross his mind.  

Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and stayed perfectly still.  

Because if this was all he got—this fleeting moment of quiet, of you trusting him enough to let your guard down, to lean on him like this—he wasn’t about to ruin it.  

Still, guilt gnawed at him. The scene kept playing in his head. The accident. The way his stomach had dropped when he saw you hit the ground. The way you had looked up at him afterward, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though he knew better. Even though he knew you.  

He could have lost you today.  

The thought made his grip tighten ever so slightly against his knee, his other hand twitching with the urge to reach for you. To make sure you were really here.  

And then there was that look.  

The one you had given him. The one that sent something sharp and undeniable curling in his chest. The one that told him—without words—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t just in his head.  

He could have kissed you then.  

He should have.  

But it hadn’t been the right time. Not after what had happened. Not when you were still reeling from it, still patching yourself up.  

But fuck, it’s going to keep him up at night.  

He wants you.  

And he knows—knows—that you want him too.  

The van hit another bump, jostling you slightly, and instinctively, he shifted, tucking you closer so your head wouldn’t slip from his shoulder.  

You murmured something in your sleep, a soft sigh, curling the tiniest bit toward him. And Pedro?  

Pedro let himself enjoy it. Just for now. Just for tonight.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

A gentle voice coaxed you from sleep.  

“We’re here.”  

You stirred, warmth pressed against your cheek, the rhythmic hum of the van’s engine fading as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Your mind felt sluggish, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, but then—oh God.  

Your head had been resting on him.  

Panic flickered through you as you jerked upright, realizing with horror that you had not only slept on Pedro’s shoulder but also left a small damp patch on the fabric of his hoodie.  

“Oh my—shit.” You wiped hastily at your mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to—Jesus, I drooled all over you. I’m so—”  

Pedro chuckled, low and amused, shaking his head. “It’s fine.” His voice softened. “Just don’t move too much. Remember—your stitches.”  

The reminder stopped you in your tracks. Right. Your stitches. Your ribs ached dully, a reminder of the accident earlier on set. You swallowed, nodding.  

“Right,” you murmured.  

Across from you, Joseph twisted in his seat, smirking slightly. “You good?”  

“Yeah.” Your voice was still rough with sleep. You cleared your throat and tried again. “M’good.”  

Vanessa gave you a sympathetic look, her expression warm. “You should probably head up and rest.”  

You nodded again, still feeling a little disoriented. The van door slid open, letting in the cool London air. One by one, everyone filed out, stretching and murmuring about what to do next. Pedro moved to step out, then hesitated, glancing back at you.  

“You coming?” he asked, voice low, just for you.  

You blinked, forcing yourself to move. Your limbs felt heavy, your body still craving rest. As you started to climb out, your footing wavered slightly—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the dull ache in your side.  

Pedro was there in an instant.  

His hand hovered near the small of your back, not quite touching, but close enough to steady you. Close enough to say, I’ve got you.  

You inhaled, just for a moment, letting yourself take comfort in his presence. 

The warmth of the hotel lobby wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the soft hum of distant conversation and the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne filling the air. Pedro stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance, his hand hovering near your lower back again, never quite touching, but there.  

You made your way toward the elevators, pressing the call button. When the doors slid open, you stepped inside with a sigh, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You tapped your keycard, pressing the button for your floor before instinctively pressing Pedro’s as well.  

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.  

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”  

“You’re staying with me tonight.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”  

Pedro sighed, like he had already expected you to put up a fight. “Someone needs to look after you.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Pedro, I’ll be fine. They’re just stitches. I’m just gonna head to bed early—” You punctuated the statement with a yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro gave you that look. That firm, stubborn, no-room-for-argument look, the one you’d seen him use when he was absolutely set on something.  

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”  

“Just stay in the suite,” he said, softer this time. “Please. You can use your old room.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Pedro, my stuff is still in my room.”  

“Then I’ll stay with you.”  

Your breath hitched. “What?”  

Pedro shrugged, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “If you won’t stay in my suite, then I’ll stay in yours.”  

You stared at him, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your ears. The idea of sharing a space with Pedro for the night—of waking up knowing he was just a room away, of the quiet intimacy of existing in the same space—made your stomach flip.  

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, voice quieter now.  

He tilted his head, studying you. “I want to.”  

The elevator dinged, signaling your floor. The doors slid open, but neither of you moved. The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something there.  

You hesitated. He was giving you a choice.  

You exhaled, already knowing you were going to give in before the words even left your mouth.  

“Fine…” you muttered, crossing your arms. “If it makes you feel better.” You glanced up at him and sighed. “Now put away your puppy eyes.”  

Pedro grinned, all smug warmth and victory, but there was something softer in his eyes—relief, maybe. Like he was glad you weren’t pushing him away.  

“I’ll just grab some of my stuff. I’ll be right back,” he said, already stepping back toward the elevator panel to press his floor again.  

You shot him a teasing look. “Better hurry, or I might just pass out before you get there.”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes playfully. “Seven minutes,” he said, like it was a challenge.  

You smirked as the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the hallway.  

By the time you got to your room, exhaustion was already creeping in. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes before flopping onto the bed, sighing into the plush comforter. You told yourself you’d just close your eyes for a moment—just a second.  

Then, exactly seven minutes later, the sound of your doorbell rang through the room.

You rolled off the bed with a groggy sigh, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled toward the door. When you pulled it open, Pedro was standing there, looking so effortlessly comfortable it made your stomach flip.  

A plain black tee stretched across his broad chest, the soft fabric hanging loosely over the curve of his arms. Grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, the kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second longer than you wanted to admit. He’d traded his usual contacts for his square-framed glasses, the ones that made him look just a little too good, like a university professor who knew exactly how to ruin you with a well-placed argument.  

In one hand, he held a small duffle bag, the strap slung over his shoulder like he belonged here, like this was routine. Like you’d done this before.  

Pedro’s gaze flicked over you, taking in your half-lidded eyes and the way you leaned against the doorframe, still fighting off the edges of sleep.  

“You didn’t pass out,” he noted, amused.  

“Almost did,” you mumbled, stepping back to let him in.  

Pedro walked past you, his familiar scent trailing after him—clean, warm, a mix of something woody and subtle, like cedar and spice. He moved easily around the space, setting his bag down by the chair, toeing off his sneakers before glancing back at you.  

“You should get some rest,” he said, softer now.  

You folded your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in the clothes you wore earlier, your sweater slightly rumpled from your half-nap. “I was resting until someone rang my doorbell exactly seven minutes after leaving.”  

Pedro just smiled, unapologetic. “I said I’d be quick.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips.  

Then, as if the weight of the day finally caught up to him, Pedro let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw before tilting his head at you. His gaze softened, the humor fading just a little.  

“How’s your side?”  

You hesitated, glancing down like you could see the stitches through your clothes. “Fine,” you said, but it wasn’t very convincing.  

Pedro’s brows pulled together. “Let me see.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“Just—let me check, make sure it’s not bleeding or anything.”  

You frowned, the shyness creeping back in. “Pedro, I can—”  

“You could,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, “but you won’t.” His voice dipped into something quieter, something coaxing. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”  

Your breath hitched.  

You should’ve argued, should’ve batted away his concern with another stubborn insistence that you were fine. But he was looking at you like that—like you were something fragile and precious, something worth worrying over.  

And maybe a part of you wanted to be taken care of.  

You swallowed, nodding once.  

Pedro exhaled, something unspoken passing between you, before he gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”  

You did.  

He knelt in front of you, hands careful as he helped you lift the hem of your sweater, just enough to check the bandages covering your side. His fingers barely grazed your skin, but it was enough to send a shiver up your spine.  

Pedro stilled.  

His gaze flicked up to yours, like he’d felt it too.  

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.  

Then, finally, he spoke—voice rough, quiet.  

“You scared the shit out of me today.”

“So you’ve said…” You mumbled.

Pedro huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he carefully smoothed the fabric of your sweater back down. His hands lingered for half a second too long, fingertips brushing against your waist before he pulled away.  

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it—just exhaustion, something fond underneath.  

You swallowed past the warmth creeping up your neck and cleared your throat. “I, uh—I need to shower.”  

Pedro’s expression shifted instantly, concern knitting his brows together. “Careful with your stitches.”  

“I know,” you sighed, already pushing yourself up from the bed. “I just—” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how gross you felt. Your sweater was stiff in places, dried with sweat and blood, and your skin itched from the grime of the day. “I just need to wash this all off.”  

Pedro’s gaze softened, but his jaw ticked, like he was biting back a hundred different things he wanted to say.  

Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”  

You quickly gathered your pajamas and underwear, started toward the bathroom, then paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t—” You hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Don’t leave, okay?”  

Pedro blinked, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded again. “I won’t.”  

That was all you needed.  

You closed the bathroom door behind you and exhaled, pressing your forehead against the cool wood for a second longer than necessary. Your heart was beating too fast.  

You shook it off, moving to turn on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot—you didn’t want to irritate the stitches. The mirror caught your reflection, and you winced. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, dried blood streaked near your collar. No wonder Pedro had been hovering.  

Carefully, you peeled off your clothes, mindful of your injury as you stepped under the spray. Warm water cascaded over you, washing away the dirt and the tension, and you sighed in relief.  

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, warmth wrapped around you—not just from the plush hotel robe you’d thrown on, but from the scent of food lingering in the air. Something rich, comforting.  

Pedro sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up the second he heard you. His eyes flickered over you, scanning for any signs of discomfort, lingering too long on the bandages at your side before he forced himself to meet your gaze.  

He offered you a small smile. “I ordered room service for dinner. Figured you needed something to eat before your next set of meds.”  

Your stomach answered before you could, a low grumble betraying just how little you’d eaten today.  

Pedro smirked. “Guess I made the right call.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were grateful. The thoughtfulness of it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches.  

“What’d you get?” You padded over, tucking damp hair behind your ear as you settled onto the small couch beside him.  

“Chicken soup, because, you know—doctor’s orders.” He lifted the lid with a flourish, steam curling into the air. “And some pasta, just in case you wanted something more solid.”  

Your lips twitched. “You really thought this through, huh?”  

Pedro shrugged, too casual. “You’re my responsibility tonight.”  

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. He didn’t say it like it was an obligation. He said it like it was a fact. Like he wanted it to be.  

You looked away, focusing on the soup as you picked up a spoon. “Thanks,” you murmured.  

Pedro watched you for a beat before nodding. “Anytime.”

The silence between you was warm, familiar. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.  

You focused on your food, spooning up the broth, letting the heat soothe you from the inside out. The warmth of it settled deep in your chest, easing away the tightness that had been there since the accident. Pedro had been right—this was exactly what you needed.  

Across from you, Pedro twirled his fork through his pasta absentmindedly, but he wasn’t eating much. His eyes kept flicking toward you, like he was checking, making sure you were still here, still breathing.  

“You should eat,” you murmured, not looking up from your bowl.  

Pedro let out a small breath of amusement. “You sound like me.”  

You lifted a brow. “Guess it’s contagious.”  

He smirked but didn’t argue, finally taking a bite of his food. You kept eating, but the weight of his gaze never fully left you. It sat there, unspoken, lingering between the spaces of your breath and the scrape of silverware against ceramic.  

After a while, you set your spoon down and leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs out. Pedro’s eyes flickered to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

Pedro’s gaze flickered down to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

“You have no idea how much you worried me today,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.  

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”  

“I mean it,” he said, setting his plate aside. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, grounding himself in the warmth of you. “One second, you were fine, and the next…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “I keep thinking—if things had gone differently…”  

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm. You reached out without thinking, resting a hand over his. His fingers twitched under yours, like he was resisting the urge to hold on.  

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “It was just an accident.”  

Pedro let out a humorless huff. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”  

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly over his. “I know.”  

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of the city hummed beyond the hotel window, the murmur of footsteps passing by in the hallway. But here, in this quiet little bubble, it was just the two of you.  

Pedro’s fingers twitched again, then slowly, finally, curled around yours. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t hold too tightly. Just enough to tell you he was still here. That he wasn’t letting go.  

Your throat felt tight, emotions tangling up somewhere in your chest.  

“Pedro,” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.  

He looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time all night, you didn’t look away.  

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something real. It made your heart stumble in your chest.  

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to drink your meds.”

“Right.” You nodded and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and twisted the cap off with a sigh. Pedro, ever watchful, pushed the packet of pills closer to you with two fingers.  

“Go on,” he urged, tilting his head.  

You huffed but took the meds anyway, popping them into your mouth and swallowing them down with a gulp of water. The whole time, Pedro watched you like a hawk, arms crossed over his chest, his face full of barely restrained concern.  

“There. Happy?” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro narrowed his eyes slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Very.”  

“You’re being a little much,” you teased, setting the bottle down.  

He arched a brow. “A little much?”  

“You’re hovering. You’re being—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like a mother hen.”  

Pedro let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I am. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not out here trying to tough it out on your own.”  

You looked away, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. He wasn’t wrong. You’d spent so much of your life trying to prove that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle things on your own. But having him here, fussing over you, making sure you took your meds, ordering you food—it was… nice.  

Really nice.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Well, thanks,” you muttered, voice softer this time.  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he saw right through you.  

You busied yourself adjusting the pillows, trying to ignore how much your heart was racing. But then you froze.  

There was only one bed.  

Your eyes darted to Pedro’s, and you saw the exact moment he noticed, too. His lips parted slightly, gaze flicking from you to the bed and back again.  

“Oh,” you said.  

Pedro exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can take the floor.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“The floor,” he repeated. “I’ll sleep there.”  

You frowned, looking between him and the thick, undoubtedly uncomfortable carpet. “Absolutely the fuck not.”  

Pedro smirked, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. “Wow. Strong words.”  

“I’m serious, Pedro.” You crossed your arms. “Your back will hate you forever.”  

His smirk widened into a grin. “Are you calling me old?”  

Your mouth opened, then closed. “No! I—I’m just saying, you’ll wake up sore as hell and—ugh.” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”  

You glared at him, flustered beyond belief. “Not funny.”  

“Very funny.”  

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, still grinning like a damn idiot.  

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” you grumbled, trying to regain some of your dignity.  

Pedro held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But if I wake up with an elbow to the ribs, I’m filing a complaint.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.  

One bed. Pedro Pascal. You.  

You were doomed.

You climb into bed first, carefully maneuvering around your injury as you settle against the pillows. Pedro follows soon after, turning off the last of the lights, leaving only the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The space between you is small—closer than what two people who are just friends probably should be—but neither of you move to fix it.  

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the quiet hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the hotel settling. Then, Pedro shifts slightly, resting his head on his hand as he looks at you.  

“Isn’t it weird?” he murmurs.  

You blink sleepily. “What?”  

“You changed rooms… and now we’re in the same bed.” His voice is thoughtful, like he’s only just realizing the weight of the situation.  

You snort. “Maybe I’m cursed.”  

Pedro chuckles, low and warm. “Nah, can’t be cursed if you end up spending more time with me.” His grin is downright smug.  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Okay, superstar, calm down.”  

Pedro huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying. If this is a curse, it’s not a bad one.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because really, who just casually says things like that?—but the words catch in your throat when you realize how close he really is. His face is relaxed in the dim light, his eyes dark and unreadable, his curls a little mussed from the day.  

Your heart stumbles.  

It should be weird, lying here with him like this, but somehow… it isn’t.  

Somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The quiet hum of the night settles around you, the warmth of the sheets and the steady presence of Pedro beside you making it all too easy to forget the chaos of the day.  

You should be sleeping, but instead, you’re scrolling on your phone, the dim glow illuminating your face as you read. The soft, rhythmic sound of Pedro’s breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep—until his voice rumbles low in the quiet.  

“You always do that before bed?”  

You nearly jump, clutching your phone against your chest. “Do what?”  

Pedro’s lips twitch in amusement. “Read.”  

You swallow. Shit.  

“Yeah?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.  

Pedro props himself up on one elbow, peering at your phone. “What are you reading?”  

Your body goes rigid. Oh god.  

You’re reading fanfiction. Specifically, his character’s fanfiction.  

Absolutely not. You cannot let this man know.  

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, locking your phone and placing it screen-down on the nightstand.  

Pedro raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you turn away, mumbling, “It’s nothing important.”  

Pedro hums, amused, but thankfully doesn’t push further. Instead, he settles back down, stretching one arm under the pillow.  

“Alright, secrets,” he teases, voice laced with sleep. “Guess I’ll just have to wonder.”  

You groan. “Go to sleep, Pedro.”  

