#maybe they post it knowingly but the lines are so good

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[oldsoul007]

off script

nicholas chavez x co-star!reader

summary: nicholas and reader pull a publicity stunt to promote their new movie but maybe theres something more…

During a promotional interview for our movie, the interviewer couldn't help but notice the way Nicholas looked at me. With a curious smile, the interviewer leaned forward and said, "Nicholas, I have to ask—there's something in the way you look at y/n. It's like there's more than just acting going on here."

Nicholas glanced at me , his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. He chuckled nervously before responding, "Well, you know, we've spent a lot of time together for this movie. It's hard not to develop a certain... connection."

The interviewer raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story. "A connection, you say? It seems like it's more than just a professional one."

I felt her heart skip a beat as i looked at Nicholas. I could see the sincerity in his eyes. "We've become really good friends through this process," i added, trying to keep my voice steady.

Nicholas nodded, but the look he gave me spoke volumes. It was a look filled with admiration and something deeper, something that couldn't be hidden even under the bright lights of the interview set. The interviewer smiled knowingly, leaving the audience to wonder if there was more to their story than just a movie.

So of course mine and nicholas publicists had a brilliant idea to generate buzz for our upcoming movie. They decided to stage a publicity stunt, wanting us to pretend to be a couple. The plan was simple: act like they were dating, make a few public appearances together, and let the media do the rest.

Of course Cooper, was in on it and went ballistic, because he always couldn't help but tease us about how perfect we would look together.

At first, it was all fun and games. We attended premieres, had dinner dates in front of paparazzi, and even posted cute pictures on social media. The chemistry between us was undeniable, and soon, our "relationship" became the talk of the town. Fans were ecstatic, and the movie's anticipation skyrocketed.

However, as we spent more time together, something unexpected happened. The line between acting and reality began to blur. I couldn't deny the fluttering in my heart whenever Nicholas was around. We shared laughs, deep conversations, and moments that felt all too real.

Cooper, who had always shipped us, noticed the change. "You know, you two aren't just good actors," he said one evening. "I think there's something real here."

Me and Nicholas exchanged glances, both realizing that Cooper might be right. What started as a publicity stunt had turned into something much more profound. We had discovered genuine feelings for each other, and the world could see it too.

As we made our way to the quiet corner of the studio, Nicholas turns to me, his heart pounding. "Y/n, can we talk for a minute?" he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.

I nodded, my curiosity piqued. "Of course, Nic. What's on your mind?"

Taking a deep breath, Nicholas gathered his thoughts. "During the interview, when the interviewer mentioned the way I look at you, it made me realize something important," he began, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "I've been trying to keep my feelings in check, but I can't ignore them anymore."

My eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and anticipation flickering across her face. "Nic, what are you trying to say?"

Nicholas stepped closer, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "Y/n, I want something more, Working on this movie with you, spending all this time together, it's made me see that my feelings for you are real. It's not just the characters we played; it's us."

For a moment, there was silence as I processed his words. Then, a smile slowly spread across my face, my eyes shining with emotion. "Nicholas, I’ve felt the same way, but I was afraid to say anything."

Relief and joy washed over Nicholas as he closed the distance between them, grabbing my face and pulling me in for a heated kiss. "I'm so glad you feel the same," he whispered, his voice full of emotion in between kisses.

The movie's release was a massive success, but more importantly, Nicholas and i found something truly special in each other.

[bandgie]

Cats Galore | Ep. 3

MASTERLIST | Kink: Anal

🗝 The Other Neighbors downstairs hardly raise concern other than their weird fascinations with cats. You don't mind them playing with yours, but you're learning that things aren't as they seem.

4.6k words

warnings: MDNI18+, fem!reader, f!masturbation (brief), pussy play, fingering, 3some, anal, butt-play, PIV, no protection, cumming inside, creampie, finger sucking (m!), reader called kitty/slut, reader wears cat ears, minho is a bit of a mean dom, reader says she's gonna pee (doesn't), squirting, edging (brief), double penetration, boob sucking

notes: fuck, that's a lot of warnings, sorry. I was supposed to post this days ago but I was partying :( sorry, forgive me. hopefully the length makes up for it

“I almost fell down a well earlier, guys.”

The consistent clicking of their keyboard tells you they’re not listening. You’re staring out the kitchen window, watching the rain pour and the droplets race.

“Uh-huh.”

“I would have died.” Maybe that will catch their attention. Chan and Changbin have been nothing but busy-busy the moment they came home. Late. You had to mop the floors when their muddied shoes walked through the front.

“That’s nice.”

You wrinkle your nose, unsure if you should act upset or cordial. They’ve been home for hours, sitting at the tiny table typing away.

Editing to be exact. 

“So, how far are you in the album?”

“Very.” Chan takes off one side of his headphones. “I think we should be able to make the deadline if we stay up.” 

You try not to groan. Music is their everything. You get that. You’ve known that, but there are so many times you feel like you don’t even come second. If you bat your eyes prettily enough and cutely pout, they’d put it on hold. 

But then they wouldn’t get their work done. The stress they feel now would be nothing compared to scrambling last minute to put something together. 

And it would all be your fault because you don’t know how to stop being so clingy.

“That’s good.” You turn from the window and walk over to them, standing behind Changbin and looking at the DAW. You pretend you know what the different colors and lines mean, nodding and pecking his cheek encouragingly. “Looks good too.”

Changin’s already turning his head, pursing his lips so you could plant a kiss there instead, but Chan reaches over and flicks his forehead. “No. Babe, listen, we love you, but you’re distracting.”

“Distracting?”

“I mean, we won’t be able to do our work.” Chan is careful with his words. “Like, I bet Bin has a fucking boner from just you standing next to him.”

Changbin’s lips turn into an upside-down, sheepish smile, “Shut up.”

“Exactly. I promise you, at the end of the week, we’re all yours.” Chan smiles suddenly. His teeth look wolfish in the cutest way possible. “Was the first night not enough lovin’ for you?”

It was more than enough. You can feel Changbin buzzing with arousal just from the memory. It’s not often that your boys like to play rough, but when they do, they make sure to make it unforgettable.

Your dreamy button-boy helped significantly to make sure your lovin’ was sublime. 

“For now.” You shrug, but you grin knowingly. “I’ll leave you two alone then. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

Changbin purses his lips again when you lean down. This time, Chan doesn’t stop you two from kissing. It’s brief, but Changbin still hums with content in your mouth. Your lips disconnect with a gentle smack and you walk to the other side, doing the same to Chan.

“I’m serious. Go to bed at a reasonable time.” You narrow your eyes. “I don’t wanna deal with a grumpy Bin telling me Chan made him stay up all night.”

Chan presses another chaste kiss. “No promises.”

-

It’s when you want to sleep that it seems impossible. You want to get enough rest. The garden needs to be at least cleaned if you want it to blossom. But the only thing you can do in bed is toss and turn, replaying the events of the day until your mind wanders to Hyunjin.

There’s a small part of you that wants to dream about him again. Even if you have to see his buttons, it would be nothing compared to his cock dragging in your walls. 

He’s big. He has to be. You can remember how it felt against your cunt. The mere warmth from him had your clit throbbing, aching to feel his tip slide against you even if you had just finished in his mouth. 

And the kisses, his kisses. They felt so tender. So warm. You don’t think you’ll be able to recreate the sensation with your fingers, but you slide your hand down your panties anyway. But just when you make it past the dip, finger threading through your coarse hair, you hear the familiar sound. 

Squeak! Squeak!

Are you asleep already? Did so much time pass pretending that you actually did? You don’t know, and you don’t care to find out. The little mouse, just peeking through the crack of your door, is your only worry.

Seems like Hyunjin isn’t the one that didn’t get enough lovin’.

You fling the covers off and rush to the door. The mouse squeaks in panic, scurrying out and down the hallway to the stairs. You know it’s aiming for the little door. You don’t have to question the fact when it leaps over the steps and into the living room. 

Unlike the quiet mouse, your steps are loud, thudding down the stairs and tripping over the carpet. You regain your balance quickly, bumping into a wall and pushing off it for an extra boost into the dimly lit living room.

You don’t even see the mouse anymore, too consumed with prying your fingers through the crevasse and throwing it open. 

Like an old friend, the tunnel beams. It pulsates with life, with happiness, you think. The changing colors are like a beckoning finger that you listen to obediently. The passage feels exactly like it did the other night. Fuzzy, soft, warm, and everything right. 

The lights in the Other living room are just slightly different than last time. A little yellow, a little too pale. It hides the shadow of the couches that seem to glow with life, but you don’t dig too much into the aesthetic. You know there’s a note in the kitchen waiting for you.

This time, it’s not just a note on the table when you walk in, but a kitten headband next to it.

We’re downstairs.

We? You narrow your eyes and cock your head to the side. Who’s we? This isn’t Hyunjin’s handwriting. 

Another line of scribbles reads in a cuter, playful tone.

can’t wait to meet you! pleeasseee wear the kitty ears!!!!! (ㅅ •᷄ ₃•᷅ )

You’d laugh at the drawn emoticon if you weren’t confused. With one hand holding the letter and the other holding the headband, you think. 

Why are you dreaming of this? Who’s waiting for you? Why do they want you to wear a costume? 

It doesn’t matter how many times you ask yourself, those questions will never be answered. Not on this floor at least.

As beautiful as it is outside, you walk down the porch and turn right. There’s an opening with a small staircase leading down, the doorframe lit with pretty lights.

They flash inducingly; on and off in a way that makes it seem like the light is moving. 

They help with your jitters. You know that it won't be Hyunjin behind the door and sure as hell won’t be your boys. Still, you feel some exhilaration when you stop just a foot shy of the door.

It opens before you can knock a third time, revealing two men standing side-by-side. One has brown buttons for eyes, a beautiful complement to his freckled face and blonde hair. He smiles like it’s the easiest thing to do now that you’re here. His lips curve perfectly against his teeth, white and smooth. 

The other’s buttons are a deep burgundy, almost matching his chestnut hair. Only one side of his mouth quirks into a smile that’s closer to a grin. 

The blonde one shrieks with excitement. “Ah! You’re here! Minho, she’s here! Like, here here.”

You laugh, “Yeah. Here here. In the flesh.”

He lights up even more. The flashing bulbs on the doorframe dance on his face. “Yes! Come in. Hyunjin raved about you all day yesterday.” The blonde man opens the door wide enough for you to see the living room blocked by a curtain that he pushes back. It’s massive, adorned with cat sculptures and paintings. Even the couch has a fuzz that seems to resemble fur.

Minho chuckles. “Gosh. He wouldn’t shut up. He falls in love way too easily.”

Their conversation doesn’t click until you’re inside the apartment. You’re too busy deciding to be weirded out or impressed by the amount of cats perched on the wall.

Wait. Did Hyunjin tell them…

“What did he say about me?” You try to sound nonchalant, fingers grazing the soft sofa.

Minho flops on the other side of the couch. “Oh, nothing. Just that he wants to ask for your hand in marriage.” He snickers at his own joke, ignoring the disapproving shake of his friend’s head. 

“All good things, I promise.” The blonde man sits on the opposite side, patting the empty slot between them.

You sit gingerly, far enough that your thighs aren’t touching, but you can feel their bodies radiating warmth. You swear Minho eyes the way your thighs expand when you sit, tearing his buttons away to look at the kitten ears on your head.

“Very good things. He showed us some paintings he finished too, but he said it wasn’t enough to capture your beauty.” Minho smiles at your blush. “I should tell him to paint this too. The cat ears are a good touch.”

“Minho!”

“Felix!” Minho mimics his roommate's tone. “Am I doing something bad?” He looks at you, buttons gleaming with playfulness. “Am I?”

You shake your head. “N-no.”

The way his teeth are revealed is almost predatory. Almost as though he likes the hint of fear in your eyes. “Good. See? Hyunjin said you were a good girl too.” His hands reach behind your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The tips of his fingers barely graze you, but your skin feels on fire.

You know why you’re dreaming of them. Why you keep going through the tunnel. They must know too, but Minho plays with the ears on your head fondly. 

“I can tell you are. Wearing exactly what we asked you to.” He tilts his head. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Felix and I have quite the…liking towards cats.”

You turn to the side, facing the differently posed statutes along the wall. “You don’t say.”

Minho giggles. “With you wearing the ears, well, let’s just say we’re seeing if you’d be a good addition to our collection.”

Felix chuckles beside you, scooting just enough so his leg rubs against yours. 

There’s so much you should be worried about. It’s all too familiar with how interesting Hyunjin was. To the underlying tones, the secretive glances they give each other, to the fact that they have you trapped between them. 

But when one of Felix’s hands goes to your inner thigh and Minho’s goes to your other, your heart drums for a different reason.

“I think we should look at your kitty down here to make sure you’ll fit in perfectly.” Felix’s voice is unbelievably smooth in your ear. His tone sends shivers down your spine and you visibly shake. 

He grins like he knows. “Would that be okay?”

You nod, but your ‘yes’ sounds more like a whimper than an actual voice. It’s easy for them to spread your legs, panties on display being that you don’t sleep with anything more than a shirt and underwear. They knead the softness of your inner thighs, cooing and laughing like they’ve got you right where they want you.

“This kitty listens so well.” Minho’s lips brush against your ear. He’s the first one to move towards your cunt, fingers sliding underneath your panties to pull it to the side.

“Ooo,” his breath gives you goosebumps. “And it’s a pretty one too.”

Your pussy feels cold now that it’s exposed. Felix pulls on your thigh so your pussy spread just slightly. He groans, deep and low. He’s quick to spread his fingers into a ‘v’ shape around your lips. 

Minho’s thumb grazes your flesh. It’s such a light touch, barely there if you hadn’t been paying close attention. The sensation makes you jolt off the couch just slightly, choking on a gasp. 

“Sensitive little thing, huh?” Miho smiles against your ear. “Barely even touching you.” His index finger trails along your slit, soon finding your clit. 

“Bet if I touch you here, you’ll get wet real fast.”

Felix does well in keeping your cunt spread while Minho flicks the pad of his finger against you. It takes everything in you not to buck off the couch again. To stop your pussy from clenching every time Minho presses down on your nub.

But just like he said, you can feel your slick sliding down your ass. The wetness must soil the plush couch underneath, but the men don’t seem to mind in the slightest. Instead, you feel Felix’s fingers mingle in the mix.

His digits are so much different from Minho’s. They’re small and much rougher, but the different textures make you find purchase on their thighs and squeeze. 

Felix giggles. “You were right, hyung. She did get wet.”

Even if it weren’t for the obvious sounds resonating in the room, it would be your moans and whines that gave away your arousal. 

“Of course I was right. Hyunjin told me all about you.” The way he says it, like a threat, it should scare you. But his ominous tone makes your eyes roll and toes curl instead.

“Told me you tasted good. He almost came his pants when his tongue was on you.”

Minho stops flicking your clit to maneuver lower. His soft fingers slide until they catch your entrance, prodding and rubbing before dipping in. 

You gasp when he enters you. You didn’t realize how desperate your cunt was to clench on something until it was pulsing around his digit. Your hips begin to rock immediately, trying to find a rhythm with his little finger wiggling inside you.

“F-fuck.” You lean on Felix’s shoulder. “Please.”

Even with your squelching and pleading, Minho slides out. His sadistic smile stays on his lips when you whine, tears in your eyes from an orgasm being pulled away. 

He raises his hand high enough for you three to see it glisten in the light. 

The slick is almost mesmerizing, their buttons locked on the sight. Minho brings the hand closer and you open with your mouth without being told to. 

“I wanna know if he was telling the truth about this too.” But instead of putting his finger on your tongue, he reaches over to Felix. 

His pink tongue is already waiting, a subtle blush on his face that makes his freckles stick out. You watch as Minho’s finger plays with his tongue, running over the smoothness of his teeth and the plushness of his lips.

Felix moans at your taste, hollowing his cheeks to suck diligently. His fingers on your cunt slow in concentration, but you’re too aroused to notice.

A string of spit and slick connects from Felix’s tongue to Minho’s finger when he pulls away. It stretches and breaks easily, causing Felix to lick his chin where it landed. 

His buttons are full of hunger. “Yeah, Min. He was telling the truth.”

Minho laughs with delight. His wet finger goes back to your cunt, rubbing harshly and quickly. 

The instant pleasure makes you mewl, drooly lips finding Felix’s is a spit-covered kiss.  You can taste yourself on him. His soft mouth makes the tangy, metallic taste sweet, tongues diving into each other’s throats.

Felix pulls away enough to speak, but your kisses attack the corners of his lips and throat as he says, “Do you wanna taste, hyung?”

Minho hums in thought, the pads of his fingers swirling over your clit torturously. Your kisses on Felix’s skin slow. You can still taste your arousal on your tongue, Minho won’t have any problem getting a taste if he kisses you now. But when his fingers dip past your hole to your rim, you know what he wants instead.

“I think I wanna play with something else.” Minho uses his free hand to pull you by your hair gently, making you face him. “How many fingers can you fit in here, kitty?”

He presses, harder and harder until the tip of his finger makes its way inside your ass. Your mouth drops at the feeling, unsure if it feels good because it’s vulnerable or because he’s touching something you know is only used for special occasions.

Minho forces them deeper, making you squeal. “How many?”

“I-I don’t know! Three? F-four?” Changbin’s cock is roughly that wide. You recall having him and Chan trying to fit both their cock in the same hole, but there wasn’t enough lube to accommodate their size. 

He moans, soft and pretty. His finger turns into two, and rather than just the tip, you feel him sink to the knuckle. All the while Felix makes sure to play with your pussy to keep your juices flowing to your ass. 

“You dirty slut. You’re perfect.” Minho doesn’t hesitate in fucking his fingers into you. They curl and rub as if it was your pussy, but with how full you are, it feels like it is. 

“Shit. Good fucking ass. You’ve taken a cock in there, haven't you?”

You nod, unable to speak. Your throat can’t do anything but moan. The sounds get even louder when Minho’s fingers slip out, opting to stand and untie his sweats. You only get a second to see his bulge before it springs out, flushed and leaking. He takes his place in front of you, holding you by the knees. 

Minho has a full view of your gaping ass, of Felix’s relentless fingers playing with your clit. You’d be shy in any other scenario, but with the taste of you still lingering on your tongue and the need in your stomach, it’s nonexistent. 

You drool when you see him stroke himself, the throbbing of his cock intensifying. You spread your legs more and let him guide his tip to your ass, holding your breath for the breach.

“You’ve never taken a dick like mine, baby. I’ll make you cum in seconds.”

Felix snorts beside you, but it sounds muffled with the blood rushing to your ears. His cock is warm entering you. Everything feels so much intensified when your ass is used. You can feel every curve and every vein inside. 

His rounded head slips in with ease, especially when Felix smears your dripping arousal down to Minho’s remaining shaft and your rim.

You choke on a sob when his pelvis is flush against you.

“Fuck yes.” Minho bares throat. His head falls back, red neck on display. “Knew you’d take it all.” Even with no eyes, his buttons seem crazed. That burgundy color turning redder by the second.

His pace is slow, still adjusting to how your walls squeeze unbelievably tight and warm. It’s easy to confuse the slick from your pussy coming from your ass instead, but it's hard not to ooze arousal with Felix rubbing you.

Your clit feels on fire. Even with nothing in your cunt, it feels like you’re stuffed beyond full. It’s puffy, swollen, and wet. Felix doesn’t stop rubbing for a second even when you let out a pleasurable scream when Minho picks up his pace.

“Oh my god.” You’re staring at the mess between your legs. “Ohmygod, ohmygod. Fuck! I’m gonna pee. Waitwaitwait.” 

You know it’s not piss, but it’s been so long since you squirted that you nearly forgot you could. The warmth in your stomach builds too fast, too overwhelming. Tipping over the edge never felt so close, yet so far. There’s nothing for your pussy to clench on. Felix’s fingers are moving too fast for your clit to throb and Minho’s cock is bruising into you at a pace that isn’t slow or quick enough.

You forgot how dreadfully good it feels to never come down from your high. To be stuck at the peak because they simply don’t care.

Chan and Changbin always made sure to have you cum over and over, but having your body spam from the lack thereof is a feeling you never want to forget again.

“Yeah?” Minho laughs. “Looks like kitty needs a little more training, huh, Felix?”

Felix yanks your shirt up, exposing your tits and making you bite the material. Saliva immediately begins to pool in the cotton, but then men are too distracted by your tits to care. 

Felix leans into your chest. “Try holding it in, yeah? Minho can be stern when he wants to be.” 

You feel his teeth clamp down on your nipple. How they think you can stop yourself from soiling the couch is laughable. Felix tugs on the peak of your breast and rubs your clit all while Minho pistons his cock in and out of your ass. 

You squirt within seconds. 

Since nothing is blocking your cunt, your arousal flows out freely. Felix’s digits only make your juices fly farther, splattering on Minho’s chest and your thighs. 

There’s a moment where you’re gasping so hard your head spins. All you can hear are the moans tumbling from your stuffed mouth and Minho’s psychotic laughter. Felix tries to help the fountain between your legs by slowing down, but his hyung doesn’t slow his thrusts at all.

“Bad fucking kitty! Now I have to cum in your ass.” His buttons lock on Felix’s. “Did I tell you to stop?”

The tiny fingers resume their harsh pace, but Felix pouts. “You’re gonna tire her out. My cock hurts too, ya know?”

Sanity glints in Minho’s buttons. It’s as if your ass was too good, making him completely forget about his roommates' needs.

