#maybe the thought that summer break is just around the corner gives me the will to actually push through

[sockeyesoren]

Who let the dogs out

[softaestluv]

Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem! reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt . 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Ao3

Contrary to popular belief, you weren’t completely daft when it came to cars. There were a handful of things you could do, as simple as they might be. You knew how to change a flat tire, how to change your oil, the oil filter and air filter. Even knew how to change the bulbs in your headlights— yours had gone out more than once.

Kept up with basic maintenance, topped off all fluids when necessary, rotated your tires, visited a shop when needed.

Though, the piece of shit pick-up you owned seemed to have more problems than one. Sticks on wheels, lemon of a vehicle, engine light flashing more often than not. You were quite exhausted from all the maintenance, worked too hard to keep staining your clothes in grease and ruining your manicured nails.

A pretty thing like yourself shouldn’t be doing such hard work, but you put entirely too much time into the old truck for price gauging and scamming mechanics to stereotype you— a woman, naive.

Simple.

Maybe you had been lucky when you stumbled across ‘Ghost’s Garage’ and the mechanic was anything but, even if his shop was a rundown brick building on its last leg. Old, dinky, mortar deteriorating, cracks and chips in the bricks. It was honestly a miracle it was still standing, but he worked in auto-motives after all, not construction.

Maybe you were a little biased when the mechanic seemed to walk out of a Men’s Health magazine.

Blonde hair, white t-shirt hugging his biceps, coveralls low on his hips, grease stained arms and fingertips, tattoos curled over his ridiculously tanned skin. It was almost cliche the way he approached you, dirty rag pressed to his forehead, wiping the sweat that dripped down his temples before using the same rag to clean the grease off his fingers.

“What can I do for ya?” He asked with shallow breaths, thick accent twined around each word.

You swallowed thickly, “My oil, I just need my oil changed.”

He raised his brow, gesturing to your blue truck in the service drive, “This your C10 right ‘ere?”

You nod, “That’s me.”

“Y’can sit in my office if you want, ‘ts hot out here. Shouldn’t be long.” He explained, pointing to a small room in the corner of the shop.

It was a typical mechanics office, small, a little dirty. Papers scattered across the desk and floor, plain beige walls, spare parts thrown in a corner. One frame on the edge of the desk, a picture of him and three other men, one of which he’s not really smiling in, just a slight lift to the corner of his lips.

You’re quite grateful that he let you sit in his office rather than being stuck in the summer sun; it was hot, scorching. Even the shorts and t-shirt you wore clung uncomfortably to your skin, thighs pressed tacky to the leather chair.

Despite the fact that it’s a bit too stuffy, a bit too cluttered, you don’t entirely mind. Not when it gives you a perfect view of the mechanic bent over the hood of your truck through the rooms only window.

Now you could really look at him, appreciate the absolute hulking mammoth of a man he is. Burly, brawny, sinewy, can’t even begin to think of all the adjectives to describe him.

Sweat drips down his thick neck, over broad shoulders, and around stout biceps, accentuates each dip and curve of his beefy muscles. It soaks his white shirt wet, makes it cling to his back and abdomen, displays every defined contraction of muscles.

Makes your body burn hot.

You feel like an absolute pervert, mouth salivating at the sight of a mechanic changing your oil. Maybe there was truth behind loving a man in a uniform, even if it was dirty, filthy, soiled, and half off.

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

It isn’t long, less than 10 minutes, and meanwhile you appreciate the efficiency, a part of you is a little disappointed at the loss of the show.

“All set for you.” He says once he enters the room.

You jump up, “Ah, thank you so much!”

“Nice ol’ thing, ‘aven’t worked on one of ‘em before,” He compliments, zipping up the rest of his coveralls— ‘Simon’ printed on a pocket patch.

You laugh, real low from your chest, “That’s what you think. Just wait ‘til I come back next week cause the engine light came on.”

Simon chuckles, “No worries, bring it t’me for whatever you need.”

“Depends on how much you’re charging me for today’s services,” You joke, rummaging through your bag for your wallet.

“‘ts on the house,” He responds, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his desk.

“What? No, I didn’t mean like that,” You stammer, shaking your head, “I’ll pay you.”

Simon just shrugs his shoulders, “Just be back for your next oil change.”

Your smile is wide, “I’ll see you in a couple thousand miles then.”

✦.─Masterlist ─.✦

[jaellyfishh]

The Corner Where We Met · Part 1

age: Azzi - 26 y/o, Paige - 27 y/o

trope: art teacher!azzi x PE teacher!paige (slightly inspired by Abbott Elementary)

content: fluff

dc: some grammar mistakes, i use australian english, i know little about the american school system, maybe slow updates if i’m in a slump, i’d love feedback (i’m new to writing)

word count: 5.1K

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

“Ms. Fudd, can you show me how to shade my circle?” A quaint voice from the corner table caught Azzi’s attention while she had been weaving around her classroom observing her students’ drawing.

“Of course, my love. Here”

It was like any other Monday morning for Azzi Fudd at Moore Public High, a combined middle and high school institution in Storrs, Connecticut, where she had been teaching middle school art for four years since she was just 22 years old. Being the first week off of summer break, today’s art lesson mainly focused on the theories of Light and Shadow.

The lesson plan that she had curated this academic year was no different to previous years, however she did want to focus on the foundational elements of drawing within the first month. From the outcomes throughout the trials and errors of teaching since her first year at the school, Fudd realised the pattern of her students struggling during the mid-semester mark up until their final art project. She figured allowing time for them to have a good grip of the basics would ease her students into the forthcoming lessons, making art more familiar, more friendly.

Ring, ring, ring.

Finally, lunch time, Azzi thought.

“Before you leave, don’t forget your homework for tomorrow, alright guys? Y’all drew amazing, thank you for today!” Azzi half-yelled as her students made their way through the door, a disorganised chorus of ‘Thank you, Ms. Fudd’ echoing throughout the classroom.

The young curly haired woman smiled as she watched the last student leave the class. With a small pile of her files and books balanced on one arm, she switched the room lights off before heading down the corridor to the teacher’s lounge for lunch.

A small crowd of teachers came into sight after Azzi had swung the door open. As she made a quick beeline towards the fridge, a loud shuffling of feet approached her.

“Aye, Fuddie Bun! How’s first day treatin’ ya?” A boisterous voice startled Azzi.

“Geez, KK. One day, you’re gonna give me a heart attack!” Azzi yelled-whispered at her coworker, Kamorea ‘KK’ Arnold - a childhood nickname only her closest of colleagues can call her, and by closest of colleagues she means just the one Azzi Fudd.

KK started her rookie year as their high school math teacher a year after Azzi was employed. They had become close friends early on, I mean, it was hard to avoid Arnold in general as she was ever the more extroverted and very personable in a loud way, but not that Azzi minded anyways. Despite their contrasting personalities, they found comfort in each other over the few years, ranting it out and gossiping in the break room after a long school day or winding down at each other’s places over the weekend.

“Everyone’s too serious this morning, girl. My classroom is way more entertaining than this!”

“KK, it’s Monday, whaddya expect?”

After sharing brief exchanges with their colleagues nearby, the pair took their lunch box of homemade food from the microwave and sat in the corner of the lounge.

“Hey, did you hear they hired a new PE coach? I heard she’s pretty good,” KK mumbled as she munched on her wrap.

“Oh my god, really? It’s the fourth one since I’ve been here. I bet she’ll be gone by next month. Our kids can be ruthless sometimes,” Azzi reckoned while absentmindedly picking on the lettuce of her caesar salad.

“For real! But, nah, I saw her talking to Big G-“

“Principal Auriemma,” Azzi corrected.

“To Principal Big G Auriemma,” KK ignored teasingly, “at his office. And she sounds like she stands on business! I know she’ll put our kids in place”.

“Cool… let’s bet on it,” Azzi said smoothly.

“Girl, what?”

Azzi chuckled as she shook her head. “You heard me…you know how I tell you my life seems kinda boring right now and I kinda wanna spice things up this year?” Fudd half-joked referring to a conversation they would occasionally have outside of school, “So, let’s bet on it. She’ll be gone by next month”.

“Babe, when I said I wanted you to spice up your life I meant going on dates, having one-night stands…this is seriously not your take on spicing things up, is it?” KK looked at her friend in disbelief.

“Hey, not too loud!” Azzi hissed, “You shouldn’t always take my words seriously, dude. Now, c’mon, what are we laying on the table?”

“Alright, alright,” holding back from making any further comments on a Monday afternoon, KK pondered. “Hmm, how about winner gets to pick a hideous outfit for the loser to wear on a school day?”

“Oh…hell no!”

“I knew this’d piss you off, Li’l Miss Fashionista,” KK cooed as she poked on Azzi’s arm annoyingly. “What happened to spicing things up?”

“Fine, fine! Just make sure it’s appropriate- OW!��� Azzi winced at the sudden slap on her arm.

“Defamation of my character! Of course it’ll be appropriate, what do you take me for?” KK protested.

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully before sticking her tongue out.

“Oh and Azzi, I forgot to mention,” a small grin etched on KK’s lips, “she’s totally your type”.

“I- what?”

“You’ll see it when you see it. Just…don’t flirt the way you do at the clurb” KK voice animatedly while leaning forward, staring at Azzi with mischievous intent.

The older girl scoffed while leaning back on her chair. “I flirt just fine, Kamorea. I’m a little rusty, but I still got it”.

“Right, right. She’ll be the judge of that”

“What are you talking about, honestly?“ Azzi surrendered trying to figure out her friend’s intention, but Arnold remained mysterious.

“Can I make our bet more fun, then? You can pick my school attire for a whole week if I can bet you'll end up sleeping with a faculty member before the end of next month.”

Fudd’s mouth was left agape. “Enticing, and nothing in return? The stakes are high for this one. Is it that serious for you, KK?”

“I trust in my gut,” KK mused, arms folded.

“Well, tell your gut that it’s wrong. Besides, I don’t shit where I eat, my four years being here proves it”.

“That’s ‘cause there was nobody good looking enough here for you to fuck. It’s prime time now, baby,” KK rubbed her hands menacingly, much to Azzi’s disgust.

“Bro-“

Ring, ring, ring.

Fifth period rolled in and Azzi had just pardoned herself to use the toilet halfway through her class. As soon as she swerved and bent that corner right before the end of the hall to the toilet doors, her body collided abruptly with another. Azzi almost stumbled backwards in her position before a long arm swooped just around Azzi’s waist before any accidents were to happen.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Azzi apologised before lifting her head to look at her saviour.

Tall. Slicked back blonde. Blue eyes. All black sports wear.

Fudd’s knees buckled, slightly wobbling unsteady in her position again. The grip around her waist tightened.

“Hey, you good?” The blonde breathed, half smiling as the curly haired woman in front of her chuckled whilst shaking her head in embarrassment. The unfamiliar lady took her arms off of Fudd as soon as she was able to stand upright on her own, all the while studying her movements - her curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I should’ve slowed down before turning the corner,” Azzi exhaled deeply as her brown eyes stayed hypnotised in the blue ones in front of her. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before”.

Paige chuckled this time with a slight smirk, her hand sliding the lanyard around her neck slightly towards Azzi. “Yeah, I’m the new PE teacher.”

The shorter girl’s cheeks grew warm as she quickly scanned the figure in front of her.

Yeah, KK wasn’t kidding, she thought.

“I’m Paige. Paige Bueckers,” she grinned before holding a hand out.

“I’m Azzi Fudd. I, uh, I teach art for our middle schoolers,” she smiled shyly before shaking her hand.

Paige raised her eyebrows. “The drawings on the board right at the entrance, they’re your kids’?” Azzi nodded proudly. “Well, they got a pretty darn good teacher. They’re beautiful”.

When Paige said the latter sentence while staring into the depths of Azzi’s soul, she couldn’t help but feel that was addressed to Fudd herself and not the drawings, but she immediately shook her thoughts away in denial.

“Why, thank you,” Azzi slowly blinked while flashing a charming smile. “How’re the kids treating you?”

“Well, they’re something else for sure,” Paige rubbed the back of her neck before letting out a breathy laugh. “It’s my first day, so I’m doing a trial run. They just gotta loosen up to me a li’l, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I know the kids wanna seem tough, but…they don’t know I’m the toughest one out here.”

Azzi nodded in amusement as her arms folded. She assumed Paige was going to say something more profound. “Is that so? Wow, so maybe KK was right about you”.

“Talking about me behind my back already? I can never stay away from people’s thoughts,” Paige exclaimed sarcastically, her true personality unraveling in front of Azzi, a type of confidence she’s never encountered before. Fudd was hooked, there was a certain charm to the blonde that Azzi couldn’t help but want to be trapped in.

“Please, don’t flatter yourself,” Azzi rolled her eyes playfully, “We just wanna see if you got what it takes to teach our kids at Moore. The teachers here gotta be gritty, smart…resilient”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, I already got that covered. The more important question is,” Paige took a step closer. “Do the kids have what it takes to handle me?”

Fudd’s breath hitched at the sudden proximity. She’s got crazy eye contact, Azzi thought.

“Just don’t come begging me for help when it gets to it, yeah?” Azzi was able to get back, her head tilting to the side as she gently pushed the woman back.

“Not until you hear your kids complain about me all class before you beg me to stop them,” Paige was quickly retorted.

For a moment they just stood there giggling at what they thought was the most entertaining interaction they’ve had all morning.

“You’re an interesting one, Bueckers, I’ll give you that”

“Well, they hired me for a reason, didn’t they? Seems like it’s a pattern ‘round here,” Paige hummed triumphantly as she slid her hands into her pockets while tracing her eyes over Azzi’s face. It was an electric silence that surrounded them, a tension raising hairs on their skin as they stared at each other for a moment. Then Paige realised why Azzi was there in the first place.

“Hey, you probably need to go more than I wanna stay,” Paige interjected quickly before Azzi could register what she just said. “I’m gonna head back before they start running out the doors to escape,” Bueckers gave her a knowing nod before slowly moving past her towards the hallway.

“Uh, nice meeting you, Azzi Fudd. I’d- I’d love to see you around more often,” a slight smirked etched on Paige’s face as she turned around to face Fudd again.

“We’ll see about that. Just don’t think you can one-up me every time I see you” Fudd reflected the blonde’s smirk before pushing the bathroom door open. Paige couldn’t help but let out an incredulous chuckle before jogging back to the gym.

Dammit, I hate when KK’s right, Azzi’s thought ran.

—

“So, how hot was she? Tell me!” Caroline Ducharme, Azzi’s roommate and best friend, asked too inquisitively while shaking her friend’s arm.

“Car, careful, I’m cooking here!” Azzi scolded, her hands on the wok as she stirred some fried rice.

It was dinner at the Fudd-Ducharme apartment and the pair were catching up on their daily newsfeed. Being best friends of almost 12 years now, they did everything together, even managing to tick most of the boxes off of their childhood bucket list. One of it being to live together in their dream three-story mansion. And although their current accommodation was far from it, it was with the artistic creativity of Fudd and the financial literacy of Ducharme that they were able to conjure up a budget interior design, making their cold Connecticut apartment into a cozy, earthy home.

“This is so exciting! After months of pushing potential partners away, someone finally caught your attention. Sucks that it had to be at work, though,” Caroline rambled as she leaned on the kitchen island behind Azzi.

The curly-haired girl whipped her around unamused. “She’s not a potential partner. And I’m only stating the obvious - she’s objectively pretty. Even KK agrees”.

“Yeah, well KK isn’t attracted to her, you are”

“What makes you say that?”

“Babe, I’ve known you since we were in middle school. Besides, weren’t you just geeking earlier about how she had her arms around you like she was your knight in shining armour?” The taller girl argued back.

“You’re exaggerating, I never said that. I just said it was really thoughtful of her to do that, you know?” Azzi reasoned, but Caroline wasn’t buying it.

“Whatever you say, Azzi. I don’t giggle like a school girl about kind gestures like that. I mean, it’d be worse if she was tall, blonde with blue eyes and athletic, that’s for sure,” Ducharme shook her head.

And then Azzi froze. Almost too obviously.

“BITCH, YOU’RE COOKED!”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up-“

“I’m searching her socials. What was it? Paige Bueckers? How do you spell that-“ Caroline whipped out her phone before hurriedly running to the living room not too far from where they were. But it was not like Azzi had the energy to chase her anyways.

“Caroline Ducharme, I swear to God, you need to stop-“

“Found her!” Caroline interrupted as Azzi grew silent. Not that she’d want to admit, but Fudd herself was already curious. “Damn, she is hot”.

The curly haired woman groaned before Caroline approached her once again, shoving her phone to Azzi’s side, the brightness illuminating her face.

Paige’s instagram profile was public with almost 300 followers. Her bio had a red pin emoji with just the initials ‘MN’ next to it, perhaps what the pair assumed to be her hometown, Minnesota. Her profile was half empty with only 5 posts, the most recent being the only one with her face on it taken last July over the summer which Caroline had clicked on soon after.

She was gorgeously tanned. Her skin looked moist from the sunscreen as she wore a pastel purple bikini top paired with black basketball shorts, effortlessly making the fit look good on her body. She posed with a slight manspread on a blue striped beach chair, her sparse curly waves lifting perfectly with the wind.

As Caroline swiped on the next photo, it was a selfie on that same day with Paige wearing a bucket hat this time, her blue eyes gleaming as she bit her cheeks.

“Daaammn,” Caroline gushed, turning her head to face Azzi. She noticed her friend’s eyes glued stuck on her phone, scanning every inch of the picture. “Like what you see?”

The question brought Azzi back to reality, a begrudging tsk elicited from her.

“Take your phone away before I smack you,” the shorter friend mumbled, pulling her attention back to the wok.

“Or before you start gooning-“

“What are you, sixteen?”

Caroline couldn’t help but laugh at the angry state of her best friend. “What are you so upset about? If anything, I’d let her hit immediately.”

“Car, this is getting out of hand. You and KK both,” Azzi whined before switching the gas off and removing her apron. Caroline instinctively started pulling out her homemade avocado shake out the fridge, setting it down on their dinner table while Azzi poured the fried rice onto the place Ducharme had set on the kitchen island.

“Az, you know I’m teasing. But, seriously, why are you denying that she’s really fine and totally your type?”

As the pair took their plates to the dinner table, the curly haired woman sighed before taking her seat.

“It’s not that I’m denying it, I’m being respectful. I don’t know anything about her and I just… I don’t wanna get to know anyone right now,” Azzi confessed before taking a bite of the fried rice. Ducharme hummed.

“Aha, is this…is this possibly still about Des? Hasn’t it been almost two years already?”

“I dunno, I think it is. It was a four-year relationship, Car. She meant everything to me when I first moved here. And you know how I am in relationships. Fuck, I hate being the anxious-attachment type”

“I know you’re gonna hate me every time I say this, but as your pseudo-relationship counsellor hearing you vent to me over the years about Destiny, all I can say is she was a conniving ass bitch who didn’t realise you deserved someone worthier than her. So what did she do? She grew more insecure, projected that onto you and turned you into what you became in the relationship. But, you knew that and you knew I hated that girl from the get go. But I also knew you loved her more than my voice could even reach you. And, as your best friend, of course I stayed…because I was ready to catch you when you’d eventually fall,” Caroline sermonised, her hands caressing Fudd’s.

What was brilliant about the relationship of the two was how they both gave each other such unconditional, unwavering love and understanding throughout the decade of their friendship. They matched each other in mature introspection and calm confrontations, making their bond stronger over the years.

“Oh, Car,” Azzi chuckled, “You’re gonna make my fried rice salty from the tears about to fall from my face.”

“Oh, shut up,” the taller girl rolled her eyes as she sipped on her avocado shake. “Anyways, tell me more about Paige, please?”

Azzi stared at her friend in disbelief, shaking her head before she continued. “Alright, alright. Well, she’s confident. Like, really confident. It’s like she has this big head from being so certain and egotistical about herself, but…I never felt any malice in it, at all. If I were to assume, she probably does that to get the best out of people, you know?”

Caroline’s eyebrows couldn’t raise any higher than that. “Ooo la la, sounds like she has a little crush.”

“Please, Car, I spend half my day with middle schoolers not to come home to one,” Azzi groaned.

Her best friend smiled quietly. “It’s cute. Just…don’t be afraid to let things flow as they should”.

Azzi nodded when suddenly her roommate gripped her hand tightly. “And who cares if you’re gonna shit where you eat, I’m gonna call the plumber on you all day!”

“Yeah, you’re getting evicted tonight”

—

Tuesday morning came and the usual background noise at Moore Public High seeped through the gaps of Azzi’s car as she parked it. The familiar sounds became more apparent the moment she had opened her door. The low rumble of the school bus’ engine, the jittery chatter amongst the students, the cool autumn breeze whistling by and… loud morning greetings bellowing from the steps of the school’s main entrance?

“Derrick, don’t frown like that, put some pep up in your step!”

“Senara, love your hair! Lookin’ fresh!”

“What did you pack in here, Caleb? Geez Louise!”

Fudd stood dead on her tracks as she watched the new scene of her mundane morning unfold before her. It was a little too early for the taller woman’s enthusiastic positivity for Azzi’s liking, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. She also noticed her new coworker’s outfit for the day, simple yet fitting - All white socks and nikes, grey basketball shorts with a plain white tee and an unzipped pink wind breaker; Azzi’s favourite colour.

However, it didn’t take long before Azzi realised she herself wore pink today. Low white heels, bright pink slacks and a formal white button up. Well, isn’t that convenient, she thought.

Downing on the pink tumbler with her morning coffee on one hand like a shot of tequila, she braced herself, approaching the blonde who was busy ruffling the hairs of one of Azzi’s students.

“Not too much on Adrian’s hair, his dad works hard on it every morning,” the soft tone of a familiar voice caught Paige’s attention.

“You tell ‘em, Ms. Fudd!” The younger boy yelled before scurrying off into the building.

With raised eyebrows and a closed smile, Bueckers had her hands folded as she looked down at the younger woman who stood one step below her. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ms. Fudd.”

“Hey, you greeted all the kids with something, don’t be boring now,” The curly haired colleague teased, her dimples peeking out as she looked up at Paige through her lashes.

“Hmmm,” The taller woman looked Azzi up and down, scanning her meticulously causing the younger woman to stagger faintly in her steps, a warmth growing on her cheeks.

“Was the pink intentional?” Paige smirked, leaning her head down. Azzi scoffed.

“I’ll have you know that pink is my favourite colour, so no”

“Noted,” Paige chuckled. “You look good in pink, Ms. Fudd”

The comment caught Azzi way off guard before she started coughing. Is this woman doing the triangle method on me right now? She questioned internally. The shorter lady knew all too well of Flirting 101 as she was a mere student of it herself. Of course, it doesn’t always pan out on a couple weekend nights at the queer club with KK and Caroline. But if not as the giver but as the recipient, she can tell if someone was trying techniques on her.

“Don’t try to think you’re getting on my good side today, Ms. Bueckers,” Azzi took one more step up, the pair now at eye level. “You don’t look too bad yourself…” Azzi spoke with a hushed tone, her eyes trailing down as she played with the hem of Paige’s pink wind breaker. “But this would look much better on me”.

She slowly lifted her eyes back to face Paige, who was now rendered speechless, her jaw tightly clenched trying to stifle a reaction in front of the kids. With a final smile, the curly haired woman walked right past her taller counterpart before who knows what could’ve escalated. Bueckers could only scoff before clearing her throat to resume her new morning routine.

Morning assembly at the gym was just the same as per usual, except for a few announcements including the introduction of Moore’s newest PE teacher, the theme for their winter recital and a reminder of the upcoming high school basketball try outs.

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd, I saw that,” Arnold tapped on the older colleague as they made their way down the crowded hall to their respective classrooms.

“Saw what?” Fudd asked innocently.

“You flirting with the new PE teacher this morning. Now that was steamy,” KK pressed her 18+ jokes.

“Quit it, Arnold. Must you always make things sound like…that,” Azzi exasperated.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, though. I see you wanna sabotage the bet bad”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you and I were just making jokes to pass time”

“Maybe. But, admit it, she does kinda look good today, don’t you think?” KK’s persistence would make anyone go mad.

“You want her instead, KK? Seems like it,” Azzi had reached her classroom door.

KK continued frolicking down the hall. “I’m good. I don’t wanna deal with the wrath of a jealous Fudd”

Azzi grunted loudly before entering her classroom with a smile.