He chuckles, the sound warm and deep. “Fine, fine.”  

A comfortable silence blankets the room, the kind that makes your eyelids grow heavier. The warmth of Pedro beside you—solid, steady, real—only adds to it, pulling you deeper into rest.  

And before you know it, you’re asleep.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The muffled chime of your alarm cuts through the quiet, dragging you from the depths of sleep. You groan, blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand, smacking at the screen until the sound dies out.

As you settle back into the pillows, intending to steal a few more minutes of sleep, that's when you feel it.

Warmth. Solid and everywhere.

Your drowsy brain takes a second to catch up, to process the strong arm slung over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a broad chest against your back, the way his legs are tangled with yours, locking you in place.

And then—oh.

Something hard presses against the curve of your ass.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Heat floods your face instantly. The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train. Pedro is wrapped around you, his body flush against yours, and—yep, there’s no mistaking that.

You go completely still, hoping—praying—that maybe, maybe he’s still asleep, that he’s not aware of how intimately you’re pressed together.

A slow, deep inhale against your shoulder tells you otherwise.

Shit.

You can feel the moment he wakes up, the way his breathing shifts, the faintest tensing of his muscles. And then—

A sleepy, raspy groan vibrates against your skin.

Pedro shifts slightly behind you, his grip on your waist tightening for the briefest moment before his entire body goes rigid.

Silence.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his still half-asleep brain.

“…Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

His hand flexes against your stomach before he very, very slowly starts to pull away, but in doing so, he shifts again—and you feel everything for a split second longer than you should.

A tiny, humiliating sound escapes the back of your throat.

Pedro freezes.

Oh, god. Kill me now.

“…Did you just whimper?” His voice is still thick with sleep, rough and laced with amusement.

“No…” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He shifts slightly, just enough for you to feel him again, solid and unmistakable.

Your breath stutters.

Pedro lets out a low, knowing chuckle, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmurs, “Mmm. I think you did.”

You want to die.

Or maybe kill him. Either option seems preferable to this moment.

“You’re imagining things,” you mutter, voice strained as you try to ignore the way heat licks up your spine.

“Am I?” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, his fingers splaying against your stomach in a way that makes your breath catch.

God, he’s so warm.

You swallow, heart hammering against your ribs. “Pedro.”

Pedro hums in response, low and teasing, the sound vibrating against your skin.  

You shiver, heat pooling deep in your stomach. He’s still so close—his breath warm against your jaw, his fingers resting against your waist, firm and grounding.  

You don’t know who moves first.  

Maybe it’s you, tilting your head just slightly, your lips parting in anticipation. Or maybe it’s him, the way his nose grazes your cheek, the way he exhales shakily, like he’s been fighting this just as much as you have.  

And then his lips are on yours.  

Soft at first, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can spiral into something neither of you can take back.  

But you don’t pull away.  

Instead, you press into him, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.  

Pedro groans low in his throat, something almost desperate unraveling between you. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, not pushing—just holding. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, intoxicating glide.  

You sigh into him, utterly lost in the way he tastes, the way he feels.  

Then he shifts, leaning more of his weight onto you, and a sharp twinge shoots through your side. You inhale sharply, wincing.  

Pedro immediately freezes.  

His lips break from yours, breath warm and uneven against your jaw. “Shit.” He pulls back, eyes scanning your face, concern flickering in the deep brown of his gaze. “Did I—did I hurt you?”  

You shake your head, blinking away the haze of want clouding your thoughts. “No, I’m okay. Just… a little sore.”  

His lips press into a thin line, and then he’s pulling away completely, his hands gentle as he brushes a thumb over your hip. “I shouldn’t have—”  

You cut him off with a soft laugh. “Pedro, you didn’t break me.”  

His brows pinch together, still looking unsure. But then his gaze flickers to the clock on the nightstand, and he mutters a quiet fuck.  

You glance at the time. “What?”  

“I have to be on set in thirty minutes.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I gotta get dressed.”  

Your heart sinks.  

You don’t even try to hide it, the disappointment settling deep in your bones. But it’s not just that he has to leave—it’s the way he pulls away so fast, the way his hands are gone from your skin, the way reality rushes back in like a cold slap to the face.  

What if that kiss was a mistake? 

What if he didn’t mean it, not really? What if it was just the heat of the moment, an impulse he already regrets?  

You swallow hard, trying to school your expression, trying not to let the spiral show on your face.  

But Pedro catches it anyway.  

He stops halfway through buttoning his shirt, his gaze snapping to yours. His brows furrow, that warm, knowing look settling into his features. “No.”  

You blink. “What?”  

He shakes his head, stepping closer, voice firm. “No. I know that face.”  

You press your lips together, looking away, but Pedro doesn’t let you retreat.  

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face back toward him. His eyes are soft, earnest, searching yours. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake.”  

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.  

Pedro exhales, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I like you.” His voice is rough, almost exasperated, like he can’t believe he even has to say it out loud. “Fuck, I like you.”  

Your stomach flips. “You do?”  

His lips twitch into a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting out a breathy chuckle. “And I really wish I didn’t have to leave right now.”  

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Me too.”  

Pedro lingers a second longer before groaning, pulling away. “Okay. I really do have to go.” He finishes buttoning his shirt in record time, shoving on his jacket, running a hand through his messy hair.  

And yet—before he reaches the door, he turns back, pointing at you. “Take your meds. We’ll talk more later when I get back.”  

You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.”  

“I’m serious,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “Rest, take your meds, don’t do anything stupid.”  

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”  

Pedro smirks, walking backward toward the door. “Yeah? And you really like it.”  

You grab a pillow and launch it at him.  

He laughs, catching it before it can hit the floor, and then he’s gone—leaving behind the ghost of his touch, the lingering taste of his lips, and the undeniable truth that you are absolutely, utterly screwed.

The moment the door clicks shut, you stare at it for a solid five seconds.  

Then—  

You let out a muffled squeal, practically throwing yourself onto the bed, hugging your pillow close to your chest as you kick your feet.  

Oh my god.  

Oh. My. God.  

Did that really just happen? Did Pedro fucking Pascal just kiss you? Did he say—no, did he actually say he likes you? Out loud? Like, in real life?  

You bury your face into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. This has to be a dream. Some fever-induced hallucination from the painkillers, because there is no way this is actually happening to you.  

Your stomach flips as you replay every second of it—the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he groaned into your mouth. Jesus. Your body feels like it’s buzzing, and you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this.  

Then, like a bucket of cold water, a terrifying realization crashes over you.  

He doesn’t know. 

You push yourself up, staring blankly at the wall as the horror sinks in.  

He doesn’t know you’ve been reading fanfiction about him. About his characters. About him doing things that— 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  

Oh God.  

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you.  

What if he ever finds out? What if he ever catches you again, peeking at your phone, and this time you don’t have the composure to hide it? What if he sees the ungodly amount of saved bookmarks you have?  

You flop back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow.  

Oh. Oh no.  

The fanfiction was bad enough. But then—  

Your stomach drops.  

The TikTok edits.  

The candid photos.  

The folder.  

You physically sit up in bed, gripping the pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The folder on your phone—hidden in the depths of your camera roll, labeled something totally inconspicuous like Receipts or Taxes—is filled with candid pictures, behind-the-scenes clips, and so many thirst edits of Pedro Pascal set to unholy audio.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing so hard your whole body tenses.  

You can never let him near your phone.  

Ever.  

What if he finds the one edit with him as Jack Daniels? The one that made you short-circuit the first time you saw it? Or the compilation of him laughing, looking stupidly charming, set to some overly romantic Taylor Swift song?  

Jesus Christ.  

You groan, flopping back against the pillows, dragging your hands down your face.  

This is bad.  

Like, really bad.  

Because not only have you been a lowkey (very highkey) fangirl for years, but now you’ve kissed him. Now he likes you. Now there’s a very real possibility that this could actually go somewhere.  

And if he ever finds out just how deep your obsession goes?  

You’re changing your name and moving to a remote island.

End Notes:

Well… IT HAS BEEN HINTED AT. TIME AND TIME AGAIN. That you are a fan girl so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh God, what if he finds out 😃

Ya’ll they kissed! YAYYY!!

Awww you have a week off to rest and heal up girlieeee heuheuh

Look at Pedro being a mind reader. Love that for you!

We love a reassuring king. Gimme that shit. 

Yes, this is a little filler chapter before absolute chaos… oh hrm I meant… nothing what?

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi

[chimielie]

match point

hajime opens the door, blinking blearily as the permanent fluorescents of the hallway greet his eyes. he drags a hand down his face, taking a quick opportunity to take you in, your shorts and knees (the left one has a nasty green bruise, leftover from his forcing you to try indoor climbing last week) and fuzzy socks peeking out from your sneakers. your shirt almost swallowing you, making the jacket you’re wearing look oddly cropped. your hair sticking straight up.

“hi, hajime,” you say, yawning uncontrollably. “thank you. sorry.”

“no problem,” he says, “come in, it’s too bright.”

inside, there’s only the pinpoint of his cell flashlight on, a beacon leading you to his room—first left in the hallway, you really would be able to find it blindfolded. you don’t act like it, though, putting a hand on his back and closing your eyes while he forges forward. the light brush of your fingers over the thin t-shirt he’d pulled over his head thirty seconds ago is the confusing kind of thing leaking out of his dreams.

“there’s a protein shake pack there, watch your—yeah. your step.” the warning comes just in time for you to stub your toe as he shuts the door behind the both of you.

he busies himself digging in his closet while you swear as quietly as you can.

“you want the bed? i’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“‘m not kicking you out of your own bed at—” you squint at your own phone screen. “3:47 a.m. i just really appreciate you letting me stay over, haji. thank you so much.”

“not your fault your roommates set off the fire alarm at 3:47 a.m. seriously, take the bed.”

you were lucky, he thought, lucky he had your contact set to break through Do Not Disturb, lucky he lived a floor above you so you didn’t have to scream hysterically at them for waking you up like this again in the middle of exam season. the violent string of texts he’d woken up to (and the distant shrieking of your apartment’s alarm) had made him laugh so hard he’d typed come over almost without thinking about it, i promise i won’t hotbox the bedroom while you’re trying to sleep.

“let’s just share,” you suggest, and he fumbles the spare blankets in his hands. he’s glad he’s facing away from you. “it’s too early to fight.”

“too late,” he corrects you. “you sure we’ll both fit?”

it’s a reference to your freshman year, when you used to climb into his twin XL bed and lie on top of him so neither of you were falling off the edge. physical affection was more common for you then, before he’d realized that his dumbass had gone and fallen in love with you and you were just his very affectionate friend.

“yeah, you have a big boy bed now. i miss the lightning mcqueen sheets, though.” you’re already hanging the jacket on the back of his chair, crawling through the vast ocean of cotton to curl into a ball near his pillows. he checks his phone again, wondering if he ever really woke up. he has dreams, secret, shameful ones, like this often.

there’s a song and dance missing. shouldn’t he be fighting harder to take the couch? building a pillow wall? as he joins you, even as he’s stretching his body out and feeling his left shoulder pop, you gravitate into him. he puts an arm around you, his bicep thick enough beneath your back to make you shift around to get comfortable again. your fuzzy sock-covered foot pushes up the ankle of his sweatpants.

“hey, wait,” he says. you make a soft sleepy noise that breaks his heart to hear like this: so close, and yet not at all. “was that my jacket you were wearing? the one i’ve been looking for?”

“yeah,” you nod into his chest. “you gave it to me last time we went out.”

“oh, i’d forgotten,” he hums. a few more moments pass, his own eyelids getting heavy.

“i like wearing your clothes,” you tell him, “it makes me feel like you’re my boyfriend.”

maybe in the morning he’ll do something about that; for now, he sleeps with your deep, even breathing an inch away, the warm glow of something new and right and shared suffusing his chest.

[rafes-slut]

You marked his back with your nails pretty bad

Pairing: Cocky!Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings: explicit content, rough/intense smut, scratching, possessiveness, toxic dynamics, mentions of arguments, morning-after intimacy.

Summary: after having argument you make it up only way you know. Rough sex. So when you wake up next morning and find his back all red and scratched from how hard you went. Only for him to love it.

-----

The first thing you register is warmth. Not just the soft, golden hue of the morning sun breaking through the blinds, but the heat radiating from the body beside you. Rafe. His skin, bare and warm, pressed against yours beneath the tangled sheets. Your limbs feel heavy, the lingering exhaustion from last night still weighing on you, but there’s something else too—a soreness between your thighs, a faint ache in your muscles, a reminder of how things unfolded after that argument.

You shift slightly, turning to face him, and that’s when you see it.

His back.

Your breath catches for a moment as your eyes trace over the angry red marks slashed across his tanned skin. Deep, raw, and unmistakable—the aftermath of your nails dragging down his back, your body clinging to his as he fucked you through your frustration, through every unspoken word and every unresolved fight. The scratches stand out starkly against his skin, fresh and undeniable proof of just how wild last night had been.

You bite your lip, feeling a mix of pride and guilt. You hadn’t even realized you were digging in that hard, but looking at the way the marks line his back, there’s no doubt you claimed him in some way.

Rafe stirs beside you, shifting slightly before letting out a low, sleepy groan. His voice is thick with sleep, muffled against the pillow as he speaks.

"Mmm… you awake?"

He’s still half-asleep, his face turned towards you but his eyes barely open. Without thinking, he leans in, pressing a lazy, drowsy kiss against your shoulder, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

You hesitate before speaking, your fingers lightly grazing over one of the red streaks down his back. "Rafe…"

He hums in response, not fully awake yet.

"You should see what I did to your back," you murmur, running your fingers along another set of scratches. "It looks bad."

That wakes him up.

Rafe shifts onto his side, cracking one eye open as a slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips. "Yeah?" His voice is still rough with sleep, but there’s amusement in it now. "You worried about me, sweetheart?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat rising in your cheeks betrays you. "I didn’t realize I went that hard."

Rafe finally opens both eyes, his gaze dark and amused as he watches you. Then, without warning, he flips onto his stomach again, stretching his arms above his head, completely unbothered as he settles back against the mattress. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," you admit, tracing one of the deeper marks with your fingertip. "Like… I might’ve actually hurt you."

Rafe chuckles, and the sound is low and smug. "You didn’t hurt me." He turns his head slightly, giving you a lopsided grin. "I like it."

Your stomach tightens at his words.

"You like it?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

He nods lazily, completely unashamed. "Hell yeah. It means I fucked you good enough to make you lose control." He glances over his shoulder at you, his smirk widening. "That’s kinda hot, don’t you think?"

You huff, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. If anything, his words send a rush of heat straight to your core.

Rafe must notice because his smirk turns more devilish as he pushes himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching over to tug you closer. You don’t resist as he pulls you against him, his lips brushing against your collarbone before he trails them up to your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Next time," he murmurs against your throat, "maybe you should leave them somewhere I can actually see them."

Your breath hitches, and you hate the way your body immediately responds to him, how the heat from last night still lingers between you. But that’s just how it always is with Rafe. The fights, the passion, the way you always come back together in the most intense, all-consuming way.

[holyblonded]

the putellas test | birds of a feather

pairings: hopkins!paige bueckers x black!oc, alexia putellas x platonic!reader, alba putellas x platonic!reader

summary: alexia plans a series of test to see if paige is worthy enough to date her niece

warnings: none(?)

notes: i’m finding my grove back for this series 👻

Paige had barely stepped foot inside the Putellas household when she realized two things:

1. Alba was definitely the fun, carefree aunt.

2. Alexia Putellas was about to ruin her life.

It wasn’t that Paige had expected smooth sailing. She had heard plenty of stories about La Reina from Cecilia. The unwavering discipline. The intensity on and off the pitch. The death stares. Cecilia always said it with love, of course, but that didn’t make it less terrifying.

And now here Paige was, standing in the middle of the Putellas living room, completely at the mercy of one of the greatest footballers in history.

“Ah, so this is Paige Bueckers,” Alexia said, arms crossed, her voice void of any warmth. Paige blinked at the intensity in her gaze.

She had met Geno Auriemma, a man who practically yelled for a living, and he still didn’t intimidate her half as much as Alexia Putellas did in that moment.

“Uh, yeah. Hi?” Paige offered, throwing in a small wave for good measure.

Cecilia, her own girlfriend, stood off to the side, looking way too amused for someone who was supposed to love her.

“She’s real, Ale,” Alba teased from the couch, sipping her coffee like she was about to enjoy a show. “Not a hologram.”

