#not that i haven’t done the same thing but you know | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

animamii · 3 days ago

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Junior year rolls around and ohh has highschoolsweetheart!Eren changed.

You hear him before you see him—his voice cutting through the morning hum of students catching up after the summer break. It’s familiar, unmistakable, and yet, when you turn around, your breath catches in your throat.

Oh.

This was not the Eren Yeager you left behind in sophomore year.

Gone was the lanky boy who used to trip over his own feet during gym class, the one who wore those wrinkled short-sleeved button-downs with the same rotation of black skinny jeans and scuffed Converse. The Eren standing before you now was… different.

Taller. Broader. The summer had done something to him—his arms, his shoulders, his entire build had filled out in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a moment. His hair, once perpetually messy but in a boyish kind of way, had grown out just enough to curl at the ends. He still had that same wild energy, the same excitement in his eyes as he grinned at you, but there was something undeniably new about him. And he was pretty. Not that he wasn’t always attractive—he was, and you’d never denied it to yourself. But this? This was unfair.

“y/n!!” He reaches you in a few easy strides, completely oblivious to the way your brain is currently buffering. Before you can even react, he’s throwing an arm around your shoulders like it’s nothing, pulling you in for one of those classic Yeager side hugs, all warm and familiar and way too casual for the internal meltdown you’re having.

“Dude, I haven’t seen you all summer!” he exclaims, ruffling your hair in that annoying way he always does, like you’re still kids and he doesn’t look like he walked straight out of a teenage coming-of-age movie. “Why’d you ignore my texts? I was about to file a missing person report.”

You blink. He’s looking at you like he hasn’t changed at all, like he isn’t standing there all tall and golden, like he isn’t suddenly one of the hottest guys in school. And you? You’re still standing there like an idiot, trying to piece together a response.

“I— I was busy,” you manage to say, and it’s only half a lie. You had been busy, but you’d also needed space. Space to sort out the mess of feelings that being best friends with Eren Yeager had turned into over the years.

Eren, being Eren, doesn’t notice your internal crisis. “Pfft, busy. You mean ghosting me?” he teases, nudging your side. “I should’ve just shown up at your house.”

You scoff, regaining some of your composure as you roll your eyes. “Like my mom wouldn’t have loved that. She’s still convinced we’re secretly dating.”

Eren barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he tosses it back. “She’s been saying that since middle school. At this point, I think she’s just manifesting.”

Your heart lurches at his words, but you shove the feeling down. This is Eren. Your best friend. The same guy who used to perform Justin Bieber songs in the middle of the quad for you. He might look different now, but he’s still him. Even if the way people are starting to stare at him—at you two together—is making your stomach twist in a way you’re not quite ready to admit.

The first day of junior year had barely started, and yet, you already felt like you were walking through some alternate reality. Eren was still draped over you, arm slung around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world, completely oblivious to the way people were looking. Correction: the way people were looking at him. It was impossible to ignore. You could hear the whispers as you walked down the hallway together, the way heads turned when he passed.

You roll your eyes, scoffing as you nudge him off you, but the warmth of his arm lingers on your shoulder. “Yeah, well, she’s gonna have to give it up eventually. We’re not dating.” You don't know if you say it to convince yourself that there is no possibility it would become reality.

Eren grins like a bad little kid, his eyes glinting in that Eren Yeager way that usually spells trouble. “Not yet.”

Your heart does this annoying little skip in your chest, but you quickly shove him with more force this time, scowling to hide the smile that forms against your own will. “Shut up.”

He just laughs, dodging your next attack like the menace he is. “Damn, I missed you,” he grins, and there’s something about the way he says it—casual, easy, genuine—that makes your stomach flip. You hate how easily he gets under your skin. How he annoyingly burrowed his way into your heart.

Before you can retaliate, a group of girls passes by, whispering not-so-subtly behind their hands. You recognize some of them—volleyball girls, cheerleaders, a couple of girls from your English class—but they barely spare you a glance. Their eyes are all locked on Eren. And he knows it. The worst part? You know he knows it, too.

One of them, a tall blonde with perfectly curled hair, flashes him a bright smile. “Hey, Eren,” she says, twirling a strand around her finger like it's a damn high school movie. You're usually a girl's girl, but right now you were shooting daggers at her.

Eren, to his credit, doesn’t look phased. He just tilts his head, grinning in that annoying way that makes your blood boil. “Hey.”

That’s it. Hey. And yet, the girl giggles, and you want to die. It’s like some cruel joke. Last year, nobody would have given him a second glance. He was your Eren—goofy, loud, a little dorky, always getting himself into trouble. Now? Now he’s on the varsity football team, his arms are looking a little too good in that fitted black tee, and suddenly he’s the guy every girl is looking at.

You hate it. You don’t even know why you hate it, but you do.

Eren barely acknowledges them, turning back to you like nothing happened. “Anyway,” he says, slinging an arm over your shoulder again like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. “What class you got first?”

You shake yourself out of whatever weird haze you’re in, clearing your throat. “Uh—math. Mr. Moblit.” Your eyes scan over the salmon pink piece of paper that held your class schedule, and Eren leans in just a little too close to read it.

He groans, dramatically throwing his head back. “Ugh, lucky. I got stuck with Mr. Shadis.”

You snicker. “That sucks.” You can't help but smile when you see the same characteristics from Eren. Even if he did look fine ass hell, oh so different from last year, he still acted the same.

“I know, right?” He sighs, dropping his head onto your shoulder in fake despair. “If I fail, just know it’s because Shadis has it out for me.”

“You fail because you never pay attention,” you remind him. You've had plenty of classes with Eren, with him always sitting next to you. He would be doing anything but pay attention.

“Okay, but, like, who even uses calculus in real life?” Eren squints his eyes, and you can feel every little movement he does as his head rests on your shoulder.

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you for the second time, ignoring the way your skin tingles where his head was resting. “Come on, dummy. We’re gonna be late.”

He groans again but follows after you anyway, falling into step beside you like always. Like nothing’s changed. Except everything has changed. And you’re starting to realize you have no idea what to do about it.

Lunch rolls around, and you find yourself dragging your feet through the cafeteria, still processing the weirdness of the morning. You’re not sure what to make of Eren’s sudden glow-up—or the way your chest does this annoying little flutter every time he looks at you like nothing’s changed. All the effort of trying to get over your little crush on Eren was wiped clean, the boy really had a grip on your heart now.

You end up at your usual lunch table, the one you share with Ymir and Historia, Sasha too but she was going to the culinary club's welcome party because duh, Sasha isn't going to miss out on extra free food. The two of them are already sitting, bickering about something stupid, but the moment you drop into the seat next to them, it’s like they both sense something’s off. They can feel the energy radiating off of you, the look on your face when something is bothering you. Ymir eyes you with a raised brow, and Historia’s gaze flickers to the door, where Eren is walking in, looking effortlessly cool, chatting with Armin as they make their way toward your table.

“Oh, boy,” Ymir mutters under her breath. “You’ve got that look on your face. What’s going on with you and Yeager?”

"How do you know it's something between me and Eren?" You raise an eyebrow, a little frustrated that she knows you so well.

"It's always about Yeager," Ymir and Historia say in unison, giving you that look of obviousness.

You roll your eyes. “It’s nothing. We’re fine.” A deep sigh still escapes your lips as you open the bottle of apple juice your lunch came with.

“Mmmhmm,” Ymir hums skeptically, but she doesn’t push it. Historia, on the other hand, flashes you a concerned smile. Her brows perch up with sympathy.

“You sure? You’ve been acting… different.” Her voice is soft, almost too knowing, but it’s enough to make you squirm.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” you say, the words coming out a little sharper than you intended. But it’s not like they’re wrong. You have been acting weird. And it’s all because of Eren, damn that boy.

Your thoughts are cut short as Eren plops down next to you, his familiar arm slinging around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yo! What’s up, guys?” His voice is as loud and cheerful as always, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your stomach twist. Ymir raises an eyebrow, but Eren doesn’t seem to notice. Historia’s gaze flits between you two, but she stays quiet, focusing on her lunch.

“Hey, y/n,” Eren says, his voice a little softer now, and you feel your heart race. “You doing okay?” Your eyes flicker to him, seeing his pretty face in a concerned look as he stares at the side of your internally panicked face. It's enough to make your insides ache, enough to make your heart beat a thousand times faster.

“Yeah, just… tired,” you reply, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal, even though your mind is anything but calm.

“You sure?” His expression softens, and for a second, it’s like the world fades out, leaving just the two of you. His hand, warm against your back, feels like it’s burning right through your shirt. “You don’t look fine.”

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks. “I’m fine, really.”

Eren nods but doesn’t look convinced. He leans in a little, lowering his voice so only you can hear, “If you say so. Just know, if you need anything, I’ve got your back, yeah?”

Your heart stutters at his words, the genuine concern in his voice tugging at something deep inside you. But the moment is interrupted by the loud cackle of a voice from across the table.

“You hear that, Historia?” Ymir teases, her grin far too knowing. “Eren’s looking out for y/n. Makes me wonder if you’ve got competition, huh?”

Eren laughs, unbothered, and flicks Ymir’s ear. “Shut up, Ymir. You know it’s just—” He looks at you for a moment, his grin faltering, then shrugs it off. “Just what we do. We're best friends. Nothing weird.”

You feel your heart drop a little, but you brush it off. “Right. Nothing weird.” It's almost as if you're trying to reassure yourself, which, let's be honest, you really were trying to. Trying to convince yourself that it's all in your head.

But the way Eren’s smiling at you, like he knows more than he’s letting on, makes your pulse race. His eyes linger a little too long, and you wonder if he’s trying to figure something out, too. The tension is palpable, thick enough that even Ymir and Historia seem to sense it. They share a glance, but neither of them says anything. Instead, Ymir kicks you under the table—hard enough to make you wince.

“Aye, stop thinking too much,” Ymir's expression says, clearly reading you like an open book. She doesn't even have to say anything for you to understand what she's trying to say “Just enjoy the moment. Eren’s not going anywhere.” And for the first time today, you almost believe her.

The conversation drifts as you try to settle back into the easy rhythm of lunch. But the moment is short lived. The clatter of trays and the loud chatter of students fills the air, and before you can catch your breath, a new wave of noise arrives.

Reiner, with his usual cocky grin, leads the pack of jocks toward your table. His broad frame and confident swagger draw attention the way Eren’s used to, but this time, you can’t help but notice the way the girls at nearby tables watch Reiner too. He’s got that easy, good-looking charm, but there's something about Eren that just hits different, even now, when the jocks are slowly taking over the cafeteria’s social pecking order.

“Yo, Yeager!” Reiner calls, leaning over the back of your seat, making you jump in surprise. “You ditching us for the weirdos?”

Eren’s arm drops from your shoulders as he shifts his attention to Reiner, but not without a small, teasing grin. “If you’re calling them weirdos, I think you’ve got the wrong table, man.”