He pulls out without hesitation. You groan when it slips from you, feeling like you can finally breathe. 

“Lixie. I’m such a bad hyung.” It’s the first time his voice is soft. Caring. “You want her ass?”

Felix’s fingers go to your hole, your cunt. You let out a drawled moan when his fingers wiggle their way inside. It feels so good to have your pussy filled right after squirting.

“I just want her pussy. You can still have her ass. I know that’s your favorite.”

The roommates share a laugh, talking about you like you’re nothing but a toy. All you can do is groan when they change your position. Your back aches from your legs being in the air for so long, but the pain subsides when they plant you on all fours on the couch, hovering over Felix with Minho behind you.

Felix’s cock is a little thing, so similar to Changbin’s. They don’t share the same thickness in the slightest, but you’re thankful for Felix’s size when they enter you at the same time.

Had he been any bigger, you don’t doubt that you would’ve split. The stretch is porno worthy. Your walls open easily for both of them, their cocks molding their shape inside you. Their pace is so different. Felix is getting used to the feel of your cunt for the first time whereas Minho is chasing his high. 

The thrusts from behind make you bounce on Felix’s dick. Your breasts jiggle in his face so tempting that it doesn’t take long for him to pop a nipple in his mouth.

Like before, his bites and licks encourage you to rock between them. 

Minho has a firm grip on your ass, spreading your cheeks to see his cock bury itself between them. “Your ass is so wet. Feels just like a pussy.” He stills, hips flush against you. He groans when you whimper. “Squeezes just like one too.”

This time, you know you’ll be able to cum properly. The orgasm builds in your stomach until it coils, clenching on the two cocks in warning. 

“Sh-shit.” Felix curses with your breast in his mouth. “I’mma cum already.”

“Mhm.” He grunts, fucking you earnestly. “Good set of holes.”

You choose to take that as a compliment. Your walls are gripping them so tight that it feels as though they’re fucking you in the same place. But when your chest burns and the warmth in your belly finally uncoils, you know it’s Felix’s cock you cum on.

Even though your body freezes to ooze with cream, Minho doesn’t stop. Not even as Felix howls with pleasure or you plead with overstimulation, his cock bullies into your ass until you flood with their seed.

You can’t tell whose cum is filling from where. It feels everywhere, outside and inside. You collapse on Felix’s chest, panting with exhaustion. Minho thrusts a few more times for good measure before pulling out, moaning in the process. 

Felix follows soon after, his softening cock between your and his pelvis’. The warm strings of cum pour from your holes and you feel Minho play with it. Whether or not he shoves it back into your gaping ass or cunt, you can’t tell. 

It all feels the same.

Ding. Ding.

You three jump at the sound of the doorbell. Felix and Minho share a confused look, the older grabbing his sweats and putting his legs through the pant holes. It seems that their visitor requires both of them, being that Felix slips from under you and pecks your forehead.

You suppose this is your cue to wake up.

But as they tuck their cocks away and close the curtains to the living room, you don’t wake.

Weird. 

You’re about to begin counting sheep when something black moves in the corner of your eye. It takes a few seconds for your hazy vision to focus on a cat, the only one moving sly and quickly. 

Unlike the other sculpted cats with buttons for eyes on the walls, this one has blue, normal eyes. Just like the one from the woods. 

“Hmm,” your voice is groggy. “Hannie’s got a cat like you back at home. You must be the Other cat.”

That cat narrows its eyes at you, nose up turning into a sneer. “No. I’m not the other anything. I’m me.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Your eyelids flutter in shock, but your mind is so fuzzy that you can’t be too surprised.

You’re still sleeping after all.

“I see you don’t have buttons for eyes, but if you’re the real cat, how can you speak?”

“Too many questions and not enough time,” his whiskers twitch. “They won’t be distracted for long. They don’t like me very much.”

You snort, “I find that hard to believe. They said they like cats.”

“They like things that listen. They want a pet. And I’m hardly one to behave.”

Talking takes a lot of effort. You can feel your eyelids drooping and your limbs relaxing on the couch, but you manage to peek at the kitty. “I don’t think I’d mind being their little pet every now and then.”

The cat does not laugh with you. Instead, he leaps from the shelves on the wall and quietly lands on the couch, mere inches from your tired face. 

“You probably think this world is a dream come true. But you’re wrong. If you come back here again, we won’t let you leave.”

We. A spark of anxiety lights in your chest. His piercing eyes, the only ones here besides yours, are full of truth. Something about his gaze and mannerisms screams human. “Are you really a cat?”

“I am as much as a cat as this is a dream.” His tail tickles your nose just enough to keep you awake for a few seconds. “Listen to me and do not go through the door again. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave the Pink Palace and not look back.”

Like any normal cat, he glares at you one last time. “Or don’t. Afterall, I’m just a stupid cat. Aren’t I?”

[firefly--bright]

knowing. (1)

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern a.u.

summary ; to love someone is to know someone, fully, wholly, and jean fulfills this, wholly, knowingly.

warnings ; (not in this part but) eventual smut (this part is sfw!!), descriptions of religion as a concept

a/n ; uhhh smut in the next part (which is already written. hidden for now.) and it was my first time writing that and . well. you'll be the judge of if it's good or not but if it's BAD dw I'm never writing smut again. I'm gonna delete my account after that actually. thanks.

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @ppushable , @raazberry , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana .

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿

centre tile art cred to @bpepper_cn on instagram :)

✿

jeans mother always told him that love will come with time and patience. when he complained to her about loving too much, she assured him that one day, he'd be loved the same. he has to have the courage and time to keep doing it. he rolled his eyes then. but now he's getting ready for a new years eve party, an invite extended to him through eren by Connie. he raked his hand through his hair, looking at his closet, deciding on what to wear, with you on FaceTime, propped up on his dresser.

so why was it that he'd remember his mother's words now, out of all times? why was it that his mother's assurances rung out in his ears after he laughed at a comment you made about his closet?

or maybe he knows why. he just hates to address it. instead, he focuses on your voice like he always has.

"maybe if you had less clothes, this would be an easier decision." you say, your voice muffled by something you're eating. jean rolls his eyes and you can barely see it. from where you're set up, you can only see his waist, the view ending just above mid-thigh length from the bottom and cutting off at his neck on the top. you can see the tips of his hair and parts of his growing scruff and grey sweatpants. he knows this, but he rolls his eyes anyway and he knows that you know he's making that face.

"you're a hypocrite." he says, lightly scratching his cheek. he reminds himself to shave before leaving.

in all honesty, jean doesn't do this. he's always been the type of person to have his outfit picked out the night before, ever since he was a kid – the need to be too prepared just so he has a plan of action; options he could employ. but he was rethinking everything today, after seeing what you were planning to wear and how he wanted to match with you without making it too obvious.

Why? He doesn’t know. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s too much of a coward to admit it.

he remembers the first time he did that accidentally. he matched what he was wearing with you and you greeted him with a giddy smile and your finger pointin0g to him and then yourself and he knew what you were saying without you even having said it.

he remembers how your smile made him reluctantly smile as well, even if he spilled ink on the maroon crewneck, and you made fun of him for it. he rolled his eyes but didn't have the heart to throw the cloth out. it was still there, in his line of sight, and he smiled to himself after catching a glimpse of it. he hears you hum in thought.

"what about that vest you have? the dark green one?" you ask. his eyes light up and he hums right back, appreciatively.

rummaging through his closet, he pulls out the knitted vest, holding it up to his chest. he nods to himself.

this could work. your outfit was the same shade, and if he layered it right-

"see! it looks perfect. you're overthinking too much, you'd look great." you say. he's glad you can't see his face and how flushed it was, the tips of his ears and nose warming with comfort and madness.

he clears his throat, muttering a small, "thanks" to you. you smiled brightly. he refused to look at the screen, not admitting what your actions did to him.

half an hour later, the call finally ended. he cut it unwillingly when you complained about there not being enough time to get ready. he agreed but didn't do anything about it for another ten minutes, letting you go off on a tangent that led to another tangent. he listened while laying on his bed, playing with the hair that lay on his forehead unconsciously. you talked with a smile on his face and he swore the brightness on his screen increased, he swore that you had swallowed sunlight when you were young, making everything you said meaningful. or maybe he was the only one who found meaning in them, soaking into your words like a plant waiting to grow.

or maybe he was the moon, shining off of your light. maybe he was meant to love you like this; with his love known but afar, seen but untouched.

that was the only way to explain it. the only way he could put his words into any fruition, the only way he could make it his, because this feeling wasn't his. he was used to loving people without them ever realising it. he was used to his love being messy and thrown around without any care, he was used to his love being everyone but his. but for the first time it was here, with him, in his hands that were reaching out to yours.

always reaching out to yours. it was the closest he’d felt to the reaching the stars. the world around him fell apart and it was just him and his love and you, afloat with hands reaching out to the others. always. Or maybe it was the fact that this was the only way he could describe it in a way that made sense. Maybe it was the fact that all other ways would be too plain, too simple. Maybe relating what he felt for you to something as important and all-consuming and divine as the stars he sought out in the city was the only way he could feel it be as important as it felt.

he got in the car with Marco at the back, waiting outside your dorm to pick you and sasha up, after which it would be Connie's turn. everyone had their designated seats - Marco in the middle of sasha and Connie because their presence together was something jean’s extensively loved car was not equipped to handle. and then you, sitting next to jean in the passenger seat with jean driving, and Connie complains about how you're allowed to choose the music but he isn't, and sasha complains how youre allowed to eat in Jean's car but she isn't. marco doesn't complain, but he does comment about the extra privileges given to you just because you "sit shotgun" with a nudge to Jean's ribs. jean rolls his eyes and says it nothing, tells Marco to shut up. Maybe he doesn’t want to address it.

he doesn't. even now, as you take your rightful seat next to jean, flashing him a smile, Marco notes how he'll annoy jean about his eyes wandering to you, how his mouth opens and closes, no doubt thinking of some compliment to give about how you look tonight. but jean ends up saying nothing, as always, and Marco notes it down to tease him for it later. it's a cycle; perpetual and routine but the routine provided comfort. it was predictable and it was comfortable because they were people he cared about. there was you, who was picking out 'the perfect song' (that only Marco would end up actually listening to) with a cheeky smile in the passenger seat. there was jean, driving, responding to Connie's jabs at how he's never let Connie play the music before and then there was sasha, who was rambling to you (Marco didn't know how you could possibly even pay attention to her and respond to her with Connie and Jean's back and forth, but you did it anyway) about that blonde guy she met at the diner the other day, and you gave her notes on how she should respond to his texts when she showed her screen to you with a panicked expression. marco smiled widely, crossing one foot under the other, getting comfortable in his seat. he was glad he met you clowns. jean glanced at him through the rearview with a knowing look. jean knew him long enough to know what he was thinking about with a small smile on his face.

"well then you shouldn't have lived so far away." jean mutters, his argument with connie pulling his focus back to the moment.

"what does that have anything to do with this?" Connie asks, grabbing the back of jean's seat.

"hey! careful with that, that costed more money than-"

"I'll lick the goddamn thing if you don't tell me what it meant." Connie said, removing his hand from the seat and folding them on his chest.

“yeah? Do it, you shameless cu-“

"and then, he said... wait let me scroll up. he's so cute," sasha says, looking at her phone in her hands, scrolling through her messages with niccolo. marco stole a glance at her phone. "oh! there it is!" she says, showing the phone to marco before passing it on to you.

"you should go for it sash. shoot your shot," Marco said, looking at sasha's flushed face under the dim passing of the streetlights outside. she looked good today, sparkly eyeshadow highlighting the browns of her eyes, a baby blue dress and pearl accessories to go with it. you took a while reading the texts, scrolling down to the current chat where sasha had typed out, 'see you there!!! I'm wearing blue! :)'

"oh my god, sash, this is adorable. i agree with mar, you should go for it." you say, and sasha takes comfort in the nicknames you used for her and marco. Predictable of you to use, really. It was only a shorter version of their names, nothing creative, but it felt comfortable when you said it. It felt more like it was yours, that they were yours to make short and say without hesitation.

"really? i mean, I am sorta old fashioned in a way. i want him to ask me first," sasha says, sighing and leaning on Marco's shoulder. "but I do also want to speed up the process." she says. you hum. marco puts his head on top of Sasha's and she thinks, amongst many other things, how glad she is about the fact that you're here. that she met you and marco and jean this year and about how she had always dreamed of friends that felt like family like in the T.V. shows she used to watch, sitcoms with their own openings and closings, inside jokes that kept repeating until it became a comfortable thrum of predictable but bright laughter.

"i think you should go for it first. he seems like the guy who'd bring you flowers and stuff. besides, I think he really really likes you. I mean, the way he looks at you, sash-" you start, putting a hand over your chest. jean glances at you not so discreetly while waiting at a stoplight.

your face is lit up under the usual red stop light; an everyday feature, something jean has come across uncountable times, but jean looks at you like you've been casted in the sun and sasha blinks. if that's the way nicolo looks at her then she may have a chance.

"alright. I'll go for it." she says with resolve, clapping her hands together. you smile back at her, looking at marco, neck straining with effort, stretching to look over your shoulder so your eyes could meet his. "do you like this song?" you ask. marco smiles and nods - a cycle. Predictable. Comfort.

the five of you reach yeager's house in about ten minutes of the same cycle, the same perpetuality. jean opens the door for you, and marco stretches as he gets out, wringing his hands after being cramped. sasha adjusted her dress. Connie exits last, closing the door loudly.

"don't close the door that hard, dumbass." jean says, waving a hand through his hair, crouching down to look at the side mirror to get his hair just how he liked it. sasha asks you if her lipstick is okay and you tell her she looks perfect and has nothing to worry about, holding her cheeks in your hands. she smiles into them, giving you a hug that leads jean to stabilize you, abandoning his view in the mirror in favour of placing his hand near your shoulders gently.

his hands don't leave that place until youre inside the house and you have to pretend it doesn't affect you. it shouldn't. it really shouldnt send a large shiver down your spine, the touch making your bones relax and melt and be remade again. you wish he did that more often - let his hand sink into your skin. You wish he made it a routine, a second nature. Muscle memory. Your tendons would shape around his, and the comfort of the routine wouldn’t make it any less important. let his body meld against your own until it was one entity, floating and untethered but still grounded on earth with the same clay you were made from, same strings you were attached to.

"you guys! over here!" Reiner's voice booms out as he waves his hands over his head so the four of you could see.

you were soon joined by historia, ymir, bertolt, reiner and annie. you didn't do well at parties; a fact jean knew far too well, but you talked to the group you knew well, laughing and smiling, trying. everyone's finals had ended, and Reiner boasted about how well bertolt did - even if they hadn't released the results, he knew that Bert did well, patting a hand on his back as Bert smiled shyly. historia and Ymir were talking to sasha and Connie, marco struck up a conversation with Bert, and you and jean were talking to Reiner but jean wasn't really paying attention to it because he was too busy looking at you. A routine.

it was unusual, he thought, how quickly you had grown into his company and vice versa. but you did, somehow. you claimed everything to be yours without you even touching it. it was unusual how quickly he grew comfortable into this non-existent touch, more importantly how he knew it was there, how he quickly made it his rightful home because it would be too formal to call it sacred. sacred would mean he'd have to abandon and pay for his sins. sacred would mean he'd have to join his hands and beg for forgiveness. sacred would mean rules and regulations - a book he'd have to keep reading until he understood it, until the verses poured from the tip of his tongue as a reminder of his guilt. Loving you was divinity as a whole because it was the only word that could describe how it felt, how you felt, but you were far from it. Your divinity was your humanity, jean thought, because that was the only sin he could commit to memory.

but no, you weren't a place of worship that upheld it's sanctity. you were holy the way his home was - the way he didn't have to beg or pray or pay for his crimes, but the way where he could remove his jacket and hang it up next to yours. you were holy in the way where he didn't have to read you because of shame or guilt but because he wanted to, because there wasnt compulsion in your love. you were holy in the way he found god under his blankets when he was a child; shining a torch light on his sketchbook and drawing a nameless face while thunder roared outside.

his heart settles back into his chest, not realising it hadn’t been his for a long time. you were holy. not because you were pristine and untouched and well-kept, but because you needed to be touched, because you needed to be held and kept in the palm of his hand.

he'd do it. he'd hold you. he'd love you as a sacred home that was meant to be lived in even as you do as you were doing now, your hand holding a cup and fingers tapping the rim of it to the beat of the song, nodding along to reiner's story, he'd do it. he was doing it - all the loving and praying. not praying for you, but praying to you without the guilt and shame and begging.

you were not a god but jean would see you in every one. jean would find you everywhere. he would look at the sun and think of your smile and he'd feel the breeze in his hair and think of your hands. you were not god because you weren't and couldn't be as cruel as him but jean loves you like you are one - like you're the one that gave art it's meaning, like you're the one that followed him everywhere he went, that you're the one that could ever have the courage to look him in his eyes and forgive him even if he didn't ask for it, even if he didn't think he deserved it.

you weren't god but he says your name like worship. He looks at you like home.

"i think there needs to be better music," Reiner says, and you nod readily. Connie joins in the conversation, "I think they need to pass it to me." jean rolls his eyes, and you laugh, agreeing with Connie, egging him on.

more people arrived as the night went on, some of whom you knew the names of. it was a mix of people - a bunch of zeke's friends and a mix of eren's. friends in a loose sense – classmates and acquaintances of the classmates and their coworkers, making the large house seem smaller than it had when it was just you guys on the weekends playing with an abandoned ouji board (jean and eren tried to shit talk each other but ended being the most scared out of all of you. jean’s shriek still echoed through the basement when connie tapped on his shoulder in the dark). you were glad you at least knew the way through it as you lead sasha by the hand to the kitchen, deciding to give her a pep talk there.

the plan you and Connie made was simple - you'd lead sasha to the kitchen under the guise of giving her some encouragements, and Connie would lead niccolo to the kitchen as well, claiming that they could really use him there, even though the area was mostly empty. it wasn't an actual 'plan' – nothing you and connie concocted ever was - more of just a way to speed things along. Connie had brought it up the night before and you had readily agreed before putting a pack of gum in the shopping cart he was wheeling.

(grocery shopping with Connie had become a routine for the two of you. it started first as a way of getting Connie's life together but then spiralled into buying dumb snacks that you knew sasha would eat anyway. The last one she had tried was butter chicken jerk beef, something you had to spit out immediately but something sasha gobbled up in flat 6 minutes).

the kitchen was, thankfully, away from most of the crowd. the music still penetrated through the walls and the vibrations were still present on the floor, but there wasn't anyone in here, preferring the loudness of a stereotypical party to the quiet of a corner, finding their spots either outside or on the lawn or in the basement to dance. you held Sasha's hand as you turned to her, rubbing circles into the back of her hand.

“youre beautiful.” You tell her. She nods, understanding that it’s a command and not a compliment, a beckon for her to believe the truth as it is. “and I know he’s important to you, and I know you’re afraid of loosing him, but that’s why you should go for it.” You say, fixing the top of her hair that had gotten a little frizzy because of the heat in the house. “he’d be the dumbest person alive if he rejects you. I’d egg his car, but that’d be a waste of eggs.” That gets a small laugh from her. You’re glad that the noise from the outside isn’t loud enough to be important because you can hear her laugh. That becomes more important than any music with any amount of meaning.

"thank you. im just...really scared. i just haven't, I dunno, put myself 'out there' for a long time. especially since he's a good friend too. i mean you get it, right? with you and je-"

"i know what you're saying." you interrupt gently before she has a chance to complete her sentence, "I wish there was an easier way out, too. But, I mean, again, its scary because its important. And it’ll be even more important once you go through it." You say, unsure of what exactly your mouth is spewing out.

you're not good at this. you wonder what drove Connie to tell you, of all people, to give sasha advice on a topic that you also had barely enough experience with.

"just...rip the band-aid off. then you won't have to worry about it anymore. you won't have to have this wall with him, and if everything goes well - which I know it will - this can turn into something beautiful. just these couple minutes. and then it'll be done and over with." you say, hoping it does the job as well as you think it should. Verbal words were never your forte – you only hoped your actions could provide enough proof of your love than your flimsy words could, have more of a grip and tangibility than your voice.

she smiles and squeezes your hands in hers, and you smile in relief. "you're right. ripping the band-aid off. mhm." she says, nodding once in approval, before bringing you into her warm embrace. you happily obliged and hummed - sasha's hugs had a way of making your unsaid love feel heard. (you found that out after a long day of working at the café where an older customer had screamed at you until his head turned red, all for accidentally getting his order wrong. the start of your day was just as crappy as his yelling, everything had gone wrong since the moment you woke up. but when sasha took one look at your tired expression and mumbled hellos, she wasted no time in wrapping you up in her hug and you were sure it cured you, healing all the wounds that had been there prior to that day. if you could bottle up her hugs you were sure that it'd sell as an antidote for any poison, the gentle and consistent strength of her arms around you could hold the sky up better than Atlas could, holding your world up on her pinkie finger without breaking so much as a sweat).

"thank you," she muttered softly, pulling away. you didn't have a chance to reply before connie and niccolo entered the room, and connie sent you a not-so-discreet wink with two thumbs up, sealing the business deal.

you smiled back at sasha, squeezing her hand twice before walking up to Connie. "we'll leave the two of you alone!"