—

The blaring sound of the final school bell rang across the building as the clock had struck 3pm. Azzi was just finishing up on grading the last student’s assignment at the teacher’s lounge before neatly shoving her files and papers into her bag.

She walked down the hallway, the building already emptying out, when she couldn’t help but notice a familiar tall figure making their way towards the hallway that turned left towards the gym. With curiosity, the curly haired woman’s actions moved quicker than her mind could think. And soon her legs took her to follow from behind at a distance.

What am I doing? She asked herself.

Right at the gymnasium door, Fudd peeked her head to see where the figure went when she was met with nothing but the vast emptiness of the spacious gym, except for the hideous amounts of balls, hula hoops, and multicoloured cones scattered across the venue.

With unknowing disappointment, Azzi was ready to turn back to the exit when a loud voice erupted from behind.

“Boo!”

“FUCK!”

Once again, Azzi had lost her footing before her legs gave way, not until a familiar arm wrapped graciously around her waist to stop her from falling backwards.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you draw these typa actions on purpose,” Paige laughed breathlessly before helping Azzi regain her balance.

A tinge of red spread throughout Azzi’s face as she dusted herself off. “Y-you shouldn’t scare people like that”.

“Well, I don’t condone stalking,” The blonde grinned as she stared accusingly at the nervous woman in front of her.

“W-who said anything about stalking? What if I happen to coincidentally walk in the same direction as you?”

Paige placed her hands on her hips. “To a dead end? Unless you came here to help me clean up, I don’t see any reason for you to walk all the way down here after school”.

The shorter girl in front of her lowered her head as it filled with a mixture of guilt, embarrassment, and regret. Her fingers started to fiddle with the strap of her brown leather bag slung on her shoulder as she tried to find her words.

Paige stood patiently, scanning her body language before smiling in empathy.

“You alright to help me put those things away? That is, if you still got some energy left in you,” Paige leaned slightly down to catch Azzi’s attention. The curly brunette hesitantly lifted her head up, the blue eyes in front of her piercing as she bit her inner cheeks.

As soon as she nodded, Paige exhaled in relief before reaching towards Azzi’s shoulder where her bag hung. In an instant, the blonde swung Azzi’s bag on her own shoulders as she lead the way into the gymnasium.

A couple minutes have gone by in awkward silence as the pair weaved around the gym collecting every trace of equipment Paige happened to conveniently use towards the end of the day. Regardless, she was quick with it, putting twice the amount away compared to Fudd. In Azzi’s defence, it wouldn’t be as tiring had she not worn low heels and tight slacks.

“Alright, I need to count this as an extracurricular,” Azzi finally blurted as she began to feel sweat forming.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh as she continued to run around in circles around her. She heard the younger woman mutter an ‘I’m tapping out’ before walking towards the low stage and propping herself to sit on the edge, her feet dangling while she caught her breath.

She only watched Paige dance around for several seconds before the gym had cleared of any mess.

“Took you long enough,” Azzi joked sarcastically as Bueckers approached her, slightly panting.

“Yeah, well, my helper tapped out before we even got to the fun part, so I was left to fend for myself,” she retorted before plopping herself right next to Azzi who chuckled. It was a comforting silence for a moment before Paige turned her head to face Azzi.

“So, you’re still not gonna tell me why you came all the way down here?” the corners of Paige’s lips slightly tugging as she takes in the woman sitting next to her.

Azzi sighed with her eyes closed. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Depends on who I wanna get to know”

The wheels in Azzi’s head turned. Who cares if you’re gonna shit where you eat? Caroline’s voice rang through her head. But the curly brunette was fighting against it, her indecisive brain simultaneously computing a pros and cons list in a matter of milliseconds in her head.

“Then ask me something else,” Azzi slightly croaked, internally relieved at her deflection.

“You’re hard to please”

“Because you’re not asking the right questions”

Their quaint back-and-forth intrigued the blonde, her jaw shifting as she leaned back on her arms.

“Alright, Ms. Fudd. I’m intrigued. What’s your story? How do you endure years of cold ass Storrs, Connecticut?

“I wish I could tell you, but my hometown’s Virginia. We get chilly, but not Storrs chilly,” Azzi grinned, “Actually, I wanted live away from my parents. I moved out four years ago. We’re good, it’s just…I…well…there was someone…at the time”.

Azzi couldn’t lie her way out of this and now she wished she’d just answered Paige’s first question, her decision-making this time taking a dive as she opened Pandora’s box.

Paige’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, so you were in love?”

“Oh, woah, I wouldn’t say “in love”, just…teenage infatuation, I guess”

The blonde grew more curious. “Hmm, you said ‘at the time’? Not everything panned out the way you wanted, I’m assuming?”

Azzi chuckled. “Yeah, no. It wasn’t a pretty four years. But, I didn’t wanna back down. I loved art and teaching more and my best friend, Caroline, she helped me pick up the pieces. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t…resilient”.

“You say that word a lot, ‘resilient’. It’s nice,” Paige gave a tender smile.

“Thanks, I just needed a reminder, you know?”

The tension that once filled the air around them vanished as the pair slowly eased into each other’s comfort.

Azzi furrowed her brows lightheartedly. “Okay, now I’m curious”.

“Hmm?”

“Any reason you’ve invited yourself over to Connecticut?”

Paige smirked. “How’d you know I’m not from here itself?”

Azzi was taken aback. “I- well- A woman can assume-“

“An assumption could’ve started with a ‘You don’t look like you’re from here’ or a ‘Ever thought about leaving Connecticut?’. Ms. Fudd, the sheer confidence in your question can only make me assume you’ve been stalking me even outside of school premises. Perhaps, online?” Paige’s eyebrows raised, the grin on her face growing more obnoxious as the girl in front of her started becoming a flustered mess.

“I- you’re absolutely w-wrong about that,” Again, Azzi couldn’t tell a lie to save her life.

“Am I?” The blonde leaned forward from her position, her face relatively close, much to Azzi’s liking.

Before the curly brunette could get a word out, the blonde hopped down from the stage. “I’m gonna head out before the janitor complains. Thanks for the help, by the way, Ms. Fudd. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The playful grin remained on her face before she was out of Azzi’s sight, leaving the poor woman paralysed in shock.

I could just end everything right here, actually, Azzi catastrophised before carefully getting down from the stage.

[andy-15-07]

How about some joel x reader where reader has insomnia ? Like what would joel do?

Insomnia

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1007| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You lie awake again, staring at the cracked ceiling boards above your bed. Jackson is quiet at this houronly the low hum of generators and the distant bark of Amos’s dog breaking the calm. You shift under the thin blanket, mind racing with ghosts: past survivors, every narrow escape, and the constant weight of the world you live in now. Sleep feels impossible.

A soft scrape at your door makes you sit up. Joel appears in the doorway, his broad frame backlit by the hallway lamp. He’s carrying two steaming mugs.

“Can’t sleep,” you admit before he even speaks.

He nods, setting one mug on the bedside table. “Figured as much.” He clambers up onto the bed and settles against the headboard, tugging the blanket around his shoulders. “Chamomile tea. Not my favorite, but it’ll calm your nerves.”

You take the mug, hands wrapped around its warmth. “You didn’t have to”

“Don’t start that,” he interrupts, voice soft but firm. “Been where you are. Hell of a way to spend the night.” He glances at your restless fingers drumming the blanket. “Talk to me.”

You sip slowly, letting the warmth spread through you. “I hate lying here, wide awake. Feels like every bad memory’s got front-row seats.”

Joel breathes out, staring at the swirling steam. “You ever think this world’s gonna cut us some slack? Give us nights off?” He chuckles, bitter and low. “Me neither.”

You frown. “I’m sorry. For… dragging you into my mess.”

He shifts, tucking an arm behind you. “You’re not a mess. You’re just” He hesitates, sighs. “You’re dealing with shit no one should. But you’re not alone.”

His hand finds yours. His thumb grazes your knuckles in slow, steady circles. “What’s keepin’ you up tonight? The nightmares again?”

You swallow. “Yeah. Them. I can almost hear the clickers… feel the walls closing in.” You pull your knees up. “Then I wake up here and… it’s safe. Most times. But my mind doesn’t know that.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. He sinks lower, drawing you against his chest. “Let’s do something different.” He pats the bed beside him. “Come on.”

Curious, you follow him into the cramped living room. The lamp’s glow throws long shadows across the chipped wood floor. Joel crosses to the old record player in the corner. He flips through a stack of dusty vinyl, choosing one with a cracked label. He places the needle gently, and the scratchy opening chords of an old folk song drift through the air.

You sink onto the threadbare couch; Joel squats in front of you, balancing the tea. “Music helps sometimes,” he says. “Takes your mind off… other things.”

You settle back, sipping the tea. “What is this?”

“Old world folksomething about moonlight and trouble, fits the mood.” He sits next to you, one arm slung over the couch back. “You want to talk while we listen? Or…I don’t know, just... be quiet.”

The melody is soft, mournful. You close your eyes, letting each note push away a bit of the ache. “Tell me a story,” you say. “Not about the outbreak. Something before all this.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You trust my memory that far back?”

You nudge him. “Try me.”

Joel takes a breath. “Alright. When I was a kid, my old man… he was a handyman. Kept this old guitar in the garagenever played it proper, just strummed around. One summer, I sneaked out at dawn, grabbed that guitar, and wandered over to this creek outside town. Spent hours just playing stupid chords.” He smiles, distant. “Thought I was gonna be some big country star.” He laughs softly. “Didn’t know a damn thing about music.”

You grin. “Bet you sounded awful.”

He shrugs, mock offended. “Maybe. But it was peaceful. No fireflies, no clickers, no hunters chasing us. Just me and that damn creek.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “That sounds… nice.”

Joel’s gaze flicks to you. “You ever tried playing something? Even just air guitar?”

You laugh. “My rhythm’s worse than yours probably.”

He pushes to his feet. “Come on.” Before you can protest, he’s dragging you up. “Stand up, knucklehead.”

Breathless, you follow him to the little bookshelf. He pulls out a battered acoustic guitar. The strings are rusty, but the body still holds its shape.

“Now you,” he insists, shoving the guitar into your hands. “Hold it like this.” His fingers wrap around yours, guiding them to the frets. “Press down here… strum here.” He strums a simple chord; it rings, a bit dull but full of promise.

You try, hitting a sour note. Joel winces theatrically. “Okay, not bad. Needs work though.”

You smack his shoulder. “Hey”

He grins, setting your fingers on a second chord. “C major. Simple. Now together.” He strums again, and you follow. Two clumsy chords, but they echo softly in the room.

You laugh, the sound lighter than you’ve felt in days. “I actually did it.”

Joel steps closer, brushing a stray hair from your face. “See? You just needed a distraction.” He sweeps you into a hug, guitar forgotten. “And you know I’ll always be here to… teach you.”

You rest your head against his chest. “Promise you’ll stay?”

He kisses the top of your head. “Always.” His voice is low, fierce. “Nothing’s getting you tonight.”

Silence falls, the only sound your tangled breath and the fading tail of the record. Joel’s arms are a fortress, and for the first time in weeks, you feel its walls hold fast.

Minutes drift into hours. You don’t notice when the tea runs cold or the record skips back to the beginning. You don’t care. All that matters is the warmth against your skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and the truth that in Jacksonafter everythingyou have someone to fight the darkness with.

When sleep finally finds you, it’s deep, untroubled, and Joel is right there beside youguitar at his feet, record spinning, and a promise wrapped around your soul: no matter the nightmares, you’ll never face them alone.

[headkiss]

hello! a summer request for my sweet hotch, maybe him taking care of reader's allergies or a cute picnic date (jack included)

hope you have a lovely day sweetheart 🩷

hiii tysm for your request!! hope you’re having a lovely day too angel 🫶 so sorry it’s not summer anymore but hopefully you still enjoy! | 0.8k words of fluff!!

Aaron is not known to take many days off, but summer seems to get him out of the office more than any other season. Even more so ever since he met you.

More again as soon as he introduced you to Jack, to the most important person in his life. Jack liked you immediately, and he never stops asking when he’ll see you next. Though there’s a void left behind by Haley that will never quite be filled, you all know it, but your presence in both of the Hotchner’s lives has brightened them in ways Aaron doesn’t think you could understand.

It’s why, today, he’s taken the day off on purpose. He’d even gone as far as to tell the team not to call him unless absolutely necessary. He trusts them, and they bug him to take breaks more than anyone, anyways.

There’s a classic red and white gingham blanket spread beneath you on the grass, the sun bright in the sky and saturating the park around you.

Aaron’s barely unpacked the snacks before Jack is jumping up and asking his dad for permission to go play.

“Only where I can see you,” Hotch says, “okay, buddy?”

“I know, dad!” Jack’s already running off before you can even tell him to have fun.

Aaron watches his son go, squinting in the sun, keeping an eye on Jack until he’s made it to a small group of other kids by the slide before turning back to you.

You’re scrunching your nose and rubbing at your eyes when he does, and Aaron frowns a little when you sniffle.

Always far too observant, he tilts his head at you and asks, “You okay, honey?”

You nod, because you really are.

You’ve had allergies for most of your life, you think, so it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just annoying. You’d woken up and could already tell it was a bad day for them, less air passing through your nose, your eyes itchy.

But days like these—the ones with Aaron and Jack and beautiful weather and nobody working—are rare, and you’d never be caught giving up time with your people just because of some allergies.

“I’m fine, just my allergies.” You smile at him and grab a nacho from the spread, dipping it into the layered salsa from the grocery store and popping it into your mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were acting up?” Hotch asks, thumb wiping a bit of salsa from the corner of your mouth gently without a thought. Sweet and subconscious.

“Because you would’ve made me stay in bed and bring me soup like it was the flu,” you say, knee bumping his. “I’m out of meds, but I didn’t wanna miss this. Jack was so excited and I was, too. I love being with you guys.”

And fuck, Aaron’s heart squeezes in his chest at the way you speak so fondly about him and Jack, like they’re your own family. At how you’re willing to be uncomfortable just to keep plans intact.

He trails a knuckle down your bare arm, all the way down until he catches your hand and gives it a squeeze. “We don’t have to stay long.”

“I know,” you scoot closer and drop your head against his shoulder.

It’s only twenty minutes later, and after many sneezes (and ‘bless you’s from Aaron), he’s packing up the picnic and not letting you argue it. Your eyes are reddened and watery, and he can hear how stuffy your nose is by your voice, and he doesn’t want you to feel worse.

And maybe he likes the idea of getting to take care of you over something small like this. How domestic it is.

“Alright, let’s go home, yeah?” Aaron pats your thigh softly. “I know you wanted to tough it out, but i can tell it’s bugging you. There’s a pharmacy down the street, we’ll stop for meds.”

There’s no sense fighting him when your allergies are bugging you, when he’s so stubborn with his plans, with how kind the tone of his voice is.

“Okay. Maybe we can watch a movie when we get back? Jack can pick since we’re making him leave early.”

“You sure?” Aaron raises his eyebrows. “He’s gonna make us watch Big Hero 6 for the hundredth time, you know?”

“I know that you secretly love that movie.”

“That wore off at the tenth watch, honey.”

You laugh, then sneeze, and Aaron shakes his head at you fondly before calling Jack back over and promising to buy him a candy bar at the pharmacy for cutting his game short.

The candy bar is long gone by the time you’re all settled on the Hotchner’s couch to watch Big Hero 6 again, and you and Aaron share a secret smile when Jack announces it as his pick.

[bratbarzal]

hey maggie😈 I know this is for exes to lovers but any spin of this for tsou/lih luke: “you really thought i wouldn’t remember what you like? please, give me a little credit.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

“you really thought i wouldn’t remember what you like? please, give me a little credit.” with our boy!!!! LIH/TSOU!LUKE!!! this probably fits in the timeline of tsou part two - and I feel like the vibes of this are gift giving, but because there's technically two gift giving scenes coming up, I did something a little different/cute for this!! again I switched up the phrasing of it a little to match their vibe but I hope you like it Hannah ily!!

Luke: hungry?

You: starving

Luke: I'll pick you up

Hanging out with Luke has all of a sudden become as easy as that - throwing on an old hoodie and running out to his car when it drives by your sorority, never thinking you'd be so grateful that he chose to spend his break back in Michigan instead of taking an actual, much needed, vacation.

You'd chirped him at first, calling him crazy for picking this place over somewhere sunny and warm, but as he drives over to the mall, your passenger seat heated so that you're all cozy, and the all too familiar scenery blurring through your window, you're grateful he has such an attachment to the area.

Especially after the week you've had - you just need a moment to be away from everything and everyone.

"I'm gonna run in, do you want me to leave the heat on?" he asks as he unbuckles his belt, twisting over to you as he grabs his wallet from the tray below the console.

You nod, a shy smile offered in return of the one he gives to you.

"I'll be 10 minutes, max, I'm gonna leave my keys, lock the door behind me," he tells you, flicking at your nose affectionately as he adds, "No joyrides."

You roll your eyes and swat at his hand before watching him retreat - watching all the way until he disappears into the mall, glancing back at you as he turns the final corner, and busying yourself with your phone until he taps on your window maybe ten minutes later, scaring the living crap out of you.

"Jesus," you huff, reaching over to unlock the doors, opening the one on your side so you can take the bag precariously hung over his fingertips while he balances a drinks holder in his hand. You check in the bag as he rounds the front of the car, noticing a few different things from different places, smiling to yourself as you realise he's picked up your favourite things.

You wonder if he has developed a sixth sense for when you're a little down, or a little quieter than usual, or if this is just what he does, regardless. Texts you out of the blue, picks you up from your house, drives you across town to the mall with the food court and hops around until he has everything to make you happy again.

Either way, you're grateful.

Luke shuffles into his seat before he puts the drinks down in the middle of the two of you, and you glance down. Two large diet cokes and something little lodged between them.

"You got me a milkshake too?" You gasp, taking the smaller cup from his hold and looking inside.

"Yeah, 'cause you like to dip your fries like a freak."

"You remembered?" You pull out said fries, grabbing one to eat as you watch him shudder dramatically.

"Stuff like that is pretty hard to forget," he steals one of your fries and throws it into his mouth. "I got your order perfect, give me a little credit, here," he adds around it, eyes meeting yours as you smile over at him.

It's been a while since you've done this - sat in the front seat of his car, a tray of food between the two of you and no other plans. It used to be your thing sometimes, when he'd pick you up from the club in the summer, taking a detour to a drive thru and eating junk food, just the two of you, away from the judgement of his more-regimented older brothers. It helped when you got back to the house, and the rest of the guys had worked through most of whatever Quinn might have cooked up, and you were left with scraps.

You still wonder how none of them ever clocked onto how you and Luke were both miraculously not that hungry at the same time - Luke especially, who pretty much eats his family out of house and home on any given day of the week. But maybe you pay more attention to him than most people.

When you think back on it, compared to how the two of you have been over the last few months - you realise how surface-level your relationship might have been back then. Yeah, you told Luke more than you told most people about yourself - about your family, your life, your job, or whatever - but it was nothing compared to how things have been since the two of you seriously became friends.

The two of you talk every day - about school, about hockey, about how you're feeling, about how he's coping - and it feels a lot more even, this time, like there's a balance there.

The thought brings a soft smile to your face as you reach into the bag and pull out your sub, a wave of appreciation washing over you at all the effort he put into getting all the things you like.

"The boy did good," you tell him, meeting his eye again to give him an assured grin as you unwrapped your sandwich, "Are we going halves?"

"Of course we're going halves," he playfully rolls his eyes, taking the half that you offer him and switching half of his sub back over - part chicken caesar and part turkey and ham. "It doesn't taste right when I get it on my own, anymore."

"I know," you laugh, holding it out for him to cheers before you can start eating. "I don't think I've had one since the last time we got it together." You take a bite of yours, covering your mouth as you chew and notice him watching you, amusement flashing in his eyes, a similar smile to your own stretching at his lips before he takes his own bite, humming and nodding in approval at the taste.

"'S'good," he mumbles around his mouthful, and you snort around your own, reaching for your coke to wash it down.

"It's the best," you correct him, fighting the temptation to reach out and swipe your thumb against the corner of his lip, wiping away the smudge of sauce left behind.

[rottenorchids]

Some Ronin with ghost seeing reader monarch !! maybe angst with like Ther's ghost possessing the reader or like reader being able to see Ther following behind Ronin !!

Old love dies hard Ronin x medium!reader + posession :3 hope you enjoy !!

The summer heat was getting to you, you woke up drenched in sweat from another nightmare, shaking awake as you opened your eyes. You thought you were still sleeping when you saw a figure dash from the corner of your eye to the door of your room. Your breathing was still laboured as you sat up, peeling the arm of your boyfriend off of your waist as you got up.

You needed to drink something, the thirst was unbearable. The heat was unbearable. You got out of bed, giving Ronin a peck on his cheek before leaving the room. You stumbled into the kitchen, flicking the light on and having it flicker a couple of times before it lit up the room properly. You grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with some cold water, chugging it in one go before grabbing a second one. You glanced at the clock, it was just past midnight.

“Psst,” You rolled your eyes as you thought it was Ronin trying to scare you. You didn’t look at the direction you heard it from, not trying to give him the satisfaction of scaring you before you heard it again, closer this time. You jerked back and looked around the direction you heard it from before sighing. You looked back at your glass of water, seeing something behind you in the reflection before turning around and dropping the glass on the floor.

You screamed as the glass shattered. There was someone in your kitchen. You could hear Ronin’s hurried steps as he approached the kitchen with a butterfly knife in hand. You kept on staring at them, not saying anything, just staring. They were mouthing something, but no sound came out of their mouth.

“It’s a ghost,” You said as you looked at Ronin. “Did you bring one of your memorabilia to my place, Ronin? I told you not to do that since last time!” You scolded him.

“What do they look like?” He asked, putting the knife away as he rubbed his eyes. “Is it some lanky priest? If it is, some of his flesh might’ve gotten stuck somewhere.”

“No it’s not a priest,” You said as you looked back at the ghost. “Long red hair, feminine build, flowy clothes… I don’t think this is someone you killed, Ronin.” You looked back at him, and this time it looked like he had seen a ghost. “Ronin?” You called for him, his face pale and his eyes wide as he stared at you.

“Ther?” He asked, and you looked back at the ghost as they nodded. You know of Ther, he never spoke much of them but you knew that they were special to him. He mentioned that they’d passed and how, but that was only when he was drunk once and reminiscing about the past.

“They’re confirming.” You said. “Ronin, remember that offer that I made to you when we first started dating?” You asked, and he nodded slightly. “How do you feel about doing a séance?” He nodded again, very subtly. As if he didn’t fully want to do it, but he had questions he wanted answers to, too.

You set your living room ready for the séance, sitting on the floor together by the coffee table, facing each other, holding each other’s hands. “You break the connection once you let go of my hands, okay Ro? I’ll still be close by, but once I give them the connection they are stronger than me in my own body, so if it becomes dangerous, you let go of me.”

You went through all the steps you usually go through, the rules of the afterlife, everything he had to know. He nodded, showing you that he understood everything.

You took a deep breath and squeezed his hands lightly.  “I’ll miss you, darlin’.” You smiled at him, making sure to show no fear when, when in reality, you were always terrified of doing sessions like this. But if he knew that, if he knew all the risks and strings attached to something like this, he might not have allowed himself this. You figured that you’d done this so many times, everything that could have gone wrong already has.

“Ther, I’m opening the door now,” You calmed your breath and closed your eyes, visualising the space to your body as a room and opening the door for Ther to come in. “You can come in, I’m giving you permission.” The feeling of a spirit taking over your body had no words, indescribable euphoria along with a type of rest and detachment of a body, it felt like you were floating.

Your hands twitched as Ther stepped into your body, but the presence of Ther was something other than just a simple ghost, but it was too late. Locked out of your body, you had no way of telling Ronin to stop it.

“Ro.” Your voice sounded like two people, their voice doubled over yours. You saw it shock him for a little. Your hands rubbed the back of his.

“Ther?” He asked, quietly. As if he couldn’t believe it, but truly why would he? He was never one to believe in things such as ghosts. Ther nodded, using your body as their own. “Is it really you?” He sounded like he was tearing up, like he was about to cry.

“Don’t be lame, Ro,” Their tone was playful, as if teasing him, and he chuckled back. “You really think that you got rid of me?” They asked, squeezing his hands again. This didn’t feel right, you couldn’t control any part of your body, like they had you wrapped in some sort of cloth, binding you in a way where you couldn’t touch any part of your brain to control even the smallest of muscles.