A few of the other guys laugh, though it’s more because it’s Eren, and he’s got that goofy, unpredictable humor. The girls now huddled around your table all stand up a little straighter, their eyes darting toward Eren, and you feel a sudden, sharp pang of frustration deep in your chest. You try to ignore it, to keep the casual mask in place, but something’s different now. The subtle tension between Eren and you—it’s like it’s palpable to everyone but the two of you.

Reiner, not one to let Eren off easy, takes a seat beside him, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Come on, man, we’ve got practice in an hour. I’m dragging you back, and we’re gonna talk strategy, not... whatever this is.” His eyes flick over to you, and you swear you catch a hint of amusement in them. It’s like he knows something you don’t.

Eren glances back at you, his expression a little unsure, like he’s debating whether to stay or go. For a brief moment, his eyes soften, but then, in typical Eren fashion, he shrugs and grins, looking more at ease than you feel. A part of you hopes he'll choose to stay, just to reassure you that things really didn't change.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go. But only because you’re begging.” He stands up, brushing his hands off as if he’s wiping away the conversation, like he doesn’t even see the way your heart drops when he stands a little too far away from you now.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words get stuck. All that leaves your mouth is a disappointed huff of a breath. Eren turns back toward you, like he’s about to say something, but then his attention shifts to the group of jocks calling him over.

“Later, y/n!” he calls, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

You’re left frozen, your hand still halfway raised as you force a smile, though it feels more like a grimace. Reiner slaps Eren’s back in that overly friendly way he always does, and Eren just laughs, falling into step with him as they make their way to the other side of the cafeteria. You hate the way your stomach twists watching them go. It’s like they’re speaking an entirely different language—one you’re not part of. The table around you is quieter now. Historia looks at you, her expression sympathetic, but Ymir—well, she looks way too smug for your liking.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ymir teases, but it’s not unkind.

You sigh, dropping your gaze to your lunch. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Uh huh,” Ymir replies, that knowing smirk still lingering on her lips. “I’m pretty sure Eren’s just trying to keep his cool in front of the jocks. You’ve seen the way he’s been around you lately. He likes you, trust me.”

You frown, not sure how to respond. Eren might be acting like nothing’s changed, but everything has changed. And the worst part? You’re not sure if he even knows it yet.

“Don’t worry,” Historia sympathetically adds, her tone reassuring. “He’ll figure it out eventually. You’ll figure it out.”

You give a noncommittal hum, not sure if you're ready to figure anything out just yet. But as you glance across the room, watching Eren laugh with Reiner and the others, you can't shake the feeling that something’s coming. Something big. Some type of shift. You spend the rest of lunch pushing food around your tray, pretending not to notice the way your eyes keep flickering toward the jock table.

Eren looks good—annoyingly, frustratingly good. He’s leaned back in his chair, laughing at something Jean said, that lazy grin plastered across his face like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. His long fingers drum absentmindedly against the table, and when one of the cheerleaders—Annie’s friend Hitch, you think—leans in to whisper something to him, your stomach twists.

You snap your gaze away, cursing yourself. Why are you even watching? You’re not his girlfriend. You’re his best friend. And best friends do not sit there like jealous exes just because other girls are realizing what you’ve known for years—Eren Yeager is stupidly, effortlessly attractive.

“You’re making it too obvious.” Ymir’s voice is flat and teasing. You don’t even have to look at her to know she’s smirking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, shoving a bite of food into your mouth just to have something to do.

“Mm. Right. And I’m straight.” Ymir leans on her fist, watching you with open amusement. Historia sighs, nudging her in the ribs before giving you a softer look.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Historia offers, “he hasn’t actually looked at her once.”

Your eyes dart up before you can stop yourself, and— Historia’s right. Eren’s nodding along to something Reiner’s saying, but his gaze keeps drifting. He’s scanning the cafeteria, like he’s looking for something. Or someone. And then, just like that, his eyes find yours. For a second, time stutters.

Eren’s lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting to catch you staring, and for a fleeting moment, something flickers across his face. Something unsure. Something vulnerable. But then Reiner nudges him—too hard, probably on purpose—and Eren snaps out of it, laughing as he shoves him back. And just like that, the moment is gone. You exhale sharply, turning away. You hate this. The push and pull, the way he makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—there’s something more, only to act like nothing’s changed the next second. Maybe nothing has changed. Maybe the only thing different is you.

“You should talk to him,” Historia says gently.

You scoff, picking at your food. “And say what? ‘Hey, Eren, just wondering if you’ve realized you’re hot yet and if that means you’re too good for me now?’”

Ymir cackles, hands drumming on the lunch table as she childishly kicks her feet. “I mean, I would pay to see you say that to his face.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “This is a nightmare. It's never been this complicated with Eren before.” It had always been complicated, but not this complicated.

Historia opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can, the cafeteria doors swing open, and the familiar screech of a whistle pierces the air.

“Football team! Practice starts now!” Coach Smith stands at the entrance, arms crossed, his stoic expression already promising death if they don’t get to moving. The jock table groans, but they all start standing, grabbing their trays. Eren stretches as he gets up, his shirt riding up just enough to show a hint of skin, and you swear you hear one of the volleyball girls sigh dreamily. You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.

Eren turns, catching your expression, and grins. “What’s that look for?”

You school your face into something neutral, a deadpan almost. “Nothing. Just wondering if you’ll survive an entire practice without getting distracted by your fan club.”

He blinks, then laughs—like really laughs, loud and unfiltered. “Pfft, fan club? Yeah, right.”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, but then you stop. Because—he’s serious. He really doesn’t see it. All the stares, the whispers, the way girls—entire groups of them—are looking at him like he hung the damn moon. He doesn’t even notice. Eren’s still just Eren, in his own head. You should be relieved. Maybe you are. But mostly, you just feel confused and overwhelmed.

“Well, try not to get tackled into the ground,” you say instead, grabbing your drink to take a sip.

Eren grins, nudging you lightly as he starts to walk away. “Aw, you worried about me, y/n?”

The drink nearly chokes you, the cooing tone of his voice making you feel uneasy and bashful. “Not even a little.”

He just laughs, throwing one last lazy wave over his shoulder before jogging after Reiner and the rest of the team. And you? You watch him go, stomach twisting, hating the way his absence already feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows over the football field. The team is mid-drill, running play after play under the sharp bark of Coach Smith. Eren is breathless, sweat slicking his skin, but his mind isn’t really in it. Not fully, anyway.

Because you’re sitting on the bleachers, and you’re laughing at something Historia just said, and it’s distracting as hell. His gaze keeps flickering toward the bleachers, toward where you’re sitting with your friends. You look relaxed, leaning back with one knee pulled up. He can’t hear a word from this far, but that doesn’t matter. He knows your expressions by heart—every little eye roll, every laugh, the way your lips purse when you’re pretending to be annoyed but aren’t really.

He’s staring again.

“Yeager! Focus!” The loud shout of Coach Smith jolts him out of his trance, but it’s too late. Whooosh.

Eren barely ducks in time to avoid a pass he wasn’t paying attention to. Jean groans in exasperation, throwing his head back and smacking his hands on his pads. “Dude, wake up! What the hell are you even looking at?”

Eren shakes his head quickly, clearing his throat. “Nothing,” he lies, trying to mask the way his heartbeat kicks up. Grabbing the football that he failed to catch, slackly tossing it back to Jean.

Jean, of course, is already following his gaze, his eyes landing exactly where Eren doesn’t want them to. The smirk that stretches across Jean’s face is almost unbearable. “Right. Nothing.”

Eren scowls, shoving Jean as he jogs past. But before he can settle back into formation, something shifts near the bleachers—movement that immediately snags his attention. Someone’s walking up to you. Eren’s brows furrow as he squints. The guy is tall, lanky, his bright red hair messy in a way that seems purposefully unkempt. He’s wearing a ripped band tee, chains dangling from his jeans, and—oh, great. Floch Forster.

The guy moves with a swagger that makes Eren’s teeth grind. Ripped jeans, faded punk band tee, chains dangling from his belt loops—he looks like he just crawled out of a basement concert. Floch has always been a talker, a surprisingly smooth one at that, and judging by the way he leans in, he’s in full flirt mode. Eren watches, growing tenser by the second. He expects you to roll your eyes, wave him off, something. But you don’t. You tilt your head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips. Why aren’t you moving away? Eren’s jaw tightens. Then Floch takes another step closer. That’s it.

Eren doesn’t even realize his feet are moving until Jean grabs his jersey. “Dude, where are you—?”

“I’ll be back,” Eren mutters, ripping himself free and jogging toward the bleachers before anyone can stop him.

You hadn’t expected company, least of all from Floch Forster. Historia had just nudged you, muttering something about incoming trouble, and before you could even react, there he was—Florian “Floch” Forster, king of misplaced confidence, leaning against the railing like he had all the time in the world. You don’t hate Floch. You don’t like him, either, but he’s harmless enough. He’s always been a little too flirty, but in a way that’s more for show than anything else.

“Well, well,” he drawls, his signature gaudy smirk already in place. “If it isn’t the prettiest girl in the bleachers.”

You exhale through your nose. “Oh, god.”

Floch grins, clearly unfazed. “What? That’s a genuine compliment. You’re breaking my heart here, y/n.” His tone is cocky, almost annoying.

You tilt your head, unimpressed. “Do you even have one?” A grin forms on your face, it felt kind of good to banter and maybe knock him down a peg.

“Oof.” He presses a dramatic hand to his chest, cheesing way too hard. “Harsh. But hey, I like a challenge. Y’know, if you ever wanna find out, I could show you—”

“You couldn’t,” you cut in. It's a little abrupt, shocks Historia a bit at the snappiness, but it just comes out.

Floch laughs, plopping down beside you with zero hesitation. “Alright, alright, I’ll cut to the chase.” He leans back on his palms, eyes flicking toward the football field before settling back on you. “How long are you gonna keep pretending your best friend isn’t in love with you?”

You choke on your drink, sitting up straighter now as you sputter a cough. “Excuse me?”

Floch just raises a brow, looking entirely too smug for your liking. “Come on, y/n. The guy stares at you like you hung the goddamn stars. It’s actually painful to watch.”

Your face burns, but you force a scoff. “You’re delusional.”

Floch shakes his head, watching your reaction closely. “Am I? He’s been in love with you since, what, forever? But the dude’s an idiot, so I get why you’re waiting. He’s probably still convinced you’re out of his league.” Out of his league?

Something about that statement makes your stomach clench. That’s not true. Right? Floch doesn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your eyes. His smirk stretches a little wider, sensing an opening.

“But y’know,” he continues, shifting closer, voice dropping just slightly, “if he’s not gonna make a move, maybe you should let someone else have a shot.”

Your lips part, caught off guard. “What?”