“Yet to be determined,” Alexia muttered, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she straightened up and gave Paige a once-over, scanning her like a book.

Paige had never felt so judged in her life.

“Do you have a problem?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

Alba choked on her coffee.

Cecilia’s eyes widened. “Paige why—”

Alexia raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

Again, Paige had two options: backtrack immediately and pray for survival or commit to it.

She sighed. “You’re staring at me like I just walked into a courtroom without a lawyer.”

Alba burst into laughter breaking the silence, actually wheezing as she clutched her stomach.

“Oh, I like her,” Alba grinned, wiping a tear from her eye. “You picked a good one, neboda (niece).”

Alexia, however, remained stone-faced. Paige swallowed.

Cecilia, still looking a little worried, decided to step in. “Ale, don’t scare her off. I’ve had this one since kindergarten.”

Alexia exhaled loudly and finally uncrossed her arms. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s see if she survives the test first.”

Paige froze. “The what?”

Alba whistled. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. She did these with my partners too.”

“How well do you know Cecilia?” Alexia demanded, hands on her hips.

Paige blinked. “Uh… really well?”

“We’ll see about that.” Alexia pulled out a notebook and flipped to a page clearly labeled “Paige Test.”

Alba snorted. “Oh, she’s been planning this.”

Paige’s heart started racing. “Is this a joke?”

Alexia stared at her like she had just said she preferred orange juice over apple juice.

“First question,” Alexia said, ignoring Paige’s mild panic. “What’s Cecilia’s go-to comfort meal?”

“Easy,” Paige smirked. “Cocas.”

Cecilia grinned. “Correct.”

Alexia frowned, flipping the page. “Butchered the pronunciation, but, fine. What was Cecilia’s favorite toy as a kid?”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. “Her stuffed koala, Coco.”

Alba gasped. “Wait, Coco still exists?”

Cecilia groaned. “Yes, and now I regret telling Paige she’s still around.”

Paige beamed. Alexia narrowed her eyes.

“Alright, last one,” Alexia muttered. “What was the name of Cecilia’s first pet?”

Paige hesitated, then said, “She never had a pet.”

Cecilia gave her a proud nod. “Correct.”

Alba whistled. “Damn, I was hoping you’d get that one wrong. Just cause.”

Alexia huffed, clearly annoyed that Paige passed the first round. “Fine. But that was just the warm-up.”

Paige suddenly had a bad feeling.

“Why are we at a field?” Paige whispered, standing stiffly on the pristine turf pitch as if she’d accidentally wandered into a gladiator arena.

Alexia smirked, casually tossing a ball between her hands like a villain in a sports movie. “If you’re going to date my niece, you need to prove you’re worthy.”

Paige crossed her arms. “I feel like I should’ve signed a waiver for this.”

“Beat me in a 1v1.”

Paige blinked. “What.”

On the sidelines, Cecilia was already cackling, her phone out to document the unfolding disaster. “Amor, I love you, but you’re so screwed.”

Alba, who had settled comfortably into a lawn chair with an iced coffee, nearly choked on her drink. “Oh, this is going to be hilarious.”

Paige turned back to Alexia. “You’re playing like it’s a Champions League final, aren’t you?”

Alexia raised a brow. “Of course.”

Paige exhaled. “Cool. Just wanted to mentally prepare myself before I get sent into early retirement.”

The game started, and within ten seconds, Paige knew she was doomed. Alexia moved like she was playing an intense game, which, unfortunately for Paige, meant she had not a single ounce of mercy in her bones. The second Paige even thought about trying to defend, Alexia nutmegged her so smoothly that Alba screamed from the sidelines, falling out of her chair in laughter.

“Oh my god—SHE COOKED YOU,” Alba howled, kicking her feet on the ground.

Cecilia wasn’t much better, barely holding the camera steady as she gasped through laughter. “Amor, bend your knees, stay low—oh, never mind. She got you again.”

Paige was starting to sweat. She knew she wasn’t a football player, but this was getting embarrassing. She tried again, this time using her basketball instincts to anticipate Alexia’s movement. It almost worked until Alexia spun around her like she was an orange traffic cone and easily slotted the ball into the mini goal.

Paige groaned. “Did you have to add the spin move? That was excessive.”

Alexia smirked. “I was holding back.”

“Holding back?” Paige echoed, hands on her knees. “I think my soul left my body on that last turn.”

Alba clapped her hands like a delighted spectator. “Ale, you should’ve been a bullfighter. The way you let her charge and then just moved out of the way? Beautiful.”

Paige shot Alba a betrayed look. “You’re supposed to be the fun aunt.”

“I am,” Alba grinned. “That’s why I’m enjoying this so much.”

Fifteen minutes later, Paige lay face-down on the grass, sweaty, breathless, and questioning every decision in her life.

Alexia stood over her like a victorious warrior. “That was embarrassing.”

Paige groaned, her voice muffled against the grass. “You slide tackled me.”

“This is Spain,” Alexia shrugged. “We don’t take it easy.”

Cecilia jogged over, shaking her head. “Ale, you’re literally the most overprotective person in the world when it comes to family, but you just sent my girlfriend flying across the field.”

Alexia crossed her arms. “If she wants to date you, she needs to be strong enough to protect you.”

“From what? A rogue defender? A pigeon in Plaça Catalunya?” Cecilia shot back. “Besides, she’s a basketball player!”

“You never know,” Alexia muttered ominously.

Paige groaned louder, still sprawled on the ground. “Is this the last test?”

Alexia smirked. “One more.”

Paige dared to glance up. “Oh god.”

Alba grinned. “Good luck. This one’s psychological.”

Paige sat slumped on the couch, exhausted, while Alexia paced in front of her like an overzealous teacher preparing for a final.

Cecilia sat cross-legged next to her, munching on a snack with the carefree air of someone who had zero stress in life, unlike Paige, who had just been subjected to a day of physical and psychological warfare.

Alba was leaned up against the kitchen counter, watching the whole ordeal like it was a reality show.

Alexia finally stopped pacing, turning to face Paige with the gravity of a judge about to deliver a verdict.

“Final question.” Her voice was calm, but there was something undeniably intense about it.

Paige, despite being wiped from the impromptu 1v1 and whatever else Alexia had put her through, sat up a little straighter, her exhaustion fading under the weight of the moment.

Alexia took a step closer, studying her with sharp, discerning eyes. “Do you love Cari?”

Paige didn’t hesitate. “With everything in me.”

Cecilia, who had just been about to take another bite of her snack, paused, her expression softening.

Alba let out a quiet “Awww” from the kitchen.

For a moment, the room was silent. Alexia simply stared at Paige, as if searching for any cracks in her answer. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she gave a slow, approving nod. “Good.”

Paige exhaled, feeling relief flood her body. Maybe, finally, she had passed the test—

Then, with absolutely no warning, Alexia leaned in close, her voice dropping to an ominous whisper.

“Because if you ever hurt her,” she murmured, “I know people.”

Paige froze. Her brain went blank for a solid five seconds before she blinked rapidly.

“Did you just threaten me?”

From the kitchen, Alba howled with laughter, nearly knocking over her drink. “Ale, you can’t just say that to her!”

Alexia shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m just saying.”

Paige turned to Cecilia, still slightly shaken. “Does she actually know people?”

Cecilia sighed like someone who had pondered this question too many times. “Honestly? I don’t even know.”

Alexia remained dead serious for a moment longer, letting the weight of her words linger. Then, finally, she cracked a smile, the first genuine one she’d shown all day.

“Welcome to the family, Paige.”

Paige exhaled deeply, her entire body sagging into the couch.

“Jesus Christ.”

Alba, still grinning, raised her glass in Paige’s direction. “You survived, Bueckers. I honestly wasn’t sure if you would.”

Paige groaned. “Neither was I.”

Cecilia leaned into Paige’s side, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You did good, amor.”

Paige huffed. “I better have. I think I aged five years.”

Alexia smirked, arms crossed. “That was nothing. You should’ve seen what I did to Alba’s first girlfriend.”

Paige paled and her throat grew dry.

Alba threw her head back and cackled. “Ale, stop terrifying her!”

Alexia just smiled. “No promises.”

[indulgentdaydream]

Bliss and Misery - Pt. 2

Ex!Jason Todd x Fem!Ex!Reader || Angst; Hurt/Comfort; || Word Count: 3,447

Warnings: Accidental Injury Acquired by Romantic Partner, if you have a history of being a victim of domestic abuse, this may not be the fic for you. If you don't mind being spoiled, dm me and I'll explain what happens so you can make that decision for yourself. Not Proofread.

NEVER thought i would make a part 2 to this fic LITERALLY A YEAR AND A COUPLE DAYS LATERRR. But I received a vision and also spring is coming and I'm out of my depression and have been blasted with a ultra sonic ray of creativity.

ANYWAYS this may be slightly controversial

The night of Gotham was curling its fingers, slowly finding its way centimetre by centimetre in order to reach into the crevices of Jason's mind as he stood on a rooftop. There was a crack in his helmet from a fall earlier that night, letting a draft of cold air consistently hit his cheek, keeping him in the moment.

He couldn't get that dream out of his head. It had been days. He never remembered dreams for this long, never this clearly or vivid. Rarely ever dreams. He missed you. Missed you so damn bad that after patrol every night he would go straight to sleep to try and have that dream again. To see you. To see the life you two could've had.

The image of your last encounter entered his mind and he physically flinched. The panic in his heart and head. The hurt in your expression as you turned away with a hand over your face. The pain in his hip when he had done nothing but scramble away from you, not realizing he'd hit the edge of the bed even as he fell backwards.

Yet you had still reached for him. Called his name as he stood on shaky legs, heart pounding. He grabbed his duffle bag of gear by the foot of the bed and left. Practically ran, just like the coward he truly was. He hadn't even been fully dressed, pulling on a shirt halfway down the stairwell because the elevator would've taken too long and you might have caught up. Hadn't taken all of his things, either. Jason had had to come back the next day. Went at a time that he knew you wouldn't be home in order to grab the rest and a few other things he kept there. Then, he left the key you'd given him on the kitchen counter. He didn't even leave a note.

What could he have said? He'd written you poems before. A dozen love letters, most of which never left his desk drawer. Though, he wasn't sure how to encapsulate the surmounting shame of his actions alongside his undying love for you.

Jason shook his head. He stepped off, aiming his grappling hook and moving on. He couldn't go back to you. He kept himself from even seeing a glimpse of you.

This was keeping you safe.

That was a week ago. His dream was three days ago.

He'd move on. He'd done it from every other kind of relationship he had in his life. So what you were the best one? The best thing, period. There had been a best before you and that had gotten him dead.

----

Red Hood was fighting in an apartment. Some deadbeat who was using his apartment as a coke lab. It was minuscule, but it was a punching bag.

The man was tied up on the floor now, unconscious. Jason wiped his hands together and briefly sent notice to Oracle. He was stepping out the window and onto the fire escape that led out to a short alleyway that led straight to the street ahead of him. His motorcycle was off to the left, left between two dumpsters. He stood there for a moment, reloading his guns, listening to the various cars going by.

Then there was footsteps below, in the alley. He was only a few floors up, close enough to see everything clearly from his shadowed corner.

Two figures just below him, both male, skinny but strong-looking, walking out towards the alley entrance. Their back were to him, focused on...

You.

He recognized that pale, aged yellow diner waitress uniform before anything else. He froze, taking too long to be sure of what to do. Too focused on just the sight of you to even realize what was happening.

You'd been walking into the alley. There was no logical reason for you to do so. He knew that street was your route home from after work. But you shouldn't have been walking home anyways. You rarely worked this late. He'd always pick you up before patrol when your shift ended in the early afternoon–

Right. You wouldn't have had a ride.

You were already stepping back, hands clutching the strap of your purse across your chest, ready to go back into the open.

One man grabbed you by the arm and tugged you back. The glint of a switchblade caught the streetlamp across the road. Jason aimed and the gunshot echoed off the brick walls of each building on either side. That man fell limp to the ground beside you.

Jason saw the way your head snapped to the rooftops, looking around. Apparently, to you, that took precedence over the dead body and the puddle of blood that was about to stain your shoes.

The other man seemed to get the message. He turned on his heel, running back from where he came. Red Hood jumped down in front of him. His fist connected with the guy's face, sending him flying back, knocked out and splayed on the concrete.

"Jason?"

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice. You were a distance away.

He wanted to cry.

Your stance was timid, eyes fixed on him like he was a deer about to bolt.

He was about to bolt.

You couldn't see his expression or eyes. Couldn't see the way they fixated on your left eye, a dark, inflamed purple. He could tell from where he stood that it wasn't swollen shut, but it had been. The bruising faded up and around your nose bridge. He knew the signs. Anyone who knew them could tell it was a week old.

He tensed. He shouldn't speak to you. He wanted to hold you.

"What the hell are you doing in an alley at this time of night?" He said, his modulator adding onto the rough and harsh tone.

You blinked, taken aback by it, "I... I saw your bike." Jason looked back over his shoulder. The nose was peaking out.

He couldn't look at you. He fixated on the man he'd knocked out beside him. He bent down and grabbed him ankle. Jason turned his back to you and began to drag him away.

You spoke up again, a little more desperate, "I saw it and– and–" You huffed. "Can't we just talk? Jason!"

"I need to deal with this guy," He said, voice levelled, controlled. "This could be trafficking."

"I'm bleeding."

His whipped back so fast it made him dizzy. He dropped the guy's leg and was in front of you in three strides.

His hand went to your right elbow, where you were trying to twist to look at the back of your bicep. There was a cut from the first man's blade. Jason inspected it closely. The blood was dripping down your arm, staining the white sleeve of your waitress dress.

You tilted your face to his, hidden by his helmet, as if you were trying to see through it. He kept his head lowered, focused his eyes on your arm as if you'd be able to see if his eyes flickered to yours.

He realized his thumb was gently stroking the side of your elbow, a habit he'd always had as an attempt to soothe you. His chanced a look at your face and felt his stomach churn.

The bruise looked worst than he'd initially thought. The edges that had begun to heal were a sickly yellow. The blood vessels in your eyes had burst, causing your sclera to now be an slightly opaque pink. The swelling was still quite a bit, and it looked painful. He knew it was painful. He'd had plenty of black eyes in his time.

He took his hand away and took a few steps back, avoiding your gaze again. He shouldn't be touching you. He shouldn't be anywhere near you.

"You know how to treat it," He was already half turned away. "Go straight home, stay on the main streets."

You stepped towards him again, "I can't reach it. I'll need help."

His back was to you, "Go to a walk-in then."

"Do you trust anyone else to take care of me other than yourself?"

He paused, head turned to side-eye over his shoulder. "You."

He didn't trust himself anymore.

You didn't move. Neither did he.

He looked at your face. Eyes trailing over that horrid bruise, the pinch of your eyebrows and the downwards pull of your lips.

How different you'd looked in that dream; so peaceful. So cozy. So beautiful. Not that you weren't in this moment. But there, you'd been at peace. You'd been safe.

It was what could have been and he'd gone and fucked it all up. He'd never even apologized.

He let out a sigh and hung his head.

"Go home. I'll..." He faltered and clenched his fists. You had a way of convincing him that never needed words. A way to melt his resolve with not heat. "I'll be there soon–"

You shot back with a tone of anger that hadn't been present until now, "Will you?".

Jason flinched, "Yes. I–" He shook in head in frustration. He shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be talking to you. But that cut was deep. You could need stitches. "Let me deal with these guys first."

You were glaring. This is how he'd originally thought their encounter would go. "If you don't come–"

"I'll be there." He said. "Go."

----

You trekked your way back to your apartment. Jason had handed you a clean cloth from his jacket for you to tie around your wound before sending you off.

It was difficult. You hadn't seen him in an entire week. Gone one night and then along with the rest of his things the next day when you'd come home. Who could blame you for wandering into an alley at the first sight of his bike? At the first hope of seeing your boyfriend after what had happened. You're fairly certain he had blocked your number.

By the time you made it to your apartment, you were shocked to see Jason already inside. He stood in your kitchen, first aid kit on the counter with everything laid out that he would need. He was readying a needle and thread.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, mostly revelling at his presence in your home again.

His helmet was gone along with his leather jacket and gloves. His hair was messy, dirty. From this angle you could tell he hadn't shaven in a few days, scraggly hairs poking out from his cheeks and jaw and awkward places.

A moment passed before he actually looked to you. He didn't meet your gaze, opting to look at the ground in front of you instead. There were bags under his eyes and his lips were dry and overly red and worried.

He looked rough.