He looked at your hands, your face, you as a whole, and his face changed for a split second. “Why are you here, Ther?” He asked, and you noticed a little bit of caution in his voice. They smiled at him, their smile on your face, he didn’t know what to think about it, it was visible on his face.

They held Ronin’s hands tightly, intertwining your fingers with his as they put their elbows on the table. “I missed you.” They said simply. “Do you know what today is, Ro? Did you forget?” Their voice sounded less and less like yours.

“I know what today is,” He said, you could see him trying to free his fingers from their grip but it was useless. “Of course I know, it’s the day you…” He trailed off, not wanting to say it, and Ther’s smile widened when they saw regret paint his face.

“You can make it right, you know,” They said, “I can come back, in this body, the body of the one you love now.” You could see Ronin’s adam’s apple bob as he looked at your hands again. “We can be together, but this time we’ll be here, free.”

“No.” He said, his voice stern and cold. “Ther wouldn’t ask this of me, they’d be happy for me.”

Ther lunged for him, draping themself over the table and holding his face, his hands cupped between his own face and your hands. “It’s your fault, Ro. Make it right, kill the bitch that stole you from me and bring me back.” Ronin’s breath sped up. “You and I belong together, can’t you see?”

“You’re not Ther.” He said, and Ther just laughed. “Let go of my hands.”

“The devil has a special place for you, Ro,” Their voice sounded different, like it was accompanied with a low growl.  “I’m going to drag your bitch with you in there.”  Ronin pushed them off, worming their fingers out of their grip and breaking the circle.

You got pulled into your body, falling backwards into the couch. Disorientated and maybe a little freaked out, you called out to Ronin. Your breath was sped up, and you looked at your own hands, squeezing them into a fist just to make sure you were in control again.

He crawled over to you, making sure you were okay, holding you in his arms and squeezing you. “I’m sorry, darlin’.” He said, rubbing your back as he was holding you. “I shouldn’t have asked this of you.” He mumbled, burying his face into your neck as he held you. You reassured him that it was fine, hat you weren’t hurt and that they weren’t here anymore.

“Their soul must’ve gotten corrupted,” You tried to explain, “I should have noticed it before we did the séance, I’m sorry Ronin, I messed it up I—,” Ronin cupped your face, shutting you up.

“It’s okay, you tried to do it for me,” He stroked your cheek lightly, “You didn’t do anything wrong, darlin’.” He reassured you, and you nodded before starting to sniffle.

“I was so scared, Ronin. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to come back,” You said, in between half-sobs, trying to force yourself to stop the crying. He wiped your tears as they fell, reassuring you that you didn’t do anything wrong.

When you’d finally calmed down, you decided to watch a movie to calm down and unwind, something light hearted the two of you could make fun of as you watched it. As you were dozing off, your head on his shoulder and his arm over yours.

“Goodnight, Ro.” You mumbled before falling asleep.

kind of rushed at the end but i still hope you enjoy !!

[percyluvr]

hi! can i request child of apollo reader with a cold/is sick x percy jackson who takes care of her lovingly even though theyre just friends? kind of like that lyric in apple cider "even if we're just friends, we could be more than that." thank u hehe!!

percy jackson x reader summary: you get the flu and percy takes care of you wc: 613

You told yourself that you would not, no, could not get sick. The number of campers coming into the infirmary was increasing daily, and you weren't sure why. It happened every year around the beginning of summer. Probably due to the influx of new campers, you thought.

But of course, whenever you promise yourself something, the exact opposite happens, and now, here you were in the Apollo cabin with your best friend, Percy, taking care of you.

When you had first gotten sick, you thought it was just some common cold, and thought it would be a little weird to have gotten a cold during the beginning of summer, you figured it was just due to the changing of the weather and you would be fine within a couple of days, but of course with your luck you had gotten one of the worst cases of the flu that any of your siblings in the Apollo cabin had ever seen.

You'd begged Percy to not try to take care of you, since he'd most likely get sick too, and it would be worse than you, since he wasn't an Apollo kid, but of course he wouldn't listen, insisting that he needed to take care of his poor best friend who was suffering so deeply, his words not yours. You begrudgingly accepted his help, because honestly, who can resist Percy Jackson when he's giving you puppy eyes? Not you, apparently.

"You wanna know what I think?" Percy says, breaking the small moment of silent before you inevitably cough up a lung again.

"Not really."

"Too bad. I think that you're sick because you overwork yourself all the time."

"I said I didn't want to know what you think."

"And I said too bad. Seriously, you need to stop overworking yourself, or you're going to keep getting sick like this. It's like, scientifically proven or something."

"Okay, whatever. You're not a doctor, I am. I think I know what's good for me."

"You think. Emphasis on think."

You roll your eyes, and Percy goes back to laying his head on your shoulder, which you had told him numerous times not to do.

"Percy, seriously. Stop getting your face so close to mine, you're going to get sick."

"I don't care. I want to be near you, and maybe my charm and good looks can help you feel better."

"Not how that works, but sure, if you say so."

"I do say so."

You roll your eyes for what feels like the six hundredth time, and put your arm around his shoulder.

When you begin to cough again, Percy jolts up and runs over to the cabin in the corner, getting out a large bag of cough drops. He picks your favorite flavor out, and grabs your water bottle. He then hands both of them to you.

"Hey, I kinda like you being sick." You raise an eyebrow. "Okay, stop. That's not what I mean. I just mean that I can finally be your personal nurse, and not the other way around. 'Cause you're always healing me, but I've never been able to help you back, and now I feel like I can."

"Aw, Percy, that's actually really sweet. I'm glad my suffering is making you happy."

He rolls his eyes in response and sits back down on the bed next to you.

"I know I'm sweet. I'm also going to ignore the other thing you said," he says, putting his arms around you and bringing you to lay your head down on his chest.

It doesn't take long before you're deeply sleeping and using his chest as a pillow while he gently strokes your hair.

[moonstruckme]

I've never requested before so I'm quite nervous but may I request something with a reader thats like usually very chatty when coming home from work but maybe someone at their job said something rude or they just feel to tired to talk? preferably with poly!marauders but i dont mind any characters, i love your writing and i hope you have a wonderful day :] no pressure to write this ofc

Thank you for requesting lovely and hope you have a wonderful day as well! <3

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 677 words

Eddie’s van is idling at the curb when your shift ends. He grins as you get in, swapping his cherry coke to the hand already holding his cigarette to wrap the one closest to you around your thigh. It’s a favored spot. You’re always thinking you ought to trace an outline of his fingers and get it tattooed with “Eddie’s place” inside as a lark, but he’d definitely enjoy it way too much. 

“Hey there,” he drawls, voice saccharine sweet and expectant as he leans across the console toward you. You peck him on the lips. 

“Hi,” you say back. “You taste like cherries.” 

His grin is crooked, goofy in that unabashedly lovesick way that makes your heart stutter. He holds up his cherry coke like he’s making a toast. “T’was the point. You want a sip?” 

“Yes, please.” You take it from him, letting the cool fizziness wash over your sandpaper tongue. You’ve been craving a drink since halfway through your shift, when you’re fairly sure you’d willed all the water out of your body so you wouldn’t cry in the break room. Poor forethought. 

The syrupy sweetness is comforting, familiar like Eddie and summer days and the lake. It makes you feel a bit more normal. You have to stop yourself from gulping it all down, dropping it in the cup coaster as Eddie stubs out his cigarette and puts the van into gear. 

It takes until the first stoplight for you to realize he’s not headed towards home. “Where’re we going?” you ask. 

“To the arcade. We’re meeting Dustin and them there, remember?” 

“Oh. Right.” You’d totally forgotten. At least Robin should be there. 

Eddie gives you a sidelong glance. “Work was good?” 

If you’re being honest with yourself, about 70% of it was totally fine. “Mhm.” 

He hums back at you, short and low. “Okay. What’s wrong?” 

“Hm?” you hum again, unable to help it. “Nothing, why?”

“Don’t play dumb.” He squeezes your thigh meanly, metal rings biting into your skin. “You always want to gossip after work. Something happened, yeah?” 

You toy with your bottom lip, looking out the window. You’re quiet long enough that Eddie gives your leg another warning squeeze. 

“Talk.” 

“It wasn’t really anything,” you say, honestly but forcing a bit more offhandedness into your tone than maybe you really feel. “A customer got all pissy with me because he thought something should be on sale and it wasn’t, but I’m not, like, still sad about it.” 

Eddie doesn’t take his eyes from the road, but his lips purse unhappily. “But you were, huh?” 

“I was,” you allow. “But I’m not anymore. I guess it just tired me out.” 

He glances your way, as if to be sure you’re telling the truth, and hums. “M’sorry, baby. Still down for the arcade, or do you just wanna go home?” 

“No, I’m good.” You wrap your hand around his forearm, running a path from his wrist to the crook of his elbow and back again. “I wanna see Robin. I can rally.” 

Eddie nods contemplatively. The steady rumbling of the van is the only sound for a few seconds, and then he says, “On a scale of one to ten, where are you right now?” 

You think about it for a few moments. “A four,” you decide. 

He nods again. “Okay. By the time we leave the arcade, we’re gonna have you at a six.” 

You grin at him. It’s already easier. Eddie sees out of the corner of his eye, quirking a brow like you’re being a dork but then slipping his hand from your thigh to intertwine your fingers from his. He brings the back of your hand to his mouth, kissing it wetly. You know he's content to sit in silence as long as you need, but you have one more thing to say.

“I feel like finishing off your coke would bring me up to a solid four-point-five,” you suggest hopefully. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth kicks up. “It’s all yours, sweet thing.”

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

HLC REACT TO SEEING MC AGAIN AFTER SUMMER BREAK

MC steps down from the Hogwarts Express on the Hogsmeade Platform. The birds singing they're departure south as the cooling fall air blows the leaves from the trees. MC takes a deep breath, it was good to be back.

