#probably repeated myself at least once

[throughpatchesofviolet]

One thing I've been wanting to mention since yesterday is that I've decided to go back to using a task manager to plan out my week--I did this all the time in college, and it helped me feel more in control, so I figured I'd bring it back as part of my many goals for this year. I've only been doing this for a day, but it's already helped a lot!

I put in my work shifts as tasks, and it helps me plan around them--I'm starting out with simple chores and self care, but later I want to try and add writing and drawing projects, so I can finally start making progress on all the ideas I have rattling around in my brain.

[lili-elbe]

g-d i wish i had just one real friend

[todayisafridaynight]

Prior to sending the ask I was just guessing what matrophobia meant based on the root words but I looked it up after and went ohhhh and then you confirmed that extra dimension to it and I went OHHHHH

I think that gets to the heart of what I've been thinking about, that bittersweetness, because despite his best efforts... of course he could never end up anything like Yoko, but he still ended up with an abusive "household." Because in addition to Masato ending up how he did, he has to see those same situations play out, feel that same tension in the air between Jo and Ichi, over and over for almost a decade straight.

Like, in a way, he's forced to put himself in Toshio's shoes when that happens. He can't really get through to Jo, in the same way Toshio can't get through to Yoko, but he can try to step in before lasting damage is done, and he can try to make it bearable for his son. You know. Have a nice talk. Treat him to Peking duck. I'm SO normal about the (drawn-out) parallels of those scenes

So then with Jo... he kind of does become his father, even if he never wanted to (no one wants to), both through his ruinous neglect of Masato at birth and through how he comes to look at discipline and corporal punishment. I'm sure it's not lost on him in Masato's case (owww), but with Ichi, it's not like he has any reason to see him as his son... But How Far Can That Take You.

Because it's like, at the start, he was openly beating Ichi in front of Arakawa and not letting up much when Arakawa intervened. But then you have The Yubitsume Scene and Arakawa walking in on All That and... he looks sorry. Sorry for being caught, probably, but sorry nonetheless. Like... what changed between then and now... have you two had a Heartfelt Conversation... do you know where Arakawa got that scar... are you unable to change your "nature" even then...

Side note bro your SHOE is the size of his TORSO I promise you do not need to kick him with all the strength you've got like what the hell is this 😭😭😭

BUT ALL THAT ASIDE thank you so much for delving into the symbolism! Wonderful read. I don't really have an eye for symbolism, so that makes it all the more enjoyable to revisit the comic and everything with what you've gone into. I think a lot of your experiences resonate with mine, so conversely I'm not sure what others would take away from it, BUT I think there's enough there that's so insightful and evocative that it's effective without personal experience. I don't think there's anything I could add, so. Yeah. For once I am happy to sit back and take it all in... On that note, definitely looking forward to your next comic!

AUUUGH YEAAAH YEAHEYA HYEAH THAT EXACTLY OUUUGH OWIEE OWW.....

that's literally it though. like no extra notes. except The Obligatory Few i dont think it was an accident that arakawa is set up as the beginning of the game's 'protagonist' and planting that 'troubled family' taste first thing in our mind. i remember how i felt when i first saw arakawa walk in on jo and ichi and then arakawa taking ichi out for dinner i was just like🧍‍♂️Girl No The Cycle.... It's Continuing...... //screams// LIKE UGH IT WAS SO GOOD BUT ALSO OWWW STOPPP and then on the REPLAY it just hurts more cause with the added context to jo's character its like Oh No...... You're Your Father's Son....

and youre right: jo doesn't have an implicit reason to see how he treats ichi is wrong, hence he similarly doesnt have any reason to stop- not unless arakawa intervenes of course (and i will stand outside my window thinking of the possibility arakawa ever did try to have A Conversation with jo... arms folded behind my back and all like Man™️....)