"Jason?" You said softly. You wanted him to look at you.

He nodded to your right and looked back to the suturing thread, "Sit on the counter." There was a spot next to you that he had seemingly cleared off.

You did as he asked. He still looked ready to bolt. You couldn't take any chances.

He stepped in front of you, holding an antiseptic wipe. You let him push up your sleeve and clean off your bloody bicep. You welcomed the sting, knowing it was the price to be able to feel his gentle touch holding you again.

You were expecting him to speak first. But, with the way he purposely stayed further away than normal, the way every muscle in his body was so tense, the way he wouldn't meet your eye, and the way his lips were pulled tight that let you know he was uncomfortable, you began to lose hope.

He stepped away again, tossing the bloody wipes into your sink. He picked up the needle and walked back. His movements were mechanic.

He reached for your arm and you moved it back.

He still wouldn't look at your face. All his words were mostly mumbled, "Lemme see your arm."

You turned to hide it more, leaning closer to him, "I wanna talk first."

He leaned away, speaking a little louder "Lemme see your arm."

"I wanna talk about this, Jason."

He closed his eyes. He looked like he was in pain. He muttered your name quietly. A warning.

"It wasn't your fault!"

He spoke forcefully, "Yes. It was."

You gripped the edge of the counter as you leaned closer. "It was a nightmare! An accident!"

"I fucking punched you!"

Jason was looking at you now. But... he wasn't meeting your gaze. His eyes were only fixed on your bruise. You could tell by the way his gaze wavered, by the pain and shame that made its way to his features.

"I–" He let out a breath. The needle and thread shook in his hands. His voice was a whisper now, "I hurt you. Look at what I did to you."

"You had a nightmare," You spoke carefully now. You didn't want him running out again. You'd waited to seem him again for a week. You had thought you would have to wait longer. "You were scared–"

"Scared doesn't make that okay!" He stepped back. He seemed scared all over again. Worked up. Anxious. He hit the counter opposite you and behind him. He dropped the needle and gripped the edge of it. "I– I didn't know where I was–"

You'd gone over it so many times in your head that you'd already figured that.

You remember waking up to Jason talking in his sleep, shifting restlessly. You'd never witnessed him having a nightmare before. You didn't know what to do. You could barely even see him, your room was so dark on his side. The only light coming from your side being a soft green from the small light on your extension cord, under your desk.

He had sat up so suddenly that you had gasped a bit, but his own half-yell had swallowed it. He was leaning forward. You were sitting a bit behind him. He was scanning the room in front of him. His head was turning in an almost frantic way.

You hadn't wanted to spook him. Didn't want to make any noise as to startle him. You realized afterwards that that groggy decision may not have been the best choice.

Reaching out, you had meant to gently touch his arm. Meant to simply let him know you were there. But he had shifted to lay back down as you had done so. Your hand reaching directly for his face out of his peripheral.

He'd only acted on instinct. You know that. With the light coming from behind you, he wouldn't have been able to see your features. A shadow figure. He would have seen only after the impact. Only as your head had flown back and your face had entered the light.

Right away, you knew it wasn't on purpose. You had seen the fear on his face when he turned, fist raised. You'd seen the flurry of emotions that had come over him in his realization from between your fingers and tears that blurred your vision.

Jason stood in front of you now, on the verge of tears.

"Look at you," He repeated. "Look at what I did to you."

You wouldn't let him run away again, "I forgive you."

"Why?" He cried. "You shouldn't forgive me! I could've knocked you out! I–" His voice cracked. "I didn't know I hit you that hard."

He lowered his head to hide his tears. You slipped off the counter, but didn't move towards him. "We both made mistakes that night, Jason. I shouldn't have reached for you like that."

He shook his head, still slumped back against the counter, staring down at his feet. He sniffled and ran his palm down his face. He looked to the side, shaking his head.

You took a tentative step forward.

"You're not even safe with me..." His voice was wavering. "I can't be with you again. You shouldn't be near me ever again. I broke up with you too late. I should've done it a long time ago so this would never have happened–"

Your shoulders dropped, "We're broken up?"

Jason looked back to you, eyes filled with tears. He shrugged his shoulders, throwing a hand in the air briefly, "The note. I... I was going to leave a note with the key." He shook his head again, pressing his lips together. "I never did."

There was a moment of silence between you two. It was an understanding. He didn't truly want to let you go, but he felt like it was an obligation, now.

You take a few small steps forward until you're in front of him.

His eyes fluttered over your face. They lingered on your bruise, his lips pulling into a deep frown as he tried to hold back his tears. He lifted his hand as if to cup your face, but held it a few centimetres from your skin, holding himself back.

Your heart hurt for him, watching his inner turmoil.

"Look at what I did to you," He whispered again. "I can't even protect you from myself, baby."

"Where did you think you were?" You were curious.

He shrugged and shook his head, "I don't know."

Silence again. He dropped his hand.

"I had a dream," Jason said.

You listened intently.

"Few days ago," He sniffled, trying to collect himself. "We had a baby."

You paused, "Boy or girl?"

He shrugged, "Dunno. Had my hair. Eyes kept changing."

You nodded in understanding. You just wanted to know what was going on in his mind.

He shook his head again. Wiped a hand over his face. "They came waddling into our bedroom and you were asleep beside me and it was just... it felt good. Peaceful." He shook his head. He looked like he was going to run again. "I can't give you that life. Not if I'm going to go around swinging fists because I can't recognize you."

"It was dark."

"I knew I was in your room." He said and sighed. "Not at first. But at that point I did. I was about to reach for you, too. I didn't know you were awake."

"Exactly, Jay. You were still scared–"

"It's an excuse!" He bit back, voice cracking with emotion. "It's all excuses. I didn't even fucking write you a note, baby. Fuck–" The tears welled up again. He lowered his head and put a hand over his eyes. A silent sob wracked his body. "I told you I break everything I touch. I ruin everything I love."

Your own tears started to fill up. You gently reached up and took his wrist, pulling it away from his face.

He wouldn't look at you, fat tears rolling down his face, "Why even try and look for me? Why would you even want to?"

You swallowed, "Because I love you. And I forgive you."

A sob wracked his body. He shook his head before looking up at you. "You're crazy." He swallowed thickly. "...I love you."

He lifted his hand to your bruise again. He hesitated, but you gently took his hand and turned your face into his palm, letting him cup your cheek.

His tears fell faster, his voice raw, "I don't even know how to fix this."

"We'll work on it," You whispered. "Together."

He sobbed, "I just wanna keep you safe."

You pressed a kiss to his palm, eyelashes shiny with tears. "I know," You whisper. "But I wanna keep you safe, too. I can tell you haven't been taking care of yourself."

He shook his head, gesturing to your arm, "Can't even sew you up properly without breaking down–"

"Hey," You say softly, "It's fine. We both know it doesn't really need stitches."

Jason huffed, still worked up. "Don't deserve you."

"None of that," You meet his gaze again. "We can start slow. Maybe with going back to your therapist first? And we can get night lights."

"I feel like a child." He whispered.

"Not a child," Your thumb caressed his hand. "Just in need of a little help."

He stared at you for a moment. Then, slowly, tentatively, he tilted his head forward. He lifted his chin and placed a feather light kiss to the edge of your black eye. Then he pressed one a little firmer, letting in linger.

"I promise you I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making this up to you." He muttered.

You smiled, "We can start there, too."

This is why we don't ask Missy to make things better because she'll only make them extremely worse and then only slightly better

this was heavy. go get yourselves a treat.

[byler-invested]

Oh my God. Oh my fucking god.

The “crazy together” thing just made me realize SOMETHING.

__________

Remember “The Last of Us”?

Ellie and Riley (both girls) are best friends but secretly love each other.

Byler.

1. Neon Mall

Riley takes Ellie on a fun / romantic night to the old abandoned mall full of neon lights.

STARCOURT ANYONE?

2. Lingerie Shop

They both look at a lingerie shop, get awkward & flustered; and it’s this way that’s implied they feel sexual attraction to each other.

THIS EXACT THING HAPPENED IN S3 WHEN MIKE, WILL AND LUCAS WERE LOOKING FOR GIFTS FOR EL IN STARCOURT…

3. Carousel & Ponies

They get on a carousel, ride the horses.

Similar to the “fun” riding pony in Starcourt, which plays the same song that was in the background of the Russian code “blue meets yellow in the west”.

4. Daisy Bell

And BY THE WAY, side note— this extremely creepy song is “Daisy Bell”, the first song to ever be sung by a computer (IBM 7094), in 1961. I know, very unsettling and weird.

And yet, that’s not all. Here are the lyrics:

Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do.

I’m half crazy all for the love of you.

It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage.

But you’ll look sweet, Upon the seat, Of a bicycle made for two.

Michael, Micheal, here is your answer true.

I’m not crazy all for the love of you.

There won’t be any marriage, If you can’t afford a carriage.

‘Cause I’ll be switched, If I get hitched, On a bicycle built for two!”

According to the dictionary:

hitch = pull; harness; knot; problem; get married; move (something) into a different position with a jerk

👆👆Keep this in mind for now.

5. Sewers & Falling-Outs

Riley explains what made her leave the organization she and Ellie were a part of:

‘I turn 17 next month, that's when you get your assignment. You know what Kwong gave me? Sewage detail. Standing guard while people shovel s***, that's what they think of me.'

This might not mean much, but I found it interesting because the sewers seem to be a relevant aspect in ST5.

But a part of me can’t help but wonder that maybe this is also a sign of Will having a falling-out/ disagreement with someone on his “side”— a while ago, there was a reliable leak about something like that happening between Will and Dustin. Interesting. Maybe having to do with Hellfire?

6. Photos

Riley & Ellie get into a Photo Booth and pose for pictures.

Not super relevant, but this reminded me that Mike only smiles in photos when Will is also there; does this mean we‘ll have a photo moment with them? Maybe Jonathan takes their pic?

7. Arcade

Riley shows Ellie a bright gaming arcade, Ellie says it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, and they play Mortal Kombat against each other.

“Palace Arcade”, a place both Mike and Will love… is it just me or does ‘palace’ give romantic vibes?

8. Alcohol & Drugs

They sit together, get drunk, talk a lot, laugh in pure happiness.

Highler = they smoke weed and also get drunk.

9. Betrayal

Riley reveals she’s going to leave for a resistance organization, Ellie sees a pile of handmade explosives, & an argument ensues, because Ellie feels betrayed and assumes that Riley did all that just to try and recruit her.

My guess: while drunk, Will confides in Mike that he’s gay and secretly dating/ having encounters with Chance (who, on top of that, is involved with the jocks who witch-hunted Eddie— hence all the Judas references in s4).

Mike obviously feels betrayed, jealous, gets furious and leaves.

Bonus angst: Will thinks part of Mike’s anger stems from Will being gay, since by this point Will doesn’t know Mike actually loves him back.

10. Regret & Rekindling

Ellie eventually feels bad & comes back.

I think all of us can see Mike Wheeler doing the exact same thing.

11. Heart-to-Heart

They have a conversation, a heart-to-heart, and explain themselves:

'You don't know what it was like to have a family to belong to,' Riley said. 'I belonged to them and I want that again. Maybe the Fireflies aren't what I think they are but they chose me. I matter to them.'

'But you matter to me first,' Ellie said.

Ellie told her she was her best friend and would miss her.

To me, this definitely reads like Will explaining why he felt tempted to get involved with Chance; and Mike emphasizing, reminding him, that he is the one who cared first and is his true best friend.

12. Playing, Kissing & Loving

On a lighter mood, after playfully putting funny masks on and dancing while listening to music, they finally kiss each other.

With byler I think their kiss is going to lead to some kind of sexual contact.

13. Infection & Attack

This is when the infected zombie attacks Riley & Ellie and both get bitten.

The AIDS thing… Mike and Will get infected.

Also Lonnie, metaphorically attacking them… or… him literally & materially coming back to make their lives into more of a living hell?

14. Crazy Together

They both go into despair and this is what Riley proclaims:

'They way I see it we have two options, one we take the easy way out,' Riley said holding a gun. 'Quick and painless. No, I don't like option one. Option two, we just keep going.'

'What are you talking about, it's over,' Ellie said.

'It will be but not yet,' Riley said. ‘We can be all poetic and sh*t and just lose our minds together.’

Sound familiar?

‘Hey Will… if we’re both going crazy, then… we’ll go crazy together, right?’

‘Yeah… Crazy together.’

*Outside the Realm by Big Giant Circles plays*

15. Immunity

As time passes, Ellie realizes she’s immune to the fungal infection. As far as we know, Riley is not.

This makes me think that maybe, there is something about Mike that makes him out-survive Will. Maybe also an immunity, maybe just because he was infected later in life, maybe something else.

Ellie is immune because, as we find out later, she was infected very shortly before birth. Her mother was bitten during the last seconds of pregnancy.

What could this mean for Mike? And Karen???

16. Unknown Fate

Both in the videogame and in the TV show, it’s never revealed what actually happened to Riley.

It’s possible that she was either eventually shot by Ellie, simply turned into a zombie and Ellie left her like that, or some secret third thing no one knows yet.

This aligns with Will’s ambiguous state of life. Did he really die? What truly happened to him? Does he come back? He, too, became the ‘zombie boy.’

17. The Cure

Scientists in Salt Lake City (!!!) conclude that Ellie’s brain holds the key to reverse-engineer a cure / vaccine, but that she will die in the process. She escapes with the help of a guardian / father figure.

As we all know, Salt Lake City also makes an appearance in Stranger Things, which is definitely interesting.

Mike has consistently been described as the key 🔑. What is this key? Is it because he’s intelligent and creative enough to strategize, manipulate reality and write an alternate story? However this would work in the Stranger Things universe?

18. Lore

When it comes to the sci-fi lore of this show, I believe there’s some kind of technology (similar to Nina) that allows for reality manipulation and changing of past events.

Maybe Mike used his imagination combined with the machine’s powers to fabricate an alternate, watered-down narrative, for Will.

You know, a watered-down narrative, exactly what Murray Bauman said in s2.

However, this unfortunately comes with side effects, because the timeline becomes increasingly bizarre as its control is somehow connected to Mike’s mind. And besides creating what he wants, it manifests in increasingly unexpected ways and also aspects of his subconscious (Vecna, etc.).

19. The Tempest & The Forbidden Planet

As I’ve said before, this is very similar to the unique concept of The Forbidden Planet (1956) movie, which is based on The Tempest (1611), a play by Shakespeare. This is highly relevant because The Tempest is referenced in ST set design (a Hawkins High theatre club poster).

Someone in the ST analysis community (sorry I can’t remember who) has a longer post about this play. I’d like to write one about The Forbidden Planet (a sci-fi adaptation of the fantasy original), but this post is already becoming way too long.

Conclusion

I guess my point is, I think that the Duffers are doing a sci-fi meets psychology meets culture meets imagination thing. There is a technological or scientific element in the show’s lore that combines all of this in order to alter reality.

At least, this is my current theory.

I think in the original, realistic, non-supernatural timeline, Will really died and all those horrible things (abuse, AIDS, etc.) did happen.

And as dark as it might be, I think this grim reality is actually going to be revealed in s5— by somehow peeling back the subtext layer (the curtain).

We can infer this by paying attention to the unexplained & nonsensical discrepancies between the two articles about Will’s disappearance in s1 and s2. The fact that the real article about the OG timeline is shown in the series, onscreen, means, to me, that this timeline will in fact be revealed in-universe. I’ll be posting my detailed thoughts on that as well.

How will they open the curtain? I think the simulation machine or alternate reality created is going to be forcibly and unexpectedly shut off at some point, causing the naked raw truth about Will and Hawkins to be revealed.

Side note: If you think about it, they’ve made so many references to systems being suddenly shut off (electricity turning off in the entire Hawkins town in 3x01, them shutting the Puzzle Tales mobile game off for literally no reason while sending weird hint-y goodbye messages, among other instances…).

However, they might be able to fix it, and ultimately, I think there will be a happy ending for Mike and Will, even if it’s in the better world created by Mike.

Thank you so much for reading and let me know what you think.

__________

Tagging: @greenfiend @threemanoperation @strange-anni @erikiara80 @reo-bylerwagon @bylerlipglances

The Nested Universes Theory

and the high chance of a very literal bitter/sweet ending…

Yes, Will and Mike will end up together, but their ending may be both happy and tragic simultaneously.

(This theory may explain why the cast and Netflix executives were crying heavily when informed of the show’s ending…)

I'm warning you guys, take care of yourself while reading this. This isn't an easy read.