Through the crowd of students filing out of the train, MC spots a familiar face. With a smile as big as their excitement, they charge their favorite friend.

~~~

Sebastian Sallow: He smiles. The few months of summer felt like a liftime, and letters would never do MC justice. He plays coy at first, letting MC do all the running for a hug, but he can't keep a straight face. He's just as enthusiastic and even spins them around if he can lift them. He laughs, "Missed me?"

Ominis Gaunt: He doesn't see them coming, but still manages to dodge their attack. He smirks when he hears MC hit the ground with a satisfying thump. "I missed you as well, MC. Please, don't run on the train platform. It's quite dangerous." He reaches out his hand for them to take.

Anne Sallow: She's just as pumped to see MC. She nearly runs over a first year getting to MC and locking herself in their embrace. She keeps hugging them, longer than what would be considered "normal". The embrace softens and they stand together until the groundskeeper has to shout to get them moving with the other students.

Imelda Reyes: She doesn't see MC, but when they attempt to grab her from behind, she slips out of their grasp and pins them against the train with enough force to nearly dent the metal train car. Her angry glare turns to immediate shock and she steps back. "MC!? Wha- WHY WOULD YOU SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT!?" She catches MC as they slump away from the train, the wind knocked out of them. "Um...welcome back?"

Natsai Onai: She locks eyes with MC and meets them stride for stride. Her smile widens with every step and she hugs them as tight as possible. "I have missed you so much. It felt like summer would never end." Her hug is strong and warm and was the best way to come back to Hogwarts.

Garreth Weasley: He's pulling jellied lacewings out of his hair when MC approaches. "Merlin's blooming beard! These things have far more adhesive properties than i- oh, hello MC! Have a nice summer?" He goes to wave but his hair sticks to his fingers and yanks with own head sideways. "OW!"

Leander Prewett: He's talking to another friend when MC pounces. He's nearly knocked to the ground but finds his balance. "WHO-!?...MC?" His surprise immediately melts to awkward bashfulness. "MC why are you- that is, what are-...uh..." He doesn't know what to do. He never expected MC to miss him this much.

Amit Thakkar: He's trying to reclose his trunk for the 15th time. It keeps popping open from the amount of textbooks in it. He catches MC out of the corner of his eye and turns to them just in time for their hug. "MC! It's so good to see you!" He quickly ends the hug to pull out a book and give it to them. "Here, I found this study done on Ancient Magic. It wasn't taken seriously at the time of its publishing, but considering what happened last year... Maybe you'll find it useful."

Everett Clopton: He feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns and no one is looking at him. He feels a tap on his other shoulder. "Wha..?" He does a nearly full turnaround when he finally catches MC's cloak running around behind him. He turns around in the other direction, sharply and catches them. "HA! Gotcha!" He shares a sincere hug with them and pulls out a few dung bombs. "So, who shall we prank first?"

Poppy Sweeting: She sees them coming and hides in the sea of black robes, using her height to her advantage. She manages to take MC by surprise and hug them first. Her hiding and hunting skills would make any Kneazle proud. "If you thought you'd get to me first, you had another thing coming. Missed you too. Have you been as worried as I have been over the beasts in The Room? Deek is an incredibly capable elf, there were quite a few-" She's silenced by MC hugging her tighter.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Sexy Sailor

steddie, omegaverse, halloween, mdni 🔞

“Oh my god, how did I miss this!? You’ve gotta wear it for me, Stevie! Please?” Eddie grabs the polaroid off Robin’s cork board.

“No, Eddie. One summer was enough. Besides, I don’t even have it anymore.”

“It’s just not fuckin’ fair! I have the hottest omega in Indiana, and I never got to enjoy the magic of him dressed as a hot little sailor. C’mon, puppy! I bet your ass looked amazing in those shorts!”

“My ass looks amazing in everything.”

“Your ass looks amazing whether it is constrained by fabric or not, sweetheart.”

“Then we can drop this train of thought. Robin will kill you if she has to hear about how hot you think the work uniforms from our shitty summer job were.”

“I mean, we could always roleplay…”

“No.”

Robin gets back then, laden with snacks from her mother so they can get down to brass tacks and plan their costumes for Halloween.

👻🧟🧙‍♀️

Robin getting a girlfriend ruins Steve’s costume plans. Because Chrissy wants to show Robin off, and Steve can’t blame Robin for saying yes. But he also cannot go as one of the twins from The Shining if he doesn’t have his match. And Eddie’s already going werewolf.

Which sends Steve to buy a costume last minute, picking from the dregs of what is left. There is one costume still in his size, and at least he’s gonna get well and truly laid after the party

👻🧟🧙‍♀️

Eddie gets off work late and has to meet Steve at the Halloween party. He changes into his costume in the restroom at Thatcher’s, then breaks a few traffic laws to get to the party before he’s even later.

He runs into Chrissy first, so bouncy in her Raggedy Anne costume, and she tells him Steve and Robin just ran to the kitchen to grab new drinks. Eddie knows he could wait, but he doesn’t want to be away from Steve any longer than necessary. Thanking Chrissy, he makes his way back to the kitchen and is greeted by the most glorious sight.

It may not be the Scoops Ahoy uniform, but it shows off his boyfriend’s assets to perfection. Eddie slips up behind him, arms snaking around his waist. “Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against his ear, pushing out his scent to make it clear he isn’t a stranger.

Steve leans back into him, grinning as Eddie nuzzles against his neck. “Hey, puppy, how was work?”

“Who cares? Here now, with you.” The surprise of the outfit, coupled with Steve rubbing back against him has Eddie half-hard, and he is very seriously considering leaving the party now.

Steve turns in his arms, smirking at his rushed creature makeup, then guiding their mouths together. “You gonna be okay?” he asks with a smirk.

“Give me a minute… But we might have to go home early.”

“No, we’re staying until Rob and Chris are ready to go.” His tone is stern, but Steve is still smiling.

“But you’re so hot, puppy! Just wanna taste you, maybe flip your little skirt up…have you present.” Saliva pools under his tongue, made all the worse by his fake werewolf fangs, and drool escapes from the corners of his mouth.

“I didn’t think you’d be *this* into the outfit, Eds,” Steve says, sounding flattered, maybe even blushing a little, but it’s hard to tell because the lights are so dim.

“I’m into you always, but this has been in the masturbation rotation all month.”

Steve pulls back and makes a judgmental face. “You need better fantasies.”

“I can only jerk it to your panties so many—”

“Shut up.” Steve tugs him close and quiets them both with a hard kiss, running his tongue along Eddie’s pointy werewolf teeth and moaning.

They will definitely be talking about that later, but for now Eddie allows himself to melt into kissing his omega.

When they leave, Steve is out of his panties as soon as they make it to the van, and Eddie fingers him the whole way home.

[lxvebun]

and suddenly I see you in everything

synopsis: valentines day is just around the corner and you're going to have to come to terms with what you're feeling for satoru is more than just a silly little crush.

buns notes: this fic disappeard into the void and I had to rewrite it entirely🥲 it may be a little rusty bur I hope you all enjoy anyway!

content highschool! Gojo x highschool!Gender neutral reader. Fluff! Angst if you squint. Use of the nickname Sweetheart. Wingman!suguru tbh. Timeskips are indicated with the♡♡ symbols. Around 2.5k words. Eng is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Spring is just around the corner, a thought that brings warmth after dull, cold winter days. In a few weeks, Plants and flowers will sprout their first leaves. In a few weeks sunlight will filter through the brances of lush trees. Everything that was once frozen over will blossom again, and the gray skies will give way to bright, clear blues. Spring will be here soon, and you're still lovesick over Satoru.

At this point, you're starting to believe that what you're feeling goes beyond just a silly little high school crush, beyond that puppylove you’ll soon move past and only remember fondly after you graduate—maybe even cringe a little at your past self. No, this is more than that, whether you want it to be or not. You're in love with Satoru—a love you're afraid will haunt you forever, because there will never be a day where you could ever forget someone like him. You see the reflection of his eyes when you look up into bright skies dotted with fluffy clouds. You’re reminded of his warmth with every summer’s sunlight. You see him in every lovely thing, your thoughts constantly drift off to him and with Valentine's Day rapidly approaching, you might as well see where this could lead

♡♡

“So, any plans for Valentine’s Day?” Suguru asks you, his tone a little too teasing for your liking. You're at the cafe down the street, your usual hangout place after school. Satoru and Shoko are waiting in line to order drinks for the table—green tea, an iced Americano, hot chocolate for you, and a sugar monstrosity for Satoru, no doubt. You and suguru have already claimed your spot at the table in the corner of the cafe, next to the window, the weather a mix of bright sunlight and sudden cloud breaks.

"Not sure if I have any. Why? Got something you want to ask me?" you deflect, hoping to steer the conversation into something more lighthearted, less serious. However, this is Suguru we’re talking about. 

"A new chocolate place opened up in the city a few days ago. Heard they have limited edition Valentine’s Day packages," You nod along with his words, unsure where this is going " You should get Satoru one."

The initial teasing tone has melted into something more mellow, velvet and persuasive..

"Suguru—"

"Just saying, it'd be the perfect start to a confession," he shrugs, glancing out the window. "I'm sure, to him, they will taste even better knowing they came from you," glancing at you from the side, his golden eyes trace your features to try and read what your thinking.

You avoid his gaze, instead letting your own gaze trail toward the line where Satoru and Shoko are still waiting. "I highly doubt he feels the same way, Sugu."

Suguru doesn't miss a bit. "I don't." He's says, almost sounding offended. "Just..." he sighs. "Visit the shop, will you? Just take a look"

Really, Satoru and Suguru are just as stubborn as the other. You've learned by now that there's no use in arguing further, so with a roll of your eyes and a deep sigh, You nod.

The conversation wraps up just as Satoru and Shoko return, drinks in hand.

"Hot chocolate for you, sweets. Satoru grins, placing the mug down infront of you. I convinced them to add extra whipped cream, you're welcome." He winks and plops down beside you, slinging his arm around your shoulders. You bite the inside of your lip, ignoring the fluttering of your heart along with the knowing glance Suguru sends your way.

♡♡

Would it be cowardly to back out now? you wonder, sitting on the steps leading up to school. The morning light, soft and diffused, wraps itself around the gates, casting long shadows across the pavement.. you sit there in absolute silence. Thoughts about your friendship, possible rejection and heartbreak flooding your mind.

Are you really willing to risk the friendship? Destroy what lovely thing you already have with Satoru?.

Too lost in thought, you don't even notice the footsteps behind you.

"Thought I'd find you here."

The voice breaks you out of your trance. It's Suguru.

You hadn't even realized how long you’d been sitting there, skin a little cold from the stone steps, the blue heart-shaped chocolate box, adorned with bows and frills heavy in your lap. 

Suguru’s footsteps are quiet as he approaches. He's quick to join you on the steps, dropping his bag with a soft thud, the sound breaking the stillness. The morning song of birds in the distance seems muffled, as if the world around you is suddenly put on pause. The box  feels even heavier now knowing Suguru has seen it, its weight sinking deeper into your lap, the ribbons at the corners of the box catching the sunlight, reminds you of how delicate your plan is—and how uncertain.

Settling beside you, he tilts his head slightly toward the box,

"I noticed the receipt in your bag yesterday." He nods toward the box. "Figured maybe you could use some extra support."

You glance at the box and then back to the quiet path leading up to the school gates, trying to avoid meeting his eyes. Suguru doesn’t push; instead, he lets the silence stretch for a few moments, the only sound being the faint rustling of the wind through the trees.

"I’m scared," you finally admit, your voice quiet, like the words are too fragile to say aloud.

Suguru’s expression softens and he shifts a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, offering a sense of stability.

"Of what?"

You take a shaky breath, before you speak. 

"What if this breaks our friendship?" The words leave your lips in a whisper, like they’re the heaviest thing you’ve ever said.

"It won’t," he's quick to say, his voice firm, but warm. There's no hesitation, not a hint of uncertainty.

"I feel silly giving this to him," you admit, your fingers tracing the ribbon on the box nervously, as if trying to untangle your thoughts along with the delicate fabric. 

Although he may not agree with your thought process, He doesn’t dismiss your feelings. Instead, he says softly, "Just don’t give up on the idea yet. I think it’s a lovely one."

The words settle in the space between you like a soft breath of air. His gaze is still on you, unwavering, like he’s watching for the shift in your face, the moment when you finally stop doubting yourself. You feel the warmth of his presence beside you, the way he’s not letting you shrink away into your own fear. It’s as if, for this one moment, he’s asking you to trust him, to trust that this leap, however uncertain to you, might be worth it.

♡♡

The rest of the day drags on, each minute feeling like an eternity. Your nerves are a tangled mess, and your mind replays every moment—every glance exchanged with Satoru, every time you tried to speak but backed out at the last second. It's exhausting, and you're once again questioning if it’s really worth it. the weight of the box in your bag—its meaning, its confession—feeling like a bone-splintering burden.

And Satoru’s been trying to get your attention, you can tell. He made small talk during lunch, his voice light and carefree, but you couldn’t match his energy. When he and Shoko joined you and Suguru on the steps earlier, he spoke to you with warmth, but you shut him out. Every time he looked at you, you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on anything but him. And you feel guilty, you really do, because you can see it's affecting him.

It doesn’t help that today feels like the worst possible day for everything to go wrong. Valentine’s Day—the one day meant for sweet gestures and heart-shaped confessions—has turned into the one day you fear could break your entire friendship along with your heart.

The bell signaling the end of the final period echoes down the hall, and your heart sinks. The day is almost over, and the time to get your confession out, to untangle the mess in your heart, is slipping away.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the crumpled piece of paper flying toward you until it lands softly on your desk with a dull thud. You glance down, your heart skipping a beat as you recognize the familiar handwriting—messy, hurried, but unmistakably his.

Can we talk after school?

You hesitate, the paper crinkling in your hand as a million thoughts rush through your mind. Does he know? Does he feel the same way? Did Suguru say something?

From the corner of your eye, you see him looking your way, waiting for a response. You can't bring yourself to speak, instead you nod in his direction, unable to trust your voice. You want to say something—anything—but all you can do is stare at the note, the question lingering in the air suffocatingly so. What does he want to talk about?

The apologetic smile he sends your way when you finally meet his gaze does nothing to ease your nerves.

♡♡

Once the final bell rings, neither of you is in a hurry to pack your things. You watch as Satoru whispers something to Suguru before he and Shoko head out, leaving just the two of you behind.

For a moment, it's quiet, neither of you moves, both of you rooted to your seats. His posture is tense but after a few moments and a deep breath, he slowly stands and walks towards you.

Don’t panic. This is your chance. Your mind rings. It’s just the two of you . It’s perfect.

"Hey."

"Hi."

An awkward silence settles between you—one that you’ve never experienced with him before. He sighs, taking off his glasses and hanging them on the collar of his uniform, before crouching down in front of you. Gently, he takes your hands in his, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on the back of your hand.

"Listen," he begins, his eyes nervously flickering between your own, he takes a deep breath before speaking. "I’m really, really sorry..." his voice wavers a little, and you notice how his hands tremble as they hold yours.

"Why are you apologizing?"

He swallows hard before continuing "you've been avoiding me today, and I know I must have done something incredibly stupid-"

"Oh... no. Satoru, you didn’t do anything wrong! it’s just..."

He waits for you to finish your sentence, more patient than you’ve ever seen him.

"It’s Valentine’s Day," you mumble.

"It is," he agrees, voice gentle but urging you to go on.

You pull one hand out of his grip to dig into your bag, pulling out the heart-shaped box. Hesitantly, you offer it to him.

"And I wanted to give this to you." You want to say more, throw out the entire speech you’ve rehearsed in your head, but your voice trembles, and your throat feels like its filled with cotton.

This is it.

Satoru blinks once, then twice, before his face lights up with the brightest, pearliest smile you’ve ever seen. He eagerly grabs the box, still holding onto your other hand. "This is why you’ve been avoiding me?" he asks, his voice filled with a hint of disbelief.

Satoru's eyes soften. "Y/n, Did you really think I’d reject you?" He asks softly

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the disbelief in his voice as if the idea of him rejecting you was the strangest thing in the world.

His hand still holds yours, his gaze never leaves you and then, his voice a little quieter and a little more breathy now, but still warm with that signature teasing charm.

" sweetheart, Let me take you out on a date—just the two of us."

Almost instantly, the weight of the confession, the uncertainty that had been hanging between you two, seems to evaporate. Your heart flutters, and you can’t help but smile back at him.

"I’d love that," you reply, your voice softer now, filled with a mix of relief and excitement.

[ebongawk]

13 for hellcheer, she asks anxiously

13. A Sorry Kiss

Her heart was in her throat when she knocked on his door.

She'd messed up. She'd messed up so bad. She'd been–– God, why did she do that? Why was she such a coward? How could she treat him like that? Like he was–– Like he was a stranger. And, oh God, the hurt in his eyes had nearly broken her heart. Hurt that she had caused.

Hurt she wasn't sure she could fix.

The minute or so it took Eddie to finally answer the door made her want to scream. Or cry. Or run away.

But her cowardice had already caused Eddie pain today. She couldn't–– She wouldn't do it again.

When the door did finally creak open, Chrissy could have sobbed with relief.

The cold, even expression he wore seemed intent on wiping that relief against the wooden floors, however.

"Figured that was you," he said, leaving the door open behind him as he turned away. Disappearing back around the corner of his apartment toward the kitchen.

Chrissy toed her sneakers off in the hallway, even though Eddie always told her it wasn't necessary. Old habits die hard.

She'd proven that today.

Maybe that was the problem, though. Maybe those habits never really died of natural causes. Maybe they had to be killed. Maybe she hadn't tried hard enough to kill those pieces of her past for him. Or maybe she had, but she was so covered in scar tissue that they echoed up from her infinity, regardless.

Silence was settled over the space of his apartment. Infiltrating every available square inch with a pressing weight Chrissy was so unaccustomed to here. Normally, the little home Eddie had carved out for himself in this corner of Chicago was full of light and color and noise. Music or television or just Eddie himself, giving life to his endless stream of conscious thought that he was completely unafraid to voice.

Chrissy was the only one who held fear so close to their chest, it seemed.

If there'd been any doubt that she had hurt him, it was dispelled the moment she found the courage to patter her way into the kitchen. Because he didn't offer her a drink or a snack. He didn't look at her. All she was afforded was the stretch and retraction of his muscles as he put the dishes in the dish drain away.

Dishes they'd washed together just the night before. A byproduct of having cooked together, because she found it so much easier to eat when Eddie was there encouraging her to taste the creation they'd conjured up together.

It was always delicious.

She needed to tell him how much those meals meant to her. How much he meant to her. Even if she hadn't portrayed that in the slightest today.

"Eddie?"

He said nothing. Didn't even turn toward her to let her know he was listening. He just continued dropping silverware into the drawer, clearly taking his time with every individual piece.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

"Can, um. Can we please talk?"

"Not real sure what you could possibly have to say to me, Cunningham." He snorted as she wilted like a crushed flower. Because Cunningham.

He hadn't called her Cunningham since the day after they met again. His stream of pet names for her had seemed endless, and she delighted in each new one he bestowed upon her. Collecting them like little trophies to display on the shelf of her mind.

"Considering, y'know, you don't know me and all."

Gosh. Gosh. Nuggets, she'd messed up. She was–– She was awful, wasn't she? The worst type of person.

She was exactly what her mother wanted her to be. Which was especially ironic, considering she hadn't spoken to her mother in nearly a year.

Eddie stumbled back into her life on the cusp of summer break three-and-a-half months prior. She'd just taken a new job at a little used bookstore a few blocks away from campus. Within walking distance of her dorm, which was perfect since she didn't have a car and had no intention of going home for a three-month nightmare.

He'd burst into that cramped little shop like a windstorm, ripping the breath from her lungs and stilling the heart in her chest.

She knew him, of course. Everyone from Hawkins knew Eddie Munson.

She just didn't expect him to be here, of all places. In Chicago. Miles from home after essentially disappearing as soon as he had his diploma.

With no other customers to entertain, they ended up walking around the store together, Eddie picking out new-to-him paperbacks as he told her how he'd ended up in the Windy City. How he'd moved there with a member of his band, how they were trying to get their music off the ground with half their instrumentals. How he'd been working as a mechanic – citing prior experience, which was a little factoid Chrissy clung to like rubber cement – and moonlighting at a bar a few weekends a month.

In the end, Eddie bought eight new books, Chrissy wrote her number on the back of the receipt so they could catch up, and thus started the most incredible romance story anyone in history had ever experienced. At least, from her perspective, that had to be the case.

They just... They just fit. In that way that didn't happen, not outside of romcoms and books. Yet, as different as they were on the outside, they managed to fold seamlessly into each other's lives. Two vines that had been growing congruently, just awaiting the moment they could finally entangle.

It was the best summer of Chrissy's life. There was no comparison. She could write entire novels about how perfect it had been. She'd actually started one.

And then school started up again. Chrissy resumed her schedule with her new classes, and she and Eddie didn't get to see each other as often. That didn't stop her from doodling his name in the margins of her notes, of course. Didn't stop her from daydreaming about him – about the way his fingers easily strummed the strings of his guitar as he showed her the new songs he'd been writing; the way his lips curled into a smile when he said her name, like he couldn't contain the joy of calling for her; the way he laughed, big and open and honest, when she said something coy or cheeky that he hadn't been expecting.

It was amidst one of these daydreams, in fact, that she had the misfortune of stumbling upon a small group of people she recognized.

Other people from Hawkins.

People like Carol Perkins and Tommy Harold and Melissa Thompson. Mean people, gossipy people. People who had parents that Chrissy knew, because they attended the same church she had her entire life.

She'd hoped they wouldn't say anything. Wouldn't see her. Would simply let her pass by, a blip on their radars of near-familiarity.

But her hair was distinct. Carol made fun of the color constantly, all through elementary school. Told her she had copper hair, like pennies, because her family was first-generation rich, whatever that meant.

(Eddie loved her hair. Told her it was gorgeous every time he ran his fingers through it. That it'd been woven together by sirens who couldn't decide on one color, so they picked everything warm.)

"Oh, my gosh!" Melissa shouted, her voice pitched so high it scraped against Chrissy's inner ears. "Is that Chrissy Cunningham?"

They wouldn't know she'd chosen Chicago because they graduated a year earlier than she did. And, in that lovely gap year, Chrissy had forgotten it was their school of choice, as well.

"Well, well, well," Carol said with a smirk as she smacked her gum. Another old habit that refused to give way to the passage of time. "What's Miss Penny Loafer doing here?"

That rude elementary school nickname still made her want to crawl out of her own skin. Made her want to bleach her hair.

She should have told them to fuck off, like Eddie would have. She should have turned and walked away. Instead she stood there, stuck to the pavement like the soles of her shoes had melted beneath the September sun.

Tommy chastised Carol's crassness with an arm thrown loosely around her shoulders, and the way his eyes roved over Chrissy had her stomach churning.

Don't look at me, she wanted so desperately to say. Only Eddie gets to look at me.

And then, like she'd conjured him from her deepest desires, he was suddenly there. Calling her name from across the street, waving a half-bouquet of daisies that he'd almost definitely picked from the school's garden. Surprising her. Because they didn't get to see each other that much. Because he wanted to see her.

Eddie.

She couldn't say his name. Couldn't rush to his side, or step between him and Tommy's disgusted disbelief as he said, "Ew, what the hell? Is that the Freak?"

"D-Don't––"

Don't call him that.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Carol asked, revulsion lacing every word. "Chrissy, do you know this asshole?"

But, oh God. Oh, God. What if they said something to their parents about this? What if...

What if word gets back to my mom? That I'm seeing Eddie?

Someone she would recognize.

Someone she would hate.

What if she––?

"Hey, toots," Eddie said as he walked up, critical eyes jumping between Carol, Tommy and Melissa. Narrowed in distaste, Eddie pursed his lips. "Damn. Wasn't expecting a high school reunion today. I would've whipped out my Sunday best."

"Kinda hard to have a reunion with us, Freak," Tommy spat in response. "Since, you know, you failed to graduate in our class."

Eddie just grinned. Easy and confident in that way that she loved, even as her entire body stayed motionless and rigid beside him.

"Well," Eddie shrugged, "We don't all have mommies that are willing to pull, uh, special favors for our grades, now do we, Thomas?"

Tommy's expression immediately fell cold, and he took a menacing step toward Eddie for regurgitating the Harold's worst-kept rumor.

"Oh, fuck you, Munson––"

"Sorry, pal, you're not really my type."

"Wait," Melissa said, her finger dancing between Eddie and Chrissy. "Wait. Are you guys, like...?" She twisted her pointer and middle fingers together, eyebrows raised. Both Carol and Tommy's faces twisted with abhorrence.

Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes.

"Uh, ye––"

"No," Chrissy answered immediately. Taking a half-step away from Eddie. Refusing to look at him. "No, um. We–– I barely know him."

The quiet that followed threatened to drown her. To climb down her throat and suffocate her from the inside.

But it was Eddie's half-broken, "Chris...?" that finally pulled her eyes to his.

In the three months they'd been together, Chrissy had borne witness to a lot of Eddie's faces. Happiness shined brightest in her memory, but concentration, frustration, annoyance, contentedness – they'd all flicked over his expression at one point or another.

This was none of those.

This was pure, absolute devastation.

It was so brief, Chrissy almost prayed she misread him. It was like, from one second to the next, he went from absolutely heartbroken to cold and aloof. Affixing that same easy smile, but it was bare of anything behind it. Lips twisting up in a sneer, Eddie gave another easy shrug.

"Got it," he said, giving her an easy salute. She hoped, she hoped, that he really did understand. That he could read her mind, that he knew why she'd so callously denied what they had together.

And then, as he hopped the curb to cross the street, he threw those daisies into the road. Scattering their stems, letting them succumb to the tires of passing cars.

She felt her heart among those flowers, muscle bleeding across the pavement as tires tracked through her blood.

Because she knew, then and there, that she'd messed up. That she needed to repair the hurt she'd caused.

She begged off from Carol and Tommy with some bullshit excuse, sprinted to her dorm to unload her books, and then booked it to the nearest bus so she could get to Eddie.

Now, here he was. Rightfully angry. She suspected it was a thin layer of anger, haphazardly smeared over the top of the sea of hurt she'd caused. The light from a lighthouse bouncing beams off the ocean, shielding the shadows from view.

"Can I––?"

"Why are you even here, Cunningham?" Eddie asked, fury wrapped around every syllable, every letter of his sentence. It struck her in the chest, each word volleyed out like it'd been specifically designed to thrust that hurt right back into her arms. "Crawling back to the source of your shame?"

"I'm not––"

"Don't fucking lie to me," Eddie hissed, finally, finally turning toward her. Speaking so harshly, in a way he never had with her. And she–– She nearly withered under his stony glare. Nearly fell to her knees and cried and begged him to see, to see her. But she couldn't. She couldn't. Right now, more than ever, she needed to be strong. She needed him to understand more than he saw. "You were standing there with two of the worst fucking people to ever live in our shitty hometown, and you lied to them to save your own goddamn image. So don't pretend this means fuck all to you, alright?"

"Eddie, no––"

"So why don't you skip your way back to your little popularity bubble, huh? Won't you be happier among the bullshit and sparkles?"

"Listen to me," she said, as firmly as she was capable. Realizing, now, just how deep the wound went. How it wasn't her alone that caused him to bleed. How she'd simply scraped the scab off something older, something that festered beneath the surface of his confidence.

She could see it now. It was in her own stomach, peeled back for the world to see the moment Carol called her Penny Loafer.

Eddie, face still twisted with exasperation, at least took a moment to be quiet for her.

"I am not ashamed of you," Chrissy said. Eddie scoffed, but she pressed on before he could speak. "I'm not. Eddie, I–– You're the best part of me, okay? And I––"