oh but yeah, absolutely no problem ! im lowkey of an egotist so i do like to talk bout the stuff i make. More In Depth (though thats obvious considering the fuckin essays in the tags i always leave ☠️☠️) gerjlgaELKjg. so i was happy to explain ♪(´▽｀) !! what i like about symbolism is that it can be intentional or not, and the fun is always finding it just by chance. i cant explain it properly, but i just think its a neat 'seasoning' of sorts to drawings (❁´◡`❁)

[ot3]

ace attorney characters: do they fuck good?

phoenix: what he lacks in skill and experience (and i DO believe he lacks these things at least until he starts fucking kristoph on the reg) he somewhat makes up for with enthusiasm and taking direction well

mia: i do think she was partying hard at law school almost rumspringa style after getting away from living as a Mountain Nun so yes

maya: i do think she could fuck like a champ but u gotta be in to her clown antics or it's not gonna land. kinda girl who would strip naked and hten u see shes got like eyes drawn on her boobs with sharpie

gumshoe: i think that he's so The Type of whoever is gonna be sleeping with him that it almost doesn't even matter. he's probably fine though. hes a nice guy.

edgeworth and franziska: sharing a slot because they share an answer. no, for identical reasons. they're such neurotic perfectionists that sex terrifies them because there's not any way to practice before someone has to see you do it. they need someone who can love them the way a tween girl loves a Problem Horse to blossom into their full potential

larry: no.

lana: no because shes a workaholic and shes just trying to get it over with half the time because she's got other shit to do

ema: to repeat myself from earlier i think she kind of sucks and kind of doesn't give enough of a shit #depressiongirlswag

apollo: yeah i think apollo fucks

klavier: this one's really hard to me because i do think klavier is giving it his all but due to him being hot and famous i'm just not sure he's ever gotten honest feedback in this department so i really can't say. i think odds are decent that he's mid and coasting and if he ever knew this it'd devastate him

kristoph: unfortunately for everyone i think the answer is yes but only if his entire personality isn't a dealbreaker for you

lang: obviously. next question.

justine: yeah

asougi: not as good as he thinks he is. once again the hotness is doing a bunch of heavy lifting

ryuu: i know he's a freak in bed but i don't think he knows he's a freak. despite or perhaps because of that that i think he's kind of a savant in this department since it's the version of reality that's funniest for me.

van zieks: pray forgive his discourtesy of getting glass shards and red wine stains on the bedsheets and also just generally staring off into space like a brooding widow during these carnal acts

sholmes: the attention span is just too fucked he's that post about leaving someone tied up in the other room and then forgetting. if you could get him to stay still long enough the dick would probably rule but you can't. you just can't.

[fishnapple]

Channelled message: Things they wish to tell you (lover/partner/future spouse)

This reading is about things that the person you have in mind wishes to tell you but find it hard to do so. I don't know why, but the tone of this reading sounded so angsty. I had to fought back the urge to comment on every sentence as I was typing.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

1. Amethyst

I feel like a kid whenever I'm near you. It's hard to hide, I feel so vulnerable. You stripped me of my armour. You made me afraid but I liked it. I want to tell you that you can strip whatever is left of me, and I will be willing to stand there and let you do it.

But before that, you have to catch me. I like the game of hide and seek, running and chasing. Every time I had to chase you, every time you had to chase me, it gave me the satisfaction that I'm not proud to tell you. Don't give me that look, you and I both know that whatever game we are playing, in the end, the loser gets to win, the winner gets to lose. You know you can catch me, because I let you.

I love whispering things into those pretty ears of yours. Feel them so close that my lips can almost touch your skin. Sometimes you will laugh, sometimes you will stay silent, your skin getting more red, sometimes you will turn around and let your lips touch mine. Your reactions are my goal and I'm an over-achiever.

Teetering between pure love and pure lust, what to choose? Sometimes we are so close to being enemies to each other, then we fall over into lovers. I don't know how we do it but I like to keep it a little ambiguous. The suspension, the uncertainty, those uncomfortable feelings make me feel alive.