CW: CSA, sex, drugs, HIV/AIDS, period typical homophobia, death

Framed Narratives/Stories

Framed narratives are basically a story within a story. Common examples of this are the movie “The Princess Bride” and “Titanic”. Both stories have the story of the narrator and the story within.

Another example is Stranger Things itself. When we see the boys playing Dungeons and Dragons, they are creating a story within a story.

Sometimes, framed narratives are nested, meaning multiple layers of storytelling. An example of this would be the movie “Inception”. In that movie there are dreams within dreams within dreams… It’s a complex but fascinating way to tell stories.

Now, I do think Stranger Things is also a nested narrative story. Meaning, there may be a layer of a story that hasn’t been revealed to us yet (or more than one).

Basically I’m saying: the show itself may be a story created by some of the characters.

I’m guessing two characters in particular. Which two characters? The two most associated with creating stories. The writer and artist. Two of the characters that have existed since the show’s inception.

Mike and Will.

Multiple Universes

I do think there are multiple timelines/universes within Stranger Things… but it’s not exactly what you think. It’s not parallel universes/timelines. They do not exist parallel to each other, they exist within each other.

This is the reason for the “memory within a memory”, “play within a play” references.

It’s a story within a story within a story.

While Mike and Will are creating their DnD campaigns, there is another version of Mike and Will creating the story we see within the show.

Let’s break it down:

Inner layer: Mike and Will’s characters existing within a DnD campaign

Middle layer: Mike and Will within the show creating the DnD campaign

Outer layer: Mike and Will creating the story of the show

Mike and Will’s story within the frame (the outer layer) likely does share a lot in common with the story within the show, with one major difference:

There’s no Upside Down, and no supernatural elements. No superpowers, and no superheroes. There are still monster(s) and heroes, but these monsters and heroes are real.

Living on as “Heroes”

Ever notice the association between characters being referred to as “a hero” after facing their demise?

We have seen this time and time again. It’s not a coincidence, it’s a pattern.

Love for horror and escapism

@threemanoperation has a great post on Will’s love for horror.

It makes perfect sense for a boy like Will to enjoy horror. It can be a great way to process trauma and grief.

We also know even from the earliest descriptions for Mike and Will’s characters that they both love to “escape” into fantasy. They do this together, through DnD.

Gods/Puppet Masters/Creators

Within the show, there are many subtle nods to Will and Mike somehow controlling/manipulating things. These hints have lead to many interesting theories about Mike and/or Will having powers. In a sense, they both are absolutely right! But if this theory is correct, their influence over the show is mainly due to them creating it. They’re the authors, so in a way, they’re both “Gods”.

Solving the “Letter to Willy”/Lettergate puzzle

"Letter to Willy" is a song that plays over three different scenes within ST4. Each scene involves regrets, and survivor's guilt.

Max mourns Billy and reads out her letter "before it's too late" aka before she dies too.

Mike and Will have a heart-to-heart and Mike expresses guilt over El leaving, thinking there was more he could have done. This occurs while they are burying a dead man's body.

Dustin tells Eddie's uncle that Eddie died a hero, despite what the town thought.

This all leads back to Mike and Will within the story's outer layer. This also connects with the writer's incomplete letter they posted years ago on Twitter. I'll get back to this.

A father infecting his child

Oh boy. I hate this part but it requires context so…

Hopper admits to indirectly causing the death of his daughter, Sarah. He had been exposed to Agent Orange which led to his daughter developing cancer at a young age. He has remorse and has been grieving Sarah this whole time.

Now, Hopper is a decent guy and father, and is written as an almost “fix it” version of Mike and Will’s own fathers. He isn’t perfect, but he’s a man who strives to grow and improve himself.

Papa, is not a decent guy, and we also see him injecting El and Henry with needles.

So, what I’m saying is that this may be a hint to what happened to Will (in the 99/100 timeline). Lonnie is hinted to be a drug user, and it wouldn’t be far fetched to say he may have used IV drugs. Exposure to IV drugs is a way to transmit diseases, as blood may be exchanged through contaminated needles. Also, Lonnie has been hinted at, through subtext, to be a horrible monster. (<- click that link for a post about him.)

The “1/100” Timeline

The show itself is the 1 out of 100 timeline. It is the only one where Will was not kidnapped by his parent/guardian (Lonnie).

This means, it is the one where none of the tragic stuff ever happened, specifically to Will and Mike’s story at least. They may encounter challenges, but nothing they cannot overcome together, as a team.

1983: The Demogorgon got Will. He survives the horrors done to him in the Upside Down… but barely. He is taken to the hospital and heals from it all, including flu-like symptoms (cough, nausea/vomiting).

1984: Will suffers from flashbacks. He is also plagued with the nickname “Zombie Boy” and suffering from the Mind Flayer’s possession of him. But with the love of his family, and Mike, is able to return back to his reality.

1985: He then begins to struggle with the pressures of growing up, and having to move away. Plus the Mind Flayer returns and reeks more havoc.

1986: He then moves to a pleasant place. Where things are sunny and warm. Things on the surface seem happy and “normal” but there’s a looming threat hidden beneath the surface. Henry/1/Vecna. This opportunistic threat preys on the weak and begins to take over Hawkins.

1987-1989: Will is back in Hawkins and his ties to the Upside Down increase. He can’t shake it off as easily as before. He also can’t shake off his love for Mike, who grows even closer to him. One thing leads to another and they become lovers (they have sex). They eventually are able to stop the contamination of Hawkins, and save everyone. Will also realizes that he has developed superpowers from his time in the Upside Down, through his blood. Mike also develops superpowers, given to him by Will.

Okay… you might understand where I’m going with this but I still must warn you before reading the next part. It’s devastatingly tragic.

The “99/100” Timeline

(I’m probably wrong on some of these details but this is what I theorize thus far):

1983: Lonnie “got” Will (CSA). Will survives the horrors done to him by his father… but barely. He is taken to the hospital and heals from it all and from flu-like symptoms (cough, nausea/vomiting).

1984: Will suffers from flashbacks. He is also plagued with the nickname “Zombie Boy” and suffering from the flashbacks of his father’s possession of him. But with the love of his family, and Mike, is able to return back to reality.

1985: He then begins to struggle with the pressures of growing up. Plus the memories of Lonnie return and reek more havoc.

1986: Things on the surface seem happy and “normal” but there’s a looming threat hidden beneath the surface. HIV -> AIDS. Opportunistic infections slowly begin to prey on Will.

1987-?: Will can’t shake off colds and infections as easily as before. He also can’t shake off his love for Mike, who grows even closer to him. One thing leads to another and they become lovers (they have sex). Will soon discovers he has HIV/AIDS, which he had transmitted to Mike. Devastated by the news, they do everything they can to fight it together. They cope through creating a DnD campaign together to process everything they’ve gone through. They play DnD in Mike’s basement until Will’s condition becomes critical. Will is forced to stay in the hospital, while Mike is unable to visit (strict rules about visitation due to the disease and because they aren’t/cannot be considered legal partners). So, Mike does the only thing he can do: he writes letters to Will and continues the story. Mike eventually loses Will, for real this time. He’s devastated, and plagued with grief, depression, and survivor’s guilt. He didn’t complete their story in time. But his family and friends support him and encourage him to finish the story. To change the ending before his time runs out too. He completes their story himself, and reads his final letter to Will’s grave.

“anyway I think you’ll like [the ending]. sorry I couldn’t get it done [on time] but you mean so [much to me] and it’s been [so hard being without you] hope this is [enough to] last until [we meet again]. Love, [Mike].”

Attached to this letter is the full campaign. The full story of the show itself, which started on November 6th, 1983. He successfully turned back the clock, and changed their ending. They became superheroes within their story, saving Hawkins with their love. Mike dies soon after and we are met with…

Mike and Will reuniting within their own story. Blue meeting yellow at a gate, one final time, that leads “into the west”.

They continue their story and it’s a never ending story… Living on as heroes, forever and ever.

Some thoughts:

To simplify things, I didn’t include other characters much here but they likely all play an important role in the story. Many characters likely only exist within the mid layer (the 1/100 timeline).

I do think their story likely will be published, and this will be done by another character (my guess is Lucas). Their story will impact others profoundly, perhaps completely altering perspectives. This will lead towards positive change, and increase pressure for the development of a “cure”.

Lonnie obviously dies too, but we won’t see it. He’s significant but irrelevant. We don’t need to see him. Perhaps he rots in jail.

If characters like Nancy, Jonathan, Joyce, and Hopper all exist within the outer layer (the 99/100 timeline) in a similar way, they too may be inflicted with HIV/AIDS. Remember, it wasn’t just gay men, everyone was affected by this awful epidemic.

The time period is super relevant in this story. There’s no way that HIV/AIDS will not play an important role. Think about it… it revolves around two gay boys growing up during that time. This epidemic was widespread and terrifying. Had they been born a decade later, there would have been treatments/“cures” accessible to them.

The biggest reason why I strongly believe this theory is because… this is basically the ending of Stranger Things season 1, on a much grander scale. Think about it. Mike changed the ending of the DnD campaign so Will could be a hero, not a victim. This was further established in the comics.

While Mike and Will within the outer layer (99/100) have a tragic ending, Mike and Will within the show (1/100) do not. They beat the odds. Although it is undeniably a tragic end, remember that somewhere out there Mike and Will are still playing DnD and Nintendo for the rest of their lives.

Free Will and Writing your Own Ending

Free will has always been a reoccurring theme within Stranger Things; meaning we can choose our own destiny, fight chance, and beat the odds.

Do we truly have free will though? Obviously, we don’t know. The point is, we should still live life as if we do have it. To take control where we can, and not let external forces dictate who we are and what our destiny is. I think that’s the message there.

[angelltheninth]

Can I request headcanons about how Arcane Steb, Vander, Jayce, Viktor, Silco, and Ekko would react to his shy gn crush confessing to him in private please?

You can, and I will luckily write some fluff today.

Pairing: Viktor, Jayce, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Steb x Reader

Tags: fluff, developing relationship, love confession, co-workers to lovers, teasing, being shy

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Hope reading this makes you all feel warm and fluffy.

Viktor was suspicious of you when you asked him to stay in the lab even longer. Usually you'd be the one telling him that he needs to end work early and then walk home with him.

When you began acting all bashful about it and looking through the papers you'd been working on the whole day he was even more suspicious. Although you wanted to confess to him, your words failed you, so you went to your next plan. Handing him your notes you left him bewildered as he didn't even get to read them before he could read it. On it was your confession, and asking him if he wanted to go on a date sometime.

The next morning you arrived early and found his notebook on your desk. In it was a note from him, accepting your confession, but wishing you had been a bit more direct with your feelings as he isn't good at guessing how people are feeling.

"Seems like you beat me to the lab this morning. And you've had a chance to read my note, yes? I thought so, the way you blush doesn't lie. Since that is the case I will take some time off this weekend, we can go on that date you mentioned. I look forward to it, darling, I hadn't been on many dates, this will be interesting."

Jayce is very casually touchy with people so he didn't notice how much it flustered you. He knew you were a shy person so he assumed it was due to that you blushed easily. But he had been wrong before.

He never took himself as overly flirty so he didn't think you saw him that way either. But to you his actions, his casual touches, his soft smiles, his praise that made your heart skip a beat, was almost too much to handle. When you confessed to him in the empty hallways of the Academy you expected him to brush it off, but he was left stunned. For the first time it clicked with him, all those longing and bashful glances of yours.

As smart as he is he can be foolish sometimes and it seems like this is one of those times. There's a part of him that wants to kick himself for not noticing your feelings. The other part of him urges him to kiss you and assure you that he feels the same, even if it took him a confession from you to realize it.

"Pretty dumb of me isn't it? Well I never said I was the smartest when romance was involved. You give me too much credit, babe. Oh, was that too soon to call you that? We haven't been on a date yet but I felt like I had to kiss you or else you'd get the wrong idea. I know how wound up you get over the smallest stuff."

Ekko had a bit of a hard time noticing your feelings. He wants to be mindful of everyone around him, Because of that certain things get tangled up together.

Not to say that he was fully oblivious to your growing feelings, which might be why he started acting more protective over you. When you went on missions together you always stuck close together, watching each other's back. He was very lucky to have a strong person like you fighting alongside him. Which is why it was also hard for him to believe that you'd had such a hard time telling you that you were in love with him. For someone as cool as you it should have been easy.

Then again he is a lot like you in that regard. He was scared of hearing your confession, so he tried to avoid it, almost making you not say it at all. One of the last things he wants to do is to lose someone else when he just started loving them.

"Know this is gonna sound real stupid, Firefly, but it ain't you, it's me. I wanna be with you, trust me I do, and you, taking me by surprise in the middle of a flight and telling me that almost made me lose my footing. You sure know how to take a man by surprise. But hey, it's just one of the many things I like about you."

Vander knew you liked him but also knew you were too shy to say it. He felt like he shouldn't put any more pressure on you to do so either. When you felt like he it, he believed you'd find the courage.

And who knew that all it took was a bit of liquid courage on a late night that you spent closing up the bar with him. It wasn't like he planned on it, but one drinks turned into two and you started talking to each other. Listening to him praise your work and telling you how the kids liked being around you, combined with the drinks, gave you enough courage you needed to confess your feelings to him. The last thing you suspected was to hear he already knew of your feelings.

That was the last thing you remember before you passed out. When you woke up you were in his bed, while he slept on the old couch. Memories from the night before came flooding back, your confession. You were so embarrassed you wanted to quit your job.

"Now why would I fire a perfectly fine worker? Way I see it you caught feelings for your boss, is that right, darlin'? Think you'd be the first one to do that? No way, but you are the first that caught my eye, it's been a long time since that's happened. Hopefully one day you'll be able to confess without any alcohol in your system. Looking forward to that day."

Silco always knew you had feelings for him, even before he became the feared crime lord that he is. That was one of the reasons he kept you close. Well, that and the fact that he liked you too.

Being aware that you had feelings for him meant that he went to great lengths to keep them a secret, and his own feelings too. He might be feared but he is also hated. For your sake it might be better if he sent you away but he knew you were too stubborn to leave him. When things started to get more and more complicated you thought you might never get a chance to tell him how you feel if you didn't do it now. It wasn't so much a confession as it was a quick kiss which you then urged him to forget all about before running off.

Of course he wouldn't forget. But he would still keep his own affections on the downlow. At least for the time being it was better to keep your relationship a secret.

"You know as well as I do how many people want me dead. I don't want to put that same target on your back, darling. The reason I would like to keep us a secret is just so I can get things under control better. Once that happens I assure you that I'll be kissing you every day, until you get sick of me. Which might be a long time, I know we're both stubborn people."

Steb has always been the most calm and collected member of his team and that doesn't change when he realizes you have feelings for him. If anything he wills himself to act even calmer.

But he also makes sure that he isn't cold to you, especially to you, when you're trying very hard to admit your feelings for him. He sees that effort and doesn't want to take away from your big moment, even though he wishes that he could just confess himself. It's been a while since he's been in a relationship, not a ton of time for those. Since he doesn't have that much experience either he would rather follow your lead, your pace and when you have him alone, when you walk out with him after training and ask him out, he will say yes.

Although he would rather not make too big of a deal of your confession to him, he just can't help the way his face heats up. It feels like this is something he's been waiting for and now it's here.

"So much to think about in regards to our future date, angelfish. Let's see, I do know of a good spot, but they close before our shift ends. Perhaps I can put a good word in for us, have our shift end a little early before the week ends. It took bravery to ask me out, let me repay it in the best way I can and give you a date to remember."

[kashimos-hajime]

—heat | s.r.

summary: “you may not be looking for a boyfriend, but maybe the boyfriend’s looking for you."

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

a/n: y/ns pov from the 2nd half of last chapter :) | part of the undateable series

masterlist

Finishing your last stretch, you collapse to the ground, groaning. Your ribs are still flaring, trying to get a good grasp of your lungs from the run you just finished. Summer, despite how much you want to like it, is most certainly your least favourite season, and you want to shuffle back into the cooler school building, but you also can’t help how pleasant the sun feels on your skin.

Across the way, you watch as the group of boys in their homeroom congregate, waiting for the period to end as you sip absently on your bottle. Among them stands a tall boy, lean and effortlessly cool as he fans himself with the front of his shirt. He stands unbothered by the sun, if only betrayed by the slight glare when the sunlight streams through his pale eyes. You look away, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. 