Floch leans in just enough for the air between you to thin, to start smelling like his axe cologne. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs. “Maybe you should let someone who actually sees you take you out sometime.”

Oh, you think, heartbeat stuttering slightly. Although your mind was still half focused on what he said about Eren. Before you can formulate a response, something shifts in the air—sharp and tense.

“Oh, hell no.”

The voice is unmistakable. Your head snaps up just in time to see Eren—sweaty, breathless, and looking pissed—hopping the railing in one effortless motion.

Floch doesn’t move. He just smirks. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Eren doesn’t respond, his fists clenching at his sides. His green eyes—usually filled with something bright, warm—are now dark with irritation.

“What the hell are you doing here, Forster?”

Floch tilts his head, all mock innocence. “Relax, man. Just having a friendly conversation.”

Eren’s jaw ticks. “Yeah? Well, have it somewhere else.”

The tension is thick, electric with an almost uncomfortable tension. You glance between them, unsure if you should intervene. Maybe you should, but all you can do is look up at Eren. The way some strands of hair stick to his forehead, the way his thick brows are furrowed. The way he almost seems territorial over you.

Floch exhales, shaking his head like this is all some kind of joke. He shifts his gaze back to you. “Really? You’re just gonna let him chase me off like that?”

You hesitate. And that hesitation is all Floch needs.

He incredulously chuckles under his breath, standing up and dusting himself off. “Man,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Eren’s jaw tightens. “See what?”

Floch flashes one last cynical smirk before turning to leave. “Nothing, man. Nothing at all.”

And just like that, he’s gone, his chains jingling as he strolls down the metal steps like he hadn’t just stirred up a storm. The silence he leaves behind is suffocating.

You exhale, crossing your arms as you finally shake out of your daze. “That was so unnecessary.”

Eren scoffs, finally looking at you. “He’s a dick.”

You narrow your eyes. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Eren looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a split second, something unreadable flickers behind his eyes. His lips part like he wants to say something—something important—but instead, he just shakes his head.

“Forget it.”

And with that, he turns, hopping back over the railing and jogging toward the field without a second glance. But you know better. It wasn’t nothing. And now, you don’t know what to do about it.

Eren doesn’t look at you for the rest of practice. Not once. It’s infuriating. From your spot on the bleachers, you watch as he throws himself back into drills like he’s got something to prove, pushing harder than necessary, muscles taut with tension. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed in concentration—but you know him. You know when he’s actually focused and when he’s just using the game as an excuse to run from something. You also know what—or who—he’s running from.

You exhale, frustrated. It’s not like you wanted Floch’s attention. Hell, you would’ve been fine never speaking to him again. But Eren had stormed over like he owned you, like it was his problem to handle, and now he won’t even look at you? It was all too confusing.

Eren misses a catch from Bertholdt, taking off his helmet and throwing it to the ground with an audible 'fuck!' that echoed around the football field. Running a hand through his sweat drenched hair, the frustration in his face is super evident.

Historia, sitting beside you, hums in amusement. “That was deliciously messy,” she murmurs, sipping from her water bottle. "The whole situation. Possessive Eren, the little bicker, everything."

“It’s annoying.” A scoff leaves your lips and you can't help but stare at Eren with a confused and irritated expression.

“Oh, it’s both.”

Ymir snickers, her sunglass covered eyes looking at the way Eren is still pouting. “Dumbass is jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “He is not jealous.”

Ymir glances at you with an expression so patronizing you want to shove her off the bleachers. “Right. He just lost his entire mind over Floch flirting with you for no reason at all.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because—yeah. The thing is, Eren isn’t the jealous type. He’s never been possessive over you before, never given you any reason to think he cared about who talked to you. He’s always been the annoying one—flirting playfully, ruffling your hair, teasing you about your nonexistent love life like it was all some big joke. And maybe it was. Maybe he was just messing around, just playing into the dynamic you’d always had. But today felt different. And that scared you more than anything.

You wait for him by the locker room. It’s a stupid idea. You know it’s a stupid idea. You could’ve gone home, could’ve ignored the way your pulse has been pounding ever since practice ended, ever since he stormed off like you did something wrong. You could’ve pretended it didn’t bother you—the way he looked right through you for the rest of practice, the way his body went stiff when you so much as moved in his direction, the way he threw himself into drills like he was trying to hit something that wasn’t there.

But you’re still here. Waiting.

The late afternoon sun is sinking lower in the sky, drenching everything in a honey-gold glow. It should be pretty, peaceful even, but the knot in your stomach makes it hard to appreciate. The air is thick, humid from the lingering heat of the day, and your skin feels sticky, uncomfortable. The locker room door swings open in intervals, groups of players filtering out, laughing, talking about parties, weekend plans, things you can’t bring yourself to care about.

Then—finally—he steps out. Eren.

You feel his presence before you even see him, your body going still, your heart stuttering in your chest. He looks good. Unfairly so. His hoodie is loose over his shoulders, damp hair falling into his face, a few strands curling at the ends. His skin is still flushed from exertion, the glow of the sunset catching on the sharp lines of his jaw, the hollow of his throat where the collar of his hoodie has slipped down just enough. He’s effortlessly attractive, in a way that makes your stomach twist with something you don’t want to name.

He notices you immediately. Stops in his tracks. Something flickers across his face—something unreadable—but then it’s gone, replaced by a carefully neutral expression, like he wasn’t just throwing a damn fit over you and Floch thirty minutes ago.

Your arms cross tightly over your chest. “You ran off.”

Eren exhales, looking past you, jaw tight and thick brows furrowed. “Didn’t run.” His voice is flat, clipped. You know him too well to miss the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his shoulders are tense even though he’s trying to look casual.

You take a step closer. “Eren.”

His jaw ticks. “What?”

That’s all he says—short, sharp, like a blade cutting through the space between you. It makes irritation flare in your chest, a spark igniting beneath your ribs. He’s the one who lost his mind over nothing. He’s the one who got weird. And now he’s acting like you’re the problem?

You grit your teeth. “Are you seriously mad at me?”

His head snaps toward you so fast it nearly startles you. “Mad at you?” He lets out a dry, humorless scoff, running a hand through his hair, making the damp strands even messier. “I’m not—Jesus, y/n. I just don’t get why you were even entertaining that guy.”

Your stomach drops. The word entertaining rubs you the wrong way, makes your irritation flare into something hotter. “I wasn’t entertaining anyone,” you snap, voice tight.

Eren exhales sharply, shifting his weight like he’s trying to hold something back. “He was all over you.” yeah, he was dragging it.

Your lips press together. “And?”

His eyes darken, flickering with something upsetting, something raw. “And I didn’t like it.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but it slams into you like a physical force. Your breath catches. The words linger between you, heavy, charged with something neither of you can name but both of you can feel. Your heartbeat is erratic, hammering against your ribs. You’re staring at him, searching his face for answers, for clarity, for anything—but he’s already looking away, already forcing his expression into something unreadable, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire world shift on its axis.

He knows. You know he knows. And that terrifies both of you.

He inhales sharply, like he’s about to say something else—but then he stops himself. A muscle in his jaw twitches before he shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No,” you say quickly, stepping forward, voice urgent, desperate. “Eren—”

But he’s already turning away. Already walking. And this time, you don’t try to stop him. Because the truth is—You’re just as scared as he is.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at the space he left behind. Minutes? Seconds? It feels longer than it probably is, but the weight in your chest doesn’t go away. You don’t get it. You’ve had arguments with Eren before. Dumb ones. Stupid ones. He’s annoyed you a million times, and you’ve annoyed him right back. But this? This hurts in a way you don’t know how to process.

Because it felt real. Because it felt like something cracked open between you—something undeniable. And because deep down, in the part of you that you’ve tried to shove away for years, you know the truth: You don’t want him to be okay with other guys flirting with you. You don’t want him to treat you the same way he treats every other girl. And if today proved anything—if the way he reacted, the way he looked at you was any sign—maybe he doesn’t want that either. Maybe he never did.

Eren’s hands are clenched into fists as he walks, barely registering the conversations around him. His heart is still pounding. His body is itching with leftover adrenaline, but it has nothing to do with practice. What the hell was that? His own words play back in his mind, over and over. "I didn’t like it." What the fuck was he thinking, saying that out loud?

He’s been reckless before. He’s flirted with you for years—always playfully, always in a way that he could pass off as a joke. But that? That wasn’t a joke. That was raw, unfiltered, stupid.

Because he can’t have you. Because you don’t see him that way. Because even if you did, he’s not good enough for you. You’re y/n. You’re his best friend. The girl who somehow makes everything in his life feel a little easier, a little lighter, just by being around. The girl he’s been in love with since he was old enough to understand what love is.

And you deserve someone better. Someone who isn’t just figuring out his place in the world. Someone who isn’t Eren Yeager—impulsive, reckless, always getting himself into trouble.

But even knowing that—Even knowing he should stop—He still turns around, just for a second, just to look back. Just to see if you’re still standing there. And when he sees you—arms crossed, head slightly bowed, looking like you’re caught up in your own spiral—It fucking kills him. Because if he wasn’t such a coward, he’d tell you the truth. That he doesn’t just like you. He’s yours. He’s always been yours. But it’s too late now. And it’s all his fault.

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flowercrowncrip · 2 days ago

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I feel like in the disabled community we all (or at least mostly all) know that when we hear things like “I’m sorry, we can’t have wheelchair users at this concert venue because you’re a health and safety/ fire risk” it’s lazy and it’s ableism. So why did I experience what to me feels like a form of this at Naidex (the UK’s largest disability event)?

One of the things that I was looking forward to when going to Naidex for the first time was trying out some of the fancy complex rehab power chairs. I was really hoping to try a chair that has the ability to “stand up”. Not so much because I wanted to buy one but because I haven’t been able to stand in almost a decade now and I just wanted to see what it would be like on my body. I also wanted to try some off road chairs, and a chair that was able to lie down flat because I think I’d benefit from one if I ever got the chance (and money) to use one.

So I went to a stand to ask if I could try one out and the wheelchair rep there said he was really sorry but the organisers had told him that he wasn’t allowed to let me because I transfer using a hoist because it was a “health and safety concern” and “prohibited by the events insurance”. Apparently they were being really strict about enforcing this.

Which made absolutely zero sense to me because there were at least four hoists in use at the expo. Three changing places toilets were fitted with ceiling hoists, and the adapted climbing wall had a mobile hoist which they used to lift me so they could fit the adapted harness under me in my chair.

The wheelchair rep also told me that they could assist with lateral transfers, which in my experience is probably more likely to result in a fall than a hoist transfer done correctly.

The only thing I can think of was that all the other hoists were being used in sectioned off areas like toilets, or the climbing area which had a fence around. The only possible risk I would be slightly concerned about was someone walking into the hoist mid transfer. But if that’s the case, why not have a designated sectioned off hoisting area where that’s not going to happen? And why would you not be concerned about the same thing happening with a lateral transfer?