Not to mention that people are so confused about us. I bet they can sense something between us, those flustered looks, those closer than necessary touches, those innocent exchanges. They can guess but they will never know the depth of our connection.

I actually love the feeling of sitting on the couch, waiting for you to come home to me. Once we've built our nest, I don't want to leave it. I don't want you to leave either. But I know your free spirit well enough not to tell you my wish. But you can't blame me if sometimes I use some "tactics" to entice you to stay with me. Hey, I can hear your snicker. You think someone like me saying this kind of thing is probably lying. Well, I do lie, but about the opposite thing, I lie to the world that I'm not a home-body, that my life is a constant motion, moving here and there, that I'm someone who always takes charge. My lies will be so convincing that they can even fool you. Yes, I know I like to change things, but look closer, you will find something that stays the same no matter what. I hope you won't give up finding it because I won't make it easy for you to find it. But I know you like a good challenge.

2. Rose quartz

I have so many things I wanted to tell you, but the moment those words arrived at the tip of my tongue, they took a U turn and went back. I don't know why I like to betray myself like that.

I would tell you how this ice cream tastes good, but all I could think about is your taste. I would tell you I like the feeling of warmth when sitting near the fire, but all I could feel is your heat. Same old stuff, same old stories, same old jokes, repeated again and again. What am I trying to hide? Why can't I just say what I want? What am I so afraid of?

I feel like a yellow rubber duck, floating forever on the surface, can't never get deep enough. Well, at least I get to be with you in the bathtub, not complaining. Here I go again, using light words to camouflage my feelings and desire for you. I don't want to be a tease, I want to be an arrow, striking its target at lightning speed.

Use your finger and sink this duck down into the water, and keep it that way. Hold me down, keep me still, until I'm drown in you.

Giving and taking, holding and embracing, I want it all, I don't want a single experience to slip through my fingers, I want to salvage everything, to savour slowly then to devour swiftly.

I want you to be the cold, harsh truth to my soft lies. The punishing force to my innocent crimes. But I also want you to be the embrace that I can fall into, the laughter I long to hear in my darkening days. Greedy, I know. And you can be greedy with me too. You ask and I will give.

Will you say no to my dreams, saying they're just pipe dreams, forever should be in the land of the unreal. Or will you say yes and applaud them? I know I can make them real, I know I can turn my thoughts into things that others can see and feel. I have faith. I just want you to have that same faith with me. Wouldn't it be nicer to have two who dream the same dreams? And nicer still when those two can create something together. I suggest a family, kids, pets, just a few examples.

I wish to take you everywhere, to meet everyone I know and everyone I haven't known. The feeling of a community, of connections always warm my heart. I hope you understand that. But it's okay if you don't, because there are probably lots of things I don't understand about you either. And let's keep it that way.

3. Tiger's eye

I have so many plans for our future. Since the first time when I met you, probably in some corners of my mind, I've been drawing up our plan together, our imaginary home, our imaginary kids, even our imaginary pets.

Talk to me, tell me your own delusions, give me more fuel, rile up my imagination. Delusions create the world. Or so they say, or so I say. Doesn't matter. Because I'm actually nurturing these delusions of mine into reality. Just so you wait and don't act surprised when they do come true. I have the divine on my side. You can't beat it, I can't beat it. And believe me, I've tried.

I've tried to go against the nudges, the little push behind my back so many times. It usually didn't end well. I still found myself in the exact place that I needed to be, whether I wanted to or not.

Please don't misunderstand, I'm not saying this to tell you that being with you is against my will or I want to fight back our connection. I just want to explain the way I do things in general. I do bizarre things, say bizarre things sometimes, a lot of times, actually. You would think these are all jokes. They are. When you're viewed as a weirdo, it actually gives you lots of freedom to do things your way without people exclaiming disappointment or shock. What's there to be shocked and disappointed if they already viewed you as someone capable of everything, even unhinged things. This is the way I deal with the world. Quickly, so they will be out of my sight and let me focus on other important things.