The one thing you know is that Suna Rintarou confuses you. He’ll do these tiny things; lend you his math notes, run errands for Osamu (your favourite twin) but not for Atsumu (your most horrid annoyance), and wear earplugs during practice on Thursday after they’ve had music lessons because the sound of trumpets and clarinets all blaring squeaky notes gets grating, yet he’ll take one out when you have something to say to him.

He’ll walk you to the gym when they coincidentally leave homeroom at the same time, and then he’ll act like he doesn’t know you the next time you speak to him.

Which maybe he doesn’t. Aquarium birthday party aside, you don’t know Suna Rintarou any more than you did at the end of last year.

It’s silly. You hadn’t even thought about that day by the glass tank, when he had leaned in close enough that maybe, you’d thought that—  

No. You haven’t obsessed over that day since…

Well, since Suna started being nice to you and brought all that back.

Is that why? you wonder wildly to yourself, trying to focus on the sun and not on the boy standing a few feet away. 

Mina flaps her towel aggressively, trying to cool herself down, and the sounds of her self-deprecating noises make your lips curl into a smile, distracts you from him, all six feet and some change tall, dark hair, long, long legs... “I can’t go back inside sweating 'cause all the boys might see, but it’s so damn hot I can't stop! My prospects’ll go down drastically, ugh, this is so frustrating. Can you pass me your water bottle?”

“Your prospects'll go down,” you echo, bemused, doing as she asks. Mina scowls at you, snatching your bottle and dampening her towel, patting it on her brow. “Is that so?”

“Yes! It’s not like I can ask Kento-san to the festival.”

“Why not?” You reach for another sip of your water bottle and chew on the top absently. “I thought you liked him.”

“I do, but… he lives far away. And he didn’t ask me to be his girlfriend.”

“Oh. But you guys see each other pretty often.”

“But he hasn’t asked,” she emphasizes, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Your eyes start drifting again, and when you realize they fixate on a boy stretching further down the track, you jolt, putting down your water and leaning back, forcing yourself to stare up at the sky. There’s barely a cloud in the sky. You sigh. “Why go out with me if you don’t want me to be your girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s scared.” 

“Scared?” she demands. “Why would he be scared?”

You open an eye to look at her, frowning thoughtfully. “Because you know what you want,” you say. “And he doesn’t. Help me up, would you?”

Mina nudges your thigh with her foot, but when you don’t budge, she sighs, pulls her towel around her neck, and reaches down to pull you up. “You’re so lazy.”

Getting to your feet, you adjust the towel around your own shoulders when Mina grabs your hand, catching your attention.

“Hey. Suna’s walking over.”

“What?”

Twisting around, you blink when you come face to face with Suna Rintarou standing before you, his shadow barely blocking the sun arching high above them. He doesn’t even look like he wants to be there, staring through you, and you stand straighter, suddenly aware of the way every part of your gym uniform is sticking to your back, your sweat gathering beneath your breasts.

He doesn’t talk at first, just stands there with his hands shoved beneath his waistband, and you glance at Mina, whose eyes widen as if to say I don’t know, for a moment before tentatively asking: “Did you need something, Suna?”

“Nope,” he says. “Do you wanna go out with me?”

You blink. Once. Twice. Stare at him and wonder if you’ve misheard. When you run, your hearing goes a little fuzzy as your blood starts roaring in your ears, and you can mistake even the simplest of sentences, so maybe it’s that? Maybe you’re still suffering from being forced to run laps around the track all in the sake of being ‘healthy’.

You open your mouth, running his words over your head, but when you manage to find your voice, it comes out horrible. Janky, awkward, rude in the way you say, “What are you talking about?”

“Date.” Like that explains everything. “For the festival at the end of the month.”

You laugh nervously, hoping he can’t hear the way your heart is beating like a marching drum against your ribs. “Are you terminally ill?”

His (handsome) face is smeared by a scowl, but even that is attractive. It’s a thin, smooth line, cold and unimpressed, and the way he speaks makes you feel stupid. “No.” 

It must be a joke somehow, right? Was he dared to do this? Suna… doesn’t even like you. You’re pretty sure he barely tolerates you, and even if he did, it’s certainly not to the point that he would ask you out. You clench your jaw. It’s not like… you haven’t said yes before to a date to someone you didn’t know too well. It’s not like Suna’s stupid or rude or ugly. Quite the opposite.

But it’s because it’s him that you feel the answer shooting up your throat like a bullet. You don’t know where you stand with Suna Rintarou, and you don’t want to lose your footing, but if you say yes, you’re scared that if it doesn’t go well, your place in the Inarizaki volleyball gym will turn into your own personal hell.

But he knows that. He must know that. 

So why did he even ask?

Your shoes shift, and you feel a little weak at the ankles.

A dare. It must be a dare. Date the Undateable.

You could’ve laugh, if it didn’t make your heart wilt and sink in your chest.

“Then, no.” You need to get out of here. Stepping around him, you try not to focus on how heavy your own feet feel. If you trip now, you might never show your face anywhere again. “No, thanks.”

You push yourself towards the school. Hope the teacher doesn't call you out for leaving early. Mina catches up to you, her hands coming around your arm, and it feels strangely cold as you glance at her.

“That was so weird,” she exclaims, squeezing your bicep. As they walk, the road feels bumpy. With every step, the toe of your shoes keeps dragging along the asphalt, and you glance over your shoulder to see him staring. The blood rushes to your head. You press closer to Mina. “I mean, people always ask him out, but he’s never asked someone out.”

“Mhm.” Trying not to look as shaken as you feel, you push a smile onto your face. "Definitely a first."

"But at least he's cute, and smart. And he's fit." Mina giggles. "Why did you say no?"

"I told you, I’m not really looking for a boyfriend right now.”

Your best friend hums, brushing her hair over her shoulder in a long, dark wave. It catches the sunlight, and so do her pretty brown eyes, and you think the boy, Kento or whatever his name is, is stupid. “You may not be looking for a boyfriend,” she says, grinning at you, “but maybe the boyfriend’s looking for you. And if it’s Suna Rintarou, I don’t think you have good odds of escaping.”

You blink, mouth opening to argue, but she only grabs your hand and hastens her step, pulling you along. “Mina—”

“Come on! Let’s get back to the change room before the others so we have more time to freshen up.”

[dizzyditzblitz]

' Invited ' | Chp. 3

Shadow Milk x Fem!Reader

idk how to really tag things? but there's some slight mention/alludes to hearing voices/whispers (this isn't meant to really imply schizophrenia? /nm /gen - it might just be the souljam (haven't thought that far ahead)

also slowly implementing like... headcanons and realizing im writing more of- human shmilk and not cookies IM SORRY SKDKSKD ILL TRY TO REMEMBER LIKE- COOKIE TERMS

also lowkey got burnt out near the end im sorry skdjw

After tears were finally dried up and their meltdowns eased off, it was time to get back to business.

Y/N and Shadow Milk picked each other up, dusting themselves off. Y/N attempted to wipe her face clean, dust off her dress. Shadow Milk equally smudged his hand over his face, causing the facepaint to smear and essentially be erased.

Shadow Milk and Y/N looked up at one another, quiet for a bit of a moment before they softly laughed a little together.

Shadow Milk's eyes narrowed a little as he took in her laughter. Watching the way her eyes crinkled, how her hair bounced. How, even after a full-blown meltdown, she managed to glow.

Subconsciously, he gently scratched at his chest as if trying to itch away the swelling of warmth in his heart. Yet, a surge of remembrance went through him, and he chastised himself, concluding to himself she'll leave too.

Y/N, a little oblivious to his turmoil, finally softened her laughter. She felt relieved..grateful they had this moment even though it wasn't even close to what she expected.

Offering her hand, Y/N held it out expectantly with a soft smile to Shadow Milk,

He snapped out of his daze and looked at her hand. His defenses flared, remembering the last time someone offered their hand in friendship,

Him

Shadow Milk's fists balled in frustration, now guarding himself instinctively. Hypocritical, yes, but Shadow Milk despised being lied to—especially when it involved the false sense of security of friendship. Company.

Y/N's hand faltered a little, noticing the tension in Shadow Milk. Maybe she still had a little bit of fear after all. But she felt oddly determined not to shrink away,

" Are you okay..? " She finally asked,

" What are you wanting from me? " Shadow Milk snipped, " Why are you being so nice to me? "

Y/N flinched a little, her hand retracting as she watched him rant,

" Why are you lying to me!? " He hissed

Y/N stared at him, his silence signaling he wanted an answer,

" Your company— " She sincerely whispered,

He blinked, completely taken aback by her response. His heart yearned to believe her. She sounded so convincing. Why was his mind whispering to him? Why were his thoughts hissing words of how he doesn't deserve her kindness?

Shadow Milk grabbed his head, his hair becoming more disarray as he ruffled his hands through his mess of hair. A scream-like groan left Shadow Milk before he hunched over into a ball,

Maybe the whispers were right. He didn't deserve her kindness. He didn't deserve that letter he sent her. The letter that put him here in the first place. Her invitation.

Shadow Milk seemed to be on a fervent panic attack. It seemed to spike a migraine, and it caused him to try and curl in on himself again,

Y/N was panicking herself, not knowing what to do. She glanced around, firstly hoping no one else heard the scream. Things seemed clear before she finally hunkered down on her knees,

" Hey- hey— " She gently put her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to coax him to look at her,

It seemed like he was going through something far worse than she really expected, and she was pretty lost at what to really do..

Shadow Milk's nails seemed to be digging into his scalp, but when he felt a slight push on his shoulder–he relented and peeked his eye up at Y/N

He was met with a soft gaze, one also filled with utter worry. Shadow Milk felt Y/N squeeze his shoulder, which enabled him to slowly calm down..

" Let me prove to you.. that I'm not going anywhere.. " She started, hoping her words were enough, " Let me show you that I don't want you to be lonely anymore... "

He finally lifted his head enough to get a full look at Y/N. Shadow Milk scrunched his face, shaking some of the whispers in his mind out, glancing away. He felt a bit embarrassed for the outburst..

Y/N smiled, happy it seemed to have calmed him down. She stood up straight and offered her hand again,

Shadow Milk stared at her hand, slowly reaching out. He hesitated, his body seemingly to actively fight him from accepting Y/N's hand. Eventually, his hand finally found hers, and he looked up at Y/N's face,

Y/N carefully pulled Shadow Milk to his feet, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze once more,

Shadow Milk kept his tired eyes on her face,

" Promise..? " He murmured, desperate

" I promise, " Y/N spoke, conviction palpable in her tone,

The whispers that infested Shadow Milk's mind softened, or at least were nulled a little as him and Y/N began to, finally, finish their walk to Y/N's castle.

♡.—.♡

As they approached the castle gates, the guards on patrol seemed to tense at the sight of Shadow Milk, but they kept their comments to themselves; yet their following gazes gave way to their concerns.

Y/N would glance back at Shadow Milk occasionally as she led them both to the back gardens away from everything. From prying eyes. From prying ears. From the walls that would listen..

Shadow Milk's head had been tilted downward, simply watching Y/N's feet as a guide. He felt a bit too much shame to look at her after his outburst. But when the tiles turned into concrete, Shadow Milk finally looked up.

The sound of blue birds chirping.. the fresh scent of crisp air. His eyes roamed, taking in the well crafted and beautiful foliage; but then his eyes landed on the beds of flowers.

Blue hyacinths. Forget-me-nots.

Just an array of blue. It took him by surprise, to say the least,

" I've always loved the color blue.. " Y/N finally whispered

Shadow Milk felt her hand slowly leave his to walk over to the beds of flowers. This time, though.. he didn't seem to panic when she let go. Yet he still found himself following her, still quiet,

Shadow Milk watched Y/N gently touch the hyacinths. The delicate movements not lost on him, despite his rampant thirst for chaos, but he realized something, causing him to pause,

His mind was quiet. At least it felt quiet. The daunting and festering whispers seemed to have been tuned out..

All that filled his senses was the sound of birds. The scent of fresh flowers... the feel of the warm sun beaming through and warming up his cold body. It caused a gentle shiver, as if the warmth was foreign,

A yawn managed to leave Shadow Milk, but he tried to fight the fact that he felt physically tired. He tried to fight the fact that he felt safe. He tried to keep his guard up.. to ask himself, "What if it isn't safe?". But he caved.

Slowly, Shadow Milk lowered down, dipping himself down into the bed of hyacinths and lavender.

Y/N looked surprised as she watched him slowly submerge into the flowers. His body seemingly disappeared amongst the flowers; she went to speak, but words failed..

Shadow Milk let out a quiet sigh, the scent of hyacinths and lavender easing his nerves. His eyes grew heavy, feeling his muscles relax.

Y/N carefully began to lower herself down beside him, her own body disappearing into the flowers again,

The silence was comfortable. Both knowing the other was just across a few flowers. Although Shadow Milk's hand still managed to find Y/N's, this time his pinky hooked her own,

Y/N jumped a little but gave his pinky a small squeeze with her own..

Both found themselves dozing off, Shadow Milk getting genuine rest he's needed in eons..

[sunflowersonatas]

TOO GOOD TO BE FAKE: CHAPTER 5

JAMES POTTER X F!READER

a/n: YAYYYY CHAPTER 5 OUT EARLY!!! i've been so so appreciative of all the love for this series 🥹 i figured it was the least i could do to get my ass up and edit the rest of it. hehehehe enjoyyyyy!!! ☀️🌻

series page for prev chapters

wc: 2197

5: Too Good to Be Fake

— 1 —

The next few days pass in a blur, and my real life and my fake life begin to meld all the same.

It’s subtle at first—little things, easy things. James slinging an arm over my shoulder in the corridor, without thinking about it, his hand drifting naturally to my waist when we squeeze through crowds. Me leaning into his touch on instinct, him whispering a joke just for me in class, both of us laughing too effortlessly.

The stares haven’t stopped. The whispers haven’t faded.

But somehow, I don’t care as much anymore.

Or maybe—I don’t care why they’re watching.

It’s not just the school anymore, though. It’s our friends. Alice and Jade don’t even try to hide their amusement anymore. Sirius has started giving James looks. Remus has started watching me.

Lily Evans has started paying more attention, too.

It’s another Saturday when I realize how far I’ve let this go: Quidditch practice.

I would never normally go to these. I’ve never had a reason to sit in the stands, watching a group of sweaty Gryffindors hurl themselves through the sky while screaming at each other.

But today, I’m here.

I keep telling myself it’s for appearances. People have to see me invested, have to see me acting like a real girlfriend. I bring a book, find a spot on the stands, fold my legs beneath me, and pretend I’m not watching James too closely.

I tell myself it’s just part of the plan. Making it look believable.

And then Lily arrives.

She doesn’t sit. She stands at the base of the stands, arms folded across her chest, gaze fixed on the pitch. I know who she’s watching, everyone does.

James cuts through the sky like he was born to be there, all fluid motion and instinct, his windswept hair a perfect mess, his body moving with a confidence that’s utterly effortless. The sun glints off his grin, bright and reckless, like he’s drunk on the thrill of it, and I feel that familiar lurch within me again—something warm, something unsteady, curling deep in my stomach before I can shove it away.

Lily tilts her head slightly.

Then, she glances back at me; and suddenly, it’s not just a game anymore. She’s watching me watch him. A challenge, a test.

Suddenly, I realize—this isn’t about her anymore. It’s not about making her jealous, and it’s not about Simon either. Because the thing unnerving me the most isn’t that Lily Evans is watching me.

It’s that James Potter hasn’t looked at her once.

— 2 —

The courtyard is quiet in the early evening, the last flickers of sunlight stretching long across the stone pathways. The air is crisp, cool enough to wake me up a little, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. I tell myself that’s why I’m lingering here instead of heading back to the dorms.

Not because I’m waiting for him, and not because I know he’ll find me. But then he does.

James’ footsteps are easy to recognize—a little too confident, a little too deliberate, like he’s always walking into a room expecting something fun to happen. But here, now, he doesn’t say anything right away. He just falls into steps beside me, hands tucked into his pockets, like this is normal. Like it’s always been normal.

I glance at him. “What are you doing?”

James shrugs. “Dunno. Seemed like you wanted company.”

I huff, turning my gaze back to the darkening sky. “Oh, right. I always exude warmth and openness.”

James chuckles, nudging my arm. “You say that, but you haven’t told me to leave yet.”

I don’t respond. Because… he’s right.

The pause stretches, the courtyard filled only with the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. For a second, while it’s just the two of us, walking in relative silence, it’s nice. Easy. Comfortable in a way I don’t have time to question.