The wheelchair rep I spoke to was really apologetic and couldn’t understand it either. He said that his company was insured, trained and had the equipment needed to hoist people, and that a lateral transfer carried most of the same risks.

It felt really unfair because so much of the marketing for the event was around getting to try a variety of complex rehab powerchairs, and they really leaned into the high tech, futuristic appearance of these chairs. But a huge percentage of the people who would most benefit from these chairs couldn’t use them because we weren’t allowed to be hoisted “for insurance reasons”.

Again, this was an event where I was hoisted into a full body climbing harness before being winched up an entire climbing wall. But somehow they couldn’t find a way for me to be hoisted into a wheelchair like I am several times a day.

Overall the event was brilliant and I got so much out of it. It just left a really bad taste in my mouth that the aesthetics of the equipment used and needed by severely disabled people was used so heavily in the marketing, but we weren’t given equal access to actually trying it out.

#Naidex #physical disability #severe disability #ableism #intracommunity ableism

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honeyhour · 23 hours ago

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“hey, i’m not judging. you’re free to do whatever you want without worrying about what i think.” they don’t have to always enjoy the same things or agree on every little topic. honestly, it’s more interesting if they don’t and regardless of how he likes to spend his time, her opinion of him hasn’t changed. already, she knows that it would take an awful lot for that to happen. “good point, watching shrek is practically a cakewalk compared to other shit i’ve dealt with… are you saying that my presence took the pain away? a real balm for the soul?” there’s a cheeky smile on her face now, placing a palm against his chest right over where his heart resides. “come on, we don’t have to worry about anything like that for a while. we’re only getting started… there’s a lot we still haven’t done together.” plenty of which is technically unattainable right now considering being seen together in public is somewhat of a risk, but that’s okay. all in due time. “oh, pretty soon actually. national championships are about… five months out? i’ll probably spend the first few training normally and then the month before will be an every day kinda thing. it’s only slightly terrifying to think about.”

"nah, you're not a stick in the mud for that. that's how it should be. but — before you start walking around thinking i'm some druggie — i really don't do that very often. once every few years, maybe." sure, it is very much compensated by the fact that he drinks plenty with his friends over the weekend but that likely calls for less judgement than his former, very unserious, suggestion. "i'll try not to make you suffer through too much. i don't think sitting through shrek the musical counts as true suffering though. or maybe it's because i'm with you?" there's a lilt in his voice when the inquiry slips out, head tipped to the side briefly and only bringing it back to indulge in her sweet peck. "that better not be a tone of surprise. if we were one for two, i'd be really disappointed in myself. you just wait until we run out of things to do.... you might eat those words." thankfully, it feels like there is no end in sight as of now so jesper will continue doing his best not to disappoint. "when do you have to go back to seriously training?"

#script / este lastra.#threads / este & jesper.#inkshadow

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lolitasangel · 1 day ago

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Lola babes, I’m living for your content! You’re great, seriously ❤️

If they’re still open, could I pick your brain about a Noah x Musician! Reader HC?

I feel like Noah would work on projects with them all the time, partially because he uses it as an excuse to spend time with reader, but also partially because he loves watching them work.

Idk

Penny for your thoughts if it pleases her Majesty

AN- Hi, yes they are still open, thank you for your request as well and kind words, angel🫶🏼🫶🏼 sorry for taking a while to get to this, I haven’t been feeling the best mentally but here’s what I think it would be like🫶🏼

TW- none just fluff

Noah loves that he is dating a fellow musician, he loves that there is a common understanding that things might get a little busy and hectic

Noah would so write songs with you, if he hears you playing something on the piano he jumps right up “hey, baby, what are you working on”. Sometimes he will just sit with you as some support for when you need it.

When you get writers block for your next album Noah is right there helping you feel better from the frustration of it or he’s helping you give ideas.

You both visit each other at the studio, even better if you work in the same studio cause than Noah can pop in and see how you are doing and vice versa. You would 9/10 be sitting in Noah’s lap if all there was to do was editing and polishing the song up a bit.

Sometimes taking turns to work on the project and help out a bit. Noah loved that you understood the mechanics and the way things worked. He loved how understanding you were with busy schedules.

You both go to each other’s show and show support. Screaming all the words to each song and dancing around. You both also give subtle gestures to let the other know that you see them in the crowd. Giving a smile or even a wink.

This also includes kitchen singing and dancing. Noah didn’t love just hearing you sing your music but he loved hearing you sing other songs as well, even his own. He can’t get enough of your voice.

I feel like you two would make an album together but you would keep a little secret. I think at some point maybe you guys would release it maybe not.

Especially during Covid you two would take turn playing different tunes and coming up with different things. You loved watching Noah’s mind work and come up with those beautiful melodies everyone’s come to know and love.

When the time comes where you are both touring and it gets busy you time your days off together to visit or see your performance or his. Whenever Noah is missing you a little extra and aren’t able to talk yet he listens to your music, using it as a lullaby to fall asleep to.

Noah volunteers to go with you to the studio all the time even if he doesn’t have to or has the day off. He finds it as a perfect opportunity to be with you and see working. Coming up with lyrics and melodies together was Noah’s favorite, hearing you try out different sounds and things to say.

You both also wear each other’s merch out and about too. I also feel like you both would help each other pick out the designs and colors of each merch drop for each other.

Your favorite thing to do though was when it was just you and Noah together, no working just relaxing and playing his guitar singing to each other.

During rehearsals you would be there for each other as well, you could be singing on stage and Noah in the sound booth talking to you.

“You sound great, babe. Is your in-ears too loud?” Noah knows the struggle of having in-ears going in and out or just not working right so he always checks with you when he watches you rehearse.

You go to each others release parties and spend time with each other. Noah already knows the words to each song because he was there for the whole process. And vice versa, you liked to stop by and bring Noah something to eat whenever he was locked away.

Date nights would sometimes be spent in the studio as well if work needs to be done but Noah still wants you next to him, even if it’s just you sleeping on the couch while he works quietly.

If you’re the kind of artist to dress up for shows, Noah 1000% is there for when it’s time to try them on. This definitely causes a problem in his pants. He loved seeing you get dolled up and ready to perform and take the crowd into the palm of your hands.

Taglist🫶🏼- @fadingintothegrey @like-a-omen @veejezhyk @english-fucker @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bluestdai @kaliforniahigh @flowery-mess @concreteemo @dollieomens @calleyx13 @fadingangelwisp @hurricanesfollowyou @lacy1986 @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xxkittenkissesxx @iluvmewwwww75 @silent-stories @veephoenix @graceylove @marvelousmal @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @amelia-acero @disappearintothegrey @concretejunglefm @concretenoah @tikosblogg @xmads-omensx @tosoundlessdarkistare

Divider by- @anitalenia

#lola’s thoughts #lolas angels #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens band #noah sebastian headcanons #bad omens noah

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gravity-between-us · 3 days ago

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Gravity Between Us

Chapter 1: Redshift

Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try. Pairing: Female MC x Caleb Rating: Explicit: 18+ Spoiler Alert: Potential spoilers for Caleb's Myth as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers. Warnings: Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic (I cannot bring myself to break any of their hearts, so you could consider this an AU with only Caleb in this timeline.) MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times. Slow Burn. Explicit Smut (eventually). Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour. Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals. Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship. Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions. More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

I lurch awake in a cold sweat, kicking at the tangle of sheets constricting my legs like the hands of a Wanderer trying to subdue me. I want to scream, but the noise gets lost in the half-sob that erupts in its place. Another dream of the explosion lingers at the edges of my consciousness. I can still feel the heat flaring against my face, the terrifying weightlessness as my body is flung back like a ragdoll, and the acrid scent of burnt paint and pressure-treated wood filling my lungs.

That was the day I lost everything, and nothing has felt the same since. I haven’t felt the same since. Slipping off the bed, I pad toward the window. Below, the clouds stretch endlessly, shimmering like spun silver in the moon’s glow.

Skyhaven is a city above the clouds—a place I never thought I’d find myself living in. But after Caleb returned from the dead, I couldn’t find the strength to leave his side, as if he might disappear like an apparition if I weren’t here to watch him. It’s a silly thought, a childish fear, and yet I can’t shake it.

Leaning my forehead against the glass, I try to steady my ragged breathing, to corral my thoughts before they spiral further. My breath fogs against the windowpane, but the chill of the glass does little to ease the trembling in my frame.

With a sigh, I push away and make my way to the bedroom door.

The hallway is still and quiet, save for the muted hum of appliances. Folding my arms over myself, I shiver—more from unease than cold. Normally, when I can’t sleep, which is more often than not lately, I sit on the couch and watch TV until the sun rises. Tonight, though, something pulls me in another direction. I glance over my shoulder at Caleb’s bedroom door.

When I was a kid, I used to sneak into his room at night when I couldn’t sleep. We would make a fort out of sheets, and he always told me that with him there, it was an impenetrable fortress—no one could hurt me. We often fell asleep together inside that fort.

I miss those easier times—when things weren't so complicated and I didn’t have to think twice about running to him like I do now. He has changed—that much I am certain of. But I still can’t tell if my Caleb is alive beneath that uniform, beneath whatever the Toring Chip has done, or if he is truly gone.

He isn’t completely different, and maybe that’s what makes me the most uneasy. There are moments when I catch glimpses of him, like he is reaching out to me, asking me to help him find his way back. But they disappear as quickly as they come, leaving me to wonder if they were ever truly there in the first place—or just wishful thinking.

Caleb and I have come to an understanding, however unsteady it is. I can’t bear to lose him again, so accepting this new version of him has become my only option.

My feet carry me toward his door without my consent, and I reach out to knock but hesitate. I shouldn’t be doing this. Whatever was between me and Caleb, it’s different now. Gone are the days of innocent childhood. Now, we are adults, trying to navigate a friendship that, somewhere along the way, has evolved into something more.

Just what it has evolved into, I’m still uncertain. He has never voiced any feelings for me, but there are moments when I am sure there is something else hidden behind those violet eyes.

I rap my knuckles lightly against the door, push it open a crack, and step halfway inside. When he doesn’t stir, I tap a little harder.

“Caleb?” I whisper.

No answer.

Taking a few more steps inside, I try again. My face heats as I realize how awkward this will be if he wakes up to find me standing in the middle of his room at this hour.

Steeling my nerves, I walk to his bedside and sit on the edge of the bed opposite him. Reaching out, I gently brush my fingers over his cheek, careful not to startle him. His eyelashes flutter slightly, and I just make out the violet sparkle in the dim light as his eyes crack open.

“Pip-squeak?” He rasps, his voice heavy with sleep. Propping himself up slightly, he looks around as if scanning for danger. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m sorry to wake you,” I murmur, suddenly feeling shy and regretting this. “I had a nightmare.”