"use protec-" Connie's voice was cut off by your hand on his mouth, muffling it and pulling him out the kitchen. “don’t ruin it, man.” You tell him under your breath with a hopeful gleam on your face.

removing your hand just as you stepped out, connie turned to you with just as much of a bright smile on his face, holding his hand up for a high five.

you replied with a smile of you own, slapping your hand against his, grabbing his hand and shaking it.

"we did it!" he exclaims. you laugh, nodding, the slight amount of alcohol you had buzzing in your head; just how you liked it. Everything felt joyful – the faces and smiles unblurred, important, but words slurred. he continues, "you know what I just realised?" he asks, and he has to shout over the music to be heard, even if it wasn’t too much of a strain for him. Connie thrived in parties, being used to the shouting and the continuous laughter and bad decisions that led to even worse hangovers. you don't say anything, tilting your head and furrowing your brows instead., allowing him to continue. "this was our last mess-around of the year!" he shouts, leaning closer to your ear. You can smell the boozed punch on his clothes.

“oh my god, it is!” you say, “my favourite one was when we made the lights go out for the entire building.” You say, your voice reaching his ears only barely over the music. He nods with a big smile. Connie Springer in his natural element – going over shitty ideas with a drink in his hand, not his first and definitely not his last either. “holy shit, dude, I forgot about that!”

“im pretty sure what we did was illegal-“

“we’ve done more illegal shit-“ “shoplifting a pack of condoms isn’t the same as plugging the wrong wire into the wrong hole-“ “I CAN FIND THE HOLE.” He cuts you off, making you burst out laughing. Its routine – he says something particularly stupid, you say something worse, and he would say something to top it off. (the last time the pattern occurred was this morning – he spilled his mug of coffee on the kitchen counter as well as his pants, you had joked about how he kept “getting wet” to which he says “I always am.” Jean scoffed from across the room)

“no you cant, connie.” The familiar voice yells out to the two of you from the end of the wide, poorly-lit hallway. Jean walked towards you with what seemed to be his first drink of the night, and the dim overhead light made his hair shine like a halo on his temples. He tips his glass towards you with a nod and raised eyebrows, worldlessly asking if you’d like one. You shook your head. Connie continued, rolling his eyes. “not what your mom said last night.”

“my mother doesn’t even know you exist.” “that’s not what it looked like last nig-“

“im going to go out. To dance.” You say, avoiding another bad excuse of a brawl. If it was anything like the countless times you’d witnessed before, jean and connie would end up failing their arms at eachother; nothing short of just a catfight.

Jean turns towards you, his feet pointing to yours, “dance?” he asks, his voice only heard because you were standing so close to him. You nod once, knowing that you probably weren’t going to step outside so soon, knowing you preferred more quiet rather than the loud, crammed bodies in the basement or front of the house. Jean nods once too, knowing what you’d want, knowing what this is, knowing what your voice meant even if he can’t hear you well.

Connie shrugs, “im gonna go to the basement. Find the love of my life tonight.” He says, turning around with a smirk as you shout to him, “use protection!” mimicking his cut-off statement from before.

Jean shakes his head with a smile that only you got to see. the house was big enough to have two kitchens – a smaller one that was occupied by sasha and niccolo, and a bigger, more known one that was occupied by barely recognizable faces and loud voices. This hallway, although used many times by you and your friends, seemed more sacred now that jean was infront of you, latching onto every blink of his eyes, every sip of his drink, every tone of his voice. You liked having the intel – the power, really – of knowing him so wholly. Knowing that he knew what you meant, knowing what you did and didn’t mean to say and knowing exactly what he was feeling even under the dim, warm light of this hallway. It didn’t deserve to be called just a hallway. It felt more like a temple, more like the road that led to something twice more beautiful, more like the process you were told to trust.

“so,” he says, and you note how unaffected his voice is by the scarce alcohol he had. Reaching out, you take his previous invitation now that its just him, holding his cup and stealing a small sip. Jean tries not to think about why an even an indirect indication of a kiss can make his heart flip out into the open world and he wonders even more if you can see it, his heart, bare open on the carpeted floor of the hallway, ready to be treated however you’d choose to treat it. He wonders if you know its waiting for you, and he wonders even more about if this is what is never told to people about love. About how its known that you know him, that his heart – more soft than he’d like it to be – was for you to hold but more that he trusted you to keep it well. He knew you more than enough to know exactly how you’d treat his pulse. Maybe that was what the movies and t.v shows failed to tell him, that maybe loving someone meant knowing that they wouldn’t willingly hurt you. or maybe it was just him. Maybe it was just you.

“so,” you say, handing his glass back to him. “roof?” you ask, tilting your head towards the end of the hallway, leading him to an escape from this sanctuary, but really, everything would be a sanctuary with you. so he agreed, taking his cup and then your hand, leading you up the stairs, your hand clamped into his, feeling the folds of his palm under your own. You wondered if he knew that the wrinkles on your hand described everything you knew about your unheard future, and you wondered if he knew you were trusting him with it. You wondered if he knew it was only his to hold.

Maybe he did. His thumb circles the back of your hand, drawing conclusions to questions he was too afraid to ask out loud, knowing that the answers only lay with you. the rooftop was also a routine – visited countless times by the whole group after the basement got too stuffy to handle. The lawn would be too predictable, eren would say, and led everyone to the extra guest room on the last floor of the house (it was a mansion, really, you remembered thinking, because what kind of a house had a spacious basement and three whole floors? You remembered also knowing why eren preferred to spend nights at mikasa's much smaller, shared apartment than this solitary building with nothing but empty halls and stairways, quiet bedrooms that were almost never occupied). The roof wasn’t built to have people on it, presenting to be slanted and kind of a risky ordeal to climb up to it through the window of the bedroom, but it was worth it because the air would no longer be filled with the now comfortable smoke but would remind you of how wide everything felt, about how the watchful but drowsy eyes of your friends provided and endless amount of comfort against the cold nights.

jean opened the window of the bedroom, exposing you to the forgotten thought of how cold the air was, how still but lively everything felt. The music was still heard, but there were barely any people in the lawn below you since the back of the house always went untouched, the grass growing wildly – a stark contrast to how the front yard looked. The window was large enough for jean to fit through, and you held his cup as he climbed out of it.

His shirt rode up a bit as he climbed out, his arms flexing with the effort to pull himself onto the roof. This part was a routine. A dance, well-choreographed and practiced to the point of it being muscle memory, his hand reached down just as you sat on the ledge of the window, handing him his cup and then your own hand. Jean pulled you up with ease, holding your shoulders as you adjusted yourself on the slanted platform, breathing comfortably right beside him because that’s the only way you could breathe when he was around.

You sat with your legs on top of the other, and jean prefers to lay down right beside you just as he had countless times before, admiring how the side of your face looked because he knew he was too much of a coward to look at you fully without feeling everything he had tried not to feel before. Your weight rested on your hands behind you, and you looked at the sky, as the clouds rolled in to cover the moon momentarily before moving, seeing something new. Jean looked at your face, gauging the light on your face to know if the moon was visible or not, admiring how your eyes shone against the soft glow more than he’d ever appreciate the moon.

“what a year.” You said, the statement enveloping jean as your voice carried out to him softly, wholly. This was how he knew you. how he wanted to know you, how you were, your presence wasn’t a symbol of what could be or what was, not a reminder of what he could be, but more of the present tense. Love had always been something jean viewed as something he should be better for, something he should improve for, unknowing of how this was the feeling he should’ve been looking for all alone. Or maybe the fact that he wasn’t even looking for it made it even more beautiful – the fact that love was how you found him in the present. How you sat beside him, patiently, knowingly, always there. Its been a whole year of you being friends, of jean finding more things to appreciate, to love a little freely. His hand rested on his chest, and you rested just as he did. Rested, because that was what he made you do, no longer running around for some better version of yourself that you wouldn’t find. No, you were here, present, whole, with your muscles as relaxed as they could be without the influence of anything but him.

He hummed. You didn’t dare look at his face, knowing you were too much of a coward to look at everything you wanted to tell him, the silence stretching beyond the space you two shared. You wondered if he knew what you wanted to say, but you decided to take the risk. Break the comfortability, take a step against the routine.

With your heart beating at a slower rate than you thought it should in your chest, you spelled it out for him. “I didn’t… think I’d be here. With people I care about and who I know care about me.” You said. Jean breathes in and out, his hand covering his heart that was already safe with your own, listening, knowing.

“thank you.” you say. “youre important to me. Thank you for seeing me as important to you, too.”

The same silence stretches before you again, but unlike other times, you don’t have to wonder if you said the wrong thing, because it was an important thing to be said. Sacred, to you, more like the scriptures that told you how live, what was right and how to not do wrong.

Loving him was right. Knowing him was right.

He sits up. His shoulders brush yours as he does and then he says your name like you belong there. You swear you do, because you’ve never really fully been present but he says your name like you do, like you are. He says your name as if you’ve always been his to say, always been his to become. “youre so much more than that.” He says, “youre so much more than just important to me.”

You could stay here forever, you think. His voice is everywhere, colouring every atom with himself, and you can finally find the courage to look at him. His face shines, his cheekbones highlighted by the moon and you swear its made for him. The too-important, all-knowing satellite shines just for him, his eyes shine, watery and beautiful. The browns look a little greyer under the night, safe and tucked away for something less important, a small speck of white in his pupils, reflecting the light form above, preferring you over the wholeness of the moon. Theres no breeze and you barely notice the winter cold because of him, the warmth in his gaze holding you, wrapping itself around you long enough to make it known. It already was known.

He continues. In his head, he’s counting everything that makes you beautiful but loses count, loses track with you infront of him, giving him everything that was already his. “youre…. Youre you. I mean, everywhere I go, everything I do, I think about you because I know what you’d think. I know what you’d say, and everything becomes so much more meaningful. I don’t know how I can even simplify it or, I mean, I don’t know how to say it,” he does have to, you think, but he says it anyway. “I just… this feels more than anything ive been feeling. You feel right. I love – I love you. everything feels much more than what it is ever since ive met you, since ive known you. I… I don’t even know if love begins to cover it, honestly, but you know-“

“I do.” You say in a breath that youre so afraid to take because that would mean that everything he was saying was real. but he makes you braver than you thought you’d be, and so you inhale. Exhale. Youre you. he’s always seen you as such, and not as a perfect version of you that you’d always wanted to become.

“I know.” You say, “you’re in everything I’ve done. Everything I continue to do. Jean, i…I’ve always wanted to be, like, better than what I was. Better than I could ever be, but for the first time I think, because of you, I don’t need to be. Everything I have is yours. Everything I want is yours. i mean, its not…complicated, really, its simple and I love you. so much.” You complete, your words soft and quiet and that’s how jean knows they’re yours.

the string tying him together snaps in half, an inevitable conclusion to the long drawn-out, impossibly divine moment and he finds his hand meeting yours again, resting on top of yours, and he knows youre not god because he feels the reciprocal of his unending service because your hands turn upwards to his, interlocking your fingers, engulfing them in his. It feels predictable, comfort, routine even if you hadn’t done it before, even if you’d have the chance to do it countless times again.

And he knows youre not god because he’s never been close to the concept of one like this before, face to face, noses touching, the only thing he can think about is how your lips look, how his hand his travelling up to your cheek, tucking hair behind your ear so it doesn’t bother you. he knows youre not god because loving you is the closest hes ever been to himself, to everything that ties him to his existence. All meaning, all importance, all routine and all comfortability lies with you, he thinks, your breaths mingling together, both an answer and a question, and jean closes any gaps that had been left in the distance between you two, placing his lips on yours, slowly, wholly.

Everything happens. Universes are created, ended, made again, you shift closer to him if that was even possible, letting yourself melt into him because his hands are the only ones capable enough to build you all over again, your hands tangling themselves in their hair like its second nature, muscle memory, routine, comfortability. Your heart beats contently in your chest for the first time in a while, and the moon witnesses it all, shining softly. Your hand traces down to the left side of his chest where his own heart beats for you, and he pulls away for only a second to breathe before his lips are on yours again, half of his being in him and the other half in yours, your legs laying on top on his. Your hands caresses his heart, gripping his green vest, wishing to take it off so you could hear it louder than your own pulse. But youre sure you can hear it, because it sounds the same as yours, because its been with you this whole time. His hair tickles your forehead and you smile because it feels right.

You feel like yourself and jean had never felt the outcome of his love so tenfold before.

✿

part 2 >

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think Riddle is so short because of what his mom made him eat ?

Like only making him get the perfect amount of calories like in his overblot backstory

Maybe it is because his mom is also short? Anyways she doesn't seem tall, also where is his dad.

***PLEASE NOTE: I am NOT speaking as a dietician or a doctor; the information and interpretations presented here are based my own scientific knowledge and research, and apply ONLY to the analysis of a fictional character. This post is NOT meant to be taken as any sort of medical or dietary advice.*** Personally, I'm not of the belief that Riddle is short due to his controlled dietary intake. In very simple terms, calories can be thought of as the fuel you burn to get through activities. While a caloric deficit can contribute to stunting of growth, I don't think this applies to Riddle since he lives a relatively sedentary lifestyle (sitting and studying) and is provided an adequate amount of calories per meal. I want to take a quick moment to dispel the commonly held belief that Mrs. Rosehearts underfeeds Riddle. This seems to sprout from a misinterpretation of a line in 1-25 when she is serving Riddle a birthday meal. Here, she states the exact amount that Riddle must have in order to not overshoot 600 kilocalories. This is led some fans to think that Mrs. Rosehearts restricts Riddle to 600 kilocalories a day, which is just not true. From the dialogue, it is clear that Riddle is granted 600 kilocalories per meal. Assuming 3 meals a day, that means 1800 kilocalories per day, which is very close to the recommended 1745 kilocalories for the average 8-year old boy (not accounting for fluctuations from individual child to individual child). This is a perfectly normal intake, but is appears strange at first glance because very few parents actively calorie count what their child eats to this extent.

Back to the original topic, nutrient intake also contributes to height. (Think of nutrients as the building blocks to a building called your body, and the calories as workers or the 'energy' that assembles the building/your body.) However, that doesn't mean that I think Riddle didn't get enough nutrients; it is possible to have low calorie meals which are nutritious. (For example, athletes may have to follow specialized diets in order to attune their bodies to whatever sport or activity they do. Similarly, Vil crafts a diet for the VDC/SDC squad in book 5 which cuts out junk food, is overall lower in calories, and still provides the group with the energy they need for practice.) Mrs. Rosehearts has dialogue where she describes the nutritional content of the meals she has prepared, which seem to be tailored for brain function. I'm going to assume that those meals also adequately provided for Riddle's other nutritional needs. I don't have reason to believe Mrs. Rosehearts, a doctor and mother who is detail-oriented and hellbent on her child's success, would knowingly and intentionally sabotage his health.

It’s canon that maintaining physical wellbeing makes for a good mage (which is why NRC makes its students take P.E.). Additionally, eating well is said to be one way a mage can make a recovery from blot accumulation. If Riddle were eating poorly and/or was of poor health, that would only mean struggles with concentration and his magic suffering the consequences—and that’s very much counterintuitive to the success that Mrs. Rosehearts envisions for her son.

You don’t need an abundance of calories or nutrients for growth and development. The excess will get stored as adipose tissue/fat or (depending on the nutrient) exit the body as waste. It’s important for a child to be fed well in order to grow properly, but generally if they aren’t malnourished (ie getting less than what they need) then they wouldn’t be stunted.

By in large, genetics is the major deciding factor in height. I believe current studies suggest as much as 60-80% of one's height is predetermined by DNA sequences (although those DNA sequences can be altered by the environment and outside other factors). It could very well be that Riddle is just short because his ancestors had the "short" gene. Looking back at manga images of Riddle's mom from the manga, she doesn't seem that short to me. Even when Mrs. Clover is bowing her head to her, both moms appear to be about the same height (if Mrs. Clover were standing). Maybe Mrs. Clover is a little taller (it's hard to say just staring at the image), but not by a lot. If I had to guess, they seem to be about average height for women. That doesn't mean anything in terms of genetics though, you could be any height and still carry the "short" gene to pass onto your children (the shortness trait just isn't always expressed outwardly.)

If I had to guess, I’d say Riddle is just “naturally” short or drew a bad lot in terms of genetics (since his height seems to be a sore spot for him). He’s about that age where most men will stop growing too (although some do grow well into their late teens and even early twenties).

Regarding Mr. Rosehearts, we haven't seen him yet but he's definitely mentioned a few times! He is said to be a medical mage like his wife and is implied to not have a happy marriage with her (according to Riddle). That's about all we know of him now. Some parental figures just get less focus than the other, and that’s the case for Mr. Rosehearts as well as many others (Mrs. Trappola, Mr. Spade, Mrs. Asim, etc.).

It’s possible that the short gene came from Mr. Rosehearts, but we don’t know for sure since we’ve never gotten so much as a silhouette for him. Again though, he could be tall or average but have an unexpressed short gene. I believe many fans headcanon him as short though, as the King of Hearts in the source material is smaller and meeker than his wifez

[magalidragon]

lady of the night: part 2 | an updated smutty Jonerys drabble

Posting link with a little moodboard. 😀 Enjoy if you haven’t read yet!

A security guard knocked on the door as he fumbled with his shoes. “Mr. Snow? Wanted you to know there’s a line for you if you wanted. Also…”

“Your stalker is back,” Satin said, leaning against the door. He wagged his eyebrows. “Want me to go deal with her?”

As Satin was about 100 pounds after eating a five course meal, Jon highly doubted he could take the fiery little woman who he knew was waiting outside. He shook his head at the guard. “Thanks mate, I’ll be out in a second.”

The guard looked concerned. “We should wait for another guard if…”

“Nah, she’s harmless.”

Missy rolled her eyes. “I doubt that very much Jon.”

Maybe so. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, calling for Satin. “You ready mate?”

“Yeah, but are you going off to get laid with some fan?”

He snorted. “No, that’s not me.” It never had been. PR was such a bitch.

Missy joined him, her hair under a cap. She preferred to slip out unnoticed. She smiled knowingly. “Tell your ah…stalker I said hello.”

“Why would you know my stalker?” he asked, playing dumb, but he smiled, both of them knowing the truth.

If eye rolling was an Olympic sport, Missy would have all the gold medals. She waved, laughing, and headed towards one of the alley exits where her car was waiting. He was dying for a cigarette but since he’d promised to quit (again) he instead waited for Satin to get his boots on and they headed towards the stage door.

Bless Satin, he was such a good friend. He frowned before they walked out, shaking his head. “I don’t know Jon, you shouldn’t joke about stalkers. What if she got in your dressing room?”

He didn’t have the heart to tell him that that had already happened, but it was in another play he’d been in the previous year. And she’d stolen his briefs. Dirty, dirty, stalker. He’d had to play it off to Davos as a total accident when the theater wondered why the latch on his dressing room window was broken.

She’d learned her lesson and avoided busting windows this time around.

[ssaemilyhotchner]

Hey congratulations on the milestone 🥳

Can I request letter A 🫶🏻

hope you enjoy & ty for participating! 🌹

OTHER 1K DRABBLES | Read on AO3 Join the celebration by requesting a letter!

letter: A | prompt: adrenaline | wc: 2.1k | cw: alcohol, mostly just them making out bc Emily doesn't get her way lol | a/n: Post-ep for 7x15, "A Thin Line."

Please do not repost (reblogs welcome) or otherwise claim as your own.

--

“Prentiss.”

Without looking up from her desk, Emily simply made an unintelligible noise in response.

“Come on, Emily.” Hotch’s voice was gentle yet insistent. He’d been watching her stare blankly at her after-action report for nearly an hour, her leg bouncing rapidly all the while. Idly, he wondered if she’d even be able to bear weight on the leg and found himself moving in a little closer in case he needed to steady her. “I’m taking you home.”

Emily finally raised her gaze to meet his. “I don’t want to go home.”

He nodded knowingly. He had expected as much, knew what the weight of silence in an empty apartment felt like, especially after a case like this one. “Then let’s get a drink. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Emily studied him for a long while: the strength in the set of his jaw, the sharp angle of his body, his hand heavy on the back of her chair. What she really wanted was to be reckless, anything to stave off the dread that had weaseled its way under her skin. Running herself ragged at the gym, maybe, or getting into a fight, or fucking a stranger.

But, she conceded, in lieu of those, there were worse ways to cap the evening than at O’Keefe’s with Hotch. 

--

From the moment they set foot in the bar, their eyes were everywhere but on each other. Even with the bass of the unrecognizable song pounding through them like a heartbeat, silence pressed pointedly between them as Hotch’s mind raced. As he thought about how everything had narrowed to the sight of her emerging from Hilary Ross’s home, blood snaking bright red down her fingers. As he thought about the way fear had dried his mouth, tasting bitter on his tongue.

She had been quick to reassure everyone that she was okay, of course, a demonstration of overcompensation that had only made him more apprehensive. He knew she could feel his eyes on her during their flight home, especially as Morgan had moved to sit by her, clutching her good hand in apology. He had watched Emily’s lips twist teasingly as she once again assured the other man that San Bernardino was not an echo of that warehouse in Boston just a year before.

He had watched as Morgan rose and returned to his previous seat, and Emily’s careful mask crumpled ever so slightly around the edges.

He had watched as her gaze found his and held it, a challenge.

“I’m okay.”

Hotch blinked in surprise; he hadn’t expected she would be the one to broach the topic. He took a long pull of his beer. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

That earned him a trademark Prentiss glare. His lips twitched at the sight, glad her fight wasn’t gone entirely. “I know,” she replied testily.