The tears she'd been burying all day finally reared up. Filling her eyes, blurring him before her, and she watched the way he shifted. Hoped, prayed it was him wanting to reach for her, but stopping himself. She was so desperate to salvage this, to explain, that it took another moment for the words to finally get out.

"I was so afraid," she explained around the trembling lump in her throat, "that they'd–– If I told them about us, about you, they'd tell everyone else, and eventually, eventually, she––"

Screwing her eyes shut, the hot tears tracked down her cheeks faster than she could possibly wipe them away.

"She'd find out," Chrissy sobbed, hands coming up and wrapping around her throat, "and she'd take you away from me."

"Who?"

"My mom," Chrissy wailed, scrubbing at her eyes, but the tears just kept coming, and this wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she was distraught when she was the one who caused the hurt. Why was she like this? Why was she such a baby?

"Chrissy. How the fuck would she take me away from you when you don't even speak to her?"

She'd told him. Of course she had. How else could she explain her issues with food? Her issues with her face? Her body? Her self?

"I don't know!" Chrissy cried, and she felt Eddie suddenly in front of her, his heat rolling off his body. It took so much strength to step away, to deny his comfort. But she didn't deserve it. "But every time–– E-Every time I've ever been happy, even a little bit happy, she swoops in and she takes it. And, God, Eddie, I've never been so happy as when I'm with you. I-I can't lose that, I can't let her––"

Suddenly, before she could once again back away, she felt the sure safety of Eddie's arms as they came around her. Pulling her against his chest, his heart, and holding her there as she cried. Why was he doing this? Why was he comforting her after what she'd done? Why was he the one taking care of her when she'd discarded him as easily as a half-bouquet of daisies in the road?

"Sweetness," Eddie murmured, his voice far too forgiving. "I'm not going anywhere. Alright? She can't take me from you. You're in a different city in a different fucking state, and she has no idea where you or I live. You're safe from her. I'm gonna keep you safe, alright?"

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

Hands sprawled against his chest, Chrissy tried to push away. To squirm out of his arms, because she didn't deserve for him being kind right now. She was supposed to be comforting him, telling him she'd take out an article in the Hawkins Post. Tell everyone they were together, consequences be damned.

Instead, he was walking her over to his small couch, every second with his arms around her chasing her demons further and further into the recesses.

"I'm sorry," she cried as he sat down and pulled her onto his lap. "I'm sorry, Eddie, I'm so sorry. I-I just want to keep you, I swear, I just want to keep you."

"I know," Eddie mumbled into her hair, the words softened against her scalp. "I know, baby. I'm sorry, too. For, uh, jumping to conclusions. For–– For forgetting, I guess, that you––"

"No." Chrissy shook her head, sniffling as she used her sweater to wipe as much of the wet on her cheeks away as she could. "No, don't–– Don't apologize. I'm the one who messed up––"

"I was being a dick––"

"With good reason––"

"We can both fuck up, toots," he said, bringing his thumbs up to gently brush away the escaping tears from beneath her eyes. "We can both let our scars get the best of us sometimes, y'know? It doesn't have to be just you or just me."

"But you wouldn't have killed my flowers if I hadn't been so... so mean."

Eddie cringed around an awkward chuckle, filling her eyes with that warm, dimpled smile. Making her want to melt onto him, into him, until they were fused as one.

"Yeah, uh. That may have been my dramatic side." Blowing out a raspberry, Eddie rolled his eyes at himself. "I fuckin' hate Tommy H., though, I can't be held accountable for what I do around that guy."

"You hate everyone."

"Not you," he assured her, brushing her hair back over one ear and cupping her cheek in his palm. "Never you, peaches, I swear."

Turning her face into his hand, Chrissy kissed his palm. Then, bringing her own hands up to his face, she pulled him into a soft, slow kiss. Trying to convey her apology, then letting it slip up from her lungs anyway when the quiet didn't feel like enough.

"I'm sorry."

She kissed him again, and Eddie groaned, lingering for a long moment before pulling far enough away to say:

"I'm sorry."

Grinning into the next kiss, Chrissy let her tongue dart out to taste his upper lip. Turning her head when he chased her with another, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," Eddie said again after a quick peck.

"I'm sorry," Chrissy repeated when they were forced to break apart for air. Gasping, she said, "I'm sorry, Eddie, I love you."

She didn't have time to gauge his reaction to this new admittance. All at once, she was engulfed. In kiss and embrace, she was enveloped in Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

"I love you," he groaned for the first time, the words like ancient music. A song she remembered from a past life bubbling up to the surface after laying dormant for decades and millennia.

Never new. Always Eddie.

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"'m soloverry."

"Eddie, that's not––" He kissed her again, and she laughed. She laughed, after everything. He made her laugh. "Not a word!"

"Is now." He grinned, and she could taste his happiness. "Soloverry, sweetness."

Chrissy kissed him, standing atop all that fear and uncertainty a thousand daisies in her heart.

"Soloverry, Eddie Munson."

(a very late) kiss prompt!

[ramirezmindset]

ғᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ.

ʙʀᴀᴅʟᴇʏ ʙʀᴀᴅsʜᴀᴡ x ғᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ.

→ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: as the daughter of pete 'maverick' mitchell, there were certain expectations people had of you, all of which you were determined to defy. however, after a hellbent summer leave of love, loss and heartbreak, you discover you're more like your father than you would've ever imagined.

→ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst central, reader being a dick, rooster being a dick, mav being a dick, everyone being a dick, break-ups, seggsual innuendos, loss of relationships/persons, platonic male/female friendships, romantic male/female relationships, adult language ↳wc: 2974

FATED TO PRETEND: INTRO & MASTERLIST

Your phone rang on the desk opposite you for the third time. It was a cold day where you were stationed, freezing even, and you were fairly sure that even if you did want to answer that call, your phone would be stuck to the mahogany due to the sub-zero European temperature in your small office.

You already know what he'd say, you could already feel the words penetrating your ears. You didn't want to hear them, couldn't bring yourself to hear them. Maybe if you ignored the phone some more, he would give up and call the next best thing. The phone stopped ringing, and you were granted with a few moments silence. You leant back on the chair, folding your arms over your chest and releasing a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

The wind battered against the flexible glass of the window. You could just make out the faint outline of people on the airstrip, running around and laughing at each other. The pilots down there were fresh, spring-chickens who were so excited for what the future of this career holds. It was your job to keep their excitement palpable, not to tell them the truth, that in sixth months when dicking about is over, they would wish they never joined the Navy in the first place.

The phone rang again. Groaning, you braced your elbows on the desk and stared at the name on the screen.

Dad.

You bit the inside of your cheek, a nervous habit you got from your mother. You didn't even realise you had reached for the phone until it was against you ear and your father's voice filled the room.

"God, Y/N! I thought you were dead!" Pete Mitchell said that every time you answered his phone calls. It was routine, almost, you would ignore his first few calls before finally picking up, and he would panic and berate you and you would (insincerely) apologise before letting him say whatever it is he needs to say, and that would be it. He wouldn't call again for three months and then the cycle repeats itself, like a snake eating it's own tail.

"What is it?" You cut to the chase.

"Look, Y/N, you know what I'm gonna say. And I'd rather it be me say it than Admiral Simpson" You sigh down the phone, you could picture your fathers face in your head. Eyebrows furrowed, free hand on hip as he looks down at the ground and back up. Right now, he'd be glancing around the room, trying to make himself look busy to any suspecting on-lookers. "Don't make this hard for me"

"Do I have to?" You ask, biting the skin on your thumb. "Like, is there actually nobody else?"

"You know you have to. Don't pretend you're busy and hang up the phone so you can avoid the conversation, I've already called Ant and he said you were just sat in your office farting about with paperwork" You take a mental note to berate your best friend as soon as this call is over. "Y/N, this is your job. I know you'd rather hide away in some dark corner and teach some morons how to stop and start a plane, but you're better than that. You know it, I know it, Cyclone knows it, and the Navy knows it. That's why we need you here."

"Well, what's in it for me?"

"Bragging rights, I don't know. I don't even know why I'm here, dovey." You close your eyes and sigh at your fathers childhood nickname for you. Your relationship had always been strained, your mother doing everything in her power when you were a child to stop Pete from seeing you. She thought he was dangerous, irresponsible, which are both true, but that never stopped him from showing up at your front door demanding to see his daughter. You were always a daddy's girl, but his unreliability slowly ate away at whatever relationship the two of you shared, him preferring to give all the fatherly love he had in him to his late best friends son, Bradley, who, you had heard, couldn't really stand him either, especially in more recent years.

You felt bad for the guy, you really did, but he did it to himself.

"You don't have a choice here, babe, you either do whatever this is we have to do or you're permanently grounded. I'm on the same terms as you, you know how Cyclone feels about me. We're on the same team"

"I guess" You murmur just as a knock on the door comes. Ant pokes his head round, biting his lip nervously as you hold up a finger, a silent plea for him to give you a minute. "Fine, I'll do it. But if anyone asks, I did this of my own free will and my father did not have to call me begging. That's embarrassing for you"

Pete chuckled down the phone, bidding you a goodbye as you put the phone on your desk and rested your head in the palms of your hands.

"If it's any consolation, I've been called back too" Ant says, snapping you out of your trance. He's behind you now, massaging your shoulders. He's tense too, you can feel it in his movements. "Someone else has been called back as well, I bet Mav didn't mention that on the phone"

"He didn't need to" You reply, craning your neck to look up at him. Ant and you had met years ago when you were both stationed somewhere sunny, neither of you cared enough to remember where. You were both Top Gun graduates, and he was your new back seater after your last guy had a panic attack in the air and quit, much like a story your dad told you about someone he knew years ago.

The two of you regularly joked that you were twin flames, he was a brother from another mother, Sonic and Tails, Femme and Fatale. You could read each other like a book, and he was the first person to not have any expectations of you or your skills in the cockpit after realising who your father was.

Ant smiled lovingly down at you, leaning slightly down to wrap his forearms around you in a hug. You reached up to hold his wrist, leaning back slightly, welcoming the embrace.

"It'll be fine" He murmured, pressing a quick and friendly kiss to your temple before releasing his hold on you. "We're only there for three weeks, it'll be over before you know it, and we'll be back in this shithole teaching these men how to make fire"

You chuckled, nodding along slowly.

"I better pack a bag" You say, pushing yourself out of the chair. "When Top Gun calls, I better come a-running"

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The air is thick and the sun is hot, a sharp contrast to your last location. Ant walks slightly ahead of you, abandoning your duffel bags in the trunk of his car and pushing his sunglasses up his nose. The sound of the waves crashing nearby was somewhat calming in comparison to the pounding in your head. Despite the somewhat idyllic scenery, you would rather be anywhere but here.

Your jeans were sticking to your legs as you felt a bead of sweat roll down your back. You couldn't tell whether it was from nerves or from the blistering heat, either way, you'd rather be somewhere with air conditioning.

"Mav said he'd be in there" Ant says, pointing ahead of him at a beachside bar. The sign read 'The Hard Deck', with small LED planes flying around the slogan, lighting the sand around it blue. Of course your dad would be here, probably scoping out some poor fresh-meat naval aviators to scare the daylights out of.

"Stop talking to my dad" You roll your eyes and walk ahead towards the entrance of the bar as soon as you felt a cool breeze coming from the general vicinity.

"Hey! Maybe if you spoke to him more, I wouldn't have to be the middleman!" Ant hollers from behind you, picking up his pace to catch up with you.

Your dog tags smacked against your chest as you stepped up towards the bar, scouting the room out for any sign of your father. He was on the other side of the bar, tormenting the bartender most likely. Ant waved at him from behind you, gaining his attention as he nodded for the two of you to join him at the other side of the bar.

"Sonic" He nods at Ant. "Dovey" He opens his arms for a hug, a rare sight, and even though every neuron in your brain was screaming at you to leave him standing there with open arms like some sort of theme park attraction, you just couldn't resist a hug from your dad. In his arms, you felt like a little girl again, who's dad didn't hurt her, who's dad didn't run off, who's dad didn't introduce her to the first and only boy to ever break her heart.

"Hi, dad" You say, hugging him round the middle tightly as his hand rubbed your back.

"I got you two a drink" He replies, pulling away from the embrace and sliding two glasses towards you. Ant picks his up, chugging the concoction immediately and scuttling off down the bar, no doubt on purpose. He does this every time, makes some sort of excuse to leave you and your father alone together so he doesn't 1) witness the awkwardness of the interaction, and 2) be caught in the crossfire of the inevitable argument the two of you end up having.

"We don't have to do this, dad" You say, guzzling your own drink before slamming it back down on the bar. Malt whiskey, at least he remembered your drink of choice. "We don't have to attempt to mend whatever this relationship is just because we're working together, because in three weeks I'm gonna be back in Bosnia or wherever it was I was booted off to, and we won't talk for months and it'll just start all over again"

"I'm glad we're on track" He smiled at you, resting a hand on your shoulder, thumping it in a friendly manor. "I'll see you tomorrow, kid" And with that, your father was walking down the bar towards the bartender as you turned around to find Ant at the pool table, with some more aviators in their khaki's.

He nods his head for you to join, but you shake your head and turn back around, leaning your elbows on the bar, losing yourself in your thoughts.

The last time you were at Top Gun, this bar had been less than pretty. It was grotty, sticky floors and all. The jukebox would play the same fragmented verse of some random 80s ballad on repeat, and the place always had an almost fusty smell from years of beer and other spirits being spilt on the floor and bar. The bartender's were just as unrecognisable, and, looking over at your father, you wouldn't be surprised if he had some sort of history with the woman leaning over to ring the bell that sat happily above you.

You chuckled to yourself as a couple men in khaki's hauled your dad out and onto the sand, he probably deserved it. Just as you were about to join Ant, the bartender turned to you.

"Y/N, right?" She smiled at you. You blinked at her and nodded, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "I'm Penny, Pete and I are old friends" She pushed another glass of malt whiskey towards you.

"It's on the house" She continued. "He never stops talking about you" Her eyebrows furrowed, as if waiting for your reaction, but all you did was lift the glass to your lips and raise an eyebrow back.

"Surprising" You reply, putting the glass down. "I never talk about him"

"He said you'd say something like that" You both chuckled. Penny had a comforting aura about her, something motherly and warm. You wondered what someone like her saw in someone like your father. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're dad is a good guy deep down. Took me a while to believe it too. Just- I know you're gonna be working together for the next few weeks, so try not to let the fact that he's sometimes a dick get in the way of whatever it is that you need to do. From what I've heard, you're a fantastic pilot, Mav has some competition"

You smile at her, grateful for her words of wisdom, but just as you open your mouth to reply, the door to the bar swings open and the sounds of cheers from the aviators behind you fill the room.

Suddenly, Ant is behind you, resting his hands either side of you on the bar so you're back is flush with his chest, creating a human shield of some sorts.

"OK, don't look" He says, staring dead ahead. "But Bradley just walked in" Your eyes went wide as Penny pursed her lips and walked off to the other patrons, leaving you pushed up against the bar nursing a drink. "He has a-" Ant cuts himself off, furrowing his eyebrows. "He has a pornstache?"

"What?" You reply, ducking under his arm to escape his embrace before he could stop you.

Immediately, your eyes were attached to the tallest man in the bar, you wouldn't have missed him even if you were blindfolded. He was more muscular than the last time you saw him, and his hair was slightly golden, like it always was when he spent too much time in the sun, telling you he had been here for a while. Those stupid aviator glasses were still plastered to his face, like they had been for the last decade, and he was still sporting Hawaiian shirts like they were going out of fashion. His clothes hugged him deliciously, and you're suddenly reminded of all the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place.

Ant was right, he had grown a pornstache, and you hated to admit it, but you don't think you had ever seen him look so good. It had been five years since you saw him last, five years since your relationship had ended. Your father had introduced you two at some Navy event just after you had graduated from Top Gun. You knew who he was, of course, you had seen photos of him hung around your dad's apartment, you were fairly sure Pete had more pictures of him than he did you.

He smiled at you, with that stupid fucking smile, and immediately you were a goner. He introduced himself, offering you a glass of champagne and a seat at the table next to him, and for four months after that you were inseparable. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, and he looked at you like he had the whole world in the palm of his hand. He was the first, and only man, you had loved fully, with every little bit of your heart and soul, so much so that he was the first face to appear in your head when you woke up, and the last face you pictured before you fell asleep.

You hadn't seen him since he broke your heart half a decade ago, leaving you a shell of yourself for no apparent reason other than the fact that he 'couldn't make it work.' To this day, you don't know what 'it' is, what 'it' he was referring to, you can only imagine he was talking about long distance, your jobs constantly forcing you to be apart, but the years of maturing and growth made you see the bigger picture. He just didn't want you anymore. He had had his fun, he had dicked about with Pete Mitchell's daughter, became a naval celebrity, and then fucked off when the novelty of you had worn off.

"Earth to Y/N!" Ant bellowed, waving his hand in your face. You were snapped out of your trance. "I said do you wanna leave?"

You shook your head, nervously fiddling with the dog tags around your neck. "No, it's ok. Just- we'll avoid him" Ant nodded, passing you the drink you had abandoned haphazardly on the bar. You drank the rest of its contents, watching Bradley like a hawk.

Ant scoffed next to you, he knew what you meant by 'avoiding' him, you would sit at the bar, keeping your distance but your eyes locked on him until he noticed you. And when he would notice you, you would crap yourself and leave and then cry yourself to sleep as Ant would nurse you when you dry heaved from sobbing. He had been here one too many times before, Bradley's name has to merely come up in conversation for you to spiral.

"Sonic, I'm serious" You say, turning your back to Bradley and leaning on the bar once again. "Me and you are gonna have fun, and then we're gonna go back to the apartment and order a pizza and then go to bed. I'm not letting some man get me down-"

You're cut off by the sound of the piano behind you, and you don't even need to turn around to know that it's Bradley's fingers expertly playing the keys, and you don't even need to turn around to know that your dad is probably pressed up against the window paying more attention to the guy at the piano than his daughter who's drinking her own sorrows at the bar.

Ant sighed. "If you say so."

[blessedbucky]

ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕍

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 15.5k (IT JUST KEEPS GETTING LONGER WHY)

summary: that second year of high school has a clear division within your mind—before summer and after. this is the before.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, bisexual!reader, bisexual!suguru, awkward teenage sexual awakenings, denying that you're thirsting on your bffs and you're plunging in DENIAL river at the thought of CRUSHING on your bffs, masturbation, wet dreams (ish?), the existential crisis of realizing a bunch of old dudes poorly control the future of your teenage life, and good ole fashioned meltdowns

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @honeydew-cheesecake

author note: (ಠ_ಠ) no seriously dude stories really do have a mind of their own because HERE WE ARE. 15.5 THOUSAND WORDS. and that was BEFORE hidden inventory. i've still got so many brain worms for post-hidden inventory that i said "my god the tumblr post will be so fucking long let me just cut this in half and give the besties an update while i'm at it"

Story Masterlist

[YEAR TWO.]

[PART I]

You know that they’re there. You’re not sure exactly where, but you can feel their eyes on you—sharp and predatory. You know that you may not be the best sorcerer around, but you think that this is a mission only you can do. You can’t let yourself waver here! There are people who depend on you now!

“We truly appreciate this, Senpai.”

They’re close, you can feel it. You’ll have to make your final stand here. Maybe you can trick them, so they don’t come at you with their all. Yes, you’ll talk and make it look like you’ve let your guard down.

You slow to a stop and turn around to face the two boys behind you with a smile. Haibara Yu and Nanami Kento—the only two to be enrolled this year. Both of them come from non-sorcerer families, so like you and Suguru last year, they’re here a week early to have a crash course on the jujutsu world. Hmm, now that you think about it, that could be why you’re so protective of them. You remember how overwhelmed you were by all that information thrown at you.

Nanami was dead serious with his thanks, as he is in general. Paired with Haibara, who is open and warm, you hope that his sharp edges will soften. Just as you hope that Nanami will teach Haibara to learn how to focus. He’s very laidback. You’re not sure that he realizes how dangerous sorcery can be.

“I hope this doesn’t offend you,” Haibara starts nervously, “but isn’t this…excessive?”

Oh, poor, sweet, naïve Haibara. There are still stars in his eyes. It blinds him to the truth that you have to do this because no one else can. Only you can stand up to those saccharine smiles and escort your precious juniors to class. Without you, either they’d be kidnapped or Nanami would break and be expelled because he hasn’t built up an immunity yet.

Out of the corner of your eye, shadows move.

However, you were prepared for this!

You’ve learned from experience, so you know that one will try to sneak up behind you and snatch you up. With a mighty cry, you brandish the bottle that you had hidden in the front pocket of your uniform. Giving your back to your juniors, you spray Suguru right in the face with water.

“Gah!”

You spin on your heel and push between Nanami and Haibara to reach Satoru who stands behind them with a sadistic grin. His hands were going for their collars, but he’s lost when you spray him in the face, too. It doesn’t matter that the water is stalled by Infinity. They’ve lost the game today.

“No!” You hold the spray bottle up threateningly. Satoru accepts his defeat by dropping down to sit on the ground and cross his arms over his chest. “Let them get to class! There’s not gonna be any weird hazing rituals on my watch!”

“When did you become a member of the Disciplinary Committee?” Suguru teases while he slides in beside you to lean an elbow on your shoulder. You brandish the bottle, but he takes a step back with his hands raised in defeat. “You win this round, Squid. I won’t bother you or your ducklings for the rest of the day.”

Did you hear Nanami breathe a sigh of relief? You’re not sure. But you definitely hear Haibara squawk loudly. You look over your shoulder, watching as Nanami takes the chance to escape and books it away from the scene, practically dragging his classmate along with him. You can’t say that you blame Nanami. You know other people tend to think that Satoru is a lot to deal with and now that he and Suguru are so close…at times, they’re downright unbearable.

With an irritated sigh, you ask them, “Can you stop with the duckling thing?”

“Why? Worried you’ll get another nickname, Mama Duck?” Satoru taunts.

You won’t tell him that he’s right.

“The real question,” Suguru interrupts as he gently tugs at the strap of your backpack, “is where are you going?”

“A date,” you answer bluntly.

“What?!” Satoru yelps.

Suguru quickly follows up with, “With who?!”

“Talk about Mama Duck,” you mutter.

“Papa!” Satoru whines. Because he’s still on the ground, he starts tugging at Suguru’s pants—more like a child than the mother he pretends to be. “Sketch is in her rebellious phase!”

“You’re not reading any of my Ouran manga anymore.” In preparation for the anime adaptation that’s about to premiere, you’ve been burning through the manga. And Satoru once declared that he wanted to read what you did because he wants to know what kind of things you like, so he’s been reading it along with you. “I’m meeting up with Shoko. We’re getting our nails done and grabbing food.”

“Boo.” Satoru leans back on his hands with a huff. “Suguru, let’s go on our own date to make them jealous!”

“You guys are extra childish today.” You put a hand on your hip. “If I stop at the konbini on my way back, will you cut it out with the temper tantrums?”

“Rude.” You wait. Suguru and you stare at each other. He’s the one to crack first. “Some unadon, please.”

“Parfait!” Satoru chirps.

“Actual food, Satoru,” you and Suguru intone at the exact same time.

“Ugh. Fine. A katsu sandwich and the parfait.”

“Good boy.” Satoru has an interesting reaction to your praise. His face turns bright red, probably out of chagrin. He jerks away from your hand that’s reaching out to ruffle his hair and yanks his legs up against his chest. You hold your hands up like Suguru had done not long ago. “Sorry,” you quickly apologize. “I should’ve asked before I tried to touch.”

“It’s not that!” Satoru snaps his head to the side, looking away, scowling at nothing. “You know that you and Suguru are allowed to touch me whenever! But don’t talk to me like I’m a dog! Jeez!”

You cock your head to the side. “Is that how it came off? I was being genuine. You usually put up more of a fuss when we try to get you to eat regular food.”

“Squid.” You turn to look up at Suguru. There’s this weird smile on his face as he watches Satoru. Forced, maybe? But then he turns his attention back to you. “What time are you meeting Shoko? Shouldn’t you get going? I don’t want you to freak out over being late because we held you up.”

Your eye twitches. “But you’ll hold up our juniors from going to class?”

The tension in his smile melts away for something coyer. “We want to welcome them. Get to know them better since they’re in the dorms with us now. Isn’t that the responsible thing to do as their upperclassmen?”

“I can’t believe you preached to them about how important our roles are, but you want to interrupt their studies.”

“It’s nothing official,” he tries to dismiss. “Sensei won’t throw them to the wolves on their first day. They could catch up once the term starts.” He raises a brow. “I can’t believe you preached to them about having fun when they can, but you want to keep them tucked away under your wing,” he throws back at you tauntingly.

You roll your eyes. “Go jerk each other off or something and leave the rest of us out of it.”

They’re both still sputtering when you walk away with a smug smirk.

Oh.

No wonder Satoru and Suguru had been so upset about the idea of you on a date. You’d completely forgotten that it’s cherry blossom season. There are definitely no open benches. Thankfully, you’re prepared! You brought a blanket in case the benches were still wet from the morning dew. You’re happy that you’re still early despite Satoru and Suguru’s distraction because you have time to hunt down a spot that’s as far away as it can be from other people on the open lawn.

You spot Shoko before she sees you. You stand up and wave a hand in the air to catch her attention. Around the stick in her mouth, she’s grinning as she approaches. Then, because you’re weirdly attracted to having assholes for friends, she asks loud enough for other people to hear, “Are we on an actual date, pretty girl?”

And, normally, you’d be embarrassed by that. Right now, though, when she’s close enough, you’re smacked in the face with the bitter smell of smoke. The end of what you thought was a candy stick is bright orange. “Shoko!” You flap a hand nervously in her direction, motioning toward that thing in her mouth. “You leave us for a month and you’re smoking now?!”

“Aw, man. I’d hoped getting you all flustered would’ve helped you ignore that.” She laughs easily. “Here.” She plops the plastic bag in hand on the blanket. “I wanted to drop this off before I go put out this cigarette. I don’t want us getting kicked out for me not being in the designated smoking area.” She waves a hand. “Be right back.”

You’re still in a tizzy when she gets back. “This is bribery,” you accuse when she’s close enough. When she’d proposed this, you suggested the both of you buying your own meals, but she insisted on paying. Now, you know why, and you also know why she got a bunch of your favorite foods and drinks. “I can’t believe you,” you continue to complain. “You’re going to be a doctor. You have surgeons as parents. What do they think about this?”

“They’re smokers, too.”

You huff in disbelief. “That seems…irresponsible.”

“They do have a kid that could heal any complications that come from it. That’s why I do it. I get the chemical rush and none of the damage. Seems like a win-win to me.” She plops down on the blanket next to you. “You’re not helping the Mama Duck allegations, y’know.”

Ugh. Having more than one friend sucks sometimes. If only they could move those online chatrooms to cell phones. You could scold them all at once about this weird obsession they have with giving you embarrassing nicknames. “It’s not bad to care about people!”

“You’re too sweet for jerks like us, pretty girl,” Shoko says with a laugh as she holds out okonomiyaki as an offering.

You eye the plastic container before you snatch it from her hands. “No octopus, right?”