“You can wake me anytime,” he assures me quickly, reaching out to pat my forearm. His hand stays there, warm against my cold skin. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I confess, my eyes dropping to his hand as his thumb strokes comfortingly across my arm. “Can I sleep with you tonight, or is that too weird?”

He laughs lightly, catching me off guard and flashing me that boyish, lopsided smile. “Well, what are you waiting for?” He gestures to his bed, holding the sheet up. “Get in here before you catch a chill and get sick.”

Relief floods me as I slip under the covers with him. He reaches over and tucks the comforter in like he used to when I was young. When he flops back down onto his pillow, I smile, reaching over to brush the hair back from his eyes.

He catches my hand in his. “Holy fuck, Inara. Your hand is freezin’”

Caleb rolls onto his back and tucks our hands under the blanket, continuing to hold his wrapped around mine. “Better give me the other one too,” he mumbles, deep and rough, reaching out with his free hand.

I place my other hand in his and giggle when he groans dramatically. He peeks over at me, smirking. “I bet your toes are cold too, huh? You never could keep your extremities warm.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I warn, trying to stifle my laughter. “I might just cling to you like a barnacle all night to steal all your body heat.”

He chuckles with a slight shake of his head, letting his eyes slip closed. “I don’t think I would mind much.”

It’s said so softly; it’s almost nothing more than a sigh, and I almost miss it entirely. I’m taken aback for a moment, unsure what to do or make of the comment. It could just be an innocent remark, but what if it’s not?

“Ah, shit. I’ve gone and made things weird, haven’t I? I didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”

For some reason, my stomach twists, and my heart feels like it's falling. Do I actually want it to mean something?

“No,” I reassure him. “No, you didn’t make anything weird. Can’t two friends cuddle without it being weird?”

“I don’t know. Can they?” He says, almost like a challenge.

I wish I could say it was the challenge that possessed me or that my half-asleep mind made the choice for me, but I would be lying. In truth, I made the choice myself. Slowly, I shuffle closer to him, meeting his steady gaze with my own. He watches me intensely, lifting his arm when I get near enough that it’s clear what my intention is. I mould my body to his, resting my head on his chest, my palm flat over the rhythm of his heart. It beats faster than it usually does, mirroring my own, and I wonder if he can tell.

His arm wraps around me, tightening and pulling me even closer into him. I was worried this would feel weird, but maybe I’m more worried that it doesn’t feel weird at all.

Caleb takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, as if to calm his nerves. “Comfy?” he asks.

I nod, nuzzling into his chest. “Very. You make a good pillow.” I flex my fingers into him slightly, then sigh theatrically. “Though you’re not very soft.”

“Well, sorry, princess,” he chuckles softly.

We’re pushing the boundaries, and I know it. Still, my fingers flex into him, as if I might be able to hold us both here, in this quiet moment, where everything doesn’t feel like it’s spinning out of control. My eyes fall shut, and I melt into the secure warmth of him.

Sometimes I wonder if things would be different if the explosion had never happened. Would we still be as close as we were? Would Caleb still be the boy I grew up with? Would whatever horrors have been done to him never have happened?

Useless questions—all of them.

Caleb’s delicate voice breaks me from my thoughts. “Was it the explosion again?”

He reads me like an open book still, and I’m not sure whether I find it comforting or disconcerting.

“Yes,” I admit.

His arm holds me just a little firmer, and he rests his cheek on my head. “I’m not going anywhere, pip-squeak. I’ll never leave you alone again.”

The determination in Caleb’s voice is like steel, and I have no doubt he means it with every atom in his body, but he’s not immune to the forces outside of these walls that want to tear us apart.

There is something at play larger than both of us, and I don’t know how to save him from whatever is lurking in the shadows.

But I will.

The sun streams in through the windows, splashing the chrome accents of the room in golden brilliance. I squint against the light as my eyes peek open. Where I expect to see Caleb, the bed is empty, the comforter pulled up around my shoulders. Propping myself up, I comb my fingers through my unruly hair to get it out of my eyes, then glance at the holographic clock.

6 a.m.

I flop back down onto the mattress and pull the comforter over my head with a groan. There isn’t a bone in my body that could be considered a morning person. I prefer the solitude of night, the velvet embrace of darkness. Caleb has always been my opposite in this regard. You know those people who are too cheerful in the morning, with so much energy that it’s nearly infuriating? Yeah. That’s Caleb.

Despite my personal distaste for mornings, it seems this one has decided to taunt me. With an irritated flail of my limbs, I toss the blankets aside unceremoniously. Cursing under my breath, I slip off the bed and shamble toward the kitchen.

Coffee. I must get coffee.

The clink of weights echoes from the gym’s open door, and I can’t help but glance inside. Caleb is so focused on the bench press that he doesn’t notice me right away. I don’t mean to linger, but I can’t pull my gaze away.

He’s shirtless, his muscles rippling with every rep. This time, as I stare at him—gawk, really—something shifts inside me. I’m no longer just seeing Caleb, my best friend. I’m seeing Caleb, the man. It’s as if the lens through which I’ve always viewed him shatters, replaced by something new that excites and terrifies me.

I never expected this. It’s not like I’ve never noticed how attractive he is before, but today feels different. Maybe it’s the way the light makes the sweat on his skin shimmer, or how the tension in his muscles hints at strength beyond the physical. There’s something magnetic about him now that I can’t ignore. The air in the room feels thicker, heavier, as if the space between us has expanded. My heart races faster than it should, and I wonder if he can hear it.

For a moment, the world tilts. The sky turns green, the grass turns blue, and birds sprout fins. I blink, trying to shake off the sense that everything has shifted, but I can’t. I realize that the boy I’ve always known isn’t just that. He’s something more. And I have no idea how to process it.

“Whatcha doin’ hidin’ over there, pip-squeak?” Caleb lilts in that easy-going, smooth timbre that I know so well. “I didn’t expect you to be up at this hour.”

I mentally shake my head, only to realize I’m still partly hidden by the doorframe, spying around it… like a creep. Heat rises to my face, and I try to recover by nonchalantly emerging, crossing my arms over my chest, and leaning against the frame with a yawn.

“Coffee,” I blurt, because my brain hasn’t recovered its ability to form coherent sentences or come up with a better excuse.

Caleb arches a brow at me, standing and slinging a towel over his shoulder. “Oh, ye of few words,” he smirks. “Coffee is in the kitchen, where it usually resides. Help yourself.”

“…Yes.” I nod. Why am I still staring at him? I should stop. Why can’t I stop? “I will go do that.”

I manage to pry my eyes away and turn on my heel rigidly. Fighting the urge to sprint away from the awkward encounter, I focus on taking methodically slow steps. For some reason, I cannot quite figure out at what pace I usually walk at.

“If you can wait two minutes, I’ll make it for you,” Caleb calls after me.

“No, no! That’s okay. I can manage to put a mug under the machine.”

I’m pretty sure I can hear him laughing, even as I round the corner and quicken my steps. If I jump off the side of this little floating landmass, will the clouds swallow me whole?

The kitchen greets me. Sleek, clean, and oblivious to my embarrassment. Even though I know my way around, I still open every cupboard in search of a mug in my panic. When I do finally find it, my fingers fumble on the handle, and I nearly drop it.

Popping a pod in the machine, I turn it on and breathe a sigh of relief when I am finally able to sit at the island, a steaming cup cradled in my hands. Grumbling, I rest my forehead on the cool countertop and try to collect myself. What has gotten into me? I am not the most socially adept person on the planet, but my awkwardness doesn’t usually extend to Caleb. Or maybe it does, but I don’t need to think about it with him.

I straighten up when I hear his footsteps approaching and pretend to sip my coffee while scrolling through my phone. He strolls in and grabs some orange juice from the fridge without saying anything, but I can feel his eyes on me.

Should I apologize for my earlier behaviour? Try to explain myself? Would that make it more awkward? My thoughts spiral, like leaves caught in a gust of wind. I imagine all the things I might say to explain and how the conversation might go.

“I had an out-of-body experience.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. For a solid five seconds, I was just a sentient gasp floating through the universe.”

“And why exactly?”

“…Muscles.”

... Nope. That’s not a contender.

“I wasn’t staring at you; I was staring past you.”

“At what?”

“…A ghost.”

“A ghost.”

“Yeah, super spooky. You should probably be careful.”

Fuck. Not that one either! I can feel my face flushing at the mere notion of it.

“I wasn’t gawking! I was making sure you weren’t overheating!”

“Overheating?”

“Yeah! You were sweating, and I thought, ‘Wow, he might be at risk for dehydration.’ I was just being a responsible friend.”

“A responsible friend who was staring so hard they forgot how to use words?”

“It was… an intense health inspection.”

Oh, god, Inara, just keep your mouth shut. Caleb braces his forearms on the counter and leans against it. Either by pure luck or a miracle, he saves me from myself.

“So, I was thinking,” he starts and waits until I look up at him to continue. “Why don’t I make you some breakfast, and then we go out and buy some things for the place? You know, since you’re stayin’ here and all, maybe you should make it more your own so it feels like home.”

“Aren’t you going to work today?” I ask, canting my head a little.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, making the light play across his features. “I can give orders from afar if I need to. The Fleet will last one day without me.”

Caleb’s house has always been a little bare for my taste, but I never really meant to stay here permanently. It’s just that each time I think about going home and being alone, it’s like my heart seizes in my chest.

“Your place is fine, Caleb,” I mutter, looking askance to avoid his intense violet stare. “There’s really no need to buy anything for it.”

“Aww, come on, pip-squeak,” he amusedly scolds. “Every time you walk in here, you scowl like the furniture has personally offended you. Let’s just go out and look around and see if anything catches your eye. This is your home, too, you know.”

“No, it’s not,” I snap back, a little too aggressively.

He sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. “I know, but maybe it could be, one day. I just want you to feel comfortable here, Inara. That’s all.”

This place will never be my home, because I feel like this place is the physical representation of the wedge that’s grown between Caleb and me. The secrets, the lies, the bitter truths—I feel like they all coalesce here.

A part of me wants to ask him to move to Linkon, and I think he would do it to please me, but I know that would be selfish. His work is here, and no matter how much I loathe it, he is the Fleet’s Colonel… for now, at least.

My leave from the Hunter’s Association won’t last forever. Sooner or later, I’ll have to return to Linkon and my duties, and I won’t be able to stay here anymore. My breath stutters at the thought.

I don’t want to leave him, but this is our reality now. Whether I like it or not.

Plastering on the most genuine smile I can muster, I nod. “Sure, we can go out and look around. I’m sure Skyhaven has some interesting shops.”

Caleb’s smile lights up the room. I would do anything to see him smile like that more often. If that means suffering through a shopping trip, then I will gladly suffer.

So, yeah... started this for fun, decided it might be something silly other people might possibly enjoy. If you do, leave a comment, or don't, or you know, do whatever you're comfortable with!