“Do you? Because your thumb is bleeding from where you’re picking and I don’t think you’ve noticed.” He watched as she snapped back into her body and reached across their small booth for a napkin to staunch the small crescent of blood. “Your first injury in the field since Doyle, and with Morgan as your partner nonetheless,” he said carefully. “What you’re feeling is understandable, Emily.”

“Hotch,” she warned, before downing the rest of her negroni. “Your projecting isn’t exactly making me feel better.”

He raised his hands slightly. “I’m not projecting. I’m just looking out for a friend.”

She knew he was right, of course; no amount of overcompensating could make her do Morgan’s healing for him, but when she closed her eyes, she could still see the all too familiar look on his face as he registered her injury. She didn’t want to be thinking about any of that right now, though, and she certainly didn’t want the play-by-play of her boss profiling her in real time. 

Emily grumbled something that sounded a lot like who died and made you my therapist then pushed herself up onto her feet. “I need another drink.”

--

“I want to dance,” Emily said, several shots later. “And I want you to come with me.”

Hotch frowned pointedly at her sling. “Emily, you need to go home and rest.”

“You’re so serious,” she whined. “Come on, Hotch. Loosen up for a night,” she said with a devious smile. She traced a slender finger around the rim of his glass of whiskey, toying with the idea of getting him another drink—anything to get the tension out of his body. “Please? For me?”

Hotch eyed her pretty pout warily—he had always been a sucker for her doe eyes, and he was beginning to think she knew—then stood and extended his hand. “One dance.”

“Excellent.”

They both knew it wouldn’t just be one. 

Emily hummed contently as they moved in tandem to the beat of the music. His touch was light and respectful but warm, and she found herself leaning into it more and more. Inhibitions blissfully lowered, she dropped her fingers to the curve of his arm to trace a vein there, causing his hip to stutter accidentally against hers. Her gaze snapped up to his then, and her heart pounded at the look of obvious want in his eyes. Her resulting smile was beatific.

“What’s making you smile like that?” Hotch murmured, the low thrum of his voice only stoking her need.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly, biting her bottom lip and watching as his eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up.

He chuckled. “You’re not a very good liar when you’re tipsy.”

“But you have to admit, I’m a pretty good dancer for someone who got shot less than 24 hours ago,” she said brightly, before looping her good arm around his neck and closing the space between them—the space he’d been trying diligently, if not half-heartedly, to keep.

“That you are.”

Fuck, she felt good as she moved against him. He vaguely registered the alarm bells sounding at the back of his mind at the heat building between them, but Hotch couldn’t think beyond the fact that this was Emily and she was in his arms, just like he had wanted for years. Every glance through his blinds at her in the bullpen, every cup of coffee delivered to him with a smile, every swish of her ponytail when they were paired together in the field, all of it building and cooling and culminating here.

“You were right, by the way,” he said eventually. She made a curious noise in response, the sound turning into a giggle at the shiver she pulled from him as her thumb traced mindless little patterns at the very top of his spine. “I was projecting. I didn’t want you to be alone this evening…but I didn’t want to be, either. I needed to see that you were okay.”

Emily looked up at him, besotted, then took his hand in hers and placed it over her chest. He clenched his jaw at the action; he could feel her heart, strong and racing at his touch, and was instantly consumed by the need to find every way he could elevate her heartbeat. To feel her heartbeat at every join of her, every join of them.

“Feel that?” she whispered, cutting through his reverie. “I’m okay.”

--

He hadn’t meant to kiss her back. Really, he hadn’t.

One minute, they were dancing, their bodies moving in sync as they toed the line of propriety with stolen touches, a nose against a cheek; the next, she was silencing his laugh by pressing her lips to his, rejoicing at the groan that rattled in the back of his throat as he felt her tongue coaxing his mouth open.

Hotch’s grip on her hips tightened, but the taste of gin and campari in her sweet mouth made him channel all of his restraint and pull away. “Emily—”

She moved her lips to the corner of his mouth. “If you even try to stop this,” she whispered, “I will break your jaw.”

Hotch barked out a surprised laugh. “Sweet talker,” he said dryly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Emily grinned widely. “I like the sound of that.”

As he piled her into the car, Hotch felt a pang of guilt at the victorious expression that had flickered across Emily’s face. He knew what she was craving; she needed a release, she needed him, but no matter how much he wanted the same, he knew he couldn’t follow through. Not tonight.

Finally reaching Emily’s place after much giggling and wandering fingers at stop lights, Hotch watched amusedly as she threw herself onto her couch. “Can I get you anything?” He eyed the Bialetti on her stovetop before sitting down beside her. “Some espresso to sober you up?”

“I’m not drunk,” she countered unconvincingly.

He snorted. “How about a different method? Dave shared a hangover trick with me when I was still fresh out of the Seattle field office. You’d just need amaro, which feels like something Emily Prentiss would keep around.”

She gave a throaty laugh at that and the sound sent a coil of pleasure through him. “I do have amaro. You are not the only one Dave has ever plied with expensive alcohol and gotten drunk. But,” she said, holding his gaze, “I don’t want to talk about Dave anymore.”

And at that, she straddled him. 

Hotch’s eyes fell shut at the press of Emily’s body against his. There was something about her that triggered the most visceral reactions from him, his throat constricting and chest tightening as her teeth found the shell of his ear, the sensitive spot right below it. Perhaps it was that he had imagined this so many times before: imagined unraveling her carefully constructed exterior and coming undone to her, with her, imagined finding her pulse point with his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, only now he was actually doing it and she was whining and it was the most exquisite sound he had ever heard. 

Emboldened by the sear of his mouth on her neck, Emily reached for him with renewed determination and urgency, fisting a hand in his shirt and making to tug it upwards over his head. It was the jolt to the present that Hotch needed, and he forced himself away, panting heavily. He wanted her to keep going, wanted to feel her, wanted to press his mouth to more of her, cut through her anxiety and adrenaline right to the core of her and make her fly apart; but instead he dropped his face in the curve of her collarbone and left a kiss there. “Emily, you have no idea how hard it is for me to stop you right now,” he ground out, “but we shouldn’t do this tonight.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea how hard you are,” she purred, rocking her hips against his and rejoicing in his resulting whispered fuck. “I want you, Hotch.”

“And I want you, too. I have for years.” Hotch smiled a little at the pretty blush that colored her already ruddy cheeks at his words. “But regardless of how eloquently you protest, I’m going to feel like I’m taking advantage of you right now,” he said as she opened her mouth to interject, “and I don’t want this to be something you regret tomorrow morning.”

Ghosting her lips against his in a barely-there kiss, Emily slowly shook her head. “I could never regret this,” she whispered. 

“Please, Emily,” Hotch said a final time, stilling her hand as she tried taking her own shirt off this time. He rose to his feet, Emily still wrapped snugly around him. “Not like this. We need to get you to bed.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time,” she said cheekily; but she followed him obediently, flashing him an inviting smile once she had stretched out across her bed. She watched him hungrily as he raked his gaze over her and swallowed thickly. 

Needing the distraction, Hotch slipped away to find ibuprofen and fill her a glass of water. When he returned, she had dressed down and removed her sling, and was staring at him as if he were stupid, but he just shook his head and sat in bed beside her. “You’ve had a really hard day,” he said gently, running a hand through her silky hair. “When the alcohol and adrenaline wear off tomorrow, I’ll be right here, okay?”

“Sometimes I hate that you’re such a good guy,” she said with a concessional sigh; but when she looked at him, all he saw reflected in her gaze was admiration.

Hotch couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “I’m sorry.”

Emily laughed then, lolling her head to the side to peer at him with tired eyes. “Thanks, Hotch,” she said softly.

“Of course, Emily.”

She was out in a matter of minutes.

[autumnmobile12]

Hisashi Midoriya Does Not Exist

I’m officially calling it.

We’ve seen no photos or flashbacks of the man.

Inko is the only character to mention him and only does so once during a flashback from when Izuku was a toddler. Deku does not talk about his father, so either he doesn't remember him all that well or...seriously, not even a happy birthday, Happy New Year, congrats on getting into UA, etc call?

He hasn’t had any input about this hero career his son is taking on even though it's proven to be increasingly more dangerous as the situation unfolds.

He has not visited once during one of Deku’s many hospital stays, including the one where he was comatose and people weren’t sure if he was coming out of it or not.

Izuku straight up went missing for a time and Hisashi didn't return to be there for his wife, who was definitely freaking out over their missing son.

And now with Japan in total chaos, he did not returned home to be there for his family pre-Final War nor was there ever a point where he attempted to get them out of Japan for their own safety. This seems like it would have been a good time to mention a panicked father phone call. Japan closed its borders to contain said chaos. Was that not a concern for expatriates who have family back home?

So either he is the worst dad/husband in the series, a series that already has a pretty high bar as far as worst dads go, or he doesn't exist. I think Horikoshi forgot he said he was going to reveal him, and is it even worth revealing him at this point? We're coming up on the end of this ride unless there's a whole other lengthy post-finale arc we're getting in which we see the full step-by-step recovery process of society and what to do about the remaining LoV members, provided they even survive this. (Bit anti-climatic, but there's still a lot to wrap up, I guess.)

I understand if the guy just wasn't all that necessary to the story, but why not just have him be a character who passed away before the plot began? Widowed Inko and be done with it.

...

Still, if he doesn't exist, who's Deku's dad? Inko didn't do this herself.

Or maybe she did and all hail the real Freckled Jesus.

Sorry Marco. (<--That meme is so old, I'd half-forgotten about it.)

Anyway, the only information we really have on 'Hisashi Midoriya' is that he has a fire-type Quirk and he's allegedly working overseas.

So on to the insane theory that occasionally haunts my brain. It doesn't just live rent free here, it is a registered ghost that hangs out.

Due to the fire-based Quirk (yes, I know Hisashi is listed as having a 'fire-breathing' Quirk, but then we're just splitting hairs,) I personally think Horikoshi is lining up a shot that will nuke the Shouto/Deku ship by revealing Endeavor was Deku’s father all along for no other reason than to troll both the fandom and his own characters.

...

I also kinda just picture the rest of the Todoroki family, including satanic charcoal Dabi, with this reaction:

So much for that redemption arc.

The only thing I don't like about this is knowingly sleeping with a married man is not a good look for Inko's character.

Okay, that's not the only thing I don't like about it. I would be disturbed if this was the plot twist. Please don't.

[venic-bxtch]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟHometown Baby *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

•4•

“AND SHES A HOMETOWN BABY, COULD YOU PUT YOUR PHONE DOWN MAYBE?”-OUT FRONT, JACK HARLOW

The days following Chris’s departure were a blur for Zaria. The house, once filled with the constant noise of arguments and half-hearted conversations, was now deafeningly quiet. Sia came by often, forcing Zaria out of bed, offering her favorite takeout, and making her laugh when all she wanted to do was cry. But even Sia couldn’t fill the void that came from ending years of a marriage, broken or not.

One evening, Sia curled up on the couch beside Zaria, scrolling through her phone while Zaria half-listened to a reality show playing in the background.

“So,” Sia started, her tone light but teasing, “guess who liked your post?”

Zaria raised a brow, not bothering to ask. Social media had been the last thing on her mind lately.

“Jack,” Sia said, glancing over her phone to gauge Zaria’s reaction.

Zaria froze for a second, her eyes narrowing. “Jack who?”

“Don’t play dumb, girl. Jack Jack. As in ‘Jack Harlow, white boy who’s been lowkey obsessed with you since college.’ That Jack.”

Zaria rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at her lips. “He is not obsessed with me.”

“Okay, sure,” Sia said, tilting her phone toward Zaria to show her the notification. “Then why is he liking your pictures and leaving thirsty comments?”

Zaria grabbed the phone, and there it was—Jack had liked her most recent post, a casual picture of her and Sia at brunch, and left a comment: “You’re glowing. Hope you’re good out there.”

She handed the phone back, shaking her head. “It’s just Jack being nice.”

Sia smirked knowingly. “Nice? Z, he’s been lowkey flirting with you for years. And now that you’re single…”

“Stop.” Zaria cut her off, her tone sharp but tired. “I’m not thinking about that right now.”

“Fine, fine.” Sia put her hands up in surrender. “But just know, if you don’t, someone else will.”

Zaria ignored her, though later that night, when she was lying alone in bed, her mind wandered to Jack. She hadn’t spoken to him in years, aside from the occasional comment or like on social media. He was always…warm, charismatic, and supportive, even from a distance.

The next day, Zaria was busy cleaning up around the house when her phone buzzed with a notification. She frowned, expecting another automated message or email, but froze when she saw it was from Jack.

Jack (via DM):

Hey, Z. Been thinking about you. Sia told me about everything. How you holding up?

Zaria stared at the message, her heart racing. Why was Sia telling her business? She debated ignoring it but didn’t want to come off as rude.

Zaria:

Hey, Jack. I’m…managing. Thanks for checking in. Hope you’re doing well.

His response came almost immediately.

Jack:

I’m good, but it’s not about me. You sure you’re okay? If you ever need anything, I got you.

Zaria:

That’s sweet of you, but I’m figuring it out.

Jack didn’t push…NOT. A few, her phone buzzed again—this time with a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number:

Hey, it’s Jack.

Sia gave me ur number. I hope that’s cool.

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

She shook her head, muttering under her breath, “Sia…”

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

Wifey💍:

She really loves to meddle, doesn’t she?

Pineapple Juice🍍 :

She just cares about u. And I do too. U sure you’re good?

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wanted to tell him everything but wasn’t sure where to start—or if she should even go there.

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

Wifey💍:

Honestly? No. But I’m working on it. One day at a time.🙂

Pineapple Juice🍍 :

That’s real. Look, I don’t want to overstep, but if you’re up for it, I’d love to catch up. Even just to talk.👍🏻

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

She hesitated. Was this crossing a line? But then again, what line was left to cross?

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

Wifey💍:

Can u call?

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

Her phone buzzed within seconds, and she hesitated before answering.

“Hey,” Jack’s voice came through, warm and familiar.

“Hey,” she replied softly, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“You sound tired,” he said. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, you’re fine. I’ve just been…dealing with a lot.”

“I know,” Jack said, his voice quieter now. “Sia told me a little, but you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, surprising herself. “It’s just…a mess. I thought I knew what my life would look like, and now I don’t even recognize it anymore.”

“That’s heavy,” Jack said after a pause. “But Z, you’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ll figure it out.”

She smiled despite herself. “You always say the right thing, don’t you?”

“Not always,” he said, his tone teasing. “But I’m glad I did this time.”

They talked for hours—about everything and nothing. Jack didn’t push her to talk about Chris, though she could tell he wanted to. Instead, he made her laugh, reminisced about old times, and reminded her of a version of herself she thought she’d lost.

By the time they hung up, Zaria felt lighter. She wasn’t sure what this meant, but for the first time in a while, she felt like she had something to look forward to.

She placed her phone on her nightstand before finally putting her head in her pillow, falling asleep almost instantly.

Taglist: @harlowsbby @harlowcomehome @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @blackynsupremacy @slutzzz4jack @itsyagirljaz

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

For wholesome Wednesday this week I decided to point out Tails' expression most times Sonic's relationship with Amy comes up. 😏😂 As a passionate Sonamy shipper (not one of the weird ones I promise 😂) this both excites me and cracks me up.

IT'S JUST SUCH A CLASSIC SIBLING MOVE TO TEASE YOUR BROTHER ABOUT A GIRL. 🤣🤣

(Screenshoted this and now can't be bothered to edit the text from the bottom) 😂

The teasing little smirk?? 🤣

And then of course, Sonic Boom :))

Miton, second ago, talking about Amy: "Who's that? Is she your... girlfriend or something?"

Sonic: "Wh-What, no!!"

AND TAILS JUST SMILING KNOWINGLY AT HIM FROM THE SIDE, NOT SAYING ANYTHING BUT HIS EXPRESSION SAYS IT ALL 😂😂

Seconds later, after Amy was right in the middle of telling Sonic, "Don't forget, we have that--" only for Sonic to panic and quickly hang up before whatever she was saying was heard by everyone-- right after having denied that he and Amy were a thing. 🤣

After hanging up, Sonic just stands there like this with this pose and expression, and AGAIN Tails' face beside him:

I think it's pretty clear they've talked about her at some point and um I'D LIKE TO SEE THAT CONVERSATION?? 🤣 Ha, maybe I'll write it myself. That can be a post for another Wednesday. :3

Then the Twitter Takeovers; obviously can't post a pic, but Tails' tone always gets so teasing when it comes to Sonic and Amy-- and that goes for them both. When Amy listed all the things she liked about Sonic when prompted, she ended with a huffy "Who couldn't love a hedgehog like that?" and Tails chuckles and repeats VERY teasingly, "LoVe??"

Cue Amy getting all flustered and insisting that she just said "like."

In one of the TailsTube videos, the Sonic Scoop, Tails read a question from someone asking Sonic if Amy was his sister, or his girlfriend. And the tone with which he said "girlfriend" was both hilarious and again, SUCH a teasing little brother vibe. Sonic clarified that Amy definitely wasn't his sister, and said that she was a very good friend. Tails again teased him, with something along the lines of a sarcastic "Oh, sure." 😏

Long story short I love it. 🤣🤣

So I went ahead and threw together my own (traditional) art, featuring Tails being said teasing little brother, Amy being adorable, and Sonic having no idea how to respond to physical affection. (I do have stuff to say about that but I'll save it for another post)

And that's it for today's post! Thanks for listening to my rambles :3

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Turns out, Bruce was taking the day off work, but that just made it that much harder for Jason to sneak into the batcave, with both him and Alfred watching him. They were doing that thing where they were hovering while still giving him space. 

Jason just felt so stupid . You would think with all the random memories popping up, one of them would’ve warned him that his mom was dead— oh wait . One of them did. So really, it was just Jason being dumb. He just really thought he could have a mom again. 

Despite how long it had been since his mami died, he still missed her. Maybe it was because with going from foster home to homeless, to crime house, he never really had time to really grieve her. And with Papi, it kinda felt like he wasn’t allowed to grieve him because Jason had already been living with Bruce for some time. And his Papi was a criminal, but his Dad was Batman. 

Jason barely even knew Sheila Haywood. According to Bruce and Alfred, Jason had only known her for a day. So why did he feel so hurt about this? Why did this grief feel so much deeper than anything else?

Cass somehow practically appeared out of nowhere and handed him a book, “My English is not the best. Can you read to me?”

Jason looked at the cover, “ Pride and Prejudice . This is one of my favorites.”

Cass smiled knowingly, so she probably picked it for that reason. Maybe she didn’t even need him to read to her. Maybe she was doing this for him. Which was honestly really sweet. 

Cass leaned against the arm of the couch, and Jason went to sit on the other side when she opened an arm, “Cuddles too.”

“You make a lot of demands Ma’am.” Though he did lean into her. “Do we do this a lot? Cuddle and read?”

She shook her head, “Not like this. When I’m hurt and come for help, we read.”

“But not smushed up together like this?”

“No. You’re too big.”

Right. He was as big as Bruce. That was kind of weird to think about. 

So Jason opened the book and started reading out loud. 

It was the copy he read out of the most. The spine was worn, not too much, but that perfect amount where you could easily flip the pages. It was a hardback, and there were post-it notes on the pages that his favorite scenes or lines were on. 

Cass would occasionally ask a question about why a character would be doing something, or what a line or phrase meant, and Jason would happily explain. 

Seven chapters in, Jason’s pace of reading was starting to slow down, and his voice was getting hoarse from talking for so long without a pause. 

Jason was tired. He had been tired since this morning, because of his nightmare, and the information he had gathered this morning didn’t make him feel any better. 

Sometime, while he was reading, Bruce had come in and sat on the other end of the couch. Jason did object when Bruce had gently taken the book from him, and started from chapter eight. 

Jason also didn’t object when Cass started carding her hands through his hair. It felt nice. It reminded him of nights when mami’s eyes were clear of influence, and she’d take care of him for the night instead of the other way around. 

Jason let his eyes close, and after a couple minutes Bruce stopped reading. 

“I’m not sleeping, Old man, just resting my eyes.” 

He was definitely just resting his eyes

Cass could feel Jason fully relax and hear his breath deepen. “He’s sleeping now.” 

Bruce had a gaze lingered on Jason. His expression was fond. Reminiscing. Though there was pain too.

“You did good this morning.” Cass made sure to keep her voice quiet. Jason was a light sleeper. He always heard her when she would come into his apartment after patrol.

“How do you know?” It was one question that asked two.

“I know you did good because you spoke what you needed to say. From your heart. You don’t do that often.” Bruce did not know about the blackmail group chat, and he wasn’t allowed to know so Cass wouldn’t tell him about the video Tim had sent of this morning. 

“I was trying not to make him upset, but I ended up making things worse.” Guilt . 

Guilt was always on Bruce’s face whenever he talked about Jason. Guilt, hurt, and grief.

“If you did not tell him about his mom he would be angry. He would go looking for answers. Answers he shouldn’t know. Not like this.” Cass swirled one of Jason’s curls in her fingers, “We have to keep him…” Not happy, because no one could be happy all the time, “We have to protect his light. And you did that. You told him what happened, then you comforted him. It is what he needs. Comfort. So you did well.”

Bruce looked away from Cass, “Jason is probably going to be so angry at me when he’s back to normal. He’s going to hate me for taking advantage of his young state and–”

“No. Not angry. Hurt . He thinks you don’t care about him anymore. When he’s big again, tell him you do. Even though you’re bad at it.” Cass smirked, “Add it to the mission.”