“Vegetarian,” she replies. You smile brightly and flip the container open. Between the both of you chowing down, she asks, “Did you work on your technique over the break? Gotten anywhere else with it?”

“Ugh, yeah, and it’s gotten me in a weird place.” She raises a brow at your answer. You absentmindedly chew on the end of your straw. “I still can’t control them. It’s like I’m giving them a suggestion and the weaker they are, the more likely they are to listen to what I have to say.” You frown. “I was on an assignment with Suguru and another sorcerer last week, y’know. They used a shikigami.” You fidget nervously. “I pacified the shikigami and Suguru’s cursed spirit.”

Shoko nearly drops her drink from the shock. “Seriously?”

You nod. “We don’t know what to make of it. I could maybe understand Suguru since the cursed spirits are technically their own separate thing. It’s like an extreme master-servant deal. But with a shikigami…that’s just a physical form of a sorcerer’s cursed energy.”

“How easy was it?”

“Not at all. I passed out,” you admit sheepishly. “I thought I was pacifying the cursed spirit we were after, but…uh…I guess the other two were caught in the range. The shikigami was a lot easier, actually. It might have to do with the amount of cursed energy. When this was all happening, it felt like an uphill battle. Suguru has more cursed energy than me and it’s like I’m muting his connection, so I guess I’d need to overcome his. If he wasn’t so tired, I don’t think I would’ve won.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it all boils down to cursed energy.” You tilt your head in question. “Like…you’re suppressing cursed energy itself. Not only cursed spirits. What are cursed spirits if not a massive amount of negative cursed energy? If you look at it with that perspective, it only makes sense that you can pacify shikigami.”

“I want to say that it feels like you’re reaching, but…” Well. That’s the only logical outcome when you add up the pieces. It’s started now because you’re getting stronger, refining control over your own cursed energy. “I don’t like this,” you whisper when you start thinking too much. “Wouldn’t the next step be pacifying the sorcerer? I…I don’t want to control people.” You shake your head furiously. “No. I could never be that strong.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself there, pretty girl. If it boils down to a cursed energy match, you have a lot.” You try to wave the comment off. Sensei has mentioned something along those lines, too. “I’m serious. You can’t compare yourself to Gojo and Geto since they’re freaks of nature. You’ve got such an insane amount that you’re getting close to freak yourself. If you had a more threatening ability, you might be considered Special Grade.”

“Can we not talk about me anymore, please?”

“Alright, alright. Let me tell you about the fun I had over the break. They gave me access to the morgue.”

You’re…distracted…

It’s hard not to stare.

It was only a moment, but you still watch him intently. You’re reminded of those pictures that are drawn in such a way that you can see multiple interpretations and when someone points out their own perspective, you can never not see it anymore. This is like that. It doesn’t matter if you demand that he tuck his shirt in like some scandalized lady of the house from the Heian period because it’s burned in your brain now.

Such a small, simple thing. A flutter of his shirt when he leaped in the air to shoot the basketball, and you saw beneath the figurative curtain. And somewhere in the back of your brain, you knew that a simple belt wouldn’t be enough to hold up Suguru’s heavy, baggy pants, but it never clicked. Not until now. Not until you saw a flash of the high waist of his pants.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Why does it feel like your brain would be playing the old internet dial-up sound on a loop if someone could read your mind right now?

It was a waist! You didn’t even see skin! If you’re going to drool over something, it should be his arms. With his sleeves rolled up like that, you can see the few veins that run along his upper arms. With him holding a basketball like that, the size of his hands become more apparent. Suguru…really took that punch at last year’s Goodwill Event personally and he’s started to work out a lot more. You can tell. Not that he wasn’t fit before with all the farm work he did in the village, but…

Holy shit, what are you going to do in summer? You think you heard Satoru mention that they had more people to play basketball with now, so they could do teams, and…and don’t guys do the whole shirts versus skins thing? They wouldn’t with only two to a team, would they? What are you going to do? Suguru is more massive than ever now. More muscled than ever.

Is the heat still on? You’re so hot right now. And more than that…

“Yo! Sketch! Hey, look out—”

Something heavy thumps against the top of your head. You clutch at your head, watching the basketball bounce away, more flustered than hurt that you were…were…in a daze. Because you saw your best friend’s waist. When did Suguru get curves? Oh, no. Does this make you a pervert? You might be a pervert!

“Squid?”

The stupidly curvaceous man of the hour squats down in front of you. Hair has fallen out of his tight bun, bangs now framing both sides of his face. You duck your head, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with him. You watch his fingers twitch, but he puts his hands firmly on his big thighs.

“You lookin’ to get a new nickname, Sketch?” Satoru calls out as he approaches you and Suguru. “You’ll get one if you don’t stop being such a space cadet.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “You’re so caring, Satoru. Really, you’re dripping with compassion.” He shakes his head before moving his attention back to you, expression softening. “Are you okay? Is it a bad day?”

“Is it a crime to daydream?” You scramble for something to explain your behavior. “I don’t know. I…I was trying to remember what that cursed spirit looked like.” You shake your sketchbook. His brows furrow in confusion when he looks at it because it’s almost done. You panic. “Uh…like…did it have fur or not? I can’t remember!”

“It was scales…” Suguru informs you slowly. “Are you okay? Really? Not feeling sick or anything? You don’t usually forget big things like that when it comes to cursed spirits.”

The gym door slams open, the sound echoing, and making you yelp.

Sensei shouts all your names as if you’re in trouble…which, to be fair, you probably are since you were supposed to be spending this time studying in the library. Technically, you could spin the sketch as work since you are supposed to record curses that you encounter, but you don’t even want to defend yourself. You’ve never been more thankful to be in trouble in your life. Sensei has learned that the best punishment is to separate you all from each other. You need some room to breathe.

“Since you have so much energy to burn,” Sensei starts heatedly, “you can come help with the first years.”

“Ugh,” Satoru and Suguru groan in unison.

You smartly slide off to the side to make way for Sensei. He rushes forward to knock them both over the head as a reprimand for the rude response. The hit makes them drop to their knees and they accept that they’re in for a lecture. Sensei doesn’t demand the same gesture from you because he knows that you’ll stay where you are. You do tune him out partway through, though. This is definitely a lecture more targeted toward Satoru and Suguru because you’re more than happy to help with whatever the first years need.

When Sensei calls out your name, you snap back to attention. “You’ll spar with Satoru today,” he declares. It’s hard to retain your politeness. Turns out that you’re not exactly escaping, after all. It could be worse. He could make you run the track again which you hate because you don’t have anyone to keep you company, so you get bored just running in circles.

Then, you process his words fully. “Satoru?”

“Suguru is going to work with Nanami and Haibara today,” Sensei explains. “Satoru still needs a lot of work on his hand-to-hand combat.” Suguru snickers quietly while Satoru sputters at the, frankly, correct assessment. “You’re next best after Suguru. He’ll benefit from sparring with you. It might also help him with having some restraint.”

“What the hell, old man?!” Satoru shouts. “Suguru, shut up!” Clearly, Satoru isn’t that preoccupied with getting an answer. He just stomps out of the gym with a red face while Suguru quickly follows after him to pile on the teasing.

Both you and Sensei sigh when they’re out of sight—for different reasons, of course. Sensei goes on to scrub a hand across his face. You don’t doubt that he’s questioning his life choices right now. Kusakabe, when he visits Sensei and you escort him to where your teacher is, has told you that Sensei complains about how Satoru and Suguru are some of the most promising yet most frustrating students that he’s ever had.

“Sorry, Sensei.” You feel the need to apologize on their behalf. Sensei shoots you an irritable look now. One of your biggest lectures is to stop doting on Satoru and Suguru. “Sorry,” you mumble again with a wince. He stares at you a few seconds more before he heads out of the gym. You quickly follow after and step in line beside him. “Um…you said that we needed to get used to helping Nanami and Haibara more. Something about escorting them on missions?” That had caught your attention during the lecture. “When does that start?”

“I’m not sure,” Sensei answers honestly. “It depends on how today goes. Haibara’s family owns a dojo. Nanami has taken kendo classes since he was a child. I want to see how well they incorporate cursed energy into their techniques.”

Your brows furrow. “It’s been a month…” He hums in agreement. “We were going on our first assignments within a month.”

“Your class is a special case. You’re all extremely talented. Satoru and Suguru are in the process of being assigned Special Grade status. I’ve also been speaking with Kusakabe about putting your name forward for Grade 1 in the future.” Your eyes widen and your head snaps up to stare at him in shock. “Though, I’m not sure that you need the recommendation. Those at headquarters are very interested in your abilities. They’ll be speaking with you soon.”

“I…I don’t understand.” Your mind is spinning right now. “Why? What more can I tell them?”

Sensei stops and turns to stare at you like you’ve grown another head. “You discovered that the Red Room Curse exists as an extension of a cursed spirit’s technique. You used the break to research, something you didn’t have to do. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have known that it had created a cursed tool in the Taisho period. It was found yesterday, if you were curious. It’s been sealed away.”

You frown. “Doesn’t that just mean they should do more research themselves?”

“They should,” he agrees. But they won’t and now you’re here, he doesn’t say. You can do it for them. “Like any high schooler, you should start thinking about what you want to do after graduation. You and Shoko have more options open to you than the rest of your peers. As your name spreads at headquarters, it trickles down to the clans, so they may offer you positions, too.”

And you can’t help but blurt, “Couldn’t you have sprung this on me after sparring?”

Sensei chuckles softly. “It wasn’t meant to cause you stress. What you do or don’t do with your technique is up to you. This was to help you see your worth, more than anything.”

You blink at his honesty. “Y’know…you’re actually a good guy, Sensei.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he grouses.

“Ah, but it was?”

Sensei sighs. “I know.”

“This is stupid,” Satoru complains as the two of you stand off to the side and watch Nanami and Haibara throw themselves at Suguru. They try to clumsily infuse their moves with cursed energy which Suguru is quick to point out and guide them on how to better let their cursed energy flow. “Why not let the guy with a shield handle this?”

“The inconsistent shield?”

Ah, maybe that was a little too mean. Satoru is in a weird place. The last few months, he’s felt like he’s started to slide backward in terms of progress. He still can’t fire off his technique, Red, consistently. Whenever he does try, it leaves him exhausted. Not to mention that, suddenly, his Infinity has started to lower at the most random of times. Satoru has no reason why. Thankfully, it’s not a lot. Sensei and Shoko were honestly shocked because it’s never dropped around them. It’s only you and Suguru that have seen Infinity act up and Satoru wants to keep it that way.

Satoru doesn’t dwell on your words. “Not you too, Sketch! What’s with everyone bashing me today, huh?”

“Anyway.” You roll your eyes. “Getting hit is the point here. Suguru can feel their output better that way and correct them. And it’s not enough for them to hurt him.”

“I’m good at controlling and channeling my cursed energy, too!”

“Yeah, but you can’t explain it well.” Before he can loudly whine again, you interrupt. “For you, it’s so easy that you don’t think about it. It would be like explaining how to breathe.” You pause. “Also, you’re way too rude. You need to be delicate with these things and that’s impossible for you.”

“Is not!”

You turn to stare at him while you dryly ask, “Are you done stalling now?”

His cheeks are flushed with chagrin. “I’m not stalling!”

“Let’s get started, then. I want today to be over. I’m exhausted.” You are tired, true, but you mainly want to run and hide away in your room. Those…thoughts…about Suguru…they still linger in the back of your mind. You’re pointedly not trying to look at him specifically, instead focusing on Nanami or Haibara.

“Fine.”

Satoru makes a show of stomping away. You follow after him with a shake of the head and quiet chuckle. Just a little pushback from people for once and he can’t take it? Suguru will definitely give him more shit later. You wonder if Suguru will lecture him in the showers—

Stop! Stop! Stop!

Where the fuck did that come from? You’re so struck by your own brain’s train of thought that you almost trip over your feet. As you meet Satoru on the other side of the field, you purposely put your back to the first years. You pray that you won’t bump into them. You don’t know that you can stand to face Suguru right now. You’re done. This day has been weird and hellish. You’ll just have to apologize to Satoru later for your impending brutality. You can’t take it easy on him today if you want to be dismissed by Sensei as soon as possible.

“Start already!” Sensei shouts from the other side of the field.

You’re not sure whether Utahime would consider you a friend yet, but since Shoko has the hugest crush on her but is too scared to ask her on an actual date, you’ve spent a lot of time with the two of them. A favorite activity of hers is dancing. It makes sense because it’s an integral part of her technique. More often than not, when you and Shoko visit Utahime in Kyoto, you three end up dancing the night away in her apartment.

And you, practical person that you are, have started to infuse what you’ve learned into your attack style. It’s useful against people like Suguru and Satoru who are so much taller and physically stronger than you. Because, like all things, there are disadvantages to their size. You’re more nimble, more flexible. They naturally swing high which has you mostly going low—sometimes, even dropping to do the splits. When they try to kick, you can dance away or, if you react fast enough, you can catch their leg to sweep them off their feet.

It's been some time since you’ve sparred with Satoru, but that doesn’t mean you’re still not watching. You know how he fights, but today…it’s different. He’s as dodgy as you are. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that he’s pulling his punches. Never let it be said that he’s not a fast learner, so maybe he’s adjusting to match your fight style. He’s like a snake, trying to lash out to get his fangs in you, trying to wrap around you. You narrowly miss getting locked down when he snatches your sweatshirt by pulling yourself out of it.

Just when you think you have his moves down, it only gets weirder. His cheeks are pink. You didn’t think you were going hard enough at him to make him sweat, but maybe you’re wrong. Now, he’s purely on the defensive…or so you think. You should’ve known better. You make the mistake of trying to throw yourself fully on the offense. So, when you aim a high kick at him, he snatches your ankle and roughly yanks you.

It happens fast. You try to catch yourself with your hands, twisting your torso to try to get them on the ground. It doesn’t work in that respect, but it does hook your ankle around Satoru’s neck enough to tip him forward. The back of your head smacks against the ground painfully. The breath is knocked out of you when Satoru’s heavier body lands right on top of you.

“Ow, ow, ow, Sketch. You kicked my head!”

Words are stuck in your throat.

Because, suddenly, you have become hyperaware of your own body. And it’s not exactly like that’s…abnormal…but this…isn’t overstimulation. Or…maybe it is? A shiver runs down your spine. The points of contact where Satoru’s bare skin touches yours are like live wires—heated and sparking.

With the first few buttons of his shirt popped open, your cheek is smashed against his bare skin. Since you’re in a short-sleeve shirt, one of his stupidly huge hands are wrapped around your arm. And…and when he tries to lift away from you, his…his knee slips up and…accidentally nudges up between your thighs…

You bite down on your bottom lip and squeeze your eyes shut, but it’s not enough to hold back the tiny whimper in response to the rush of heat that zips up your spine.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

Above you, Satoru goes rigid. You’re mortified. He heard. “Ow!” It’s all you can think to do. You hope that he falls for your desperate attempt to make that sound like a pained whimper. You need out of here. Fuck the consequences. You squeak out, “I yield!”

“Cool!” Satoru sounds as equally panicked as you do. “My prize is your sweatshirt!”

“Whatever! Can you m—”

There’s a burst of cursed energy. Then, you two become a dizzyingly mess of limbs. You yelp and instinctively grip at Satoru, but because he lifted his arm, his shirt rode up, so you’re grabbing at his bare waist and digging your nails in. He squawks at the rough treatment, trying to lean away, and his hand ends up groping one of your tits when he tries to get his bearings.

As soon as your sweatshirt that he pulled toward him with Blue is finally in his hand, Satoru moves away from you. He chokes when he’s yanked back viciously by the back of his collar. Suguru uses so much force that it briefly lifts Satoru’s knees off the ground. Satoru, weirdly, is protective of his prize because he only reaches back to swat at Suguru with one hand while the other keeps your sweatshirt pressed against his body.

“Satoru!” Suguru shouts. “What the hell? We don’t use cursed techniques in sparring—”

“I’m okay!” You scramble to lift yourself up from the ground. “I am okay!” You don’t know who you’re trying to convince, but Suguru isn’t buying it. You can’t blame him. There’s a tremble in your voice, sweat lining your skin, and your heart is pounding away in your chest. “I hope that everyone has a good sparring session! I’m done!”

Sensei and Suguru both call out your name, but you’re already power walking away from the field.

Despite what some people may think, you’re not stupid or naïve.

But…with how much time it took you to figure out what it was that you were feeling today since that time in the gym…you might be in denial.

In the communal showers, under the lukewarm spray of water, you have your hands pressed to your scalding hot cheeks. You continue to take deep breaths. None of this helps. There’s a very real urge to clench your thighs together. Because there’s a very real ache between them. Because your mind is an endless loop—sweat-slick skin and the hair stuck to it, flashes of skin from shirts ridden up, the outline of defined muscles hidden under white shirts, massive hands…

You slap your hands over your face which…doesn’t help. Since you’re alone, you crouch down without the fear of judgement. If you weren’t alone, you think you still wouldn’t care. You’re in the middle of a crisis. Is this a moral crisis? No. Wait. Oh, no. Is this what they call a sexual awakening?

No. That’s stupid. You’ve obviously felt desire before. Kind of. It was about as lukewarm an experience as the water that pounds against your back right now. Your thoughts had been scattered, nowhere in particular, so maybe that’s why it’d been dry—both literally and metaphorically.

This…this is so different from back then. This is warm. It’s heat. You’re throbbing. You didn’t think that you could ever feel this way. You’ve never wanted to touch yourself so badly. And that in itself isn’t a bad thing. You’ve never understood the point in shame over a natural bodily reaction and doing something to satisfy it. It never flustered you as much as your fellow classmates to hear the boys make sexual innuendos.

No, this shame comes from who you want to think about as you touch yourself. Even now, past your distress, you want to drop to your knees, slip your hand down between your thighs, and know what it’s supposed to truly feel like. But you know…you know that if you do that, their faces will be at the forefront of your mind.

You’re not supposed to think about Satoru and Suguru like this!

They are your best friends!

How the hell are you supposed to ignore this? You finally understand what some people mean when they say they feel like a cat in heat. It’s fine. You’ll just…get your mind off it. Ugh. So, going back to your room is a bad idea. If you’re left alone with your thoughts, you’ll never stop thinking about it. What can you do, though? Why is your go-to always hanging out with friends? You don’t want to be around people anymore. You’re so mentally exhausted now.

Right, okay, you’ll drop to your other default.

There was a bird nest in the big tree outside the classroom window. If you’re lucky, the mama bird will stay still long enough for you to draw her.

As always, drawing manages to knock you out of your head.

It calms you down to the point that between one blink and the next, you’re asleep. Not that you realize that until the ground falls out from underneath you and you jerk awake. There’s a part of you that knows whose arms you’re in, though, so your brain is still calm enough to try and drag you back to sleep.

With a sigh, you slip your arms around his neck and shove your face in the crook of his neck. “Sketchbook,” you mumble as almost an afterthought.

“I’ll come back for it later,” Suguru whispers. “You have to stop sketching outdoors when you’re so tired, Squid. You’ll catch cold.”

“Okay,” you agree sleepily.

Suguru chuckles quietly. “Forget it. I’ll lecture you tomorrow.”

“This one?”

You take a step to the side, almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Shoko. You hunch over to examine where she points at on the display case. It’s a cute tongue ring with a charm in the shape of a heart. “Pretty, but too flat.” She raises a brow in question. “I like it when they have the little ball on the end. See?” You open your mouth to physically show her the piercing and how you roll it against your teeth. “It’s really satisfying to play with.”

On the other side of the display case, Utahime clicks her tongue. “That could easily turn into a dangerous distraction.”

You tilt your body to stare at her through the crack of display cases. Deadpan, you ask, “You have a problem with my tongue piercing but not with Shoko’s smoking?”

“I’m trying to save you from her bad influence,” Utahime shoots back.

“Hey,” Shoko complains.

Then, hypocritically, Utahime points at her side of the case. “What about one of these?” Clearly, if she’s making suggestions then she doesn’t care all that much about your piercing…ah. Wait. She was joking. Maybe a little. You’re still trying to get a read on how Utahime communicates.

You step over to her side of the case. You can’t catch yourself before you let out a shudder and scrunch your nose in disgust. It’s a bead, sure, but it’s those rubbery ones with equally rubbery spikes. Just the thought of that touching the inside of your mouth is nauseating. “Um…thank you for the suggestion, but…no.” You try to keep it polite as to not offend her.

Utahime snorts. “Okay. Stick to metal.” She blinks. “Oh. What about this one?”

The price tag makes you internally cringe, but then you actually look at it, and you immediately know you want it. You have the money saved up for it, anyway. It’s probably plastic, but it’s shaped and shiny enough to look like it’s made of diamond. At that price, it might be made of that off-brand diamond. The charm on the end is in the shape of a dragon’s head.

Excitement surges through you. You practically bounce over to a store worker to have them unlock the case and take the tongue ring to the register. As soon as it’s paid for, you skip out of the store and make a break for the nearest restroom. Just as you have it torn open and are washing it with hand soap, Shoko and Utahime burst into the restroom behind you.

“You’re really excited about this,” Utahime remarks.

“Ahh.” Shoko finally gets a good look at the tongue ring when you hold it up in the light. “No wonder you’re so excited. It’s like a little rainbow dragon.”

The tongue ring almost goes down the drain when you nearly drop it. Looking over your shoulder, you glare at her. “That’s not it at all!” The defensiveness isn’t helping your case, you realize, so you turn back to the mirror. “Jeez, Shoko, not everything I do is about Suguru or Satoru! Can I not get something because it looks cool?”

In the reflection, you watch Shoko put her hands up in surrender. “Whoa, okay, I didn’t mean to offend you, your highness.”

“Inside voice, please,” Utahime reminds you. Then, to Shoko, she says, “She’s right, y’know. Not everything has to revolve around those two. A woman can dress up solely for herself. We know Duck isn’t the type to make herself uncomfortable for someone else.”

Slowly, you move to face Utahime, expression blank. “What did you just call me?”

Shoko, smartly, uses Utahime’s embarrassed stream of apologies as a chance to escape.

You need new fucking friends.

As you and Shoko meander your way up the main staircase that leads back to campus, she casually asks, “So, what’s going on with you and Gojo?”

Ha. As if you’d admit the truth. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon, pretty girl. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed how quiet Gojo’s been.” For a moment, you stupidly think that she’ll keep the focus on Satoru, but you’re not so lucky. “As for you…it’s hard to explain because quiet is your default, but you’ve been really…dodgy. Acting like a nervous wild animal that runs whenever someone gets close.” Oh, you are praying that she doesn’t connect the dots. No dice. “That someone is Gojo and Geto.”

“You know how they are, Shoko. They’re always so touchy. I haven’t been in the mood to deal with that,” you lie. Well. It’s part lie. What you can and can’t handle always goes day by day.

“No, see, I know that’s a lie. Like Utahime said, you never hesitate to tell us when you’re uncomfortable. If you’re having a bad day, you let us know about it.” Shit. “Geto and I are just trying to figure it out. This started after you and Gojo sparred. I thought maybe you’re scared of Gojo and Gojo is scared that you’re scared of him, but you two are acting weird around Geto, too. So, it can’t be that—”

You try to interrupt in as less a panicky way as possible. “It really isn’t that deep—”

“I thought it had to do with the giant crush that Gojo has on you, but like I said, he’s acting like a flustered virgin around you and Geto—”

“Crush?” Shoko holds out an arm to catch you when your foot catches a step the wrong way and you stumble forward. You jerk to face her, eyes wide with shock. “What are you talking about?! Are those cigarettes laced with something, Shoko? Do you need glasses or something?”

Shoko laughs. “Sure, the person that struggles with social cues is going to lecture me.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“When did I say you were?”

“What I mean is that I could tell if he has a crush on me. He’d act different around me, right? Satoru doesn’t know how to be subtle. Since he acts no different around me than he does anyone else, the only logical conclusion is he doesn’t feel any different for me, either.”

“I can’t believe you’re coming at this like a math problem. No. Actually, I can believe that.” She rolls her eyes. “First of all, emotions aren’t logical. Second, and more importantly, he absolutely acts different around you and Geto.”

You huff. “You just proved your point wrong. If he has a crush on me, he wouldn’t treat Suguru the same, would he?”

“Ah. Wait. You’re right. Unless…ooh.” She knocks one fist against her open palm as if she’s had an epiphany. You’re terrified to hear what she’s come up with. “Unless he’s got a crush on both of you. That’s what it is. It makes so much sense. Oh, man. I’ve got to talk to Nanami and Haibara now.”

Your head is spinning. “No, you’re not talking to them about this! I don’t even think there’s a word to describe how far you’re reaching right now, Shoko!” You shake your hands, desperately trying to get out your nervous energy. “Look, I’d understand if he has a crush on Suguru. They’d be a hot couple, okay? But don’t…don’t bring me into this! That’s…anyway, isn’t that cheating?” Your voice quiets. “Isn’t that…wrong?”

“It’s not like any of you are in a relationship. So, no, I don’t think it’s cheating. I still wouldn’t. Cheating is if the other person doesn’t know you’re involved with someone else.” She shrugs. “I might be a biased opinion. There are a lot of people who say that me liking girls is wrong. So, if everyone cares about everyone else involved, then what’s wrong with more than two people in a relationship?”

Oh.

Well, that’s…

You don’t know what to do with all this.

“Okay, that’s…that’s true. I can understand that. It’s like another one of those things that people worry about when there’s no reason.” She nods in agreement. “You’re still wrong about the crush thing, though. Why would someone have a crush on me? No one ever has. Why would they start now?”

“No one has had a crush on you that you know of,” Shoko corrects cryptically. “Are we going to ignore you called them hot?”

“Are you blind?”

“No. I’m gay.”

“Shoko, I like girls, too. It doesn’t make you less of a lesbian if you admit they’re aesthetically pleasing.”

“Sure, but their personalities are so awful that it just ruins everything else.”

“Are you sure that this isn’t just you being uncomfortable that it’s like looking in a mirror when you see them? You all have the exact same sense of humor. You’re definitely as much of an asshole as them.” She bursts out in a fit of laughter. “Yeah, yeah, keep laughing. You know it’s true.”

Shoko wipes at her tears of laughter. As she starts to walk forward again, she remarks, “You talk big, pretty girl, but you can be an asshole yourself.”

If there was one thing that Shoko was right about, it’s that you’ve been obviously skirting around Satoru and Suguru. For three nights straight, both your mind and body toss and turn as you try to figure out where this sudden awareness of their bodies is coming from.

Technically, you’ve been through this before with Suguru, but…was it to this degree?

It’d been one of those rare days that you were allowed to work out in the fields with your parents. When you’d hunted Suguru down to not be so bored as you pulled crops, he’d been hunched over with no shirt on. It wasn’t the first time that you’d seen him without a shirt, per se. You’d both gone swimming before…

You’re not sure what it was. Maybe it was like how your grandparents, who lived in a different village, would remark on how much you’d grown between monthly visits. You would look in the mirror every day, so the changes in yourself were infinitesimal compared to someone that only saw you once a month. It could’ve been that, on that day, your brain had finally caught up on all the ways that Suguru had grown.

That skinny boy with his bony elbows and knobby knees and short, wild hair had grown. He’d finally hit a growth spurt the year before and was taller than everyone else in the village now. He towered over you, skin golden and dripping with sweat. He’d started to slowly grow his hair out and it was long enough to be pulled back in a stubby ponytail. He hadn’t been as toned as he is now, but it was still enough for your eyes to follow along the subtle swell of his biceps.

Jeez, that had been the last year of middle school, you think. Are you having another one of those moments? Did Satoru get caught in the crossfire?

The real question is…why aren’t you as aware of everyone else at school as you are of them? Like you told Shoko, anyone with a pair of eyes can see that they’re aesthetically pleasing. You’ve known that Suguru is a heartthrob since middle school. But…so is everyone else at school.