For example, you, the sight of you, up close, inching ever closer, faraway, walking away but never be out of my sight. Curate an art exhibition for me. With pieces of art showing your myriad expression and sounds. Showing you in different clothes or without. I'd love to just stand there to watch and listen. Then, when I'm brave enough, I will be an art thief.

4. Carnelian

Let me tell you upfront, I'm not the kind to forgive easily. And I know with each pain I'm getting, I'm also dissing out more pain towards others and myself.

I get easily obsessed about everything, good or bad, mostly bad things. They've burnt a piece of me. I've been betrayed in the past. So many betrayals that made me angry towards the world, towards myself. I just wanted to go away. No, not to hide, but to gather my strength again and come back and confront. I used to be the one that is caught in other's claws, now I know how to catch them in my claws.

But this kind of behaviour ruined my soul. I want to sweep away all these pains and anger, to lighten my existence. It's almost a wish that I've been keeping to myself for all this time. And now you know about it too. And I'm glad that you can help me make it come true. Pull me out of this destructive cycle. Help me breathe and look for the light.

I say hurtful things sometimes, you probably will fall victim to that some day and I want to ask for your forgiveness beforehand. I let my pride get in my way a lot of times. To prove my point, to prove my worth, to prove that I'm strong, that you can't hurt me. But you can, you just choose not to. I know I'm at your mercy. This makes me uncomfortable, but it's actually not so bad. I'm getting used to it. Thanks to your humour and gentle touches. For every hurtful word of mine, you replaced it with your kiss. If I ask you to cry for my pain, will you do it, in my stead?

You sure know how to tame me, or just anyone ever met you feel the same way? Stop, I won't let myself go into that direction of thinking. Let's just focus on us. Teach me how to dismantle someone's defence like you did to me, step by step. Just so I can understand what's being done to me. I want to know everything, grab everything in my hands to understand it.

Don't worry, I won't do it to you, because you will come to me defenceless. Is that how you will win? Will I take all I can and leave you with nothing, or will I give you all and be a part of it? You decide.

Note: I usually pull one oracle card to read their energy better. With this group, three cards wanted to come out. I looked at the cards, the fish, the bear and the scorpion, then tried to put them back because that's too many. Right at the moment I put them back into the deck, I felt a sharp pain in my rib-cage for a split second, so I decided to put the three cards down and read them for this group. And guess what, a part of the stone layout does resemble the scorpion's tail.

5. Aventurine

I'm putting my best behaviour for the world to see, for you to see too. In this world of everyone fighting to get to the top, I just want to honour a softer energy. To nurture and harmonise everything, everyone. But I pursue that desire with the mentality of a soldier, a worker, diligently getting closer to my goal every day. I don't know how to do this, to be honest, I'm properly doing it wrong. Shall I just agree with everything to keep the peace, or shall I fight back?. Is it possible to honour something that I don't understand?

I have a dilemma of being a little people-pleasing. I like to hide and push my individuality to the back. Let my own compass take a back seat while letting others dictate what's good for me. I can't deny that a part of me wish for this. To let others lead me and I will do what was told. And I just want to trust you with that responsibility, putting myself into your hands.

The only thing I want to control is how I do things, those small details to get the job done. I guess I'm just overwhelmed by the large responsibility of life that I fuss about the details. When can I stop putting my mental energy into banal things and think about the bigger picture? Will I ever meet my calling, my destination?

But good news, I'm learning. Those days that I hid in my house, alone, probably did me some good. I'm learning to be with myself. So that I can be with others. You will get an early access, of course, with special service.