Bruce groaned, “Of course you know about that.” He got up, “I’m going to go back to looking for the sorcerer. If you or Jason need anything…”

Cass smiled, “I know. We’ll come.”

And Bruce gave her a tiny smile back. A smile that said, Thank you. A smile that said I love you. 

Tim had, honest to god, thought Bruce would try his hardest to avoid Jason, so imagine the whiplash he faced when Bruce actually gave Jason a very genuine sounding heart to heart. And a hug . But should he really be surprised? It was Jason.

He knew that when Jason went back to normal it would just cause Bruce even more grief. And that grief would just cause Jason to lash out at Bruce because Jason’s not dead anymore. 

He doesn’t want to deal with the fallout. He couldn’t do that again. Not when he had spent his entire time as Robin dealing with it. He was just so tired of the same cycles over and over again. It’s infuriating. 

Jason needs to step aside from the mantle of angry ex-Robin because Tim could feel himself slowly stepping into that role. Maybe that’s why all of the future versions of himself turned evil. Because he was just done with Batman’s bullshit. 

Tim was going to go back to his apartment after work, but because he had fallen asleep at the batcomputer last night, he still had some work to finish. 

Tim doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he wasn’t expecting to come home to find Cass on the sofa in the living room with Jason napping in her arms.

 He obviously took a picture and sent it in the group chat. All eight of them were in it, so even though they said it was for blackmail purposes, it ended up being something more… sentimental. None of them would admit it though. In their line of work, it’s hard to hang onto the happier things especially with how dark things could get. They've all had near death (or just death) experiences at least once. The pictures made it easier to remember the good times. It made them remember to savor it. 

Jason never responded in the chat, but Tim knew he read through everything . Tim knew he saved every picture posted. 

Maybe Jason wouldn’t like seeing his younger self so close with the rest of them, maybe Jason would see it as emotional manipulation. Tim was pretty sure he was the closest to Jason, and they only talked when their cases overlapped. Though, he hoped that Jason would see it as the rest of them wanting him in their lives. (He wouldn’t, but Tim could hope)  

Cass looked at him with a look that clearly asked what’s up?

Tim’s response look asked how long have you two been here?

Cass lifted up four fingers. So four hours. Or minutes, but four minutes seemed too short of time for Jason to be out like a light.

Tim debated something. The times Jason has physically dragged him around his apartment, or literally thrown him. Tim has tried to drag Jason off his couch before but it’s never worked, but now… Tim wouldn’t get the chance to do this any other time. 

Cass gave him a look that asked what are you doing?

Tim shrugged, and grabbed Jason’s ankles and yanked him to the other side of the couch. 

Jason yelped, and Tim barely had time to dodge a kick, “What gives?!”

“Please, Jason, this is light compared to the things you have done to me.” Tim took Jason’s now vacated spot and curled up next to Cass, “and it’s my turn now.”

Tim could feel Cass smirk. 

Tim was also pretty sure he was about to experience a fist to face, but it never came. There was a light pat on his head, “I’m only allowing this because you’re my baby brother, and I’m hungry, and I want food. Do you guys want anything?”

Tim blinked, “I’m not a baby– I’m not that much younger than you– I’m older than you right now!”

Jason took a blanket out of the shelf and laid it across both him and Cass, “Nope, doesn’t count. Boop!”

Jason booped his nose.  

Tim officially stopped working.

“I’m in the mood for…mm…churros, but Alfred’s probably gonna tell me to eat food first. So what’re you guys in the mood for?”

“Noodles.” Cass answered almost immediately. Was Tim the only one hung up on the fact that Jason booped his nose?

“Like… spaghetti and meatballs or..”

“Stir-fry. You make it spicy. Good.” she lowered her voice, “Better than Alfred.”

Jason laughed, “I don’t think that’s possible, but I’ll try. What time is it? Should I make some for Duke and Damian too? Is anyone allergic to anything?”

“2:43. Yes. No, Damian is vegetarian.”

“Got it!” And Jason skipped off to the kitchen.

Tim looked down at the blanket wrapped around him, and then touched his nose. Ok, it wasn’t out of character for Jason to take care of him. He’s definitely, on more than one occasion, taken care of Tim. It’s just usually, Jason’s really aggressive about it. Grumbling while making food for him, yanking his computer away from him, physically throwing him into his bed after he’s pulled multiple all-nighters. 

It was just weird how gentle Jason was being. Not weird. Different. 

He brought up the security footage from the living room and sent it into the group chat. 

Stephanie replied to a video: NOT THE NOSE BOOP >u<

Duke replied to a video: You really let the intrusive thoughts win when you yanked him by the ankles

Babs replied to a video: AWWWW 

Babs: Sunshine Jason making an appearance was not anywhere on my 2023 bats bingo board

Tim: sunshine jason is scaring me

Tim: this is too ooc 

Dick replied to a video: This is 2 precious

Dick replied to a photo: This is going 2 b my new lockscreen

Stephanie replied to ~Sunshine Jason is scaring…~: Don’t say that about my homie

Tim: jason would say ‘I’m not your Homie’

Stephanie: but sunshine jason wouldn;t

Duke: Steph

Duke: i’m sorry

Duke: but I don’t think sunshine jason likes you because of the picture you took of him tripping in his RedHood uniform 

Stephanie: dwdw I’ll change that

Duke replied to ~This is going to be…~: I thought you just changed it to Damian

Dick: I’ll make a collage

Tim replied to ~This is going to be…~: cass said her and jason were reading before he fell asleep.

Tim: hold up

Tim scrolled back through the footage, but stopped when he realized Bruce was there. Reading to Jason . And Cass, but still. Tim scrolled back a bit farther, and realized that Jason didn’t even have to drag Bruce into doing it. He just did . 

Jason’s back to how he was before he died and Bruce pulls out the love and affection that he apparently just had in his back pocket? That’s not fair . 

No.

It’s not fair for Tim to think like that. Bruce is probably just acting to make sure Jason doesn’t realize he died. Yeah. That's probably it. 

Tim scrolled back further and sent the clip of Cass and Jason reading together, and then stood up. “Ok, I know Jason’s a really good cook, but I feel like we should go watch him considering he’s barely five foot.”

Jason was grabbing some already chopped vegetables out of the fridge. Hopefully Alfred doesn't have plans to use them later. He already had the noodles in the boiling water, but he was going to wait until they were halfway cooked to start cooking the vegetables.

So he started heating up the water, sugar and oil for the churros. 

Jason's pretty sure only Alfred knew this, but Churros are one of his main comfort foods. Especially when he missed his mom. Sure he loved chili-dogs, but those only taste the best from a vendor. And Neapolitan Ice Cream was more like his go-to ice cream flavor. Why choose one when you could have all three? 

Churros reminded him of cold winter days when the heating wouldn’t work properly, and he and Mami would make them to warm up. Mami would always add a little bit of cinnamon and vanilla into the dough. The first time he had made churros with Alfred, Jason had forgotten about that, and they didn’t taste the same. Jason hasn’t forgotten the cinnamon and vanilla since then.

Cass and Tim walked into the kitchen and sat at the counter. 

Jason got out a wok and tossed the oil, chilis, garlic and onions in. None of them were saying anything, but it didn’t feel like an uncomfortable silence. Maybe they’d been doing this for years. Sitting in silence, while Jason cooked. The thought made his chest feel warm.

“When did Bruce take you guys in?”

Tim and Cass had a silent mind conversation. “I started hanging around the manor when I was 13. And then Bruce adopted me when I was 15. Bruce adopted Cass around the same time.”

Cass nodded, “I was 17.” She looked up to think about it, “you were 17 too, 18 when Tim came.”

Jason stirred the vegetables around before adding the noodles, “What about Duke. And Damian, I guess.”

“Talia kinda just dropped Damian off on a random Tuesday. That was also close to two years ago. Dukes the newest. He’s only been here for a couple months.” 

Jason nodded. “Got it.” He turned off the stove with the wok. Then he walked over to the fryer with the churro dough before pausing. “Am I allowed to use the fryer?” 

Tim shrugged, “You’re literally the only one allowed to use the kitchen.”

Even though Jason knows how to use it, it’s the one thing he has to have supervision while using. Because hot oil does not feel good on skin. But technically, he was being supervised. By Cass and Tim. And technically , Jason was an adult. And if Alfred got mad, he could offer him a churro and puppy eyes.

He turned on the fryer, and once the oil was all heated up he started piping the dough in. 

He had almost finished when the garage door opened, followed by the sound of footsteps. 

“Master Jason, you know you are not allowed to use the fryer without supervision.” Alfred was standing at the door with his hands on his hips and his I’m disappointed in you ™ face. 

Duke and Damian were also walking in, but tentatively.

“But I’m 20…”

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, but Jason could tell it was just to hide a smile. “You are physically and mentally 15. The rules from then apply now. You need supervision while working with oil.”

“Cass and Tim were here.”

Damian crossed his arms,“Tt, Drake hardly counts as proper supervision.” 

“Cass was here, but I won’t do it again. Sorry Alfred.”

Alfred took the piping bag from Jason, “Well, since the house is still standing, and you are not injured in any way, I suppose I will allow it.” Alfred placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder, “Go eat in the dining room with your siblings, I can finish up here.”

So there they all sat, slurping noodles. 

“Jason, this is really good.” Duke leaned closer to him and whispered, “I’ve been missing spice.”

Jason grinned, “Thank you.” And yes, Alfred’s cooking was good, but after some time you start craving some spice.

Tim sniffled and wiped his nose. His cheeks were pink, and–

“Drake, are you crying?” Damian took the bottle of chili flakes and shook it on top of his noodles, “I knew you were weak, but I didn’t think you were this pathetic.”

“I’m not crying, I just don’t have a super spice tolerance like the rest of you.”

Jason laughed, “If it makes you feel better, Bruce is worse. I once made Nachos for a movie night, and since he’s a white man, I left out the jalapenos and I only put, like, three chili in the salsa. This man ate two chips, and was guzzling milk.”

“Seriously?” Duke looked surprised.

Jason nodded, “Dick should have it on video somewhere.”

“I’m asking him for this right now,” Tim took out his phone, blinked a couple times and then put it away, “Duke, you do it, my eyes are too watery.”

Duke smirked and started typing away.

Cass patted Tim on the shoulder, “Not your fault for crying. You’re just white.”

That earned a laugh from everyone. Except for Tim. He just turned redder if that was possible.

Duke glanced at his phone, “Dick said, ‘I hv a whole folder. We can hv a viewing when I get home.’ Then Steph said ‘Batman’s Kryptonite are nachos’ and then Dick said ‘+ most of the things Jason has made bc he 4got that Bruce was yt man’ Jesus Christ, it’s like deciphering an anagram trying to read Dick’s messages.” 

Tim sighed, “Millennials.”

Jason smirked, Dick’s typing has always been so dumb. Some things never change.

He starts to picture this sight, but it’s his older self. He thinks he can picture his older self. He thinks he can picture his older self maybe playing a supporting role in the Fall play or Spring musical. He thinks he can picture what he would’ve written his college essay about– losing a family, only to gain an even bigger one. He can picture himself with Bruce in his office opening up acceptance letters to Princeton, or NYU, but he’d ultimately choose to go to Gotham University. Actually, maybe he was wrong about that. Damian did seem shocked this morning to see Jason in the kitchen. Maybe Jason goes far enough away to Dorm, but still close enough to patrol when there’s an emergency. Yeah. He can see Bruce and Alfred helping him move into his dorm. He can see himself coming back on some weekends. Maybe he and Dick have become closer as time passed, because He can see Dick stopping by his dorm to pick him up to head to the manor. Maybe Damian’s in the car with them, or Tim, or Cass, or Duke. He can picture Alfred waiting by the door to greet him. He can see Bruce pulling him into a hug and asking him how his classes have been going. He can see them all sitting at the table, Damian and Tim bickering, Stephanie egging them on. Duke and Cass trading food, and Babs and Dick holding hands under the table. He can feel Bruce’s fond, but barely there, smile. Jason could feel the longing in his chest for all of that. 

Though it felt like something was holding back that longing. Like there was something physically blocking Jason from all of that. “Are… are we close?” There was a beat of silence, and then Jason put a hand to his heart, “because I think I feel… I feel calm– at peace when I’m with you Cass.” He looked to Tim, Duke, and Damian, “And you guys are my little brothers. I feel like… I would do anything for you guys.” 

“Jason–”

“But I also feel…guilty?” Jason thought about it for a moment, “No. Ashamed. I don’t know why, but I think I’m ashamed of myself and–”

“Jason, stop.” 

Jason snapped his mouth shut.

Tim set down his fork and had a silent conversation with Cass and Damian. It didn’t seem like Duke was part of their mind conversation, but most of the guilt and shame bubbled up more around Damian and Tim. The guilt and shame felt like it was going to overflow around Tim.

Tim looked Jason firmly in the eye, “A lot was changing all at once during that time. None of us blame you for the way you reacted.” 

Jason carefully inspected Tim’s face. He was doing the weird double mask thing he was doing earlier in the bathroom, “But you got the worst of it.”

“...Dick is so much better at this.” he looked back at Cass and She nodded, “Did you remember anything specific?”

Jason closed his eyes and tried to trace the guilt and shame, but ultimately drew a blank. “..No. It’s more like I’ve been feeling it.”

Tim nodded, “What were you feeling before the guilt.”

“Longing.” He was sitting on a rooftop, red helmet next to him, watching five figures leap across buildings in the distance. “I think I felt… Alone.”

A sad smile briefly appeared on Tim’s face, “A lot was changing during that time. And Bruce and Dick didn’t make sure you felt like you still had a place. You probably were all alone, and I don’t blame you for feeling like that. I didn’t understand until something similar happened to me.”

“Tt, and what happened doesn’t matter anyways, because for all we fight, at the end of the day, you have our backs, Akhi. You would take a bullet for each one of us.”

“And Jason?”

“Yeah?” “Stop being such a sap. You’re ruining your own street cred.”

[plutowrites]

hi! this might seem random but i just wanna ask if you privated '𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮'? i just thought of that wonderful story of yours out of nowhere and dug thru my reblogs to find it but when i click on the 'keep reading' button it says here that the url can't be found anymore :(

HIIII!

you inquiring about a work of mine is such a huge compliment that brings me SO many warm feelings. thank you :)

I privated a lottttt of my old fics. i would read them again after some time and go "this needs a revamp. like asap."

having people read them in that state didn't make me feel great and so i privated them with hopes of maybeee editing them and reposting

after reading your ask tho, i went back the road that leads to you and edited it so you can have it again on ONE condition tho. you gotta tell me all your thoughts and fav parts of the fic.

KIDDDINGGGG.

adding the fic under the cut. i hope you enjoy again <3

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Almost immediately, you notice Akaashi is a good driver—a way better driver than you are. Plus, his car smells fresh, and you’re not currently sitting on a dirty sock or a McDonald's Big Mac wrapper, which makes you feel a little better about the situation. It’s not that you were expecting a complete walking disaster as your road trip buddy, but when you first saw the “Hello, I have some inquiries about the flyer you posted” text a couple of days ago, signed at the end with Akaashi Keiji, you let out a loud groan, realizing that you were potentially going to be riding with a guy. Alas, you had no choice but to swallow all the safety precautions your parents drilled into you since you were a little girl and especially right before you went away to college (Exhibit A: don’t hitch rides with strange men!) and accept the offer. 

Why? 

Your stupid car has a flat tire and is in desperate need of an oil change. That was the deciding factor.

“Are you comfortable?” Akaashi’s voice is smooth like velvet, and you almost jump at the sound of it. The first hour was spent mostly in silence, with the occasional question about how the semester is going. You didn’t mind it too much—you liked how Akaashi didn’t force conversation. If there was nothing to be said, then, nothing was said.

“As much as one can be riding with a stranger for the first time across state lines.”

Akaashi exhales, “I promise with confidence that I’m not going to kidnap you.” He pauses before continuing, “But then again, what are promises made by a kidnapper truly worth?”

“That’s really comforting, thank you.”

He looks at you quickly, his eyebrows raised slightly, like he’s trying to read you. “Sorry, let’s try that again. I’m not a kidnapper. I just wanted to see my parents and my dog this weekend.”

You nod your head knowingly. “I think it’ll help if you told me more about yourself.” In all honesty, you already felt more than semi-comfortable in the presence of the dark-haired, tall boy sitting next to you. This was only an excuse to get to know him better, maybe gain a friend out of all of this.

“Hm. I’m not sure what to say here.”

“What’s your major?” you ask.

“English literature and criminal law. Yours?”

“Undecided.” Akaashi simply nods his head at your response, focusing his attention on driving. You add, “Oh wow, thank you for not judging me. Everyone I tell makes some sort of face after I share that.”

“Eh, there are so many programs to choose from—it’s not the end of the world to wait until next year to pick a program. You can’t imagine how many students end up switching majors halfway through because they found something that suits them more. I think going undecided is a smart move.” He shrugs, catching your not-so-subtle gaze on him before returning his eyes to the road. His response makes you feel warm, but you don’t show it. Well, maybe you do show it a little on your cheeks.

“So, I take it you don’t have any siblings? Or you do, but you hate them with such burning rage and intensity that you didn’t bother mentioning them earlier and mentioned your dog instead?”

“You’re a bit humorous.” He breathes out with a tiny smile on his face. You wonder how he would look if he let that smile reach the rest of him. “I’m an only child.”

You make a booing noise.

Akaashi chuckles. “Agreed. Do you?”

“An older sister, but she left home ages ago. She had the right idea.”

“Yikes. What’s going on over there?”

“At home? Nothing, it’s the town that’s the issue.”

“I can’t say we had the same experiences then.”

You glance over at him, and he’s wearing a face of perplexity. “Of course.”

“Pardon me?”

“Of course you love our town. You’re like the poster boy for it.”

His face is unreadable. “Considering the distaste you have for it, I’m not feeling overly confident that you’re fond of me.”

“The way you speak! Oh my gosh—Oh no. Stop, don’t look at me like that. It’s not supposed to be an insult! Okay, moving all the way on,” you chuckle to yourself. “Favorite soda?”

“Not a fan of carbonated drinks. You?”

“Yikes, you’re losing a lot of points in my book.” Akaashi then slowly holds up the aux cord for you to grab, which you take as a sign to stop blabbering and shut up. You take the cord from him and plug it into your phone.

He breaks the silence. “Hm, go on. What’s your favorite silly little drink?” he presses.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face like a wave reaching the shore. Crashing onto the shore, more like. You can’t stop f—cking smiling.

“Cherry Coke.”

----

“Making friends is hard.”

“Wow,” is all Akaashi says.

You peek at him quickly. “What?”

He raises his dark eyebrows like he can’t believe you even have to ask. “If you’re having trouble meeting new people, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a people person—” his eyes twinkle at you like he’s some sort of Disney character, “—and you’re all smiles, which is incredibly inviting.”

On cue, you smile as wide as you can, until your cheeks begin to hurt a little. “And you, Akaashi, are all neutral-toned cardigans and sweaters.”

He glances down at his outfit: a light coffee-brown cable-knit sweater (of course), layered with a white collared shirt underneath and light-washed jeans. Akaashi bites back a smile. “I sound very boring.”

“You sound and look smart, which is a pretty solid first impression because it’s true.”

“Smart.” He repeats the word with a twinge of doubt, like it’s the first time anyone has ever called him that (which you can’t possibly fathom). People with his level of intelligence are usually showered in praise, especially in a small town like the one the two of you just escaped from.

“Do you miss home?” you ask abruptly, gripping the wheel a little harder. You’ve heard your roommate cry into her pillow late at night. When you asked if she was okay, she told you stories about her hometown until the early hours of the morning. You feel like the only freshman who can’t relate to that specific kind of homesickness. Not entirely, at least.

Without missing a beat, he sighs, “Yeah.”

Maybe you’re the only one who sees leaving that city as escaping.

“Why?” you ask, genuinely curious. Of course, there were good things about it: your family, the friends who stayed local for college, and maybe that one Ethiopian restaurant before it shut down when you were a senior in high school. That closing alone made you despise the city even more. Or maybe it was the event that pushed your hatred over the edge. You really, really loved that place.

Akaashi must’ve zoned out beside you because he doesn’t answer. Instead, he gazes out of the passenger side window, resting his head against it. He fiddles with the rings on his long fingers. You watch him from the corner of your eye as you drive the narrow, long road ahead.

“What’s wrong with taking highways again?” he asks after some time, his voice teasing, though his face remains neutral. So far, Akaashi has driven once, and you, twice.

“I’m just scared to. Had a bad experience once, and now I avoid them if I can.” You leave it at that, and Akaashi doesn’t push for more.

Some time passes before he changes the conversation. “Isn’t it interesting how there are only two high schools in our hometown, yet we went to different ones?”

You scoff. “I’m glad we didn’t attend the same one.”

“I’m wounded, Y/N.” You turn to look at him, met with puppy-dog eyes.

Lethal, very dangerous puppy-dog eyes.

“Please,” you make a sour face. “I was an embarrassing, angsty teenager.”

He smiles, probably picturing what you were like back then. You shudder at the thought. “Wasn’t everyone?” he says eventually.

You sigh, “You must’ve been popular, right? Smart, athletic, attractive, smelled good, dressed nice.”

“I’m flattered you think I didn’t just acquire those traits after graduation.”

“No, I can tell from these past couple of weeks of being friends that you’ve always been well-rounded. You’re every parent’s dream kid.”