Shoko is a bombshell. That beauty mark? That poster that had made you blurt out your attraction and caused your mother to smack you, you’re pretty sure the model had a beauty mark, too. Shoko has the whole femme fatale thing going on now that she’s smoking. It’s not like you can blame it on height thing, either. Nanami is as tall as Suguru, the both of them just barely under Satoru. Even with the…stoic loner vibe and haircut…he’s also very handsome. Ruggedly so. Haibara is boyishly handsome, too, and very fit since his family runs a dojo.

So, why?

Why is your body reacting like this to only them?

It’s fine, you tell yourself. You can acknowledge that they’re pretty. There’s nothing wrong with that. You are, as many adults have complained about before, a hormonal teenager. It’s a little embarrassing, your body fixating on them, but you need some good old fashioned exposure therapy. You miss the normalcy that comes with them. You’re bored without them around. Your brain will whip your hormonal body into shape.

The morning after you’ve made your decision, you, admittedly, might…go from zero to a hundred. Despite your exhaustion from the lack of sleep, you think this will be a good day for your senses. Knowing that Satoru and Shoko are the type to show up at the last minute, you rush to meet Suguru on his way to class.

When you see him, back turned, head ducked as he looks at his phone, bag over his shoulder, your feet speed up. And then you throw yourself at his back, locking your arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. Suguru is so surprised that his phone clatters to the ground, yanking out his earbuds.

Suguru lifts his arm up, looking under it, and you poke your head out further to show him it’s you. “Sorry,” you apologize meekly in regard to the fright. You crouch down to pick his phone and earbuds up.

“It’s fine,” he breathes out. “Someone is in a good mood this morning.”

“Sorry,” you repeat. “I feel bad now. You ask me if I want to be touched. I really should’ve done the same.”

“Should I renew my blanket permission? You don’t have to ask me.”

“Permission renewed.”

Suguru chuckles lowly as he tries to turn around in your arms. You take a step back, letting him have room, but you don’t make it very far. He snatches your wrist and yanks you back toward him, making you squeak in surprise. He wraps you up tight in his arms. Your body is tense, you know, only made worse by the rapid beat of your heart and heat prickling across your skin, but you’re trying not to act weird.

“Sorry for being…” You don’t know how to describe it without being incriminating. “My head has been in weird places.”

“Why haven’t you talked to me about it?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumble before pressing your face against his chest.

“Since when did you start to feel shame?” Suguru teases. You dig your fingers into his side meanly, knowing it’s a spot that gets him squirming. Sure enough, he tries to wiggle away from you. “Cut it out,” he demands with a laugh. You do as he asks. “Let me be serious, Squid. I want you to talk to me, okay? Have I ever made you feel like you couldn’t be yourself or say what you want around me?”

“…no,” you admit after a pause.

“Why start now, then?” His grip around you goes unbearably tight. He buries his face in your hair and confesses, “I was worried that I scared you with how rough I got with Satoru.”

“Suguru!” You fist your hands in the front of his blazer and shove him away enough to make him look at your face. “That might be the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me!” His brows furrow in confusion. You nearly shake him. “I will never ever be scared of you, okay? I think it’s physically impossible for my body to think of you as a threat.”

Suguru raises his arms in defeat. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Squid. I didn’t think you’d take it so personally.”

“You’re the most important person to me. Why wouldn’t I take that personally?” You step back and cross your arms over your chest. “How would you feel if I asked if you were scared of me?”

“It might actually be physically impossible for you to look scary.”

“Never mind. I’m not talking to you anymore,” you declare with a huff before you start stomping away.

Suguru chases after you with a laugh.

The next day, in the late afternoon, you’re on your way to the bus stop, planning to head into the city for something to eat. You like this bus. Since the school’s campus is so far out, the bus is smaller, and there’s only one seat per aisle. No one will sit next to you. You don’t have to make small talk, either. You finally dropped money for a MP3 player, so when you have earbuds, you’re simply written off as a rude teenager and usually aren’t bothered.

At the torii gate, though, your dinner plans change because Satoru is waiting for you with your sweatshirt over one arm and a bag of takeout dangling from his other hand.

The two of you sneak inside an empty classroom, glowing orange with the afternoon sun. He shoves a desk in front of the one you sit at, giving you both room to eat the ramen he bought. Wordlessly, he passes you the sweatshirt. At first, you were confused over how he even got it, but you realize it’s the one from when you two sparred. It’s still warm, you think, and smells like the really expensive laundry detergent.

Unthinkingly, you shove your face against the fabric, taking a lungful and soaking in the soft warmth. You rub your face against it. Satoru snorts before he speaks directly to you for the first time in…a few days, probably. “It’s like looking at a kitten.”

“That’s rich when you’re cuddling with those soft Digimon plushies,” you grumble. You carefully fold it up and shove it down in your bag. “You didn’t have to wash it, y’know. What? Did you spill something on it or stain it or something?”

Satoru shouts, “No!” His face is bright red, though. The reddest that you’ve ever seen it. It’s answer enough.

“Don’t be so defensive. It’s okay if you did.” Your leg is bouncing from nervousness. This is so bad. You shouldn’t be nervous around best friends. “Are we done being weird around each other?”

He is pointedly not looking at you as he divvies out the plastic containers. “I’m…um…I guess I should apologize first. I didn’t scare you or anything, did I?”

You blink, honestly confused and trying to figure out why you’d be scared. “It was just Blue?”

“Yeah, but still…”

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.” You break your chopsticks apart but pause. “I’m more disappointed than anything. Using your technique because you’re too lazy to walk and get my sweatshirt? What if the school was suddenly attacked and you didn’t have any cursed energy left because you’ve been flinging it around everywhere?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Do you even know how much cursed energy I have? Using it here and there isn’t going to kill me. And what kind of hypothetical is that, anyway? This is the safest place in the jujutsu world.”

“The Special Assault Team could storm campus with machine guns or something.”

“Okay, then I’d have Suguru use Hong to deflect the bullets while something else in his arsenal eats them.”

You shake your head. “And he’d do it, too. For all the lectures he gives you about being spoiled, he’s the worst.”

“Heh! So do you,” he sings.

The worst part is that he’s right. Still, you feel the need to defend your honor. “Who can say no to the jujutsu world’s prettiest princess? Lord Gojo is such a demanding little thing. No one wants to deal with one of his tantrums.”

“I know you’re trying to be an asshole, but I am the prettiest princess in all the land.”

The two of you continue to make innocent jabs at each other while you eat. In the middle of dinner, Suguru texts, asking where you are and what you’re doing. You tell him, knowing that he’ll be here sooner rather than later. Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, he’s at the doorway in baggy sweats and a big white shirt. His long hair is down, still dripping. Did he seriously come here from the showers?

You swallow, a lump in your throat. It’s fine. This is fine. His nipples are hard and poking against his shirt, but that’s a natural bodily response. Just like how you squeeze your thighs together.

Fuck. You need to run your mouth before this gets weird. “You need to blow-dry your hair. You’ll get sick, walking around with wet hair.”

Suguru’s eyes narrow. “Are you lecturing me? Miss Barefoot-in-Snow?”

“I like to see my footprint in the snow and the crunch is nice.”

“Wear socks, at least.”

In unison, you and Satoru give a scandalized, “And have wet socks?!” You’re too busy shuddering at the thought, so Satoru continues on your behalf. “It’s like you want her to die!”

“Remind me to put my blazer over any puddles that you might have to step in, Lord Satoru,” Suguru says dryly.

“More proof to the princess allegations,” you mutter.

Satoru harrumphs. “I never denied being a princess.”

Suguru fully steps inside the classroom, approaching you both, grabbing a chair along the way. “I don’t even want to know.”

A month of normalcy passes, and you naively think that all is right in the world once again.

It’s been an exhausting day.

As it happens when the weather starts to warm up, cursed spirit activity is on the rise again.

For Nanami and Haibara’s first mission, you are the one tasked with their supervision. You weren’t anyone’s first pick, but there was no other choice. The more experienced sorcerer assigned was called away last minute to handle a higher grade. There’s a situation somewhere in Hokkaido, potentially Special Grade. A lot of sorcerers have been seriously hurt, so Shoko went with Satoru and Suguru.

You were given one hell of a lecture when you argued with Sensei about him going with the first years instead. A chance to study a Special Grade? You didn’t want to pass that up! Then, maybe you hadmade a bitchy remark about how a potential promotion to principal is getting to his head.

Anyway, the assignment with the first years went fine.

You were lectured yet again, this time by Haibara of all people. There’s a possibility that you…sort of pacified everything in the area. In your defense, the briefing said there would only be a pack of low-level spirits. A separate, higher graded spirit must’ve been close by, heard the violence, and slipped past the veil to get in on the action. When Nanami was smacked away with enough force that he cracked the wall he landed against, you panicked.

Ugh. You’re definitely not beating those Mama Duck accusations anymore.

You force yourself through dinner with them because you wanted to be polite and felt like you owed them since you cut the mission short. It’s dusk, almost night, but the lights of the city and restaurant are still too bright. They decide on a place that’s packed and so loud. By the time you three step outside, you have a pounding headache and nearly fall asleep against Nanami’s shoulder because you’re drained.

After you’re showered and dressed for bed, you flop back on your mattress with a weary sigh. On instinct, you reach for your cell phone, checking for any new messages like you have been the last three days. It’s late. You don’t expect much from them. Satoru used Blue at maximum output three times, Shoko reported. Suguru swallowed the curse when it was weak enough. Satoru will be wiped out and Suguru will be in bed immediately to digest the curse.

Everyone has been sending you pictures. The most recent and most likely last batch of the night are from Shoko. One that shows three bottles of nail polish, one that shows Suguru and Satoru hunched over as they paint their nails, a zoom-in of Satoru with his tongue poking out in concentration, and the last a shot of everyone’s finished nails. Satoru chose an electric blue, Suguru went with black, and Shoko has a baby pink color.

You spend way too long staring at that picture. There’s something in the pit of your stomach, seeing Shoko’s hand so close to theirs. It’s small compared to theirs. You wish that it could be your hand there. You want to run the tip of your finger along the line of their prominent veins. You’d hold both your hands up so they could press one of theirs against it, just to see how much they dwarf your own. What would the fit be like if you laced your fingers through theirs?

Your phone chimes with a text from Suguru. Face hot, you quickly back out of the conversation with Shoko, feeling guilty for a reason you can’t pinpoint. As soon as Shoko told you that Suguru swallowed the curse, you immediately texted Suguru, wanting to check in and remind him to remember to grab some instant rice for the morning. It’ll be easy on his stomach. You made him send a picture as proof. After he did, he wanted to know if you’d eaten yourself. You sent a picture of your meal. Suguru hadn’t responded to that text until now.

I’m proud of you for going out. I always worry about you being lonely, his text says. You’re about to roll your eyes at his mother hen tendencies, but then his next message rolls in. Be a good girl for me until I get back. Night, Squid.

The phone slips out of your hand, the edge of it landing painfully on the bridge of your nose. You jerk up from the mattress, clutching at your nose. Why is your face on fire? He…he was teasing, right? Be a good girl for me. They…they were just some words. You shake your hands, trying to dispel the sudden surge of panicked energy. Be a good girl for me. Great. That’s stuck in your head now. Shit.

Goodnight, Suguru, you reply back with slightly sweaty fingers. Sweet dreams.

Eh. They’re never that sweet without you around.

Is…is this…no. No. This isn’t flirting. It’s just…being a friend. That’s something friends would say, right? Yeah. This is just another roundabout way of saying that he misses you. Yeah, yeah. I miss you, too, you send back. Maybe some of Satoru’s sweetness can rub off on your dreams.

Fingers crossed. See? Friendly banter. If he was flirting, he wouldn’t pull Satoru into the conversation, right? I’ll text you in the morning when we’re leaving.

Rolling over on your side, you curl up into as much of a ball as you can and shove your face against your pillow. You have to stop yourself when you realize you’re rubbing your feet together again because you can’t fall asleep like that. Just go to sleep, you tell yourself.

Closing your eyes, you breathe in and out.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Over and over and…

…the mattress dips down. One side and then the other. You’re on your belly, arm shoved under the pillow that your face is still shoved into. You tilt your head to the side, eyes still closed, too exhausted to open them. You know these bodies that press up against each side of your own.

Someone’s hand presses against the small of your back and it’s almost like lightning shoots up your spine. In nothing but your sports bra, it’s bare skin against bare skin. But that’s nothing compared to the rush that comes when he leans down to press a kiss to where his hand previously was, so close to your ass, to your…

“Be a good girl,” Satoru quietly sings as the tips of his fingers land on the back of your calf. Your fingers are clenching the sheets. You gasp as his fingers teasingly begin to meander up your legs. Dancing around your inner thighs. “Mm, you’re the prettiest princess in all the land.” Oh. Oh. He’s so close. He’s going to feel how wet you are. “Heh, hell yeah, I am. Are you as pretty down here as you are everywhere else?”

“Satoru,” you gasp before you shove your face back against the pillow.

Another hand splays around the back of your neck, slipping up and around, cupping the side of your face. When he guides you to turn your face back toward him. A thumb runs along your bottom lip, dipping inside your mouth. Just a tease, though. You’re the one that sucks it back into your mouth.

“Such a good girl,” Suguru whispers against your ear. “Sweet girl.” He pulls his hand away, fingers teasingly running along the band of your sports bra.

“Suguru.”

“Let us handle it.”

And your eyes open before they’re closing again. You’re rolling your face against the pillow. As you’re clinging to the last vestiges of your dream, you don’t quite yet comprehend that it’s your hand shoved down your shorts. The line between dream and reality is a blur.

Sheets tangled around your legs are what you imagine what it would feel like to have theirs around yours instead. Your warm breath that fans out across your face as you’re panting against your pillow could be mistaken as theirs while they’re whispering into your ears. The heat inside you is almost unbearable, pitching up into a fervor, only spurred on by the desperate rolling of your hips. It’s like liquid fire rushing through your veins, burning and burning as you hump your hand.

Finally, blissfully, you are overwhelmed by pleasure.

It all crests. Your entire body locks up and trembles. In an attempt to chase after the addictive yet fading sparks, you try to jerk your legs up to get up on your knees, but it’s too soon after your limbs were locked up. Your leg painfully cramps and throbs and you’re fully thrown out of the dream’s clutches.

Clutching at your throbbing leg, you roll over on your back and stare up at the ceiling while you suck in shaky breaths.

What did you do?

What did you just do?

All you can really think to do is shout, “Fuck!”

You’re not there when they return the next day. Just before six in the morning, Sensei called you and said that you needed to report to Kyoto as soon as possible. If you’re honest with yourself, you’re thankful that you don’t have to see them today which only adds to the guilt that’s set in the pit of your stomach like a stone. Why couldn’t this be like a normal dream that fades away before you’re out of bed?

A better question—why did you have a dream like this to begin with?

There’s a Kyoto manager waiting to pick you up from the train station. Before you slip in the car, they hold out a hand. “I’ll need your phone.”

“Excuse me?”

Their eyes seem cold, but you try to convince yourself that’s not the case. You don’t do well with catching on to how other people feel and often mistake cold with cordial. “You’ll be meeting with a few of the higher-ups.” Your eyes widen. And you have nothing to be in trouble for, but your heart rate picks up regardless. “These meetings are expected to be kept private, but your phone is confiscated as a precaution.”

“The higher-ups?” The manager nods wordlessly. “Why?”

“I wasn’t trusted with that information.” The manager steps aside and motions toward the open door. “I’m your escort. Have you had breakfast? They’ve permitted us to stop for something if you need it.”

You don’t take the manager up on the offer.

The higher-ups are already waiting for you when you make it to campus. There are only three in the room, none of them speaking, only sipping at some tea. You recognize Principal Gakuganji, but that’s it. Even worse, they’re seated around a chabudai. They’re not close enough to touch, but it’s still a much more intimate setting than if they were all behind a desk with you in a chair across the room.

Gakuganji states your name and then motions to the empty spot at the chabudai. “Sit.”

The three men introduce themselves—Gakuganji, of course, and the other two are elders of the Zen’in and Kamo clans. You don’t bother to remember their given names. You doubt that you’d ever be in the realm of familiarity with these people and, yeah, maybe you can’t read the room well, but you know they look down on you. Satoru has warned you about elders in clans and those high up on the food chain.

Superiority complex bigger than mine, Sketch, Satoru had said. And with nothing to back it up! They’re weak as hell! Even the geezers in my clan!

Gakuganji is the first to speak. “Yaga should have instructed you to bring your drawings and notes. Did you?”

“Oh. Um. Yes.” You reach inside your bag to pull out the sketchbook. It makes you twitchy when you place it on the table and Zen’in immediately reaches out to roughly grab it and slide it over in front of him. You try not to cringe when you see it slide through some tea that spilled over the rim of his cup.

You’re not allowed to watch Zen’in long. Gakuganji asks, “Is that all?”

“Pardon?”

“I was informed that you had multiple sketchbooks. You’ve kept them since before you entered Jujutsu High, correct?”

Zen’in grunts. “Is there any organization to this?” Your hands fist the hem of your skirt. The disgusted curl of his lip is downright offensive. You keep those pages clean. They’re not cluttered with doodles. You limit one curse to each page. You’ve always had neat handwriting. What more does he expect? “Tch. You’ll have to go through and identify which are with Geto Suguru.”

A cold chill runs down your spine.

“Have some patience, Zen’in,” Kamo snaps. “We’re here for more than that.” Kamo is the youngest which is to say that he’s probably barely hit the retirement age. He smiles at you. “I apologize on his behalf, young lady. Continue, please.” You suspect that he’s meant to be the one you warm up to.

Very suddenly, viscerally, you become keenly aware that you’ve stepped inside a room full of snakes. What’s worse is that a misstep isn’t going to poison you alone. Suguru’s shadow is in the room. You don’t quite understand why your instincts scream danger. Normally, you wouldn’t trust them. Something tells you that you need to right now.

“I threw those away,” you lie. You’re a good liar. With a naturally emotionless expression and flat tone, people have as hard a time reading you as you do with them. “I only had one with me before I became a sorcerer, but I threw it away. It was full and I didn’t see a need for it. It was too messy to be submitted.”

Kamo’s lips twitch. “It’s truly only that one?”

“There are six-hundred blank pages, so I planned for it to last a long time. I have another one that’s more personal. Just to work on my art.” You nearly breathe a sigh of relief. For once, your meticulous nature of keeping a hard line between what you use your sketchbooks for comes in handy. “Here.” You set your smaller, personal sketchbook on the table.” I apologize for not getting it out before. I thought you meant only what I’ve done with cursed spirits.”

Gakuganji takes your personal sketchbook, only briefly skimming through with pursed lips. “I’m sure you’ve been told, but you’re expected to turn in your work to headquarters when it’s full.” You nod slowly. “We’ve been getting feedback about you, not only from Yaga but from other sorcerers. You were the one that helped with the Red Room Curse, yes?”

“Yes.”

Zen’in snorts. “You’re telling me that old urban legend was real?”

“Walk us through your thought process,” Gakuganji requests without acknowledging Zen’in.

“The internet, in the scheme of things, is relatively new. In my studies, I’ve learned that cursed spirits tend to stay away from technology. They usually interact with it only to destroy it. So, the curse using the internet as a tool to curse and travel was a huge red flag to me,” you explain. “Legends and cursed spirits can go hand-in-hand. An existing spirit inspires a legendary monster or the negativity around a legend will create a spirit.”

“Imaginary vengeful cursed spirits,” Zen’in grunts. “We know.”

“Not always,” you correct curtly. His eyes narrow at you. “There’s that old saying…legends have a sprinkle of truth to them. It’s smart to look into these cursed spirits. An imaginary vengeful spirit could have actually started out as a regular vengeful spirit that’s connected to an area or bloodline which is what happened here. Someone cursed a relative in the Taisho era, the spirit bound itself to a red journal, and gained power until it found an easier, faster way to spread itself.”

Kamo hums thoughtfully. “There was another incident last week.” You already know the one that he’s talking about. “Has Yaga told you the outcome of the situation?” You shake your head. “Did the sorcerer on call with you explain what that cursed object was?” Another shake of the head from you. “That was one of the fingers of Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, and you were right about the seal being weak. The seal was reinforced.”

“I’m glad.”

“How did you know?”

“The activity of the cursed spirits in the area,” you lie again. Rather, it’s not the whole truth. But you’re worried that the truth could come off as a concern for them.

When you were in the range of that finger, something inside you just…knew. The cursed energy that radiated from it…there was a sense of anticipation. It’d been disorienting because the spirits in the area had the same feeling, too. It left you reeling and jittery from secondhand adrenaline.

These men don’t need to know that you’re feeling cursed spirits. No. Cursed energy. As the days tick by, you’re getting closer and closer to your dreadful theory being proven correct. You don’t want the higher-ups to come to that conclusion, too. You’re not sure what would happen if they thought you could influence anyone with a shred of cursed energy.

“We’d like to offer you an internship of sorts,” Gakuganji speaks up. “Each of the major clans have a storage of cursed objects, tools, and weapons. We do this so everything isn’t centralized to the school campuses, in case of a successful raid. Starting your third year, we’d like you to visit their main compounds and examine their collections.”

You catch yourself before you agree. “I would need cursed spirits to see how they act.”

“That’s not a problem for the Zen’in. We have a pit full of them.”

Again, you bite back the urge to ask this man why the fuck his clan has a pit of curses. “The pacification alters their behavior. It would only be effective if I hid myself from them, but that doesn’t protect anyone else in the compound. I don’t feel comfortable with that kind of risk.”

Kamo and Zen’in burst out in loud guffaws. The sudden noise makes you visibly wince. When they quiet, Kamo explains the hilarity by saying, “You’ll be in compounds with some of the strongest sorcerers in the world. We can handle some low grade cursed spirits.”

Your brows furrow. “Won’t there be children—”

Zen’in rolls his eyes and waves off your concern with a callous, “They need the practice.”

Is this seriously what it’s like to be born into one of these clans? These men are at the highest place in their clans, in jujutsu society. Better than anyone else, they should understand how rare sorcerers are. Why would they be so careless with the lives of their clansmen? You understand that this is ruthless work, and to coddle children can be a death sentence in itself, but this just seems cruel for the sake of cruelty.

Was Satoru’s world this cruel?

“I’d like a partner with me,” you force yourself to politely request. “Please.”

“One of the first years,” Kamo reluctantly agrees. Your mouth opens to protest, but he holds a hand up. “No Gojo will step foot on my clan’s compound. As for the Geto boy, it’s pointless. His control over cursed spirits is as manipulative as your pacification abilities, right?”

“Yaga says that Nanami Kento is showing promise,” Gakuganji adds.

“For once, I agree with Kamo. I’d burn my compound to the ground before I let a Gojo waltz in,” Zen’in spits on the ground, to which Kamo and Gakuganji make displeased noises. “And I’m not adding more fodder to the army of that brat with the Curse Manipulation.”

An offer, they say, but even you with your struggles to grasp social cues knows that this isn’t an option. No one in your position can say no to the higher-ups. With a smile that’s probably more of a grimace, you grit out, “Nanami will be fine.”

Sensei is in the longue outside the room where you met with the three elders. Said men who had been escorting you out, all rush on, leaving you in your teacher’s care. Not that you want to be around him right now. You might be more furious with him than the people you just met with. Sensei is next in line to be principal. He’s essentially a liaison with Lord Tengen. There’s no way he didn’t know what this conversation would be about. You wonder if he’s the one that suggested this.

Maybe you’re overreacting, but it feels like he’s stabbed you in the back.

There’s a lot that you want to say, but you won’t. There’s no point in it. It’ll only send you to your inevitable breakdown. You feel that rumble inside you. But…maybe you can get some answers out of Sensei before that happens. So, you demand to know, “Why are they like that with Suguru? He hasn’t done anything!”

Sensei drops down in a chair, sighing tiredly as he goes. “It’s…not only Suguru. This is a lack of trust in anyone that’s been marked as Special Grade.”

“Why? What did they do that was so wrong?”

“Do you know what it takes for someone to be considered Special Grade?”

“Anomalies in the system,” you recite. His own words, you might add.

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that. The truth is that Special Grade sorcerers are those who have potential to devastate. You’re a logical girl. You can understand that Suguru has access to an army. Satoru, when he’s at his full potential, will most likely be the strongest sorcerer of the modern era—”

“Fear,” you spit. “This is fear.”

“Yes,” Sensei confirms without a beat. “They’re afraid. There’s currently only one other Special Grade sorcerer. Before this generation, the rank Special Grade had only been reserved for cursed spirits. To suddenly have so many, and all at once, it’s only made the higher-ups more afraid.” He hunches over, putting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not fair, I know, but this is how it has to be. That much power comes with certain responsibilities.”

Your fists clench. “I understand that, Sensei, but where’s the trust? All our lives, we’ve been…no one has ever trusted us. We came here because we wanted to be around people like us. We wanted to be accepted. What’s different between our village and here? Nothing. Sometimes, I think it’s worse. We’re not weapons. We’re people.”

“They know that.”

At your breaking point, you shout, “Do they?!” There’s so much more you want to say. I’m not spying on Suguru. I’ll lie on every single one of those pages that I send to headquarters. Somehow, you have the wherewithal to realize that that’s not a smart idea. Sensei is on your side, but not as much as you thought before. He’s chained by the higher-ups. “I’ll make my own way back to Tokyo.”

And you make sure to slam the door on the way out.

As you’re storming out of the building, you throw your hood up and shove on your sunglasses. You’re storming through campus with a trembling bottom lip and tears slowly trickling down your cheeks. You had hoped that it would be dead, but you’re not that lucky. There are a few students, a few more mature sorcerers, and you keep your head ducked down. You’re biting your lip raw to hold back the sobs threatening to spill out.

You make it as far as the outside of Kyoto High’s barrier before you can’t take it anymore and duck off the path. You drop down on a small boulder and cry. Between gasping breaths and desperately trying to wipe away tears that won’t stop, you pull out your cell phone.

Because you can’t do it. You can’t be around strangers. A two-hour bullet train ride is too daunting. Thinking of the smells of meals that people eat to pass the time, of the noise from even whispered conversations that would be loud to your overworking mind, of only an armrest separating you from another person and how that would make your skin crawl. An even worse hell would be a grueling five-hour drive with a manager back to Tokyo.

Please come pick me up, you text with trembling fingers. Not even thirty seconds later, your phone is ringing, but you quickly deny the call. No, you rush to text. Can’t talk, you add before he gets the wrong idea. Crying too hard to talk, you admit. The confession only makes you sob harder, of course. You can put your fist through monsters, but you can’t talk on the phone with your best friend without bawling like a baby.

Okay, Suguru responds back. I’ll take Hong there.

Manta ray back? I don’t want to be around people.

Whatever you want.

Thank you, Suguru.

Through the canopy of the trees, you see the glitter of Hong’s rainbow scales. You’ve managed to stop crying. And you thought that you’d be okay, but seeing the concern on Suguru’s face when he finds where you’ve hidden yourself away just brings it all back.

At this point, it’s not even so much the meeting. This is pure frustration with yourself. It’s shame and embarrassment. Just a little stress and you buckle. You hate this body. You hate this brain. Why can’t you be stronger? Why can’t you push yourself through the pain? Why does there have to be pain at all?

Suguru doesn’t speak. He sits down in front of the boulder, leaning his back against it. You spread your legs, allowing his shoulders to fit between them. He knows your tights are a barrier from skin contact, so he can freely lean his head to the side, resting against the inside of your knee.

Then, Suguru waits in silence.