Then James exhales, a little deeper than necessary, and leans against the railing beside me.

“You know,” he says, “you’re kind of terrible at taking a compliment.” His tone is too light, too airy for the kind of comment he’d just made.

I frown, caught off guard. “What?”

His gaze flickers to mine, and something in his expression softens—just slightly, but enough that it throws me off balance. “I mean, when I do something nice, you just… get awkward and run away.”

I blink at him. “That is— so not true.”

James lifts an eyebrow. “Oh? So last week when I said you looked nice, and you immediately knocked over your drink and changed the subject, what was that?”

I open my mouth— close it.

He smirks. “Exactly.”

I turn my face and look down the path we’re following, blinking, genuinely considering. “You just catch me off guard, that’s all.”

“Right,” he says sarcastically, “because the idea of me being nice to you is so shocking.”

“Yes, actually,” I quip, but the words come out lighter than I mean them to.

And that’s when James does something dangerous.

He shifts closer—just a little, just enough. His shoulder brushes mine, his voice lower now, softer. “You know, I like being nice to you.”

My stomach twists—thrilled, unsteady, completely betraying me. I let out a laugh, too quick, too high-pitched, a little too obviously forced.

James watches me, expression unreadable, but there’s something knowing in his gaze, something patient, like he’s waiting for me to catch up to something he’s already figured out.

“Alright,” I say, pushing away from the railing, not letting this get any more real than it already is, not letting myself think too hard about it. “This has been fun, but I’m going to—”

“Walk away before you have to acknowledge that you actually like me?” James finishes for me, eyes glinting with amusement.

I huff, already turning on my heel. “Exactly.”

I don’t get very far. James is right behind me, catching up too easily, too effortlessly, like he always does. “Merlin, if you wanted me to chase you, you could’ve just asked. Would’ve saved us both some time.”

I throw him a glance over my shoulder, my lips curving just enough to make his eyes flicker. "Where’s the fun in that? I like to keep you on your toes, Potter."

James huffs, but the way he watches me—like he's already planning his next move—sends something dangerously close to excitement skittering through me.

We’re walking towards one of the large entrances to the castle from the courtyard— there are some more students around now to witness our little interaction. He’s still beside me, still too close, still too smug.

“So what I’m hearing,” he muses, tilting his head, “is that you like me exactly where I am.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t speed up. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

James only grins, falling into step beside me like he belongs there. “Too late.”

— 3 —

The castle is cooler in the evening, the last remnants of daylight casting long shadows through the stone archways. The halls are quieter now, but not empty—the low murmur of conversation lingers, footsteps echo in different directions, and clusters of students drift toward their common rooms, pausing now and then to whisper as James and I pass. My footsteps sync with his, the weight of his presence beside me something I’ve stopped questioning. It’s been like this all week—effortless, natural, dangerously easy. And maybe that’s why I don’t notice her at first. Maybe that’s why I don’t realize we have an audience until it’s too late.

Lily Evans is waiting just inside the entrance hall.

She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, posture relaxed, but there’s something unreadable in her expression. She isn’t blocking our path, isn’t doing anything at all, really—just watching. Watching us. Her gaze flickers between me and James, taking in the casual way we’re walking together, how close we are, the way his fingers brush against my wrist when he gestures absentmindedly.

She sees it all.

James notices her just a second after I do, and though his steps falter, it’s barely noticeable. I feel the shift in his presence, the way something in him tightens, like he’s bracing for impact. But when Lily finally speaks, her voice is light, almost gossiping, like she’s indulging a passing curiosity rather than confirming something she already suspects.

"You know," she says, tilting her head slightly, "you two make sense together. I see it."

And James—James preens.

I see it happen in real time. The way his shoulders straighten, the way his lips curve just slightly at the edges. It’s instinctive, automatic, like some deeply ingrained part of him just got the validation he never even thought to ask for. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t check my reaction. He just moves.

I can’t even react— his fingers tighten around my wrist, spinning me expertly into him. Somehow it feels like we’ve done this a hundred times before, like we’ve been moving toward this exact moment without even knowing it. His free hand settles at my waist, warm and steady, pulling me close in a way that leaves no space, no room for doubt.

And then he kisses me.

It’s not for show. Not a performance. His lips press against mine, sure and unhurried, like he’s settling into something that’s already his. Heat flares at the base of my spine, climbing fast, white-hot flames licking up through my chest. His fingers flex slightly at my waist, like he’s anchoring himself, like he’s making sure I don’t pull away before he’s had his fill of this moment—of me.

The warmth of him crashes through me, a spark to dry tinder, setting every nerve alight. His lips move against mine, confident but measured, and for a second—just a second—I let myself fall into it. I feel the way he’s leaning in, the way he’s holding me there, the way his breath mingles with mine, like we exist in a pocket of air separate from the world.

But we don’t.

The corridor isn’t empty. The world doesn’t disappear. Students slow their steps, voices hush, a ripple of whispers spreading like wildfire. I hear someone inhale sharply, catch the flicker of movement in my periphery as people pause outright, wide-eyed, watching like they’ve just witnessed something they shouldn’t have.

And they have. Because this isn’t a show. This isn’t a play. It’s real, it’s burning through me, and it’s happening in front of everyone.

I break first.

I pull away too fast, too obviously flustered. I’ve probably ruined everything. I should’ve just played along— like he said to me before, enjoy the experience. I could’ve done that. Now I lost my chance.

James doesn’t move right away. He stays close, his breath still warm against my skin, eyes searching mine for something I can’t name. The silence stretches between us, heavy, lingering, filled with something I am not ready to understand.

Lily clears her throat, but she’s smiling now, something small and knowing. She looks between us, her eyes glinting with something close to amusement.

"Yeah," she says, tilting her head slightly. "I knew it. You two are really cute together."

She doesn’t linger. She just gives James one last look—something approving, something almost pleased—before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving us standing there in the weight of what just happened.

I scramble for something to say, but my mind is blank, wiped clean by whatever the hell just happened. My skin is burning, my pulse erratic, my body betraying me in ways I can’t even begin to process.

I force a laugh, light and dismissive, as if my heart isn’t trying to claw its way out of my chest. "Merlin, James," I say, shaking my head, playing it off, forcing the act back into place even as my hands tremble. "You could at least warn me before you go proving a point like that."

James watches me carefully. Too carefully.

And then, just like that, the mask slips back into place.

The easy grin. The effortless charm. The one thing he’s always been good at.

"Where’s the fun in that?" he teases, voice smooth, casual, like he’s not still standing closer than he should be.

The tension in the air is suffocating.

I step back. I need distance, space, air.

"Right," I mutter, my voice too light, too forced. "Well, this has been fun, but I should go—"

James doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, his expression unreadable, like he’s waiting for something I can’t give him. The silence between us stretches, thick, heavy, a question neither of us is ready to ask.

And then, because I can’t take it, because my heart is still slamming against my ribs, because the ground beneath me suddenly feels unsteady—I run.

I barely register the students still watching, barely hear the whispers that are sure to follow me. All I know is that I need to get away, to breathe, to pretend for just a little while longer that none of this means anything.

Run run run.

But no matter how fast I move, I already know—there’s no outrunning this.

☀️🌻 requests are currently open!!

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

This is probably an unpopular opinion, but when it comes to Rankane fics, I get annoyed when the fic takes place post-Jusenkyo/post-manga yet the conflict is still Ranma not admitting that he loves Akane or not realizing that he loves her. I mean, sure progress is not linear, but you’re telling me that Ranma - who felt like he had no reason to live anymore thinking that Akane died in Jusenkyo, crying that he never got to tell her that he loved her - is still struggling to realize he loves Akane post-Jusenkyo? I don’t know I’m probably taking it too seriously, but I wanna know your thoughts. 

To me, it’s like every Hotel Transylvania sequel being about Dracula struggling to respect his daughter’s life decisions and accept her bf/husband (I thought you learned your lesson in the last movie Dracula, why are you relearning the same lesson for the nth time).

Every time I see "Ranma doesn't know how he feels about Akane" or "he needs some sort of intervention to stop being indecisive and choose Akane" I'm in danger of suffering a stroke. I won't spend time looking for panels for this response to not endanger myself, I'll just vent: I need everyone to make the conscious efforts of emptying their minds, letting go of whatever the fuck they absorbed when they watched the show before they read the manga, because they're absolutely not doing the same things. Anime Ranma is often either a cardboard or a fraud. I need him to get shot before anyone opens a doc or grabs a pen to draft a story. He's deceiving you! Let him go! It is that serious!

The thing about good ol' Ranma is that HE KNOWS HE'S IN LOVE WITH AKANE. HE KNOWS IT FROM VOLUME 1. HE DENIES IT BECAUSE HE'S A SHY BITCH WHO DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH FEELINGS BUT HE KNOWS. STOP PLAYING WITH ME. Here's something important about Ranma: he's so secure in his feelings for Akane that he doesn't think there's anything to choose in the first place. Deep down he thinks it's locked in. This is why sometimes, when he gets jealous (which the old show KEPT OMITTING AGAIN AND AGAIN) he talks as if he thinks Akane is cheating on him. At worst, he can take Akane for granted (and so he's punished) The person who's more dense here in realizing their feelings at first is Akane, but she doesn't take fucking forever to know either.

Ranma and Akane are sparring. That's their dynamic throughout the manga. Ranma's whole deal in the final arc, when he denies that he said "I love you" out loud (which is true, he screams it in his thoughts, he didn't say it out loud. This being interpreted as "Ranma took back his I love you" is INSANE. Akane doesn't take it that way either, next panel she's going "you might as well have said it out loud you son of a bitch") is that being straightforward and verbally expressing his feelings FIRST is the equivalent of him losing their match, and he refuses to lose. Akane won't say it first either because "what if Ranma, immature and emotionally stunted as he is, makes fun of her instead?" there's pride here too. We could write an essay on what hold Akane and Ranma back from confessing their love, but they spend practically the whole manga in love and aware.

[emilys-bangs]

Plant mom Prentiss strikes again! I can't stop thinking about her 🥺 How much she learns about then and start to appreciate every plant you've gifted her. I think she'd realize gift giving is sort of your love language and maybe, just maybe you'd like her.

Would she invest in some of those special lamps which help plants to grow and set couple in her office? Would she rant about Bailey or another annoying person to her plants because you said one day that plants supposedly like it when you talk to them. It could be bullshit for all Emily knows but she loves you so she'll listen to everything you say and would do anything you say. Would you walk by her office and hear her talking to an especially stubborn plant who looks like it's on the verge of death but yet persist?

It dies. But you replace it with a new one when Emily's on a case with the others (knowing Emily really liked that one and would have been upset) and you're stuck with Penelope in DC. Good thing is you get to play plant mom to Emily's growing plant collection.

One day when you're visiting Emily's apartment you noice how there are more plants than last time. You're sure there were none the last time you came over.

Would you consider writing a fic about plants mom Prentiss?

-🔮

Same!! Plant mom Prentiss is canon to me now idc. When she started off with taking care of them it was really only to oblige you, but along the way she started getting interested in them on her own! She starts adding to her collection that you've gifted her; I think she’d be particularly interested in herbs and growing her own—mint and basil and rosemary to include in her cooking (Dave has been telling her to for YEARS and she always ignored him, wonder why she’s finally getting on it now?). She has them all lined up on her kitchen counter, and they’re lush and green and fragrant, her kitchen smells heavenly.

I’m dying at the visual of her ranting to a plant about Bailey, she’d TOTALLY do that 😭😭😭 (with the blinds closed ofc, but sometimes her voice carries). When you teasingly tell her she's supposed to tell the plants nice things she rolls her eyes, but then she sees the wilting plant and whispers to its dying leaves that she thinks you've bewitched her—there's no other explanation, because she realizes that this is borderline insane. A tiny part of her hates herself for talking to freaking plants, but eventually it feels like talking to Sergio, although she never does either in anyone's presence. The thought idly registers to her that she's not only a cat mom now, but a plant mom, too (what even is her life?). She's already subjected to so much teasing from the team now that her office has become a greenhouse, but maybe she would have a grow lamp or two at home🤔 she'd keep them safe in her home office to keep Sergio from destroying them. Speaking of Sergio! When Emily learns more about all of the plants you've gifted her, and more specifically the fact that they're all non-toxic to cats, she goes all mushy on the inside and decides that's it, it's time to ask you out on a date (the bau breathes out a collective sigh of relief). (But the plants don't go away.)

Honestly I think a plant momily fic is inevitable at this point....with pa!reader, too....anon you really cooked with this one

[81pastrys]

The Mafia’s Princess

Summary— She returns to an old business partner after he put her in her place; when the club she’s sent to has hot men lingering around, she stays a bit longer than expected.

Warnings— handsy and flirty Lando; Demanding Carlos for a second.

A/N— This one gets dark later on fyi and spicy asf.

Series: Part 1 / ?

“I want my money delivered this time, princess. Is that understood?” The normal-looking businessman said as I looked in the duffel bag of cash. I look at him and agree. I cross my arms and hold my ground as my bodyguards don’t bat an eye.

“Understood, what’s my cut this time?” I question. He has gotten me in trouble countless times, in which I’ve ended up in jail cells. My cut is usually large, but I haven't been given one since I’ve been caught quite a lot recently.

“Let’s start by finishing the task at hand, princess.” He sneers at me, flicking his cigar ashes into a custom tray. I roll my eyes and grab the bag of cash, heading out. We get to the back of his club, and I throw it in my backup car. My primary vehicle got impounded the last time I did his business. I roll my eyes at the thought.

“Try not to get caught this time, princess.” One of my burly security guards whispered after opening my door for me. I give him a sly smile.

“No promises.” He shuts the door, and I set off to the back roads of Monaco. The CarPlay was silent as I followed the directions. There was a straight down one of the last turns, and I couldn’t resist speeding up in my Porsche. I take the final turn, drifting to my destination and turning the car off. I don’t wait for my bodyguards to show, although I should.

I step out of the low car and grab the bag. I knock on the door and flirt my way in. It’s a newer destination he’s never sent me to. The party was insane on the inside, yet my attention was averted to the VIP section. I can usually get my way in and have little to no distractions, but something in the Monaco air lately has caused hot men to appear everywhere.

“Name?” The second bouncer of the night had asked me. I look at him with ‘fuck me’ eyes and state that they call me princess, and he lets me through. I see the hot men and keep focused on the door ahead I’m meant to make it to.

“Princess!” I heard exclaimed as the door opened. I turn to look behind me and then back at the businessman in front of me, confused. “I finally get to meet you.” His husky voice was soothing and distracting.

“Tell him I want my cut,” I say, gaining my confidence back, realizing my bodyguards still haven’t made it yet. I’m alone with a mafia member. These never end well. “How do you know who I am?”

“Well, he told me so much about how pretty you were, and I’ve noticed he doesn’t lie.” The man said, grabbing the bag from my feet. He stands up straight and is face to face-with me. “Such a pretty thing you are.” He whispered.

“What even is this place?” I ask as he walks to his minions and tells them to count. He sits next to some hookers off the streets. He sips his champagne and smiles at me.

“A club princess.” A hooker gave me a look of disgust as he spat out my street name. “Is it not where you usually deliver?” His face contorted into a mocking confusion. Adding a light scoff at the comment.

“I’ve delivered to clubs before, just not this one,” I admit. My arms cross again as his minions give him the green light that everything is there. My bodyguards enter the room, and his demeanor changes. “I want my cut,” I remarked before returning to the club's central area.

The VIP area had the best-looking men, and I decided I deserved a bit of fun for the night. My bodyguards agreed to stand to the side. I find my place and dance freely among the men. I felt hands on my hips and leaned into the man. “New face.” He grumbled in my ear. I turn around and meet his icy blue eyes.

“New to the area.” I flirt. He smiles at me, and I chuckle. His shirt was partially undone, showing his toned chest. He looked like money, not that I needed much after this job, but it wouldn’t kill me.

“Care for a drink, pretty girl?” He asked. I smile, and he leads me to the bar. He ordered a mixed drink, and I watched the bartender make it for me. “So, where are you from?” He asked.

“Depends on who’s asking, pretty boy.” I mock the nickname he gave me. I laugh and take a sip of the drink he bought me. He sips his drink, and we sit at a round booth with other men and a few girls. Like a puzzle, the girls looked like they belonged to who they were paired with. Some having a faint familiarity to them.

“Who’s this Lando?” One of the men teased their friend. His name sounded familiar. Was it from a movie or something? I may have heard wrong. His arm found comfort behind my shoulders as he answered.