“You assume so much, I’ve noticed.”

“And you notice so much, weirdo,” you fire back, teasingly. Akaashi picks up on things about you so quickly it’s surprising. Like how you always forget your laptop charger when you study together (you seem to leave your dorm with an almost-dead laptop, which drives him insane), so he brings his for you. Or how he knows you like extra pickles on your sandwiches and lets you take the ones out of his. He even memorized your sub order and your coffee order the second time you went to the campus cafe together.

“Ah, is it obvious then?”

“Yes, very,” you laugh.

Instantly, the atmosphere shifts, growing heavier, though you’re not sure why. You watch as he bites his lip, like he’s thinking about something serious. His broad shoulders fall as he rushes out an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

He refuses to meet your eyes, and if he did, he’d see just how confused you are. You force yourself to drag your gaze back to the road, even though you want to stare at him longer.

You squint at him, your brows furrowed. “Um, I’m saying this as nicely as I can—what the hell are you talking about, Keiji?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How observant you are... what are you on about?”

His eyes widened for a second before settling back to normal. “I was as well.” He turns on the radio and leans back in his seat.

---

“This is going to be an awkward four hours if you refuse to speak to me.”

“I’m not refusing anything,” you enunciate, trying to prove your point, but you end up sounding like a snobby child. You weren’t necessarily not talking to Akaashi on purpose—you just had a lot on your mind.

And it was all his fault.

Aaaand maybe you were giving him the cold shoulder, but it didn’t seem like an intense one—maybe a lukewarm shoulder at best.

“Come on, you haven’t even glanced at me yet.”

“How would you know? You’re driving,” you shoot back.

“Is this because of—”

“Shut up. Please. Don’t mention her name.”

“I thought you guys were friends?”

“She’s my roommate, of course she’s my friend. A very close one in fact, so you can imagine my current state.”

“Y/n,” he groans, dragging out your name in a plea for you to look at him instead of straight ahead. “You walked in at the worst possible moment.”

“Oh, so you wanted to do more…” The thought makes your stomach churn.

You hear him take a deep breath. “Of course not. You misunderstood what happened. Can I explain? Please?”

“You don't have to, but go ahead.” You can hear the edge in your own voice, and you know Akaashi can too. Where is this snappiness coming from? It was just a kiss, and if it were anything more than that, why would it even bother you?

Why does a little kiss bother you this much?

“After I edited her English paper, I came by to drop it off. She insisted I step inside, so I did.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “I was hoping to catch you, but you weren’t there. After looking over my corrections, she got really excited and grateful—”

“She kissed you out of gratitude?”

“Kind of. She was aiming for my cheek, and I didn’t know what was happening, so I moved, and she caught my lips instead. Completely my fault. I’m awkward as f—ck.” He drums his slender fingers against the wheel. You can feel his eyes flick over your face, but you refuse to look.

The sight of them kissing after your hellish day was enough to make your head spin. The kiss was quick, but that didn’t change the way it made you feel—like you’d just walked in on something personal, something you shouldn’t have seen. You’d mumbled some apologies before bolting. Your face had felt as hot as everyone else’s in the room.

“Sorry, it’s really none of my business,” you shrug, trying to play it cool even though you know there’s no going back after ignoring him for half the road trip. At least you can salvage what’s left of the journey by shifting the conversation.

But still, there’s a question lingering in the back of your mind, one you can’t ignore.

“Do you want to date her?”

You hear a choking sound, followed by a fit of coughing. “After one mishap of a kiss that wasn’t even supposed to happen?” Keiji manages.

“Just answer the question.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

-----

Funny how  "absolutely not"  means nothing when it comes to the college dating pool.

“Your hair got longer, by the way.” You noticed this a while back when his once-slick black hair had started to curl, spiking up in all directions.

“Do I need to cut it?” he asks, a little wary. He’s wearing a black baseball cap, and it makes the length stand out even more.

“I love it. You look so cute.” You reach over the console, twirling a loose strand around your pinky finger. The corner of his mouth twitches into a tiny smile. Akaashi Keiji might just be the cutest boy you’ve ever seen.

“So, soon it’ll be winter break,” he says.

Silence.

“Correct.”

More silence.

“And we’ll be driving back home.”

Okay?

“Also correct.”

“Aika wants to come home... with me.” Akaashi’s words come out choppy, awkward, like he knows this conversation isn't going to end well.

You frown. “Why?”

“She really wants to see my family and friends. Mainly Koutarou, because of how much I talk about him.” He smiles to himself. Seeing your confused look, he adds, “Sorry. Bokuto.”

“I know who Koutarou is,” you snap. You’re just confused—why is he inviting his girlfriend of, what, a month?—to meet his family when you, his closest friend since the start of the year, have never been invited anywhere. You’re from the same city, for f—ck’s sake.

“What is it, Y/n? Your face...”

You wave an annoyed hand. “Just keep driving.”

His jaw tightens and he slips out, “Alright.”

You try to hold back your frustration, but the way he just breezes past your feelings makes your chest ache. “This is exactly what I was afraid of when you two started dating,” you whisper.

“Afraid of what?”

“Feeling like an outsider.”

“How do we make you feel like an outsider?” Keiji’s voice is gentle, genuinely curious. He just wants to understand. That makes you feel worse.

You sigh, taking a deep breath. “For starters, the whole ‘we’ every time you talk about her—it drives me wild.”

He shakes his head, clearly struggling to understand. “I don’t get it, Y/n. She’s my girlfriend.” He then takes a lengthy pause before he adds, “are you… jealous?”

“Obviously I am,” you snap, harsher than you intend. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to calm down. When you speak again, your voice is quieter. “You spend so much time with her, and it’s fine, I promise, I like Aika, but you treat me like an afterthought every single time. Am I wrong to want your time too? You’ve never even invited me to meet your friends or your family, and that—-it hurts.”

“You’re jealous?”

You blink slowly. He’s unbelievable. “I think we kind of went over that.”

“No. Y/n. Like, you’re seriously jealous that Aika is my girlfriend?” he asks, urgent now, and when you don’t respond, he adds, “Because that’s not fair.”

You’re too tired to argue, too drained to unpack all that. All you want is to go home.

“Glad you learned now that nothing is ever fair.”

-----

You decide not to go home for winter break. Your parents ended up attending a wedding for your dad’s business partner in a different state, which turned into a full-blown vacation. You were the one who insisted they go, since it’s been ages since they got to spend any quality time together outside of rushed, late-night dinners and early morning conversations. With them away, there was no point in traveling all that way home to an empty house.

Your older sister invited you to stay with her up North, but you turned the offer down almost immediately. You weren’t particularly fond of her partner—or her mean little chihuahua with a nasty habit of biting toes.

Fortunately for you, you’ve got the dorm all to yourself for three weeks. It’s weird to think that Aika is in your city with Keiji right now. You wonder if she finds its small-town quirkiness charming or if she’s appalled by the fact that there’s exactly one mall in the entire town, and it doubles as a grocery store and movie theater.

You’re currently curled up on your bed with a book assigned for your sociology class. Might as well get some work done, you think. Make use of all this extra time.

You’ve already exhausted the solo activities: you binged a ton of Netflix, baked in the common kitchen (go you!), and even painted a hideous Christmas tree decoration that you’ve convinced yourself is not ugly—just camp.

You weren’t expecting any visitors, so when a knock sounds at your door, you’re genuinely surprised. Rushing to open it, you find Keiji standing there in a hoodie decorated with tiny, melting snowflakes and a hopeful look on his face.

In an extremely calm and collected voice, he asks, “Hi, would you be interested in spending the holidays with me?”

“What? I—”

He interrupts, “You can stay in the guest room, meet my dog, my parents, and Kou.” He takes a deep breath. “I would really like your company, Y/n.”

“Keiji, wait. Did you run here?” you ask, noticing his quick breaths and heaving chest. Grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie, you pull him inside. You point to your bed and sternly say, “Sit.”

“I’m wet.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” Without another thought, Akaashi pulls his sweater up and over his head, revealing a white shirt underneath. You look away quickly, but not before catching a glimpse of his toned stomach, daring you to stare. You like to think you passed that test.

He finally sits, catching his breath. “Where’s Aika?” you ask, arms crossed.

“She’s back in her city. I drove her home.”

Your mouth drops. “Wait, what? She’s been talking about spending the break with you for weeks! Why would you drive her home?” you whisper-shout, half in disbelief, half in annoyance.

You didn’t like the person you became whenever your roommate talked about Keiji. You wanted to be happy for her, you really did. But it tore you apart knowing it was your Keiji she gushed about. And you hated that it hurt.

“We broke up, that’s why.”

You sit down beside him, clutching your chest like the wind’s been knocked out of you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I—”

He takes your hand in his. “Don’t apologize.”

You exhale. His touch is cold but gentle. “Why did you guys break up?”

“Do you have to ask?” he smiles softly, eyes dropping to the floor. A few quiet beats pass before he looks at you again. “Hey,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. “The real question is, are you coming with me on the road trip back home?”

“Uh.” You bite your lip. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

Your answer is a no-brainer. There isn’t anything you want more than to spend the holidays with him—this boy sitting next to you, rubbing tiny circles over your thumb. “I would love to.”

“Good,” he hums, resting his head in the nook of your neck like it’s where it belongs. “Because I wasn’t leaving here without you.”

-----

“My goal for the next three weeks is to make you fall in love with our adorable little town.”

You snort, rolling your eyes at his confession. “Aim lower, Keiji.”

He cocks his head. “It’s that impossible, huh? Well, I do have another goal.”

“Spill,” you say, ripping open a mega-sized pack of M&Ms he conveniently left for you in the car, alongside your favorite drink—Cherry Coke. A few chocolates tumble onto the floor, sending Keiji into near-cardiac arrest. He watches in horror, lips pressed into a tight line, ready to scold you.

“Every time you leave my car, you leave behind some sort of—”

“A token of myself for you to remember me by?”

“—Garbage,” he corrects, totally unimpressed.

You grin sheepishly. “Go on. What’s your other goal?”

“Oh, right,” he coughs once. “My other goal is to win your heart.”

You nearly choke on an M&M. “Blunt as ever, Keiji.”

“Charming too, I hope.” He smiles faintly. You’ve memorized all of Akaashi Keiji’s smiles. Every single one. You even have a mental list of your favorites—like when you’re being your usual dramatic self, going off about some ridiculous exchange in the dining hall, and Keiji looks up from his glowing laptop to send you that lopsided smile, the one that tells you he’s listening and taking your side.

Then there’s his tired smile, the one he reserves for you after long study sessions, when he says goodbye with the same look that reassures you he’ll see you tomorrow, that your little world will keep spinning just the same.

You collect his smiles like they’re candy, and you’re an overzealous trick-or-treater trying to fill the heaviest bag. But his smirks? Those are rare, and they get to you every time.

And suddenly, it hits you.

It finally freaking hits you.

“Have you ever wondered why someone who supposedly hates their hometown as much as I do… visits so often?”

“Every passing second,” he murmurs, flicking off the turn signal after switching lanes.

“It’s because sitting in a car with you—being here with you like this—makes me so happy. Sure, I love seeing my parents and visiting friends once we’re home, but… it’s you I look forward to the most.” Your heart pounds as you speak, the words finally lifting the weight off your chest. “You don’t have to win my heart, Keiji. You already have it. It’s yours. All yours.”

“Y/n,” He says your name slowly, savoring every syllable. The way his teal eyes fix on yours makes your breath catch. “You were right about everything,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Especially the whole ‘we’ thing. ‘We’ should mean me and you. It’s always going to be me and you.” He grips your hand tighter. “It’s always going to be us.”

-----

You feel a hand reach the small of your back, followed by a soft mouth pressing against your ear. “Having fun?”

You grin, immediately recognizing who slipped into the stool beside you. “I didn’t know we had enough people in this city to fill a restaurant like this.” You watch as Keiji rolls his eyes teasingly and tugs on your ear.

“Hm, what did Koutarou say about me? What were his first impressions?” you ask, curious about what your now-boyfriend’s best friend thinks of you. You can feel Bokuto’s eyes on the two of you from across the room, his friendly smile reaching from ear to ear. You wave at him, and he waves back.

“He can’t stop talking about you. He keeps reiterating that he can’t believe I have a girlfriend—and that girlfriend is you. I’m sorry, but he might be joining our dates for a long time.”

You laugh at that, sneaking another glance at Bokuto. He’s proudly wearing someone’s Santa hat, looking ridiculous yet charming. “Probably forever,” you reply.

“Are you okay with that?” Keiji squeezes your knee.

“Sure, as long as you’re not too shy to show affection in front of him.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he says, pretending to lean in. Giggling, you place a hand on his chest to stop him, beaming as you shoot him all the love you have inside through your eyes.

“I’m so happy I let you drag me back here.”

Akaashi chuckles. “Drag is a bit of an exaggeration, I think, but I feel the same way. I promise one day we’ll travel to other places—places you don’t hate vehemently.”

“You know that doesn’t make a difference to me. Wherever you go, I go.” And you mean it. Pressing a tender kiss to his cheek, you whisper against his skin, “It’s always going to be us.”

He softly repeats after you, “Yeah, it’s always going to be us.”

[ur-mentallyill-wench]

Ok so this is actually 100% ripped of from this post

But I just changed it around a bit and wanted to put my spin on it :) this takes place season 5 but let’s pretend Troy never left. I know it’s cringe and bad I can’t write and sorry it’s so long

Setting- Pretty much the same, the Dean rented out a venue for a dance only this time it’s a valentine dance however on a “coincidence” they get stuck with said bisexual lighting that Abed will make his comment on

Background/ cold open- of course no dance at Greendale would be complete without alternative motives, this one being the Dean trying to get Jeff as his date to said dance (I don’t ship them but I think the Dean liking him is funny). To go along with this plot you aren’t let into the dance without a date, the Dean makes sure to make it clear it doesn’t have to be a real date (cue aggressive cueing to Jeff) In the end Jeff and Britta and up being each others fake dates seeing as they hadn’t been spending but time together, leaving Troy, Abed, and Annie (Shirley isn’t going)

A plot- Troy instinctively turns to Abed pitching to go as fake dates, seeing as they did nearly everything together and it’s not like either of them had a girlfriend. To this Abed would agree although he’d say something along the lines of “or maybe we could try and get dates, I mean spending time with you is great but we’ve been going to school here for 5 seasons with not end in sight, we may as well try to get girlfriends considering neither of us have had a real relationship” (cue offended gasp from britta). This makes Troy upset for whatever reason, he knows Abed is right but he’d rather just go with Abed then bother finding a date, with this he turns to his next best option, Annie, who is more then enthusiastic to go with him despite being over him she’s still gitty. Abed ends up going with Rachel, this once again makes Troy feel certain way but he still can’t put his thumb on it, Annie immediately notices something’s up and brings up the idea that it has something to do with Abed. Troy would say something along the lines of, “I really don’t know, I think your great and I should be estatic to have a date with someone a good as you but I can’t stop thinking about him, like how could he pull her this easy and get along with her so good, I’ve never even heard of this girl”. At this point Troy is completely detached from his “date” with Annie and is now ranting about how there’s no way Rachel is better then him or good enough for Abed while Annie just stares at him knowingly. Of course with Annie’s help Troy comes to the realization that even id he can’t put his finger ong why he wants to be with Abed, whether platonicly or romantically he wants to be with him. The night goes on like this, Troy occasionally going over to talk to Rachel about Abed before sulking back to Annie. Over the course of the night and talking to Rachel Troy gets increasingly mad that Abed doesn’t seem to care until the point on him storiming up to Rachel and airing out shit about abed (he’s controlling, trackers in his friends, uses people) and so on until Abed comes up on them and Rachel tells Abed something and storms out, leaving Abed to turn to Troy distraught. He’s says something about how he really liked her and Troy confesses that even if he doesn’t know want it is he’s drawn to Abed and wants to spend the rest of his life with him, he doesn’t want to be boyfriends or anything it he doesn’t want to see Abed leave him, Abed would say something along the lines of, “I don’t know how to take this but if there’s anyone I’d want to spend the rest of my life with it’s you, and we can make out own thing up it’s what we do anyway” more emotional dialog that I’m not smart enough to write but it ends in them kissing to bisexual lighting glaring around them and the song Somewhere Out There playing in the background

B plot- Jeff and Britta end up going to the dance together, I don’t have much to say here but it ends up it them saying how they’ve missed spending time together (I ship them in a they keep getting divorced and getting back together way) but they end up having a good time together. Also Jeff finds the Dean sulking and they end up sharing a dance together

C plot- not much here but I think it would be funny to have Chang and Duncan trying to pick if ladies to go to the dance but they end up wasting all there time with no ladies wanting them (just some funny bar scenes idk)

Ending scene- Troy and Abed telling people they’re dating of course with “Troy and Abed are dAtInG” a shocked gasp from Shirley and Annie (Annie knew) and britta giving Jeff twenty dollars for losing the bet of wether they’d get together

[windupaidoneus]

cuz my options for emet coming back right. lets walk through them.

hildegarde brings him back of his own volition via some enhanced form of the necromancy he learnt back when he was trying to bring haurche back. ill be real i dont like this one. i want hilde to have some moral ambiguity even now of course but going back to necromancy just isnt something i want for him, or if he does it it has to be under stronger circumstances than just "i want the love of my soul's life back". it just wouldnt feel worth the trouble to him anymore, its something hes put behind him even if there's a romantic aspect to going against your principles for love

emet comes back willingly out of love. this one is pretty nice & also pretty romantic. i love romantic! but um. i dont know that he would. while i personally out of game disagree with the writers killing off all the ascians presumably in part with the mindset of death as salvation, as atonement, as absolution because the ascians will not stop until they die (i get it they're tempered but like. idk i just think it's too easy to each time put them in circumstances where death is the only way out for them. as much as all those scenes hit really good emotionally (well ok not laha & igeyorhm's. or nabriales'. but that's another problem) & that makes them good tragedies, killing off all your big bad evil antagonists is just... not that interesting.. to me... sorry.) i believe this is something that would be in emet's line of thinking especially with his whole shtick of knowingly acting as the main antagonist in the wol's story. the villain dies at the end. he says this stuff about how history is written by the victors but if you know my thoughts on emet then you know i believe he was planning his own death all along whether consciously or not, thus placing himself as the villain within the 'play' they're all taking a part in. i believe he bears unspoken guilt for his actions (maybe not all of them but. i cannot get into the psyche of this man too deep rn i woke up an hour ago & this paragraph is already entirely too long) but it was all in service of a cause he did genuinely believe in thus the guilt is not worth examining in life - that & guilt would not change anything, no matter how bad he could possibly feel about it it won't undo anything so it's better to just bury it & not acknowledge it. all this to say death would work as atonement for him, in his mind, & so i find it unlikely he would willingly, properly come back to living

emet's soul latches onto one of the remaining solus clones when hilde goes in babil in post edw. i do not remember when it is said but there is mention of souls lingering even after death if they have something to hold onto, which is how you get ghosts (& logically how you'd be able to like. summon hyth & emet in ultima thule, among other things). in the context of hildemet of course emet has something to hold onto, it's that fuckass homo with the horns. not necessarily conscious & his soul latching would absolutley not be a conscious decision, it would just... happen. because of the proximity so yeah the most likely scenario is definitely the last one. taking into account who they are as people. yeah. that was my post hope u liked it

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

After-Action Reports

Merry Crisis - here's an attack a ficlet for @doom-dreaming inspired by The More the Merrier. This might be added to and posted on ao3 later sometime.

-

"So..."

She fixes him with a look before sharply glancing back at her coffee. It's their normal routine except about a couple hours later than usual. Coffee and shooting the shit before the day – when they can manage.

"Drinks went well?" Tom eases off the counter and walks over to sit across from her in the empty Officers' mess.

"You could say that." She sniffs. Her heart rate may speed up at the memory of last night – and this morning  – but Tom can't tell.

"I'm glad." He smiles, a genuine one where the lines of his face relax and crinkle. It annoys her because whenever Tom points that face at her she almost buys it.

"Spit it out."

"We can just have coffee." He says leaning back and making a show of putting his hands up. The grin remains.

"But you have questions."

"Come on, Sarah, you know me better than that." He steps on her boot beneath the table as she scoffs and gulps the too hot coffee."Only share if you want to." He says, voice layering the words with enough meaning that she quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Oh? Are we talking about sharing?" She sets her coffee down and leans, chin on her hand, eyes half lidded.

Tom mirrors her, his own coffee abandoned to meet her eyes. His shoe leaves her boot with a parting tap before he smothers a grin to ask,"Can you just tell me why Roland is jumping every time a Spartan comes on the bridge? We've had 3 shifts since you went for drinks and his avatar isn't as good as he thinks it is."

"Oh? He's nervous?"

"He's jumpy. And extra talkative." Tom frowns.

Sarah grins and grabs her drink. She takes a sip and smiles around the rim of her mug. It's all teeth.

"Say anything interesting?" She eyes the camera in the corner of the room.

"No." Tom follows her gaze, hand in chin, and they sit and stare at the camera. A comfortable silence follows, for them. It's a rare moment to sit in each other's company and not have something to do or intel to share. Lasky exhibiting the rare skill of delegation and leaving the bridge. Palmer enjoying the fact that a nosy little nuisance rescheduled her morning, earning her a brief reprieve from the armor and the persona. It gave them the time to enjoy their coffee and smirk knowingly at camera. Was it childish? Maybe. Was it deserved? Oh yes.