You need his rock-solid presence but can’t bear him watching you in this pathetic state. It only makes things worse. Normal people would want to be comforted, to be hugged, but that’s just more stress. You can’t talk like this, so you feel stupid. You feel eyes on you, so you cry harder because you’re ashamed that you got here in the first place. If you were back on your campus, you would hide yourself away in your room until you’re calm. That’s not an option here.

And…and Suguru knows this. He knows you. He won’t look at you, won’t acknowledge that you’re breaking down. Why are you so kind? You think of those three stupid, old men. How can you be afraid of someone so kind?

“Su—” you choke on his name. You can’t speak past the lump in your throat. Angry that you can’t even manage his name, you ball up your fist and start banging it against your thigh. Like that can make your body cooperate. Or…it’s punishment. It might be that.

“Squid,” Suguru whispers as he reaches out to gently take your wrist. “I know you’re mad at yourself, but don’t do that. Why don’t I tell you about the cursed spirit we saw? We can make a game of it. I try to describe it. You try to draw it.” You shake your head furiously. “You’re stuck in the loop, aren’t you? Don’t you want out?”

The loop, you call it. The way you’re stuck in an endless cycle of berating yourself for being like this. You’ll never stop unless you have a distraction and his presence isn’t enough.

When Suguru hands you your sketchbook and a pencil, you take it.

There are a lot of tear stains on the paper by the time you calm all the way down, but it does the trick.

“Eh? That doesn’t look like it at all,” Suguru mutters when you hand him the finished product. “I didn’t think I was this bad at descriptions,” he remarks with a chuckle. “Still cool, though.” Slowly, he gets to his feet, patting his pants down to get all the dirt off. He turns around and holds out a hand to you. “Ready to go?”

You take his hand as an answer.

You don’t let go.

Suguru’s eyes widen a little when you thread your fingers through his. The two of you stand there for a minute before he’s squeezing your hand and guiding you back out to the main path. A manta ray spirit is waiting there for you both, low enough that you can step on it. You’re forced to let go of his hand, but you don’t want to lose that point of contact. You’re seated behind him, cross legged. You slip your arms around his waist from behind and press your forehead against his back.

Suguru covers his hands with yours and never stops during the whole ride back.

You decided that you wouldn’t tell anyone about the details of that meeting until you absolutely had to. The parts of it that you had to agree to, anyway. You won’t talk about them wanting you to spy on Suguru and keep track of his spirits because you’re not doing that. It’s an invasion of privacy that you refuse to be part of. Unlike the higher-ups that see Suguru and Satoru as tools to be kept track of, they’re your best friends.

Eventually, they’ll notice that you’re not marking which spirits are his. You’ve already started to come up with excuse—you forgot, you’re too focused on capturing the spirit on the page, you had it in your mind when you were preparing them to be sent to headquarters but forgot it. They’ll catch on, probably. After that, you’ll just lie. And it kills you inside a little, but you’ll have to stop marking the date on them. It really will make it harder to remember which assignments were with Suguru and which weren’t.

Suguru knows not to ask you about what made you so upset. Maybe he’ll give a half-hearted try in a week or two, but it’s too fresh. You’ll only get upset when you remember all the negative emotions that came with a breakdown. The only smart thing those old bastards did was to have you meet with them on a Friday.

It’s Sunday now and you feel a little better. Your defiance has helped mute your anxiety a little, you guess. After going the rest of Friday and all of yesterday without speaking, you think you can manage it today. Words don’t feel as heavy. It’s not as much a daunting task as it was before. Just like going to spend time with Satoru and Suguru is a little less tiring. That’s the thing, you love to hang out with them, but it still drains your battery. It doesn’t drain as fast or as much as it would if you were around some random strangers, but down goes that metaphorical battery all the same.

Satoru is already at the meeting place—one of the many koi ponds sprinkled around campus. You don’t want to deal with grass against your skin today, so you spread out a spare blanket from your room. Satoru hums before he’s scooting over to sit down on the blanket next to you.

The two of you are side-by-side, watching the occasional koi break the surface with a splash. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Satoru rocks back and forth, fidgeting with the hem of his pant legs. You’re not surprised when he finally asks the question because you’ve been expecting it. “Are you okay?”

“Better,” you answer honestly.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Oh.” From the corner of your eye, you see him frown. “Is it…because it’s me? I know I’m not good with…feelings and stuff. I can just fuck off if you wanted to just spend time with Suguru and talk and stuff…”

You smile. It’s small but sincere. “It’s not that, Satoru. If I wanted to talk about it, I’d feel okay doing it with you, too. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to cry again.”

He cringes. “Yeah, I don’t want you to cry, either.” He’s at the edge of the blanket and starts picking at blades of grass. “Is there anything I can do so that doesn’t happen again?”

“No,” you answer honestly. You’re surprised to see him flinch, like you’re hurting his feelings. He usually has thick skin. Ah, but he’s also used to being the answer to everyone’s problems. You don’t think there’s much that he can’t do. “The breakdowns are a part of me. There’s always going to be a potential to have one.” You pause. You’d rather not have him stress over this. “I can try to ask for help before it gets to that point, though. I don’t know—can you extend Infinity to protect others?”

“Ha, no. Not yet.”

“Well…I could use your blackout glasses? Light makes me the most sensitive.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, same.”

“I won’t use them, then.”

“I can handle it for a little bit if it’ll make you feel better,” he mumbles. “I kinda get what you’re going through. I used to get super overwhelmed when I was a kid, before I could control Infinity. I would get really angry, though. There were a few times that I’d grit my teeth so hard that I’m shocked now that my teeth didn’t get chipped. I guess a part of me was scared to cry in front of tutors, so I’d be angry instead.”

You do the thing that Suguru stopped you from doing when you were in the midst of it—beating a fist against your thigh. “I get mad, too. Just at myself.” Your brows furrow. “Oh. I get angry before that point, I think. Sometimes, when I’ve been by myself, I’ve punched walls.”

Satoru’s shoulders slump. You think…is that a sigh of relief from him? “I don’t feel so bad now,” he admits embarrassedly. “The clan was kind of understanding how sensitive I am with lights because of the Six Eyes, but…they never really got how much everything else built up.” He’s fidgeting even more, uncharacteristically nervous. “I never wore tabi socks with my yukata when I went out, in case there was some water somewhere. I hate how clothes feel on my skin when they’re wet. It’s…clingy.”

It’s slowly dawning on you. Curious, you ask, “How do you feel about cotton balls?”

You watch a shudder roll down his spine. “After my first cavity, I made sure I’d never get another one. I almost sent the dentist across the room with Blue when he put those things in my mouth.”

“Eye contact?”

“Ugh, I hate that stupid shit. My old man meets with people from other countries, and they’re obsessed with it. I’m so lucky I’m in Japan.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust. “I wish I was around you when I was a kid. The sunglasses idea saved my life and my reputation. Now, people can’t figure out where I’m looking.”

“Reputation? You have one of those?”

“Rude,” Satoru complains and pokes you insistently. “People think you’re all sweet, Sketch. You’re as much of an asshole as I am, y’know. People just forgive you because you have that pretty face and cute smile. It’s the same with Suguru, too. You’re both the golden kids!”

Your heart skitters at hearing pretty face and cute smile, but he included Suguru. It’s just an observation. An exaggeration in your case, definitely, but whatever. “It’s not being an asshole. I’m just blunt.”

“So am I!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, and I’ve also studied other people, so I know what’s too far.” You hesitate. “Usually.” Another pause from you before you finally settle on a reluctant, “Sometimes. But definitely more than you.”

He’s pouting at you. “You could be nice and teach me.”

“You don’t care enough to learn.”

“I care about people!”

“I know that.” Hmm, how do you explain it? “I’ve kinda learned from seeing you interact with Nanami and Haibara that you use that bluntness as a way to help. Put you and, say, Suguru together. You both see the same flaw and point it out. You’re not as nice as Suguru, but you don’t waste time with niceties. They’re there to learn and be critiqued. It’s not a good idea to inflate their egos. That gets people killed.”

Satoru nods enthusiastically. “See? See! You get it!”

You rush to add, “But…you should give them encouragement. It sucks to constantly be told how you’re not doing things right. I know that way too well. Just ask Suguru.”

“You’re way too soft for this line of work, Sketch.”

This day is important, though you won’t realize that until much, much later. But isn’t that how life is? Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that.

Today is the last day that you will see Satoru and Suguru smile genuinely for a very, very long time.

[baby-blue-skyy]

Too Sweet // R. Grimes (TWD) Part 6

Sixth part of: Too Sweet

I just want to start by saying I am so sorry it has taken me so long to post. I have been swamped with school & work. Thankfully I am caught up and have a break. This chapter is a little long—and I apologize for the cliffhanger… But, I promise, part 7 will pick up right where I left off. I also want to add, I’m sorry for any misspelling/grammar mistakes. I haven’t proofread it before posting, and I will fix any mistakes after I proofread it. I also want to say thank you— for every single one of you who has supported my little series. I appreciate you ALL. I hope you all enjoy this. Xoxo 🤎

Warning: age gap, language, smoking, kissing, slightly suggestive themes.

Summary: After arriving in Alexandria, Rick is still on high alert, uncertainty about the people who live within the walls of his new, unfamiliar home. But one person has caught his attention.

•••

The night was thick with the heat of summer. The air hung heavy, suffocating almost, as if the earth itself was reluctant to release its tension. The humidity wrapped around Rick Grimes like a second skin, clinging to him with each step he took through the streets of Alexandria. It was as though the weather mirrored his own turmoil—hot, heavy, and relentless.

The faint mist in the air only made it worse, swirling around him, dampening the world but not his thoughts. The mist clung to his clothes, his hair, his skin. But nothing could wash away the memory of yesterday—the memory of her.

Daisy.

Her image was burned into his mind. Rick had never meant for it to happen, but it had. It had been so sudden, so impulsive, and when his lips had met hers, right and wrong had vanished. In that moment, he had no control over himself.

He had crossed a line, one he hadn’t even known existed, and now it was too late.

It wasn’t just the kiss that tormented him—it was everything that followed. The way she had looked at him, her wide, brown eyes full of confusion and something else, something Rick hadn’t been able to name. She was perfect. So perfect, it hurt.

But she wasn’t his.

He clenched his fists as he walked. The guilt gnawed at him. He should have been better. He should have known better. But despite the self-loathing that clawed at his insides, Rick couldn’t help but feel… it was her fault too. She had been standing right in front of him, her eyes so wide, so trusting. How could he resist? How could he not lose himself in her presence?

He had tried to shake it off, tried to move on, but no matter how many laps he made around the streets of Alexandria, it didn’t help. The streets felt like they were closing in on him, and every corner he turned only led him back to her, back to that kiss.

Rick’s third lap found him standing in front of Daisy’s house. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what had brought him here. His house was just across the street.

He should have gone home, rested, gotten some sleep. But something, an invisible pull, had brought him here. His feet had carried him, and now he stood in front of her door, his mind spinning, his body trembling.

She was probably asleep. Josh, her boyfriend, was on watch duty. It should have been easy to leave.

But then again, maybe if he spoke to her, if he apologized, it would give him some peace. Maybe, just maybe, it would allow him to sleep through the night without reliving that moment over and over again.

Rick hesitated for what felt like forever, his hand hovering over the door handle. The decision seemed impossible. He knew it was a bad idea, but every instinct in him was pulling him forward.

“You gonna knock, or just stand there staring at the door?”

Rick’s breath hitched. His heart slammed in his chest. The sound of her voice, calm yet piercing, snapped him to attention. He whipped around, his pulse racing.

There she was.

She sat on the porch, her bare legs crossed, her small frame sinking into the chair as if the world was too heavy for her. The faint light from the streetlamp highlighted her figure, her skin glowing in the mist, and for a moment, Rick forgot to breathe.

Her eyes met his, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light before she extinguished it in the ashtray with a practiced motion. She didn’t look surprised to see him—she must have known he was out there, but her gaze was unwavering. Rick’s throat went dry, his mind spinning as he felt the heat of the summer air on his skin.

Rick ran a hand over his jaw, suddenly unsure of himself, his words tangled in his throat.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, his voice rough, a little too raspy, betraying his unease.

Daisy didn’t immediately respond. She merely studied him, her eyes flicking over his face, taking in every small change in his expression. The silence between them was deafening, thick with unspoken words, questions, and regrets.

After a long beat, Daisy exhaled softly and spoke. “Come sit down.”

Her voice, soft but commanding, sent a shiver down Rick’s spine. He couldn’t help himself—his body moved on its own, his legs carrying him to the chair in front of her. He sat down slowly, unsure, his heart still hammering, and the space between them felt heavier than ever.

As Rick settled into the chair, he couldn’t help his eyes from wandering over her form—her oversized t-shirt hung loosely from her body, draping her in a way that made her look even more ethereal, like a vision, almost too perfect for this world. She seemed so small, so delicate, yet there was an undeniable strength in the way she held herself. The contrast made something tight twist in Rick’s chest.

Daisy picked up a coffee cup from the small table beside her, taking a slow sip, her gaze never leaving him. Rick’s breath caught as he watched her. The simple action, the way her lips curled around the edge of the cup, felt intimate, like he was witnessing something personal.

Rick couldn’t tear his eyes away. He licked his lips, fighting the desire to stare at her in a way that would betray his thoughts. He forced his gaze up to meet hers, but her eyes were unreadable. She wasn’t giving anything away.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” Rick finally said, his voice quieter this time, strained with the weight of what he was saying. The words didn’t sit right in his mouth, but he pushed them out anyway, desperate for some kind of resolution.

Daisy didn’t respond immediately. Her bottom lip jutted out slightly, and she set the coffee cup down beside her. She looked like she was processing his words, weighing them in her mind before she spoke again.

“You’re apologizing for what?” she asked, her voice carrying a questionable edge. “Shaming me about Josh, or are you apologizing for kissing me?”

Rick felt the air leave his lungs, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The words struck him harder than anything else. He could feel his cheeks heat, his nerves fraying under her gaze.

Daisy leaned forward now, her elbows resting on her knees, mimicking Rick’s position, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that almost made him shrink under her scrutiny.

“I don’t think you actually mean your apology, Rick,” she purred his name and Rick felt himself tense at her tone. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all.”Her voice was steady, her words sharp as a blade.

Rick shook his head, desperate to keep himself composed. “I am,” Rick rasped. “I am sorry.”

Daisy tilted her head, leaning back into her chair, her eyebrows knitting together in thought. Rick felt like a target under her intense gaze, her orbs observing him as if she were completing a puzzle. Her lips puckered into a small pout. “Oh, Rick,” Her tone sounded shaky, as if she was caught in a web of uncertainty.

Her bare legs crossed, her gaze distant and unfocused as if her mind was somewhere far beyond the space they shared. The soft hum of the place around them was barely audible. Her fingers lightly traced her thigh, lost in thought. Her voice broke the silence, quiet and heavy, “Josh is good to me,” she said, though her words felt forced, as if she was trying to convince not just Rick but herself as well.

Rick clenched his jaw, a wave of bitterness rising in his chest at the mention of Josh’s name. The words left a sour taste on his tongue, and his eyes briefly narrowed, struggling to contain his frustration.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “He knew about Pete,” he said, his voice raw, thick with the venom he barely held back. “He knew what Pete was doing, and he done nothin’.” His words lashed out, sharp and unforgiving, the weight of unspoken anger crackling in the space between them.

Daisy shook her head slowly, her eyebrows knitting together in disbelief. She couldn’t reconcile the man sitting in-front her. She searched his face for any sign of weakness, but all she saw was a fury she’d never seen before.

“Josh is friends with Pete,” Daisy said, her voice taking on a defensive edge. “They were friends before I even found this place. That’s where his loyalty lies.” Her fingers grazed her lip, her red-painted nails flickering briefly in the dim light.

Rick rolled his neck, his jaw locking again. Frustration gnawed at him, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer. “Is that the bullshit your boyfriend’s feeding you?” His tone was heavy, dripping with disdain, the words coming out before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so cold, but it did. It was the truth, as ugly and painful as it was, and he wasn’t sure how to soften it.

Daisy’s gaze hardened, and she leaned forward ever so slightly, the movement deliberate, as if she were stepping into the fire that Rick had ignited. “What’s your problem?” Her voice was laced with annoyance, the delicate features of her face drawn tight. “If I can get over it, I think you should too.”

Rick stared at her, his stomach swirling with a tide of emotions he couldn’t fully name. The air between them felt charged now, an electricity neither of them could deny. The words came out before he could swallow them back. His voice was raw, unpolished. “You deserve better,” he said, each word weighing down on him. He swallowed again, his pulse quickening. “You need someone to protect you.” His gaze never wavered from hers, and he emphasized each word with a fierce, unwavering intensity. “I can do that.”

Daisy froze, her breath hitching. For the briefest of moments, her composure faltered. Her heart stuttered in her chest, the flurry of emotions she had kept under wraps threatening to spill. Rick’s words hung in the air between them like an unspoken promise, a challenge, a dare. She couldn’t look away, her face flushing, betraying the storm raging beneath her calm exterior.

For a moment, the world ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, locked in an unspoken battle of wills, of desires left untold.

Daisy searched Rick’s face, the weight of his gaze pulling at her, tugging at something deep within her that she couldn’t quite place. She didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if she even could.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Before he could process his thoughts further, Daisy moved. She stood suddenly, rising from her chair like she was a force of nature. Rick watched, frozen, as she took a couple of small steps toward him. He remained sitting, his eyes lifting to follow her every movement, heart pounding in his chest.

Then she stopped. Right in front of him.

Rick stared up at her, his breath catching in his throat as she loomed over him, her presence overwhelming. She was so close—too close. He could feel the heat of her body, the faint scent of her vanilla perfume filling his senses. The world tilted slightly, as though gravity had shifted.

Without a word, Daisy reached out. Her fingers brushed along his jaw, and it was like an electric current shot through him. His body froze, his stomach flipping at the warmth of her touch. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t do anything but feel.

Daisy’s fingers curled gently around his jaw, holding him in place. The sensation of her skin against his was too much. Rick swallowed hard, desperate to keep himself under control. His body was responding to her touch like it was his last breath, like he needed her in a way he didn’t understand.

He felt helpless.

Rick could feel his body inching toward her, his lips parting as though his whole being was yearning to close the distance. His rough hands, against his will, found their way to her waist, gripping her gently. His touch was hesitant, but there was an urgency in it—an aching desire to pull her closer.

Rick couldn’t stop the heat flooding his chest, the yearning in his veins. He was on the edge, hanging on by a thread, and he didn’t want to pull back. Rick felt like putty in her hands, desperate for anything she was willing to give him.

Her movements were fluid, too graceful for the world they now lived in. Daisy had gently, yet unexpectedly slid herself onto his lap—one hand still gripping his jaw, the other—tangling into his damp curls.

The coolness of her rings made him shudder under her body. Rick could feel his body slipping away from any ounce of self control. His breath was labored as he stared helplessly at her.

Rick wanted her. And she knew it.

“Rick?” He blinked, his tongue darting out to dampen his lips. She tugged ever so slightly on his air and Rick couldn’t stop the desperate breath that escaped him. “Is that what you want? To protect me?” Her tone was soft, smooth as velvet. It made Rick shift under her weight. His body was involuntarily reacting to her—he knew that she knew it. She could feel it.

Rick’s fingers trailed across her clothed hips—the desperation evident in his touch. The air between them felt almost smothering—hot and heavy. Rick nodded his head quickly, his words not forming properly. Daisy shifted on his lap, and Rick felt a wave of desire ripple through him like a rolling wave.

Her touch so light it almost didn’t feel real. His heart was hammering in his chest, a rapid pulse of tension that left him speechless. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this—her touch, her warmth—until now. And now, with her so close, it felt like a suffocating thing, as though the very air around them was charged with an unspoken tension neither could escape.

Her eyes studied him, eyes the color of rich honey, filled with something unreadable. Her gaze lingered on him, as if she was tracing the lines of his face, searching for something. He could feel the weight of her stare, each glance heavy with meaning. It made him feel exposed, vulnerable, in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Not since before everything had changed.

And then, her fingers moved, delicate and soft, like the caress of a breeze. They brushed over the prominent scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, a permanent reminder of the world he once knew. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it made Rick’s pulse spike in his ears. She lingered there, as though she was memorizing the way the scar felt beneath her fingertips.

A breath caught in his throat—his eyes glazing over in a fog.

Daisy was slow with her movements, deliberate as she leaned closer. Rick could smell the faint stench of tobacco on her breath. It was intoxicating. “You can kiss me again,” her eyebrows narrowed slightly, as she subtly nodded her head—her lips poking out into a slight pout.

Rick was unsure how to respond, his breath labored as his fingers grazed her bare thigh. His mind felt heavy—his thoughts running rampant.

All he had to do was wait. All she had to do was ask. And Rick would give her anything.

“I want you to kiss me again, Rick.”

Fuck. That’s all she had to say.

Rick’s trembling fingers had snaked across the back of her neck, his hands gripping her in a desperate urgency. His moves were cautious—nervous as he pulled her face towards his.

His lips found hers in a gentleness that he wasn’t even sure he was capable of until now.

The kiss deepened, and his lips eagerly parted, granting her permission—her tongue slipping between his lips, his teeth, exploring him—tasting him. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, as she melted into his body.

His hands were unable to stay in one place—his fingers were dancing across her body, as if he was afraid she wasn’t real—as if she would disappear.

Daisy pulled away with haste—a sloppy string of salvia pulling between them. Her lips were pink and swollen, and Rick found his mind scattered at her messy appearance. Daisy let out a breath, her chest rising and falling at an elevated rate.

“Rick,” she breathed, her tone hushed—as if she was about to spill a secret. Rick let out a strangled breath, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt.

When their eyes met, a charge passed between them. His heart skipped, the rhythm of his pulse quickening for reasons he wasn’t prepared to face. Daisy’s gaze held his, fierce yet uncertain. There was a look in her eyes, something raw, almost… darker. It made him want to fuck her stupid on her front porch.

Breathless, she stood abruptly, her form moving like a shadow in the night, breaking the moment, the distance between them stretching out before he could grasp it. The cool air hit him, leaving him feeling colder than he wanted to be, far too empty. He hadn’t realized how much he needed her presence until it was gone, leaving only the hollow ache of her absence in its wake.

“I need you to come with me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the urgency in her tone sliced through the stillness of the night.

Her fingers brushed his in a lingering touch. It was a fraction longer than necessary. It pulled him to his feet. Without thought, he followed, his boots scraping softly against the wooden boards of the porch as he trailed behind her.

Rick’s heart thrummed, his breath catching at the way her hand slipped into his. The coolness of her rings contrasted sharply with the warmth of his own skin, sending an electric shiver up his spine. He swallowed hard, but he didn’t hesitate. There was something in her that was both an invitation and a command, something that resonated deeply in the marrow of his bones.

His fingers tightened instinctively around hers as they crossed the threshold of her home, the familiar comfort of the house wrapping around them like a cocoon. The floors were quiet beneath their feet, the soft padding of Daisy’s bare feet on the hardwood making him acutely aware of the silence between them. It was a different kind of silence, though—one that pulled at the tension between them, building, tightening, thickening with every passing second.

Rick’s eyes flickered down to their interlocked hands, the sight of their fingers entwined doing something to him, something primal and undeniable. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the smile of a man who didn’t often allow himself the luxury of hope, yet now found it burning quietly in his chest.

Daisy led him up the stairs, moving with a quiet, deliberate grace, careful not to wake the toddler in the next room. Rick followed, his gaze tracing the curve of her back, the fluidity of her movements. She was something Rick was not familiar with.

She moved with an ethereal grace, as if the very air around her bent to her will, and her beauty was so captivating, it seemed to belong to another world entirely

It was almost too much.

At the top of the stairs, Daisy paused, turning toward him, her gaze softening, yet still distant, as if she were afraid to let him in completely. Rick wanted to speak, to ask what was going through her mind, but the words stuck in his throat, lodged in the same place where the tension between them had settled.

Instead, he squeezed her hand, silently urging her to look at him. Her eyes met his again, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something—vulnerability, desire, fear—all tangled together, making her seem like a fragile thing in his hands.

Rick was well aware, he was desperate for her touch. He had never experienced yearning like this before.

But Daisy… Daisy was different. She made him feel alive in ways he couldn’t explain. And though the world outside their small bubble of warmth was unforgiving and dark, in this moment, he was willing to follow her anywhere. To be anything she needed him to be.

Even if he didn’t fully understand what that was yet.

“Daisy,” he whispered, the name falling from his lips like a prayer. All she had to do was ask… “What do you want from me?” His tone was desperate, a pathetic plea.

Daisy tilted her head, her fingers gently guiding his trembling hands toward her. With a soft step, she began to drift backward, her foot brushing against the half-open door, nudging it wide as they moved into the warmth of her bedroom.

Rick’s stomach clenched with a familiar, desirable twist he hadn’t felt in years. He forced a harsh swallow, the tension in his throat thick and heavy, as she tugged him toward her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, her touch electric, yet desperate, as if the space between them was unbearable.

“I want you, Rick.” Daisy’s words pierced the air, heavy and deliberate, their meaning sinking into him like a sharp whisper in the dark. It was all he needed to hear.

Rick’s gaze lingered on Daisy’s face, the soft, golden glow of the lamp casting delicate shadows that danced across her features, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the delicate arch of her brow. The room was still, bathed in the intimate warmth of the lamplight, every flicker of its flame seeming to hold her in a dreamlike haze. He couldn’t look away. It was as though her face was a painting, one that had been crafted just for him to study, to worship. Every inch of her seemed too perfect, too ethereal to belong to the world he knew.

Rick’s body moved with fluid precision, each step forward deliberate, a quiet storm building within him. He closed the distance between them in one swift motion, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that burned with unspoken urgency.

Rick’s hands slithered across her body—almost like a serpent, until they reached her breasts, his fingers pinching her covered nipples.

Daisy let out a breathless gasp, and Rick took that as his opportunity to slip his tongue past her lips, her teeth—exploring her mouth desperately, his tongue clashing against hers in a messy manner.

The taste of stale cigarettes and the bitterness of coffee lingered on her lips, a strange blend that somehow felt intoxicating.

His mind began to spin, as if the world had tilted beneath him. The air around him grew heavier, each breath deep and slow, and time seemed to stretch, each second stretching into eternity.

Right and wrong—those distant, fragile concepts—faded into nothingness. The guilt that once knotted tight in his chest dissolved, slipping away like smoke on a breeze.

In that singular moment, only one thing mattered: Daisy. Her. This fragile, fleeting eternity. She wanted him. And for once, that was all he needed in this moment.