More chapters will likely follow.

Take care everyone!

#lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x mc #named mc #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace fanfiction #caleb lads #caleb love and deepspace #first person #lads fanfic #lads smut #caleb smut #caleb fluff #gravity between us

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saphronethaleph · 5 hours ago

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There's No Party like a Political Party

“The Galactic Senate recognizes Leia Organa Solo,” the chair announced.

“Chairwoman, thank you,” Leia said, then stepped forwards, and the microphones and cameras focused on her. “Senators of the New Republic – I bring dire news. Proof, positive proof, that there is a need for this Republic to prepare for a war – or have war brought on our shoulders whether we are ready for it or not.”

There was a murmur of discussion, and Erudo Ro-Kiintor signalled to speak.

“Lady Solo,” he said, using the title with care. “You must realize that this is quite a change of views. You were, after all, the Populist candidate for election, and yet here you are making suggestions that are more in keeping with Centrists.”

He spread his hands. “Yet, at the same time… what foe are you talking about? What war is there to fight? I agree that there is a need for a stronger military, but you speak as if there is a confirmed enemy.”

“It is an old saying,” Leia replied, her voice carrying through the hall with or without the microphones. “That it is important to follow the money. However, in this case… I have been inspired by the analyses of what went right and what went wrong during the Galactic Civil War, and how that war could have been brought to an end more quickly. A good friend of mine, Borrsk Fey’lya, made the point that the Bothan spies who discovered the Second Death Star had done good work… but that their work was not necessary, and that the same could have been achieved without their death.”

“We all remember how important you were to the Alliance,” Erudo said. “If you could please get to the point, Lady Solo?”

“Of course,” Leia replied, calmly. “The instruction to follow the money is less important than the alternative – which is to follow those things which are less easily replaced. Over the last two years, Fey’lya and an organization built around his experts from the Alliance has been investigating Kuat-Entralia Shipbuilding.”

The murmur of discussion returned, louder this time, and Erudo leaned forwards.

“To make an accusation of this sort on the Senate floor is not correct, Lady Solo,” he said. “Do you wish to withdraw your un-senatorial language?”

“I haven’t said anything un-senatorial yet,” Leia replied. “All I have said so far is that a team has been investigating Kuat-Entralia – and, specifically, they have been investigating the flows of durasteel and employees.”

Anyone who wasn’t paying extremely close attention might have missed Erudo’s twitch.

“Over the last ten years, two hundred and thirty billion tons more in raw materials have been mined and processed by Kuat-Entralia than have been used in their finished products,” Leia said, calmly. “After allowing for wastage. In addition, recruitment for Kuat-Entralia has been elevated, and while their total employment numbers are lower than this would suggest analysis indicates that there are seventeen million fewer ex-employees of Kuat-Entralia than there should be given total recruitment over the past ten years.”

She met Erudo’s gaze. “So yes, Senator. Now I am making an accusation. I am accusing Kuat-Entralia of building and crewing a fleet equivalent in size to several hundred modern battlecruisers, and I am accusing them of doing so while concealing it from this Republic.”

There was a loud babble of voices, until the chair called everyone to order.

“This is all baseless,” Erudo protested.

“It’s quite far from baseless, Senator,” Leia said. “Of course, I’m sure Kuat-Entralia could resolve the matter quite quickly if they were willing to explain where all the missing durasteel and employees went. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to explain?”

Erudo blinked, then shook his head.

“Why are you assuming I would know?” he asked. “This is a fishing expedition, nothing more. An attempt to move back into public life after the revelation of your parentage.”

That was an attack, and Leia shook her head slightly.

“My apologizes, Senator,” she said. “I thought someone who had received forty-seven million credits from the Kuat-Entralia board over the last three years alone would be able to comment on their staffing and long-term planning decisions. If not, what do they pay you for?”

“All lies,” Erudo insisted. “This Populist effort to discredit your rivals does you no favours, Lady Solo!”

“There have been six votes in the last ten years on whether to expand funding for the New Republic navy,” Leia said. “In addition to eight which did not make it out of departmental meetings on the topic. Each of those six votes was raised by Centrist leadership – including yourself, Senator – as vital to the New Republic. Populist votes on the topic were roughly evenly split, but Centrist votes have in every case been decisive… in killing the motions. And then every Centrist who voted for the motion described it as blocked by Populists, and as an example of the failures of the New Republic… blaming the Populists for the very problems they were creating!”

“You are out of order,” Erudo insisted. “This is an unsenatorial ambush!”

“This is much less of an ambush than the methods used by the Galactic Empire,” Leia said. “If I were my father, this meeting would have been taking place at three in the morning in a prison cell.”

She turned away from the spluttering man slightly, raising her voice. “Senators – our evidence from Kuat-Entralia suggests that this new fleet is not yet ready for deployment. But it will be at some point soon. I do not wish to tell you what the New Republic fleet should look like… but I will tell you that it would be a great mistake for us to not be able to answer that challenge. The Emperor took control because he had total effective command of the only significant military in the Galaxy, and he took care to destroy all others. We must not make that mistake – and we should certainly not make the mistake of allowing any military which can be built in private to be the only significant military in the galaxy.”

“Order in the Senate!” the chair requested, as the hubbub of conversation got louder and louder. “Order in the Senate!”

Leia was, on the whole, impressed.

She hadn’t even got to how Fey’lya’s Bothans had managed to finagle out the locations that those thousands of transports full of processed material and ship parts and trained experts had been going… one being the world of Ilum, and the other being a world with the peculiar name of Exegol.

Once you were looking, nobody could conceal a project that big.

#star wars #leia organa

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rimqueen · 2 days ago

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hey guys.. more plagiarism .. who knew I’d have to make another post so fucking soon!

um I don’t have any evidence of this but i DID approach @millyphobic with this in a private ask as they don’t take dms from people they don’t follow .. ironic bc the content is copied from me you’d think I at least deserve a follow LMFAO

my friend showed me a fic which was written very similar to one of mine but I assumed again it was just inspired bc the dialogue was completely different and everything.. when I approached her she was very kind gave me credit and even offered to take it down which I said wasnt necessary bc it just seemed inspired and I haven’t been reading enough Leon to go through each individual fic and be like oh well actually that’s from mine.. like genuinely I don’t mean to make people think like oh she’s ok with it bc she just let me credit her it’s simply bc I haven’t been reading until someone tells me or it comes up on my feed and I notice!

another fic popped up on my feed and I thought it would be worth checking out and… LMFAO why am I stupid it’s just like a chunk copied and changed from my fics so!! evidence below I guess 😭

first is mine second is millyphobic.. and mind u tjis fic was published AFTER I approached them ab plagiarism and they still went and did that?

I do think that in this case it’s just certain chunks taken but that’s still plagiarism and the writing style again is just lifted.. don’t know why people can’t find their own I’m so frustrated and quite frankly feel stupid for giving anyone the benefit of the doubt.. and I understand that they do have a lot of original work but to get praised for fics again where chunks r taken from mine I think it needs to be pointed out 😭

this is the fic that reads similarly to mine.. I asked for credit and received it bc they claimed they couldn’t find it / lost it on ao3 but knowing they have plagiarised a part of lovey dovey so brazenly they knew where to find it..

first is mine second is theirs.. um again I genuinely took this with a grain of salt bc yknow.. inspo and it’s not the same plot at all but u can go and read both to see for urself if you’d like.. mine is and I love her on ao3 and millphobic’s is greatest girl in your eyes

and like again.. it’s so unfair bc this is more of a writing style thing where it’s like certain specific quirks have been taken and formatting? and then.. like I just don’t get it

ofc this.. like barefoot and pregnant is a very common phrase but man w the rest of it..

and.. again this fic seems to be very similar to my fic rotten luck which is ab kidnapping .. like and the thing is a lot of these r little sentences I’ve included in works rhat I can’t quite find bc I have almost 40 fics so it’s been done so cleverly to the point where I feel like I’m reaching but I have written shit like you’re so beautiful Leon wants to kill himself so many times LMFAO

and here.. first is mine .. second is theirs. the first part of theirs I have a line like that somewhere but genuinely camnot find it for the life of me! but like the last half is right there

and I wish I could add more bc I feel like this genuinely isn’t enough to accuse someone of plagiarism you know? but the tones and like the style and certain sentences r taken cleverly enough that it feels like a reach and honestly I’m really upset that I keep giving people like oh! credit is ok bc I genuinely assume that it’s an inspo thing come to find out no… even after I approach they continue to take chunks and model their writing style after mine .. it’s more upsetting bc stuff like this upsets me in the first place I’m really sensitive ab writing and I make that clear and I still let people credit me in HEAVILY inspired fics and they still go and plagiarise me after I approach them nicely I wish I had the evidence of our exchange but I don’t bc it was in private asks and millyphobic did offer to delete the fic but I think that’s redundant if u go and post another fic right after that is.. literally a fat chunk of mine

PLEASE STOP TAKING STYLES AND LIKE CHUNKS OF TEXT FROM FANFIC AUTHORS PLEASE READ BOOKS PLEASE DISCOVER UR OWN WRITING STYLE !!! I don’t get paid for this 😭😭 I do it bc it makes me happy.. i know this seems like shoddy evidence but just go read their fics and then mine and u will see literally just even certain nuances taken.. I think people believed that bc I deactivated my old Leon blogs that it’s ok to go and take from my fics up on ao3 ! I still write for him! I have mutuals in the fandom who let me know that this is happening!!! like omg!!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy fluff

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smvtwitchmiller · 2 days ago

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Coming back to you

The jist: Grandpa!Joel x Jackson!Joel x f!reader.

Reader lived in Jackson but went away for a few years, comes back. Her and Joel pick up where they left off Etc etc. Jackson!Joel for flash backs just fyi 😂

Warnings: hair tugging. Praise. Talk of lady parts. Talk of Joel’s parts. Sex flashbacks. Profanities. Body praise. Praising.

Hey blondie! C’mere a sec!”. “Tommy, I’m right here, no need to shout, you ass!”.

“Fuck you, man . Here she cooomes” he sings out.

Yeah. Here she comes. The blonde hair, the curves, her cute smile and those fucking dark blue eyes. Donning her usual black get up, a tee, jeans, boots. Shes here. She’s back. Five years later. You never thought you’d see her again. You knew her for 6 months. The connection was unshakeable, she was the only person in Jackson that you actually liked being around. In the Tipsy Bison, if she saw you looking grumpy, she’d come sit by you and find some stupid way to make you laugh. Most of the time, they were genuine laughs.

Her smile grows as she comes closer, recognising you and she gives you a once look over. Accompanied by a sly smile. So you do the same and she laughs and dives in for a hug. “Think you’re really funny eh Miller?”. She pulls away and playfully punches you in the chest, “still built like a wall I see” her eye brow arches, along with a smirk.