"How long til he cracks?"

"You mean how long will he be on his best behavior?"

"That's what I asked."

Tom snorts, it's a little huff of air out his nose before his eyes flicker to hers and he turns back to his coffee.

Don't get used to it. 

Message received. Enjoy it while you can. Sarah turns back to her coffee and eyes the camera.

-

Fred doesn't know what to do with himself.

Since being kicked out of Blue Team's room for the night – and trying not to think about his sisters and the Commander – he's done everything he can without copying Chief and starting to pick on weird IVs.

He did the last bit of reports, so paperwork's done. His paperwork. John can suffer under the mountain of things that built up while he was away. Fred lost sympathy after John encouraged whatever this was...and then promptly disappeared on him.

A lone II stuck out like a sore thumb among the IVs. He felt even more out of place than usual. Still, nowhere comfortable to bunk wasn't a problem. He just didn't want people asking questions or worse, talking about why 104 wasn’t with his team. He was not involved, he was not getting involved, and he did not want to know the details.

So Fred did his work, went to the range, stripped and cleaned all his weapons, sharpened his knives, and hit the gym. All before 0500. He did doze off in one of S-Deck's lounges. A rare chance at an empty room with a couch made to support a Spartan. He had almost let his guard down. Breakfast was with a datapad on the table as he scanned the War Games schedule and thought about running drills with some of the IVs' joint forces teams. Fireteam Forest had been swapped with Fireteam Hydra for some reason so he planned to go watch them.

He's halfway through his meal when John shows up with someone in tow. John sits down with a nodded greeting and digs into his food while the newcomer hovers behind him nervously. They're a IV, techsuit and all, but nervous and twitchy, with bags under their eyes. No defining features or identifying scars or tattoos, just one in the sea of 300 that still threatens to drown Fred’ senses. Spartans, but different. 

"Hey," Fred says to the both of them, because he's nicer than John and learned that being the strong silent type doesn't work in social situations. Unlike some people, Fred learned to be social. He had to do all the talking in recent years. It wasn’t like Linda wanted to, and he was more…diplomatic than Kelly. Fred nods to the empty spot next to Chief and goes back to his own meal.

"Thanks." The newcomer says, and that voice is familiar... The IV sits and looks between Fred and John, goes to say something, thinks better of it, and digs aggressively into his meal.

The atmosphere at the table is abysmal. John seems oblivious, but that's on purpose. Fred thinks he's trying to introduce them in the worst way possible or avoid any and all conversation about where he's been or the current location of other Blue Team members.

Fred finishes his meal and stands to clear his tray, datapad tucked under his arm. He nods to them and lets his brother know his plans, since he's nice like that. "I'm going to go watch Forest and Majestic, if you want to join me."

He says it to Chief, but the other Spartan freezes and a bite of food falls off his fork. "Forest and Majestic aren't scheduled til later."

"No..." Fred drawls, "Schedule change. Hydra got pushed back so they took the open slot. They're on in 5."

"Shit!" Mystery Spartan hisses under his breath and jumps to his feet, barely avoiding overturning his tray."Uh sorry, I need to go. Oh he would pull something like this. Esposito could have warned me. Dammit."

The remaining members of Blue Team watch him storm off, not towards War Games but the assemblage bay and Brokkr machines, muttering to himself before he takes off in a jog.

"Was that...the mission handler from our last sortie?" Fred asks, rounding on his brother who has begun eating the other Spartan's meal.

"Yes." John says between bites.

"Why were you hanging out with Michaels?"

"Miller."

"Miller."

"He's anxious."

"And what? You're going to help?"

John fixes him with a look. "He just needs encouragement."

"You're going to give him complexes." Fred scoffs. "I guess I should be glad you're socializing."

John wisely chooses not to respond.

Their sisters choose then to materialize out of thin air with their own trays. Kelly is practically beaming with her lips drawn in a tight line and the corner of her mouth tilted a fraction of a millimeter. Linda has a too pleased air about her and her eyes are bright even as she scans the room and then sits across from John, in Fred’s former seat. 

“Morning.” Kelly bounces up to the table and nabs one of Miller’s eggs out from under John’s fork.

“And I’m leaving.” Fred announces and turns on his heel.

“We don’t kiss and tell.” Kelly says to his turned back as he stalks away.

“I can’t hear you.” Fred grouses and speeds off.

John angles his tray away from Kelly and continues eating. 

[thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos]

Every Rose Has It's Thorn

Part 12

Part 11

Universe: Teenage Mutant Teenage Turtles (Bayverse aged-up turtles)

Rating: R MINORS DNI: (swearing) suggestive moments, kissing and heated moments in this chapter

Raphael x OC (female character), Leonardo x OC (female character)

Tags: fluff, original character, slow burn romance, Leo and Raph fighting, jealousy, angst

I also posted this story on AO3 if you'd rather read over there

============================

Rose and Leo begin training in the dojo, and Raph decides to keep fighting. (Soooo fluffy :3 )

==============================

Leo let his phone flop onto his plastron and breathed out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t believe how much had happened in the past few hours. 

He and Rose had spent so much time together, laughing and getting to know each other practically all day, and they had almost kissed. A shiver ripped down his spine as he thought of the moment they had shared on the couch, her lips so close to his. He grazed a finger over his own pout and smiled, remembering how soft and delicate it had been. Leo had been so close to letting himself close the gap between them, but when she spoke his name it brought him back to earth enough to remember his plan. 

He wasn’t going to kiss her until she asked him to.

He had meant it. He wasn’t going to do anything until she asked him, and as he laid there and let his mind wander, he wondered what it would sound like, her pleading him to kiss her like that. What would she taste like, he thought. Would she breathe his name like that again, under him? He palmed himself over his shorts, suddenly aware of a desperate need for friction.

And immediately remembered he was on the couch. In the living room. 

He readjusted himself, and lifted his phone back up to his face. The picture of Rose kissing him was still lit up on the screen, and the grin once more bloomed on his lips. He couldn’t stop looking at it. 

He knew that she wanted him; it was obvious. He had felt her shiver in his arms as he leaned in to kiss her; had felt her body reach up to him. And that smell.

He noticed it as he had brushed her cheek with his thumb on the couch, this sweet, spicy scent from her center that made a very primal feeling rear its head. It drew him to kiss her, to take her deeper into his arms, to make her his. 

But he wouldn’t act on anything until she wanted it. 

Wanted him. 

Letting out a huff, he stuffed his phone in his pocket and got up from the couch. A cold shower would do him good. 

As Leo turned his shoulder, he saw his brother’s door open, and Raph stepped out of his room, yawning.

The brothers locked eyes, both freezing in place. He expected another fight, but was surprised when he saw guilt in place of anger in his gaze. 

“Ah, hey..Leo.”

Leonardo blinked slowly; quickly looking around the room and then back at his brother. 

“Raph.” 

A pregnant pause took up residence between them; Leo desperately wanted to leave but Raph’s awkwardness intriguing enough to pique his curiosity and keep him there. 

“So, I wanna say somethin’,” Raph began, looking at the floor and nervously fiddling with his wrist wraps. “About earlier.”

Leo continued his cautious gaze over his younger brother, but sat down on the arm of the couch. 

“Okay. What about it.” 

“I’m sorry about, ya know. The fight. I shouldnta tried to smoke ya like that.” 

Leo chuckled lowly. “Yeah, me too man. We definitely took it too far.” 

His brother smirked knowingly at him, but the smile quickly faded. Raph looked away again, at some distant imaginary movie playing on the other side of the lair. 

“Did you mean it, Leo-”

Leo’s face fell, and a hardened look settled into his eyes.  “And what if I did?” 

Raph’s fists clenched at his sides; his jaw set in a hard line across his face. 

“She feels somethin’ for me, Honor-Boy.”

“Maybe,” Leo admitted, “at one point.” He turned to leave, but paused to give Raph a final thought. “Let me make one thing clear: whatever she decides will be her choice, Raph. And we both have to accept it.” 

He could feel the daggers his brother was boring into his skull as he walked away, headed for the shower, and heard a grunted response behind him. 

“Fine with me.” 

=======================

Rose woke up a few hours later, blinking in confusion until she remembered where she was.

Stretching out, she smiled and sighed to herself, feeling much more rested. She was grateful that Leo had chosen to leave last night after all; she had slept surprisingly well in light of what happened. It had done her well to spend some time alone. 

Though it had been a little hard to fall asleep after he had texted her. 

She squealed to herself, clutching her phone to her chest and kicking her legs in the sheets. Leo was such a flirt, in person and over text, and she found that she grew easily flustered when he laid it on thick. How could you not, when this suave, sexy ninja turtle was looking at you like he wanted to have you for lunch?

Rose looked down at her phone and saw a text notification from him. 

Blue: Morning. Let me know when you’re up, gorgeous 

Hnnggghhh! She flipped the phone out of her hands in excitement and screamed into the pillow. 

Emerald: good morning lol 

               someone’s had some free time this morning 

Blue: sorry, was that weird?

Emerald: no! 

               I’m sorry. 

              I just um, don’t know how to respond to compliments 

              but thanks, it was really sweet of you 

Blue: anytime, gorgeous 

         You can tell me if I do something that upsets you though, and you don’t need to apologize for it. I want to know.  

Emerald: Mkay, Blue.  

                So, what’s up?

Blue: Oh, I was just going to tell you that training starts in 30 minutes. You may want to get going. :)

Rose leapt up from the bed, grabbing her toiletries bag and a set of athletic wear, and headed to the bathroom. She passed by the living room on her way, waving hello to Donnie as she passed. He smirked knowingly at her from the couch, glancing up from his phone, ever present cup of coffee in his other hand. 

“What.”

“Nothing. Morning.” 

“Ooh-kay. Anyways, I’m going to hop in the shower really quick if that’s all right.” 

Donnie wrinkled his snout, and raised his mug in her direction. 

“Gotcha. Have fun.”

Rose rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue at him as she strutted away, shutting the bathroom door behind her. 

Donnie smiled back at his phone, finishing his text to April that Rose was training with Leo, and she could definitely come down to meet her before they left for patrol tonight. His dove was going to be so excited.  

She hurried through her shower, changing quickly and practically running out of the bathroom in case anyone else needed it. Old habits of childhood die hard.

Back in Leo’s room, she finished drying her hair and doing her makeup in a small compact mirror. It had been days since she had really tried with her appearance, and if Leo thought she was gorgeous now.. ooh just you wait, buddy. 

She had chosen a light blue set of leggings and sports bra, which perfectly complimented her copper hair and tan skin, and threw on an oversized white crop top over her bra, not quite sure of what they were doing and how exposed she really wanted to be. Her tattoo sleeve on her right arm stuck out vividly against the light color of her outfit, the Koi fish that swirled around her shoulder stark in contrast to the soft glow of the lair lighting.

She wondered if Leo would like it if he saw it. 

Doing one last look over and fluffing her curls, she slid on her sneakers and headed to the dojo with a minute to spare. 

Leo had been waiting patiently meditating, or at least trying to. He couldn’t focus, every few seconds opening his eyes in anticipation that Rose was walking in the door. 

When the paper finally slid open, he was not prepared for the stunning beauty in front of him. 

In his color. 

Leo half-smiled, brows raised, soaking in the moment.

She looked good in blue.

Her curly hair cascaded down her shoulders as she slipped off her shoes, and she tucked some stray strands behind her ear as she stood back up and strolled over to him on the tatami. Rose was somehow even more beautiful today, and his heart swelled as he openly stared at her. 

And damn, did she look hot in that outfit. 

The leggings she wore clung to her hips in all the right places, accentuating the curves of her legs perfectly. He could see a hint of abs peeking out from under shirt, too. Leo exhaled sharply, trying to maintain his composure. He didn’t want her to see the lust in his eyes. Not yet. 

Rose smirked back as she sat down in front of him, crossing her legs to mirror his meditative pose. 

“Morning, Blue.” 

Leo bit back a grin as he drank her in. 

“Morning, Emerald. Sleep well?”

She cocked her head to the side at his pet name, an amused look on her face.  “I did, thanks.” With a sudden movement, she slapped her leg. “Well, you got me here. Now what?” 

He chuckled. “Are you ready to start your training?” 

“What training, exactly, are we talking about again?”

Leo looked at her blankly and stood, motioning for her to do the same. He walked to a stack of wooden boards in the corner and returned with one in hand, a few paces away. 

“Grab this.” 

He tossed the board to her, and she reached out and did as he instructed, confused, until her supposed “light” grip shattered the board into splinters. Leo brushed the wood chunks off his pants. 

“That training,” he said dryly. “Let’s work on your grip strength today. Now, let’s try it again, but this time 80% lighter.” He nodded in the direction of the stack, and Rose grabbed a few more boards and brought them over to him, gingerly touching the wood.

He picked up another piece and gently threw it to her, and this time her grip cracked the board in half, but didn’t shatter it. Her brows furrowed as she chewed her lip, irritated. 

“Hey, it’s all right. You’ll get there,” Leo said. “Think of it like turning a dial, not flipping a switch. ” 

Rose looked up at the terrapin, his comforting smile directed at her and its warmth glowing like sunlight. He lifted up another piece from the pile, flipping it in his hands as he spoke. 

“Again. It’s all about control. Power without control is just chaos.”

Rose took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing in focus. She nodded, and reached for the slab as it flew in the air, and this time she gently pressed her fingers against the wood. The piece cracked, but remained mostly intact.

“Better,” he encouraged, nodding. “You’re getting there. Just feel the pressure, don’t force it.”

Rose smiled, the tension easing slightly from her shoulders. “Okay, I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

He nodded and moved closer, abandoning the wood pile. 

“Okay, let’s see how you handle something softer.” 

Leo stood in front of her and smiled softly, and offered her his hand. She studied his face for a moment, fear etching across hers. 

“It’s okay, Rose. Just take my hand.”

Her fingers slid across his palm slowly, the sensation of his skin against hers sending shivers up her spine. She fought to hide how her heart started beating a little faster as her hand slotted on top of his. His beautiful blue eyes seemed to gleam in the light of the dojo as he looked down at her, watching her intently. Her gaze flicked back up to his as his fingers lightly squeezed hers. 

“All right. Gently squeeze my hand back.”

“Leo, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine. I trust you.”

He lifted their intertwined hands to his lips and lightly brushed a kiss to the back of her hand. Rose blinked slowly as she watched his soft pout graze her skin. He kept his gaze on her, drinking in her flushed cheeks as the blush spread across her face. Leo smirked against her knuckles, and gave her another encouraging squeeze as he lowered their hands. 

“C’mon gorgeous, I’m waiting.”

Rose flicked her green emeralds up to his eyes, smiling softly. She breathed out slowly, and tried to delicately grip his hand in her small one. Leo studied her face for a moment, and patted her on the head when she stopped squeezing his palm. 

“Good job. Knew you could do it.” 

“You’re an interesting guy, you know that?”

Leo rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, enjoying the way the pad of his finger scrubbed over her skin. “ I’ve heard that before, once or twice.” He shrugged his shoulders and let her hand go, but not missing the look of disappointment that danced across Rose’s features as he did. He walked over to a barrel of metal pipes that was sitting next to the wood pile and tossed her a thick metal bar. “Now, let’s see you try something sturdier.”

She caught it effortlessly, rolling it between her hands, and looked back at the terrapin bewildered.

“Leo, how am I supposed to know what to do with this?”

His hands slid to his hips and he cocked his head at her expectantly. 

“Just give it a shot. Think: pretzel.”

 With a look of concentration, she bent the bar slowly, shaping it with precision. The metal creaked and groaned in her grip, but felt like playdough as she twisted and shaped it. She giggled as the bar danced in her hands as easy as water in a stream. Once she was satisfied with the shape, she looked back up and presented it to Leo with a smile. His eyes softened as he took the offered piece, now in the shape of a cursive L. 

“Thanks.” His heart felt like it would burst. Leo’s mouth grew dry as his gaze dragged over hers, wanting like she was the oasis in a desert. Wanting what he’d never been able to have, what was always forever out of his reach. What he’d never allowed himself to imagine. 

It had never felt like this before. He’d never felt this before. 

She looked up, her eyes sparkling. “You’re welcome, Leo. Figured my sensei should have a Rose original.” Giggling to herself as her joy bubbled out from her soul, she playfully punched his arm with her fist. He half-smiled back, and rubbed his bicep a bit with a wince. 

“Careful muscles,” He chuckled lowly, and she placed a hand against his skin as her face fell. He internally chided himself for saying anything. 

“Oh my god, did I hurt you?” Her voice grew frantic as she searched his eyes. Leo set her gift down and took her hands in his. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” His tone was low and calm as he rubbed his thumbs over her hands. “You just need to keep what we worked on earlier in mind. That’s what today’s for. Just remember,” Leo said, looking at her intently, “strength is about more than muscles. It’s about knowing when to hold back and when to let go.”

Rose chewed on her lip, eyes growing damp and blurry with tears. “I’m so sorry. I-”

“Hey.” Leo took her chin in his thumb and finger and lifted her face up to look at him.  “Remember what I said yesterday? I’m tough, sweetheart. Don’t worry about it.” 

“I just-I can’t hurt you, any of you- I’m so scared of hurting anyone else.”

“I know. And that’s why we’re doing this, right?” She nodded reluctantly in his hand. “I’m here to help you, Rose. It’s okay.” Leo rubbed his thumb against her soft skin and paused a moment before sighing softly and dropping his hands. “Let’s move on.”

He sauntered towards the center of the dojo, and turned back to face her head on. She watched him move with a quiet curiosity as he sank a little in his stance, feet spread apart, and lifted his hands in a familiar position. Smirking, he raised an eye ridge and nodded to her.

“Let’s see what defensive moves you remember.” 

==========================================

After his conversation with Leo, Raph had headed off to the weight room to work off his utter frustration at his brother.

Set after set had gone by, his muscles screaming for rest, but the anger wouldn’t subside. He couldn’t stop, his thoughts racing and swirling like whirlpools every second that he wasn’t pushing his body to the absolute limit.

Hours passed before he finally re-racked the weights and let himself rest. 

Raph took a long swig from his jug, and splashed some water over his head to cool off. The liquid trickled down his thick, muscled shoulders, trailing down the lines of his plastron. It felt good against his skin, overheated and flushed after the long workout. The bara huffed loudly, shaking the excess water off his head. His mask tails flicked water everywhere as he shook, spraying Mikey as he walked in. 

“Yo! Watch the duds, man!”

“Heh, sorry Mike.”

“That better be water bro.” Mikey said flatly, hands on his hips. Raph just chuckled and shook his head again.

“Yeah, mostly.”

Mikey rolled his eyes at his older brother, and walked over to the makeshift squat rack. “Gross, dude.”

“Whaddya need, Mike.”

“Can you spot me, bro?”

Raph nodded and got up from the bench to stand behind his brother. He had always liked working out with Mikey, as his younger brother respected his opinions and didn’t argue with him.

Unlike Leo.

He shook his head again, trying to refocus. Mikey did his first warm-up set with no issue, and Raph helped him to load more weight onto the bar. 

“So Raph, you doin okay man? You’ve been in here for like 4 hours dude.”

He grunted in response to Mikey’s question; he didn’t want to get into it.

“C’mon man, I know you.”

The youngest huffed as he finished his second set, re-racking the bar with a thud against the rack. Raph had taught him well, high weight - low reps to build muscle. Mike was getting pretty big. Pretty soon he would be stronger than Leo. The red-banded turtle scoffed under his breath.

“It’s complicated, Mike.”

“Try me, man.”

Raph sat back down on the bench and put his head in his hands. “I just don’t get Leo, man.”

Mikey nodded, and leaned against the metal rack. 

“I hear you, dude. It’s kinda weird the way he’s acting. Did you talk to him?”

“Yeah. Didn’t help.” He mumbled into his lap.

“Well, from here it looks like you got one option then, dude.” 

Raph looked up at the youngest, raising a brow ridge in his direction. 

“If you like her, you gotta fight for her man. Plain and simple.” The bara snorted at his brother's comment, and Mikey shrugged and turned back to get under the bar again. "I’m just sayin’, dude. But you might wanna move fast, cause Leo’s not wasting any time. That’s for sure.”

“Whaddya mean, Mike.”

“He’s training with her in the dojo today, and he told Donnie and me to steer clear.” 

Raph growled under his breath as Mikey worked through his last set. 

Leo wanted a fight? 

Fine. He got one. 

==================================

Rose and Leo had been training for about two hours, both drenched in sweat and panting as he drilled kata after kata with her.

She had only remembered a few from her Dad, so they had started at the beginning and worked through the basic defensive moves. She had sweat through her crop top completely, and after a mental debate, she had asked to break for water and took it off. 

Leo choked on his water as he looked over and noticed her stripping her outer layer off. He couldn’t help his blatant stare as she shed the shirt and dabbed the sweat off her chest and neck. Her skin glistened in the light, and he looked hungrily over her figure as he took her in. 

Before she could notice his staring, he pointed out her ink, his eyes tracing the intricate designs on her skin. The Koi fish on her shoulder draped beautifully into the waves surrounding it, and the lotus flowers further down her bicep were a beautiful stark contrast in color. It was a great half-sleeve. 

“Nice tats.”

Rose raised an eyebrow at him, flicking her eyes up to meet his. An amused look glossed over her face.

“Thanks, Blue. I like yours too.”