“I found her on the dance floor.” He responded. They introduce themselves, and I do the same. I won’t reveal my last name for fear they know my father. “What brings you to Monaco, pretty girl?”

“Business, what about you?” I say seductively to the man, who now smiles at me. The other guys look over as if I’ve touched a sore spot on the man.

“Business as well.” He hid the honest answer. An idiot could see he was lying. Not to mention, his friends all smirked, and some let out chuckles. He smiled at them as if he had gotten away with the lie.

“Mmm, try again,” I say. He looks at me confused and then back to his friends, who urge him to try again as I demand. “Not a good start, pretty boy.” I tease.

“What?” He looked to his friends as they chuckled more that he got caught in a lie. “Well, we are on business, are we not?” He tried to defend. I pat his thigh and stand up.

“No, no, he’s right.” A tanned man said across from me. He introduced himself as Carlos earlier. His Spanish accent threw me for a loop as he continued. “Sit down, and we can tell you the truth.” I examine his face, and he’s serious. I don’t usually obey demands from men I’ve just met, but his tone made me sit back down. My body guards are one signal away.

“Formula One.” A native of the area spoke as he walked up. “Princess.” He smiled at me, and I sank into the seat next to Lando. I sip my drink and get up again. “Sit.” He demanded I sit back down without hesitation.

“You know each other?” Lando asked. Charles and I grew up together. He went for the easy way out of the business, but when business calls, and your son decided to drive a fast car; daddy picks the next best thing, his son's teenage girlfriend.

“Well, what’s my nickname?” Charles asked with a smile on his face. The guys snap their heads at me, and my cheeks heat up. “She used to be my princess.”

Not really an AU considering they still race buuuttt backstory for some is a bit AU.

[belit0]

Glad you're back😊😊, how would some Uchiha clan members like Madara, Izuna, Obito, Shisui, Itachi and Sasuke deal if they were to fall in love with a member of the Uzumaki clan? She is a relative too close to Hashirama and Tobirama, general of the clan, in charge of diplomacy, strong, who keeps up with them in combat and excellent user of sealing, and too close to Tobirama or failing that too close to a member of the Nara clan.

Thank you!!

Madara

Madara would despise how it happens. He has spent years considering the Uzumaki too closely tied to the Senju, and yet here he is, enthralled. (Y/N) is infuriating; fierce, unyielding, unafraid of his presence. She wields words like a blade in diplomacy, and seals like an artist in battle, matching him strike for strike. The worst part? She stands beside Hashirama without hesitation.

–You would have made a fine Uchiha,- he tells her one evening, after their spar ends in a draw. There's something sharp in his voice, something that almost sounds like regret. But when she only smirks, eyes glinting with unspoken challenge, he knows.

He's already lost.

Izuna

Izuna doesn’t think much of her at first, just another opponent, another name to keep track of. But the more he faces her, the more he hates how she gets under his skin. She doesn't fight like an Uchiha, relying on genjutsu and calculated strikes. No, she’s wild, her movements fluid, her seals relentless. And she’s infuriatingly good at throwing his own taunts back at him.

–Do you ever shut up?- Izuna grumbles as she outmaneuvers him once again.

–Admit it,- she teases, grinning, -you like the challenge.-

He scowls, but the flush in his ears betrays him.

Obito

Obito is doomed from the start. He falls fast, completely, without any hope of recovery. (Y/N) is everything he admires; strong, unwavering, determined. But it's the way she sees him that destroys him, like he's more than just another Uchiha, more than just someone destined for war.

He watches her work tirelessly for her clan, balancing politics and battle like second nature, and all he can think is: She deserves better than this world.

–You’re staring again,- she notes one day, raising an eyebrow.

–I— Obito stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. -I like looking at you.-

She blinks, before laughing softly. -You’re an idiot, Uchiha.-

He doesn’t even mind.

Shisui

Shisui approaches her like he does all things: with charm and amusement, but beneath the teasing, he’s fascinated. (Y/N) doesn’t just keep up with him in combat; she anticipates his moves, counters with a smirk, dares him to try harder. Her mind is just as sharp as her technique, and he lives for the challenge.

–You know,- he muses, dodging one of her seals at the last second, -you’re dangerous, (Y/N).-

–Afraid?- She taunts.

–Oh my, not at all.- He grins. -I like a woman who can keep me on my toes.-

And he means it.

Itachi

Itachi doesn’t fall easily. He is careful, reserved, always weighing consequences. But (Y/N) is different. She listens when he speaks, challenges his views without dismissing them. She stands strong, not just physically, but in her convictions. And despite their clans being at odds, he finds himself drawn to her.

He notices the way she works tirelessly for her people, sacrificing sleep for negotiations, for battle strategies. He understands that weight. And before he realizes it, he starts making sure she eats, rests, that she doesn’t carry it alone.

–You don’t have to look after me, Uchiha,- she murmurs one evening.

–Perhaps not,- he replies softly, -but I want to.-

Sasuke

Sasuke doesn't want to feel anything. He has spent too long consumed by revenge, by rebuilding what was lost. But (Y/N) doesn’t let him wallow. She challenges him, pushes him, meets his anger with sharp wit and unimpressed glances. She’s annoying. And yet, he can’t stop thinking about her.

She doesn’t treat him like he’s fragile, doesn’t pity him. Instead, she expects things from him, expects him to be better, and damn it, he wants to be.

–You’re sulking again,- she remarks, sitting beside him.

–I don’t sulk,- he mutters.

–Right,- she smirks. -Just thinking very intensely while looking tragic.

He exhales, shaking his head. She’s unbelievable. And yet, somehow, he doesn’t mind.

[pupslimes]

don't let me in with no intention to keep me... part 4!

okay. listen. listen listen listen. i'm sorry. there's gonna be at least five parts i'm SORRY. but its all pure porn still so enjoy. if you're mean to me i'll cum or whatever

..........................................................................

If you’d been asked a few hours ago what you thought you’d be doing tonight, one of the last answers would have been fingering yourself open in front of the guy you’d been seeing after already cumming twice at his command too. You would have giggled and blushed at the thought, perhaps let yourself imagine it, but you never would have considered things would have turned out this way. Not in a million years.

It was, however, exactly where you were now. Charlie still lounges on the couch across from you, an arm slung over the back. His cock lays neglected, flush against his stomach, leaking the same fluid you were so interested in tasting just a little while ago. Your cheeks flush with heat, but you can’t help but look at it again, wondering what it would feel like inside you.

“Ah, ah,” Charlie chastises you gently, reaching over to press a finger beneath your jaw. He tilts your chin up until you have no choice but to look him in the eyes. “Be a good puppy, yeah? You can have my cock later if you still want it,” A whine escapes your throat, and the look in his eyes flashes predatory for just a second, until he grins at you. You’re suddenly wishing he’d sink his teeth into you. Your hips buck uncontrollably into the hand between your thighs. You remember what he said at the beginning of your… encounter. “Like if I touched you I wouldn’t be able to stop.” He’s been holding himself back still, and the realization sends a shiver through you as you press into your bent knuckles still resting on your cock

“Fuck,”

“Feel good, baby boy?” Right. He’s still watching.

You nod at him, gently rutting your overstimulated cock against the heel of your hand as your fingers unfold, slipping down to spread yourself open.. 

‘Keep going then, yeah?”

Another slow nod, and you start to circle your entrance with a single finger. You poke and prod gently, softening up the muscles that have tensed up since your earlier ministrations. As you relax, you can’t stop the moans that start slipping out. Charlie’s ears seem to perk up at them, and his hand returns to his cock, slowly slipping up and down, staving off the pressure he's undoubtedly feeling right now. How hasn’t he cum yet? He must be unbelievably pent up. The thought of him practically edging himself to watch you make yourself cum, mixing with hearing the sounds of your soaking wet pussy mingling with Charlie’s precum working its way down his shaft has your head spinning, and you can’t help yourself but to slip a finger inside. Of course, this results in even more whining, a whimper that was trapped in the back of your throat finally slipping out. “Char…”

He smiles again, that same lazy half smirk, half excited grin, and his eyes flick down to your hand. “Whatcha doin’ there, puppy?”

An indignant whine works its way out of you. His head tilts back as he chuckles, and his cock twitches under his hand. “Baby, baby, shhhhhh,” he coos at you. “Can’t I tease my boy a little? Thought you liked that,”

Your eyelashes flutter at his words, and he hums happily at the sight. “That’s what I thought. Whatever you’re doing, you should keep going,” He’s still teasing you, but now you can’t help yourself.

You nod, dazedly, sliding your finger further into yourself, until you’ve passed the second knuckle. A crook of it inside you has you shuddering, and you can hear Charlie’s hand speed up on his dick. “Hope you know I’m taking notes, puppy. Love figuring out what’s going to make you scream,”

You can barely blink at him, but a rush of heat rises to your cheeks, darkening the shade of red already upon them. The heat is almost unbearable by now. Charlie seems only somewhat affected, besides his ability to speak remaining. His cheeks are flushed too, but only lightly, and he's barely broken a sweat by now. On the other hand, you’re pretty sure you’ve sweat through the fabric of your couch and stained it forever. Worth it for him. He quirks an eyebrow at you, and you nearly have to shove a hand into your mouth as well to muffle the noises that are slipping out of you. You can’t imagine he’d take too kindly to that. Images of him muffling the sounds with his cock instead send a second finger inside you, aborted thrusts of your hips sending sticky slapping sounds through the room. Your head falls back again as your eyes close again

“Tell me how good it feels,”

The command has you stilling, flicking open your eyes at him. A sound both confused and extremely turned on is worming its way out of you as he bares his teeth in what is slowly seeming less and less like a smile, and more and more like the gaping maw of a predator that is about to swallow you whole.

“Use your words, puppy. Want to hear you tell me about how good it feels. Maybe you’ll get a reward if you do,”

Your mouth gapes open at him slightly, jaw working open and closed several times before you can find it in yourself to speak. “You want me to…what?”

Charlie cocks his head, his tone matching the condescension of his body language. “I thought it was pretty obvious. I want you to tell me how good you feel with your fingers stuffed into your cunt. I know my good boy can do that for me,” What the fuck?

“I… ah…” 

Charlie does nothing but wait expectantly, an eyebrow raising at you once more as his neck straightens back up. The hand on his cock is still working infuriatingly slow, and you can’t help but pout at it slightly, forgetting your original embarrassment briefly. Charlie snorts at you, actually snorts, and you’re immediately drawn back into your current situation. Oops.

“You seemed pretty interested when I mentioned a reward a few seconds ago. What happened to that?”

“What’s my reward?” You somehow manage to pull words out of yourself, although you’re not sure what depths they come from, your teasing tone shocking even you as Charlie’s eyes widen at it. His eyes sparkle again, smile never leaving his face as he croons at you. 

“I’ll cum all over you, pet,”

Your heart is pounding in your ears. You have never wanted anything more than for this man to work his cock above you and spill all over you. You imagine how good it would feel to be dripping in his cum… face, chest, stomach… your own cock. Another noise flies past your lips, somewhere between a startled “Oh, fuck” and a brazen moan, and you can see Charlie’s chest puff up slightly at the reaction, almost as if he wasn’t quite sure his suggestion would be taken so well.

“Yeah? Like that, puppy?”

“Yes, sir,” you choke out, the title slipping past your lips like a prayer to a merciful god.

“Oh… sir, huh? I like that one. I’m sure we can take it further than that, but for right now we can work with that. You’re such a good boy for me, you know that? Now keep talking,”

You grit your teeth with the effort of not cumming right then and there, clenching around your fingers. Of course, Charlie notices your reaction. 

“That good, huh? You like being my good boy that much?” All you can manage is a nod.

“Speak,”

Oh fuck. Yeah.. that’s going to do it for you again. You’re seeing white. You’re not sure if you’ve ever cum so hard in your fucking life at this point. You can’t hear anything except the rushing of blood in your head, and you’re sure that your eyes are screwed up tight, mouth open in a silent scream. You feel fingers grazing your thighs, Charlie’s fingers, and you press up into the touch, hips lifting completely off the couch as your breath catches in your throat. He digs them in, and you writhe at the sensation of his nails scraping your tender skin. Eventually, you come to enough to hear him working you through it, muttering above you. “Good boy, good boy, there’s my good puppy, come on honey… let go…”

You manage to squint open your eyes, the hulking form of Charlie looming over you as he now pets your face, the back of his hand running gently over your cheek. His nails pass over your skin and you shudder at the sensation, a reminder of where they just were coursing through your veins. Tears run freely down your face now, and oh that’s why Charlie’s hand is there and oh…when did you start crying?

“Felt that good, huh puppy?” You drink in the sight of him now that you can see again, gaze drifting down to where his hand is white knuckled at the base of his shaft. Is he… getting off to this? To you crying? Something stirs in your gut. Fuck.

“Look at me,” Your eyes shoot up to meet his.

“Good boy. You’re so pretty when you cry, you know that?” The grin returns again. “But don’t think that got you out of the woods. You’re still talking me through how you make yourself cum. Call it returning the favor,”

You think you’re going to pass out.

[nextstopwonderland]

(I put an abridged version of this untagged on my blog but honestly i need to give it a longer tagged write-up)

So Yuta saw this side of my sign before his match against Willie Mack at the Oakland Collision:

while he was looking at the hard cam (which is where I was front row with @sonnykissed) and yelled “he’s DEAD he’s DEAD” right at me to which I think I cursed my head off at him idk I go into automatic when it comes to Bryan and slander and also Yuta being a shit post-murder.

(Watching it back now here’s what the camera caught: here’s the tail-end of him yelling ‘DEAD’ while I point at him and wave the sign and say ‘fuck you!’ I’m pretty sure 🤣)

So I’m randomly waving the sign during the match at times while also trying to update y’all on things

He does I have till 5 which I mostly miss and then once again curse him the fuck out (while apparently Nigel on comm also calls him out for it and also for Bryan ( thanks for that info @shes-a-voodoo-child)

When I listened back Nigel said “people questioned Yuta, I questioned Yuta when Moxley forced him to do what he did to Bryan Danielson” and then “I have till 5 an oft repeated phrase from the American Dragon Bryan Danielson, again Wheeler Yuta reveling on the fact that he was the one that caused the end Bryan Danielson’s career, at least for the time being.” AT LEAST FOR THE TIME BEING. do you miss your dragon Nigel? Do you know something? Are you gonna visit him in Napa while he’s on child and chicken duty before Sacramento and plot a revolution return? (A girl can dream okay)

So then Mox comes. I try to get him to see my sign but he doesn’t. He tries to brainwash Yuta into “finishing the job” and I yell over and over “don’t do it don’t do” (at that point we didn’t know he was telling him to take out cope on weds we thought he just wanted him to take out Mack which also happened) I can definitely hear myself screaming in the clip although none of the words are clear I’m sure I’m sure I’m booing and calling him a piece of shit among other things

But then I watch him in the ring stroke that briefcase, like lovingly stroke it and I see emotion on his face, real emotion and I’m like oh shit, What’s happening here? An Actual Yuta conflicted character arc after so long with legit nothing?

And my first thought as he stroked that briefcase that way was what was inside it. And the last time he ever saw what was inside it. And who was wearing it. And who it belonged to.

And I know for sure he was thinking of it, too. In fact it was pointed out to me by @extracurriculargrief that the last time he ever even touched the belt was this moment:

Was that going through his head?

So he’s leaving the ring and I’m still kinda pissed at him for doing mox’s dirty work even while realizing he could now be Going Through It and I start screaming “THINK ABOUT IT YUTA!!” while waving the still missing Bryan Danielson part of my sign. The same part he dismissed to me earlier.

(Apparently I can be seen on camera yelling at him on the fite feed. I have not been able to find the fite feed yet.)

And he’s standing by the ring post and turns to look at me while I repeat it over and over and he is staring at me, staring at the sign, solemn and serious and I can see his eyes because he moved his hair during that whole emotional moment and he says to me “I will. I will. I will” while nodding and still clutching that briefcase to his chest, still totally and fully in character.

And I nod to him and I think I smile a small sad smile, just completely overcome, and then I collapsed into @sonnykissed because that emotionally drained me and YEAH folks

Never expected to contribute to the death riders storyline (especially when I’d all but given up on them actually continuing the Yuta part of it in terms of Bryan) but here we are

Here we are. I have no idea what will happen here:

I’m going to the sacramento show and I was already planning to bring the same sign (but to update the days) but now I’m pretty sure I’m also going to update it with words coming out of the sad dragon’s mouth. He’ll be saying “think about it Yuta.”