Your thoughts go back to five years ago, “yes Joel, fuck, just like that, don’t fucking stop” she was tugging your hair as you were grinding your face into her soaking cunt, gripping her thighs.

“Earth to Joel?” Her tone playful.

You focus yourself. Arms stilled at your sides. “So, you’re back. For good?” you ask hopeful.

“Yup, they’re was nothing for me out west, and I just knew this place would be falling apart without me so I’m back for good. So. Tommys caught me up on his life, much to my dismay, what about you Joel?”.

“Um”.

Yeah Joel, what about you. Patrols. Home. Drinking. Pining over you. Repeat.

Five years ago. You pinned her against the bathroom counter, you caged her in with your arms, making sure she stayed right there against your chest, grunts and growls spilling out from you as you thrust deep into her, spilling your hot cum all over her velvet walls. She follows soon after, loud whimpers and soft sobs pouring out of her heavenly mouth.

“Ya know. Working, patrols, drinking, nothing exciting” . The realisation hitting you that the five years you’ve been here, you really haven’t done anything other than contribute. Ellie was off doing her own thing. Tommy had Maria with a baby on the way. And you had Patrols. Home. Drinking. Pining. Repeat.

“Wow, riveting stuff” she chuckles out followed by “no women in your life since I left? Dating?” Dating. The word was so foreign, you cringe. “No not really”. Not really. You knew this was gonna invite questions.

“Not really huh? And what does that mean?” She arches her brow, waiting for your response.

“Ah yeah, there was Esther, how long did you guys date? A month? Took longer showers”. He huffs out. Tommy oblivious to the tension between you and her.

“Esther? The brown haired woman?” She scrunches up her nose. “Really? God, what the hell was that like?” Asking, genuinely intrigued. She didn’t like her and the feeling was mutual, apparently.

“It was fine. She’s alright”. Talking low like you’re forcing the words out. “I just wasn’t interested and why drag it out?”

“For sex” she and Tommy say in unison and burst out laughing. You roll your eyes just wanting this fucking subject to be closed.

“I mean you did, didn’t you?” Tommy asks, nudging your shoulder.

When you didn’t answer yet pulled a face, in unison once again they dragged out “oooooooooo” with “whore” added from Tommy. The two of them loved ganging up on you.

“Anyway, you hanging around grumps?” She asked, hand on hip.

“Girl, I’ve been up since 5 and ive been on patrol, I need my bed”

“Aww cmon! We’re just chilling with music, I brought weed back from California and everyone’s having some”.

“No darlin, I need a shower, food and sleep, I’m older now ya know”. You sound so defeated. And she notices.

“Cmon, have food here, shower upstairs Tommy will get you some of his clothes and you can sleep in one of the spare rooms. Obviously not the one I’m staying in. Problem solved”. She says all hopeful.

The bulge you’ve been trying to ignore and hopefully hasn’t been noticeable was throbbing.

Five years ago. “Aw fuck Joel, that feels so fucking good, fuuuuck”. You went to her house, she shut the door and you were already on your knees unbuttoning her pants and yanking them down, mouth immediately latching on to her sweet pink bud, she pulled at your curls, giving you her sweet release. She was delicious.

You didn’t have the strength to argue, “fine” you huff out. Upstairs. Clothes off, shower on, shoulders drop. The water drains away, the aches, mud and blood. You sigh heavily. Fuck me she’s here. It was all too much but hopefully you passed off as casual.

Five years ago. “Joel, someone might come in”. You didn’t give a shit, when she spoke about all that mechanical stuff at the plant, something primal in you just wanted to fuck her. So there you are, pinning her against the door, her gorgeous back and ass in view, just so inviting. Watching you enter her. Fuck. You fuck her hard against the door and you place your bear hand over her mouth. “Don’t want no one to hear us sweetheart”.

Shower off, you wrap a towel around your waist and grab a smaller one and ruffle your hair. As you leave the bathroom, eyes covered, you hear, “hey there handsome”. Obviously you jerk it away and nearly have a fucking heart attack. “Jesus woman you tryin ta kill me?”.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed. “Sorry” she laughs out “just wanted to talk to you alone. So, did distance make the heart grow fonder? I mean obviously not-“ She pauses. “-Esther huh? Really Joel? I’m so disappointed, you mustn’t have missed me that much”. she tuts playfully shaking her head.

“Hey now. No no I did miss you. But you left and Esther, that was nothing. I slept with her like three times and, I always thought of you”. You shamefully admit.

“So I guess we’re just two big disappointments huh? Are you gonna hold that against me forever Joel? Cause if you are, I can’t be around you making me feel guilty all the time”.

Three big paces toward the bed, you pull her up and cup her face, rubbing your thumb over her bottom lip. “No, I’ll never mention it again, I want you near me, you’ve been away from me too long as it is. Never again I promise”. And you meant it. She’s been out of your reach for too long. “So, can I fucking kiss you or what darlin?”

“Fuck and kiss me? Sure!” She yells out and swings her arms around your neck. “In that order?”

“Jesus woman keep your voice down, fuck-ING kiss you I said”.

“Joel. I’ve been wet since I walked to you downstairs, I wanna fuck”. She starts to take her shirt and pants off, “like you said, I’ve been away from you for too long so why we waiting?”. Taking off her bra and panties, you literally gulp, Jesus, she’s fucking gorgeous. Fuck. You pull her at the waist, your hard dick resting against her stomach, “can’t argue with that darlin but Tommys waiting for us”

“Well we best be quick then, hadn’t we?” She leans into your chest and kisses it, humming, rustling your chest hair. “You smell so yummy Joel”.

Suddenly you felt self conscious. It’s been years since she saw you last, bare and vulnerable. Your body’s aged, more scars, more bad memories. She always thought your body was a wall, impenetrable. Indestructible. Yeah, Five years ago maybe.

She breaks your thought. “Fuck Joel, you’re perfect. Your body—“. She sucks in her bottom lip, just gazing intensely at your map of scars and aging skin. Pulling in her brows, looking at you like you’re a god. “Can I?”. She looks down to the towel around your waist, giving it a tug, she won’t take it off, she’s a good girl who will wait for permission. You nod. Towel drops to the floor. She looks at all of you “Jesus Joel, I forgot how big you are” looking up at you with gleeful grin. “Fuck you’re perfect”.

She starts to stroke your dick and begins to slide her other hand through your hair “I like you with longer hair by the way, easier to grab”. You hum at the touch of her nails dragging along your scalp and the delicious hold she has on your cock. You lift her up, her legs wrapped around you, the feeling of her wet, warm cunt against your stomach. “Well goddamn girl, you weren’t lying, so fuckin wet for me”. Placing her on the bed, you sink into her with your impressive frame, spreading her legs slightly, staring into her eyes “Jesus Joel what are you waiting for? Fucking kiss me already”. And your mouth just sinks in, bruising her lips, pulling and biting her bottom one making her whimper which only spurs you on, kissing every breath outta her.

Leaning on one elbow, spreading her legs more, you bring her leg around your waist to get the perfect fucking angle, literally, raising her ass a little. You tease her soaking entrance with your tip, gently pressing it in. “Baby I’ve missed you, I’ve missed this, she’s all mine now”. As you kiss her neck, bringing out her moans as you press further in, she gasps. “Jesus Joel, fuuuuck”. Her perfect body, made just for you, welcomes all of you in one deep thrust, “just perfect baby girl, look at you taking it all”

She grabs your ass for you to thrust in her deeper “more Joel, deeper, faster please”. You begin to thrust deep inside her sweet walls that’s hugging your hard cock, steady at first, then you grab a fistful of her hair, tugging her head back, revealing her neck, kissing and biting it you can’t help but growl from your rattling chest, your hips start to move faster, deeper, fucking that spot that makes her gasp so softly. She clenches around on you “oh.. fuck baby yeah just like that. Keep it up”. You could feel tightness of her soaking entrance and the tension in her stomach “cmon baby you’re right there, come for me”.

Gripping her waist, you raise up her up, her ass resting on your thighs, sweet Jesus this position. You could feel your own peak rocketing up “fuck baby im right there come for me”. Sucking your thumb, you drag it down to her pink bud, circling, just tapping the hood gently and with a final clench from her divine body, you both cum, you ramming hard and fast, making sure she gets every last drop of you. Fuck, such a sweet release.

You begrudgingly pull out and lie next to her, both panting. She turns to you, both of you glass eyed, doting little smiles. “Fuck Joel, that was—, I missed you, you fucker”. You lean over and hug her, kissing her temple, inhaling her scent. “Missed you too, been fucking miserable without you here. Surrounded by assholes” you chuckle out the last part. She plays with your chest hair.

“Did you think about me while you were away?”

“Of course I did. Especially at night”. She says with a mischievous smile.

Five years ago. “That’s it baby, ride me good, fuck you’re gorgeous” Hands gripping her plump tits, circling your rough thumbs over her peaked nipples, her hands on yours making you squeeze them “I’m gonn- Joel I’m gonna c-“. “Let go for me baby girl, get there cum for me”. She squints her eyes shut and arches her back welcoming her orgasm, you thrust a few more times before you grab her waist, swooping her on her back and pin her down into the mattress, rolling your hips harder, your peak crumbling over. “Be a good girl and take it all. Fuuck!”.

You both laid there, making no attempt to move. Still playing with your chest hair, “So, was I better than that Esther chick?” She says with a shitty little smile.

“Esther who?”

“Good boy”.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou fandom #daddy's good girl #tlou #daddy k!nk #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction #chest hair #grandpa joel #joel fuck me #joel smut #smut story #smut

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hexcorenova · 3 days ago

Text

The end is the beginning

DISCLAIMER

this is a work of fiction. it shouldn't be taken too seriously, it's just my interpretation of an alternate story, written for fun. no claims to canon, just a desire to explore and tell a story. also, i'm not a writer, and english is not my first language, but i'm trying my best. this isn't really a fanfiction but more of a structured summary and missing moments to help piece together of what happened in the AU with old viktor. also, i admit i didn’t expect this to become so long. It really got out of hand!

Jayce has never seen anything like this.

Below him, Piltover and Zaun are dead. The city is a landscape of crystallized statues, frozen in the exact moment disaster struck. The streets are filled with bodies caught mid-action, mouths open in a scream that never faded, hands reaching for something they never grasped. And yet, here, at the top of the Hexgate, time is not dead.

Jayce, after falling to his knees, looks up. The sky here is clear, a deep, unwavering blue. The air is warmer, free from the suffocating weight of stagnation that looms over the rest of the city. And around him, on the dark iron slabs of the platform, there is life.

The Hexgate has become a garden.

Plants climb up the metal structures, the wind stirs the thin branches of small shrubs that shouldn’t exist in a condemned world. Violet and yellow flowers bloom through cracks in the iron, golden moss spreads in luminous streaks along the beams. And at the center of it all, stands Viktor.