His own ink stood out beautifully against the green, scaly skin of his arms, a large tribal turtle on one shoulder and a few lines and smaller turtles outlined on his other bicep. He flexed as she stared, the thick muscles making her feel weak as her eyes raked over him. Leo looked even more edible than usual as the beads of sweat dripped down his neck, trickling down his chest plates.

She licked her lips, wondering what his skin felt like against her tongue. What he tasted like. 

He smirked at her and shook his head, taking another long swig of water.

“Got something on your mind, sweetheart?”

Rose turned her head, blush creeping over her face. She mumbled under breath. 

“Maybe.”

Leo chuckled to himself and sauntered over to her, gliding confidently as he moved across the tatami. His grey joggers hung low on his frame and shifted slightly as he moved, exposing the skin around his hips ever so slightly and teasing her with the hint of another tattoo on one side. He gave her a cocky look as he stopped in front of her, crossing his arms and letting Rose take his full height in. It was like Leo had been sculpted by angels, perfectly chiseled in all the right places, and so incredibly handsome. 

“And what would that be?”

His brilliant blue eyes sparkled as he looked deeply into hers, the flush spreading across her cheeks betraying her thoughts. 

“I was-” She started, heartbeat picking up and chewing on her lip. “I was just admiring. That’s all.”

Leo gave her a knowing smile. “Oh, really now.”

Rose batted her lashes, eyes glinting with mischief. “I guess I’m just having a hard time with so many...distractions. But I’ll try to stay focused, sensei.”

He chuckled lowly and raised an eye ridge at her. “How do you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?”

She flashed a feline smile at him and lifted a hand up to flick her curls playfully. “It’s a skill.”

He snorted at her comment and shook his head, smiling to himself.

She was going to be the death of him.

He gave an exaggerated eye roll for her benefit and jutted his chin towards the door.

“Well, I’m about ready to be done. Do you want to take a break to grab some breakfast?”

Nodding, she tossed her shirt back over her shoulder. “I could eat, yeah.”

They walked out of the dojo together, the bright, colorful lighting of the neon signs casting long shadows on the walls as they walked through the lair. The air was cool and slightly damp, carrying the faint scent of the underground as they chatted on their way to the kitchen. It continually amazed her that it didn’t smell foul down here; she assumed that Donnie had engineered some sort of air filtration system. As they made their way to the main area, the sound of their footsteps echoed softly on the cement.

“How about we see what Mikey’s cooked up? I’m craving something sweet.” he asked, looking down at her with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Sounds perfect,” she agreed, falling into step beside him, slipping her arm in his.

Only, Mikey wasn’t in the kitchen. 

Raph was. 

The bara was in front of the stove, pulling something incredible smelling out of the oven when they rounded the corner.

He looked up, owl-eyed at the intrusion, as Rose and Leo walked in shoulder-to shoulder, her arm draped in his. Raph made eye contact with his brother, who glared back before moving his hand protectively down Rose’s back. She looked up at Leo and smiled softly, making the red-banded turtle’s jaw clench. 

Raph slammed the oven door shut with his hip, making Rose jump a little as she turned her attention to him. They made eye contact for a brief moment, both studying each other, before Leo cleared his throat. Raph glanced back to Fearless, his jaw set hard. 

“Morning, Raphael.”

He nodded to his brother and flicked his gaze back to hers; she looked nervous. Like she wanted to run. 

Rose couldn’t tear her eyes away from Raph.

She thought that her time with Leo had helped her forget her intense feelings for him, but seeing him again now just re-opened the wound and rubbed salt in it. His words bounced around her head like marbles down a stairwell, and she could feel her skin crawl as her brain screamed at her to run away. 

You mean nothing.   

“Hey, Rose.”

Her brows furrowed, legs tensing as she looked for the nearest exit. When she didn’t answer, Raph moved around the island and stepped towards her. 

“Can, ah.. Can we-” 

A quiet sound fluttered from her throat as Rose backed up, caution etched across her beautiful features. 

“Raph.” Leo's voice was thick with warning. 

He stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with a mixture of hurt and frustration. “I just wanna talk. I need ta explain-”

“Right now,” Leo interrupted, stepping protectively in front of Rose. “She needs space. Give her that.”

Rose's breath came in soft huffs as she steadied herself in Leo’s shadow. She didn’t trust herself to speak, afraid that any words would come out strangled. 

“Raph, just... I..,” she finally managed, her voice quiet, but firm. 

His face twisted as his patience boiled over. “Fine. Whatever.” He turned abruptly, his footsteps heavy and angry as he stormed out of the room, the sound of his departure echoing in the tense silence. 

Leo rubbed her back gently, pulling her attention back as she watched Raphael's large form stomp down the hallway. “You good?”

She nodded, blinking away the tears welling in her eyes. “Yeah, Leo. Thank you. I just…I can’t face him yet.”

He lifted his arm from her back and wrapped it snugly around her shoulders. “I get it. But speaking as his older brother, feel free to let him suffer a bit longer.” With that, he gripped her tighter and laughed, and she giggled back. 

“How about we see what he made? It smells pretty good.” 

She playfully smacked his arm. “You’re such a jerk, Leo! We can’t steal his breakfast.”

He shrugged at her and pulled them both over to the counter where his brother’s cinnamon rolls were cooling on the counter. 

 “Well, knowing Raph, he’s probably too grumpy to eat them now. And,” he continued, giving Rose a mischievous smile. “They smell way too good to let them go to waste.” 

She sighed. “You’re obnoxious, you know that?”

He let her go from his embrace to walk around the other side of the island counter, smirk still  painted on his lips. “You love it.”

 He opened the fridge, hunting for something, and Rose rolled her eyes at Leo and mumbled under her breath as she sat down on the bar stool.

 “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

Leo pulled out a can of cream cheese frosting from the fridge and grabbed a knife from the drawer, starting the arduous task of icing the rolls. He blushed a little as he smiled and scraped frosting onto the bread, and after a moment, raised the goo-covered knife at her with a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“What was that?”

Rose felt the heat crawl across her skin. “Oh, nothing,” she hummed back.

He wiped the excess frosting from the knife onto his finger, slowly moving around the island to where she sat perched on the stool.

“Leo, what are you doing-”

“You’re sure it was nothing?”

She put her hands up as she slid off the stool and backed away from the hulking turtle in front of her. “Leo, don’t you dare-” she laughed, eyes darting and looking for an escape route.

“I’m not doing anything.” 

He smirked at her, looking at the frosting on his fingers for a moment before making a sudden move forward without warning, swiping a smear across her cheek.

Rose gasped, hand flying to her face. “Leo!” she laughed, wiping the frosting off with a finger. “You did not just do that.”

He chuckled, eyes dancing with mischief as he shrugged his shoulders. 

Rose stuck her fingers in the near empty can on the counter and fished out a big smear of frosting, her own smile widening. “Oh, you’re going to regret that, Blue.”

He started to back away, but before Leo could get out of her reach, she smeared a dollop across his snout. He froze for a moment, blinking, then burst out laughing. “Oh, it’s on!”

 She squealed and ran from him as he fished out more sticky frosting, vaulting herself over the couch in an attempt to flee from another attack. 

He quickly caught up to her and planted another gob of sugary topping on her chin, as his other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her in place against his plastron. 

Rose was giggling as she wiggled in his arm, completely helpless as he lifted a hand up to her face and smeared the frosting in more against her cheek. She squawked and batted at his large fingers, pulling a deep laugh from the terrapin holding her hostage. 

“Tru-uce, Le-Leo! Truce!”

He let her go with a chuckle, and she turned around with her hands on her hips, trying to look stern but failing miserably as she broke into a grin. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Leo grinned back, grabbing a towel from the coffee table nearby and wiping his hands. "It's part of my charm." He offered it to her, and she gratefully accepted and wiped the sticky sugar off her fingers.

Rose rolled her eyes, but her smile didn't fade. "Well, Mr. Charming, I think we better clean up before someone else sees and asks questions."

Leo cocked his head to the side with a lop-sided grin. "Agreed. But I have to admit, that was the most fun I've had in a while." The soft smile lingered on his lips as he stood in front of her, snout still covered in frosting. 

She reached up and wiped a bit from his face, her touch lingering for a moment. "Yeah, me too."

The blue of his eyes glimmered with a sweet tenderness as he looked down at her. He lifted a hand to the nape of her neck, and rubbed his thumb gently against her skin as he churred softly. 

She sighed at the touch, and her eyes closed as she leaned into his hand.

“How are you still beautiful covered in frosting?” 

He felt her tense in his palm as her orbs popped open, embarrassment shining in the green of her eyes.

“I don’t know about that, Leo.” Rose bit her lip and broke away from his gaze.

He tapped his thumb on her neck and hummed disapprovingly as his other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in against his plastron. He could feel her pulse quicken as her chest pressed into the keratin there. 

She flicked her eyes back up to meet his.

“If I have to tell you every day, I will. You’re beautiful.” 

A blush flushed across her cheeks as she sighed and gave him a sheepish smile. “Even if-”

He leaned down a little, and tilted her head slightly towards his as the smile began to slowly fade from his lips and a darker expression took its place. “Yep.”

Rose giggled nervously. “You didn’t know what I was going to say.” She could feel the internal pull towards him as he leaned in, her own body mirroring his. 

“Doesn’t matter,” his face was close enough to hers now that his voice was a low whisper that tingled against her skin as he spoke. “You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

A breathy sigh left her lips as his snout brushed against her nose. Leo gently pulled her in closer, bringing her body flush to his and sending shivers up her spine. His touch at her neck remained soft, thumb brushing at the delicate skin and teasing tender lines and sensations as she began to feel the deep gnaw of hunger between her thighs. 

Leo tilted his head further down and let his lips lightly brush against hers, bringing a low rumble from his chest that filled the air between them. She lifted a hand to cup his jaw, and bit back a whine as he turned slightly to brush his soft, but firm pout against her cheek in a light kiss. 

She felt so…warm. The heat spread through her veins like fire.

“You taste pretty good.” He murmured huskily, licking his lips as he pulled back. She watched his tongue sweep across his bottom lip with want etched over her face. 

Her hand at his jaw stopped his retreat, the hungry look she wore as she pulled him back to her lips made his breath hitch in his throat. Rose cocked a smirk at him, blush spread across her cheeks and pulse thrumming against his palm as she gazed up at him. 

“God Leo, will you just kiss me already?”

He smiled, and raised his hand from the nape of her neck to her jaw as he ducked his head down to close the gap between them. 

Leo pressed a soft kiss to her lips, heat sparking and blooming at the tenderness as his firm pout brushed against hers. The gentle heat behind it surprised her, and a soft moan sang from her throat when her lips parted slightly and he deepened the kiss. She was adrift as his tongue danced with hers in slow, languid sweeps, practically vibrating with want as lips caressed in melting passes of growing need. 

His arm around her waist pulled tighter, wrapping her deeper in his embrace as his mouth claimed hers. She felt dizzy as her body pleaded for him, hips pressed tight together and needing more.

The feeling of his lips against hers was becoming as precious a thing to her as oxygen. 

A low moan rumbled from Leo’s chest, almost mournful, and he gave her one last tender kiss on her lush pout before slowly pulling back to press a chaste peck against her forehead with closed eyes.

Her breath was a shaky pant, heart fluttering in her chest as she steadied herself in his embrace, her eyes hazy as he moved to look at her again, muddy with lust. Leo’s face was a softer mirror of hers; joy beating in his heart and shining in his eyes like pools of seawater. 

“That was..incredible.” She bit her lip with a soft smile, savoring the memory as it lingered. She lifted her other hand to his plastron, pressing her fingers against the thick plates. 

He shook his head slowly, a grin blooming sweetly on his lips and blush peeking out under his mask. Leo let go of her waist and placed his three-fingered hand over hers on his chest.

“Yeah, it was.”  

“Ahem.”

Leo’s smile collapsed as his eyes shot up behind Rose to find April leaning against the living room wall.

Smiling.

His hands dropped immediately, stepping back from her as their closest family friend strolled into the living room. Rose gazed longingly at up him, taking in his sudden shift in demeanor. 

His energy was always so different when they were alone; he was so much more relaxed and playful. But when his family was around it was like he was a completely different man; serious, stern.

Un-moving, like stone. 

Rose turned slowly to see what had hardened Leo’s eyes to steel, and jumped when a woman she didn’t know hugged her and lifted her up to twirl in an awkward squeezed embrace.

She squawked in protest.

April giggled, setting the shorter female back down on her feet, and looked over her head to Leo, who was all but glaring back at her. 

“Hi, Fearless.”

He rolled his eyes at the nickname. “April.”

The taller woman flicked her gaze back to Rose and smiled broadly. 

“So, I hear you’re the new kid around here. I’m April O’Neil.” 

She stuck her hand out for a handshake, and Rose looked at it like it might bite for a moment before gently sliding her hand in and trying to follow Leo’s lesson from earlier. 

“Rose Soriano. Nice to meet you.” 

When April released her hand without complaint, Rose felt Leo’s hand on her lower back as he leaned in behind her and whispered a soft “good job”. A shiver ripped up her spine as his breath caressed the shell of her ear. 

“Anyway,” April held out the vowels a bit long, getting both Rose and Leo’s attention once more. With a smirk, she continued. “I was headed in to see Donnie, but since I caught you, how about we go grab some coffee? I’m sure you’ve been trapped down here for a while.”

Rose blinked at her with surprise, and broke into a smile as she nodded enthusiastically.

When Leo made a move to protest, April shot him a look. 

“Can you wait just a second so I can clean up?” Rose said with a laugh, gesturing to her face and sweaty athletic gear.

April nodded, and as Rose jogged to Leo’s room to change, she cleared her throat again and slinked her hands to her hips. 

“Well?”

Leo snorted. “Well what, April-”

She flicked him on the snout. 

“Don’t. Even.” She sat down on the couch and patted to the cushion next to her. “Sit. Spill.”

He gave her an irritated huff as he plopped down on the sofa. She turned to face him, criss-crossed her legs, and after a few long moments of silence she softly started humming the jeopardy theme song.

He glared at her from the side of his vision and slumped forward onto his knees. “What.”

“Leo. We both know what I just saw. Talk to me, bud. What’s going on?” She lifted a hand to his shoulder, patting him in friendly reassurance.

“You saw that, did you?” He sat up and leaned back into the seat of the couch, sighing loudly as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t kiss your houseguests in the living room where anyone can see, just a thought.” 

He chuckled. 

“What’s with the frosting, by the way?” April took her hand back and smirked at him. 

“Ah. Long story.” 

She nodded, appeased with that answer for a moment. When she didn’t press further, Leo turned in his seat to see that she was studying his face. With a sigh, he fessed up. It was impossible to deny April when she wanted something. 

“I, uh- she…” Leo paused, unsure of what he wanted to reveal. “Things are getting, um…intense.” 

“I can see that.”

“She’s amazing, though. I really..ah-” He rubbed a hand over his face.

“You like her.” 

Leo tensed on the couch, limbs stiff.  

“I can see it all over your face, Leo.” April sighed dreamily. “It’s so cute. I’m happy for you guys.”

He stood up from the couch.

“I can see it all over your face, Leo.” April sighed dreamily. “It’s so cute. I’m happy for you guys.”

He stood up from the couch.

He had to get out of here.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” She pouted at him as he walked away.

It hadn’t felt like this since-

Her.

Yes, there had been other women before Rose- It had come as a surprise, humans welcoming them after the Krang attack. They had slowly let themselves be seen more and more after Chief Vincent insisted the turtles give humanity a chance; to try and trust that people would accept them instead of assuming the worst.

Mikey had been desperate for the freedom, but Leo had kept his brothers in check; they couldn’t forget what had happened with Eric Sacks- the danger that humans presented to them. But slowly, gently, his heart warmed up to the idea that maybe, just maybe- humans could be trusted.

Her name was Jade- and that soft smile, those determined, gorgeous brown eyes had changed his mind the instant their hands touched that day in the alley behind the police station; the instant that she didn’t recoil from the feel of his skin on hers.

His world shifted in that moment.

And completely fell apart when she walked out of his life.

Vern had tried to get him back on his feet after the break-up; setting up a few private parties at his apartment and inviting an assortment of “friends.” Leo had initially scoffed at the idea- who would want to get to know him- but after Mikey’s prodding had finally gone one night with his brother, meeting some of Vern’s half-assed attempts at a choice of rebound. The women at these parties ogled them, obviously only interested in their muscled bodies and intrigued by just how much of a mutant they were- not that Mikey seemed to mind. His younger brother enjoyed the flirtatious environment, the women draped on his arms, feeling his biceps as they cooed over his strength, his boisterous laugh filling the room at the attention.

Leo had steeled the walls around his heart at those parties; observing and learning from his younger brother and the other men present as he watched them in the eternal dance of seduction. It disgusted him at first, but as the nights lingered and his loneliness gripped his heart in a vice, he could feel the sourness of his heartache creep into his mouth, the bitterness of love; and he drowned it there, allowing the flirtations and slowly seeking it out more and more, letting the chase dull the ache he felt through to his core.

The women were willing, some desperate enough for love to invite him back their apartments at the end of the night, hunger clawing and heavy under the buzz of drink and lust, but it never meant anything for Leo.

One-night stands, simple transactions of flesh.

Nothing more.

But since the moment she had smiled at him, Rose had meant… more .

He wanted to dive headfirst in with her, be everything for her. And until the dojo yesterday, he had been sure that it would never be a possibility.

She would be forever out of his reach, heart intertwined with his younger brother. And he would’ve sat on the sidelines…but now, it was different.

Their kiss had poured hope into his heart, and he clutched at it like it was his only lifeline in a shipwreck. 

But that hope held the promise of pain, too. 

He opened the door to his room and walked in, not thinking about anything but the need for solitude, when he was met with a short yelp. He quickly shut the door behind him and blinked in surprise at Rose, who was still in the process of changing. She covered her chest with her top, clutching the soft fabric as she hissed at him. 

“Leo!”

He blushed and put a hand to his face in embarrassment. 

“Sorry. I completely forgot.” He mumbled.

“It’s ok.” She said with a sigh, rustling around as she finished dressing. “It is your room after all.” 

Suddenly, he felt the slap of wet cloth against the hand on his face. She laughed when he jumped. He peeked through his fingers at her, narrowing his eyes slightly in a glare. 

“Sorry! I ah, just figured you’d want to wipe the frosting off your face.” 

He lowered his hand, now that she was fully dressed, and did as she suggested. The sugar had hardened on his skin, and the warm washcloth felt good as he cleaned it off. He folded the cloth once he finished and set it on the shelf by the door, and looked over to where Rose was putting the last touches on her makeup. 

She had changed into a soft green sweater and holey light-denim jeans, and delicate pieces of gold jewelry accented her ears and fingers. Her curls danced as she moved to slip her cream converse sneakers on, cascading in copper spirals over her shoulders. He had the intense urge to sweep her off her feet and kiss her all over. His face steeled as he watched her, debating it. 

She huffed as she finished and put her things back in her bag, and looked over to where the terrapin was standing at the door. His arms were crossed, and that hard look was back on his face. Rose cocked her head to the side and raised a brow at him. 

“You good?”

He blinked back out of his thoughts as Rose stood in front of him with an intrigued look. He gave her a half-hearted smile and rubbed her shoulder. 

“Ah- yeah. Sorry.”

“Leo.” 

He looked her in the eyes at his name. There was a clear, determined look painted there among the pools of moss. She lifted her hands to cup his face, and pulled him down to hers for a single, gentle kiss. Rose let him go slowly, a sultry smile playing on her lips. 

“Maybe we can pick up where we left off earlier when I get back?” 

His arms snaked around her waist and fingers pressed into her back before she could blink, lips crashing into hers in a searing kiss. There was no gentleness now as mouths and teeth scraped over each other and met in urgent desperation, tongues exploring and rolling like waves between soft huffs and pants. 

His hands drifted as his lips claimed hers, roaming over her hips and gripping tightly as she softly moaned into his mouth. At her mewl, he slid his hands lower and palmed her ass for a moment before lifting her up by the thighs and pulling her into his plastron. Her hands flew to his neck, the sudden pressure against her center incredible and causing another choked moan to rip from her throat. She dragged her nails against the pebbly scales at his nape as she kissed him desperately, bringing a visible shudder from him as a low rumble echoed in his chest. 

He walked the few paces to his bed and sat down, letting Rose steady herself as she straddled his lap. Leo ducked his head under her jaw, kissing her neck as she continued to dig her nails into his shoulders; needy, low groans filling the space between them. 

An impatient knock at the door cut through the lustful stupor, bringing a blush to both of their faces. 

“You ready yet, chica? Don’t make me come in there!”

“Yep, one sec!” Rose called out, smiling. She looked down at Leo, his eyes dark with want as his hands still gripped her ass. She brushed a finger along his neck.

“I should go. She seems like the type to follow through with her threats.” 

He chuckled, and dropped his hands as she got up from his lap. Leo leaned back on his hands as he watched her re-adjust her clothes and makeup. 

“I sincerely hope you’ll want to pick this up later.” 

Rose smirked at him. “You bet your ass I do.” 

He clicked his tongue. “Language.” Raising an eye ridge, he smirked at her. “We’ll have to work on that filthy mouth of yours.” 

Heat pooled in her veins as the color returned to her face at his boldness. She flashed him a sultry look. “I look forward to it.” With that, she opened the door and called over her shoulder. “See ya later, Blue.”

He could hear the women chat as they walked down the hall, and Leo fell back on his bed, sighing into the smell of her on his sheets.

.

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