He moves slowly along the Hexgate’s perimeter, his cane brushing against the metallic surface with a rhythmic, hypnotic sound. At first, he doesn’t even seem to notice Jayce. His long, slender fingers glide along the trunk of a curved branch, his touch light, almost reverent.

"Strange, isn’t it?" he murmurs finally. Jayce remains still. He says nothing. "I never imagined it would grow like this." He’s talking about the garden. Or at least, Jayce thinks so.

"Why?" Jayce finally asks, his voice tense. "Why only here?"

Viktor barely smiles, a faint shadow of something that might be nostalgia.

"Perhaps because of you." he says it while looking at Jayce’s petrified form, standing just a few steps away. The carcass is right there in front of them. His hands still grip the Hextech hammer, his body stiff, but there is no fear on his face. Only determination. Resolve.

Jayce feels a shiver run down his spine. He has seen impossible things, but seeing himself dead, trapped in time, is something he cannot explain. And Viktor, the real Viktor, the one who has lived through all of this, does not look away.

"You’ve done this before, haven’t you?" Jayce’s voice is rougher than he intended.

Viktor slowly closes his eyes, his eyelashes trembling slightly. His fingers brush against the statue’s rough surface, tracing the contours of the face as if trying to memorize every detail.

"Every time I try to fix things, it ends the same way."

Jayce takes a slow breath, as if gathering all the oxygen left in this dying world. Then, he grips his left wrist, holding onto the object wrapped around his skin. A bracelet, once polished, now worn by time. Embedded at its center, a small blue rune glistens under the motionless sky.

Viktor notices it and finally turns to look at him.

"Why did you give it to me?" Jayce stares into his eyes. He does not ask out of pity or anger. He asks because he needs to know.

Viktor does not respond immediately. His iridescent eyes shimmer under the sunlight, reflecting a million shifting shades. But the moment his gaze lands on the bracelet, something happens.

Viktor's eyes turn golden again. A warm, vivid color. Too human. Too full of emotion. Jayce never realized how much he had missed seeing them like that.

Viktor slowly lowers his gaze to the rune, then to his own hands, as if seeing something he lost long ago. His breath weakens. It seems like he wants to answer immediately, to explain everything at once. But then he stops.

"I thought I could bring an end to the world’s suffering." Jayce remains motionless. "But when every equation was solved, all that remained were fields of dreamless solitude." there is no anger in his words. Only the unshakable weight of truth. "There is no prize to perfection, Jayce. Only an end to pursuit." Jayce slowly lowers the bracelet. This is not the answer he wanted. But he no longer even knows what he wanted to hear. "In all timelines, in all possibilities, only you can show me this." his voice is calm, heavy.

Jayce feels his breath catch in his chest. "Show you what?"

"That there's beauty in imperfection." this time, Viktor truly looks at him. And for the first time, Jayce wonders if it is already too late.

"This is our last chance, isn’t it?"

Viktor observes him for a long moment. An instant that feels eternal. Then, he smiles. But in a very sad way. "You deserve to know what happened." Viktor makes a small movement with his hand, almost absentmindedly, as he speaks.

Jayce closes his eyes for a moment. And when he opens them again, he is already teleported somewhere else.

---

For a moment, the light blinds him. His mind wavers, his body feels rigid, suspended between present and past. The air around him is dense, warm, as if reality itself is breathing. But he is no longer on the Hexgate. He is watching. He doesn’t know how he got here or if his body ever truly crossed a physical threshold. Yet, he finds himself immersed in another time, another place. He is no longer a spectator of the end.

Now, he is a spectator of the beginning of the Commune who stands around him, alive, thriving. There is no death here. No ruins, no broken statues. Not yet. The structures are tall, slender, built with an architecture that is neither Piltover nor Zaun but a perfect hybrid of the two. Glass, metal, and roots intertwine, technology fuses with nature. Streets illuminated by pure energy weave through the city like arteries in a living organism. People walk without fear, without hurry, immersed in an unnatural calm.

Jayce takes a slow breath. He is not really here. The ground beneath his feet is solid, yet intangible. When he reaches out to touch something, his hand passes through it like a shadow. But it is real. Everything is real. And at the center of the main square, stands Viktor. Jayce recognizes him immediately.

This is not the Viktor he left behind on the Hexgate, worn down by years and regrets. This is not even the Viktor he knew in Piltover’s laboratories. This Viktor is young. No longer sick, no longer weighed down by his condition. He moves with a cane but doesn't need it, his body slender but steady, draped in a long blue shawl that brushes the ground. And his iridescent eyes, those eyes that have not yet seen the future. He moves gracefully among the gathered crowd, his face illuminated by an inner light that Jayce hasn’t seen in years. Here, in this moment, Viktor is not just a man. He is a prophet.

Jayce watches as he steps onto a floating platform, the crowd silent around him. Every face turned toward him with devotion—not with fanaticism, but with something else. Hope.

"Piltover reduced you to numbers. Zaun abandoned you to die. I want to free you." Viktor’s voice rings clear, strong. Jayce shivers. He has never heard Viktor speak like this. The crowd murmurs, people press closer to one another. Some nod, others remain still, uncertain. But all of them listen. Because Viktor knows how to speak. He knows how to convince. "I don't ask you to obey me. I ask you to believe in something greater, an evolution."

Jayce clenches his fists, his gaze fixed on the scene. He is looking for a sign. He is trying to understand if this is happening in his world too, if this Viktor is the same Viktor he knows. He does not know what to expect. He does not know where this story diverges, when they will become two men who can no longer stand on the same side.

"This is your new home. A place where no one will be left behind, where no one will be forgotten."

Jayce forces himself to look away from Viktor and at the crowd. He sees their faces. Normal people. Zaunites fleeing oppression. Piltovans who renounced their city for something better. Young, old, sick, outcasts.

Time moves forward, not in great, sweeping events, but in subtle changes, the kind that creep in unnoticed until they settle in place like they’ve always been there. Months pass, and then he sees himself. He does not expect it.

His younger self steps into the Commune as an outsider, dressed in Piltover’s refined clothing but with the disheveled look of someone who has stopped caring for himself. He stands out against the world around him. His expression is full of distrust, calculation. Someone must have convinced to be here.

Jayce, looking at himself, holds his breath. He does not remember living this moment. He does not know what is about to happen. How many times has he told himself, that he would never come looking for Viktor? Yet, here he is.

Viktor notices him immediately. And he smiles. "Jayce…"

Jayce’s heartbeat quickens. Viktor approaches him with calm strides. There is no hostility in his gaze, no wariness, only absolute trust and the desire to share this moment with him. "I knew you would come."

Jayce watches the scene with his lips pressed together. He still does not know if this is his past. He does not know if this is another world, another possibility, a path Viktor walked without him, but he wants to know where it all breaks. And now he is forced to watch.

The vision shifts again. Jayce is no longer standing in one place. The Commune unfolds before him, time moving forward like a fast-forwarded memory. Days. Weeks, again months. Jayce watches his past self become part of the Commune. He sees himself talking to the inhabitants, working alongside Viktor, immersing himself in the construction of this dream. And slowly, the suspicion in his gaze fades. Conviction takes its place. The Commune is real. It works.

Here, people do not get sick, do not suffer, do not fear. There is no hierarchy, only something new, something that Viktor built with his own hands. A place where no one is abandoned.

Jayce watches as his trust in Viktor rebuilds itself. They are partners again, as they once were. They work, argue, challenge each other, and complement one another, just like in the laboratories of Piltover. It is so easy, so natural, that the present Jayce feels a tightness in his chest.

When did it all fall apart? He waits for the answer.

And then, something changes. Jayce notices a small, imperceptible detail at first. The people of the Commune no longer disagree. Ideas are no longer debated. Opinions never truly diverge. Every conversation, every thought, moves in a single direction: Viktor’s. At first, younger Jayce does not notice, neither does present Jayce; until he sees his younger self hesitate. A look exchanged in silence.

Viktor speaks to a group, explaining a new theory about Arcane energy. Jayce stands beside him, nodding. But he is not convinced. It is not an immediate realization, but it is a crack in the perfect surface of the Commune. And that is how it begins.

Jayce watches himself grow quieter. He sees the way he starts looking at people differently. The change is gradual, subtle. At first, it’s just a shadow of doubt, then it becomes a certainty, and finally, a fear. There is something Viktor is not telling him.

Jayce spectator feels his pulse quicken. The moment is coming. He is about to see where everything breaks. And then, it happens.

Jayce watches as his younger self walks into the Commune’s greenhouse. Viktor is there, seated on a stone bench, his gaze fixed on a plant he's tending to. The space is filled with warmth, light filtering through the glass ceiling, reflecting on the leaves of vines that have grown too thick to be natural. Jayce stands there for a moment, watching him in silence. Viktor doesn’t seem surprised to see him.

"You had a realization, didn’t you?" Viktor finally says, not even lifting his head. Jayce clenches his fists.

"It’s not a realization. It’s the truth." this time, Viktor looks at him. His iridescent eyes shimmer under the light, but they do not hold the same certainty they once did. Jayce takes a step closer. "The Commune isn't a dream, Viktor." his voice is firm but not harsh, just exhausted.

"Then what is it?" Viktor asks, finally setting down the tools in his hands.

Jayce swallows. "Another utopia that’s consuming us both." a long silence stretches between them. Then, Viktor smiles. But not in the way he used to. It is a sad smile.

"I knew you’d reach this conclusion. Sooner or later."

Jayce spectator feels his breath catch. He finally understands. This is the separation. There was no sudden catastrophe. No betrayal, no violent rupture. Just a truth that Viktor had always known and that Jayce had taken too long to see. The Commune is no longer a place of free will. Maybe it never was.

People aren’t Viktor’s slaves, but they are prisoners. And he, the one who built all of this with his own hands, never intended to stop himself.

Jayce spectator feels a hollow emptiness settle in his chest. His younger self looks Viktor in the eyes. And for the first time, Viktor looks away.

"I'm sorry, Jayce."

Jayce’s fingers tighten into fists.

"No. You’re not."

The world shatters around him. The vision fractures. The images blur, the Commune twists in on itself, faces dissolve, structures deform. The past is rejecting him. Jayce staggers back, his breath uneven. He's being pulled away. But before everything vanishes, Viktor looks up. For an instant, it feels like he truly sees him. Not the Jayce of the past.

HIM.

And Viktor smiles.

"Welcome back, Jayce."

that's all for now. i've actually written a bit more beyond this point, but i'm not entirely sure if i managed to make things clear or easy to follow, so I think i’ll wait for some feedback before continuing. i ended up choosing a more narrative way to tell this story because o thought it might be easier to understand that way, but who knows. thanks for reading if you made it this far!

#arcane #jayvik #league of legends #jayce talis #vikjay #viktor arcane #jayce x viktor #jayce arcane #AU theory #old viktor #mage viktor

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