I'm glad that I can feel safe with you, enough to whisper in low voice about my spiritual belief. It's always there, with me, protecting me. The last thing I want is to be called strange. Especially from you, and lucky for me, you won't. You will never do that to me, that's your kindness. To other people, they can see me getting upset at our carpet being spoiled by coffee. They probably will think that I was upset because of the cost of getting it cleaned, the ruined aesthetic. But to you, you will understand the reason immediately. You will know that I believe a spirit lives in that carpet and spilling the coffee will hurt them. Keep it a secret for me, okay? Pinky promise.

6. Prehnite

The first time that we met wasn't the first time I saw you. I had seen you ways before that. I just needed time to build my strategy, to infiltrate into your life as smoothly as possible.

I was patient, time was on my side. There is no need to rush. You had your guard up and I didn't want to scare you away. Heck, I sound like a predator, circling its prey. Or maybe I was? You tell me.

But I do know that you didn't make it easy for me to approach you. I have to confess, I almost gave up. I have a habit of letting go too early. A sign of things derailing, then I will be up and going. I couldn't be bogged down by anything, or so I thought. Love was never the end goal for me. It was just a side effect. Even lust had not much meaning to me. I just sped up ahead, leaving them behind. I was pursuing total freedom. I viewed everything as an object to be studied, to extract information from, to help build my personal library. I basically lived in my head.

What's mysterious force that kept my patient in pursuing you, I don't know. Maybe you are the biggest mystery that I've yet to solve. And that thought was the beginning of my demise. At least, my old self's demise. I'm enjoying myself right now, with you.

But you also didn't make it easier when we're together. What are you? Divine punishment? It's not like I have the option to pack by bags and go back to my old way again. I've already burned the bridge leading to it. No coming back now.

You push me to the edge, and I will pull your hand with me. Let's fall together then soaring up again. When our wings are tired and broken, plunge me back to the depth, and I will show you how enticing it is to be with me down below. You're afraid, but you're also brave. I won't do something that I know you can't do or don't want to do. That's our unspoken oath.

[itneverendshere]

hi again! so I've been meaning to send a request, but before i go about it I wish to say it's completely okay if you're not inspired by this, or if you simply don't want to write it, i would hate myself if I made you overwhelmed or smth. love you anyways 💕 so for the request: reader who's autistic. she's not very talkative nor socially active, never had a boyfriend, has one or two friends, yet somehow rafe notices her and finds her endearing. she's okay being herself with her friends, like she's funny, kind and passionate about her interests (like geek stuff, fantasy books, animals and such). she has zero flirting experience and is always dismissive towards rafe bc she doesn't think someone could like her romantically, and she's always suspicious of people bc they've wronged her in the past (in my experience as an autistic person i tend to believe everything ppl say and am kinda naive, so ppl played me or said unrealistic things and I believed them, which then is a reason for laughter, now I'm always suspicious to ppl's intentions). I'm giving you creative freedom with this, just wanted an autistic reader for once :) if you feel like writing it but need to know more abt autism, you can just post question and I'll answer in your asks, if that's okay. Just a reminder again before I go: feel free to decline this request, I know it might not be something cool to write and that's okay ☺️ love you lots, thank you for your time!

i tried my best, hope you like it 🫶🏼 and if you don't lmk so i can do better!! this was really fun since it's a compeltely new topic of inspiration. kinda left an "open" ending bc i couldn't make my mind up lmao. thank you for the resquest and sorry it took me a while to finally do it 🫂

got dreams but i can't make myself believe them - r.c

paring: rafe x autistic!reader word count: 6.9k

The party was a mistake. You knew it the moment you walked in, the thumping music and crush of people making your skin crawl. Your friends had been relentless, insisting that you needed to “get out more” and “live a little,” despite your repeated attempts to explain that “getting out” meant something different to you.

But somehow, you’d caved, and now you were standing awkwardly in the corner of a stranger’s living room, clutching your book like it was a life vest. You needed to stop letting them drag you everywhere.

It was the typical college party scene, at least the one's you'd heard or read about before. Red solo cups everywhere, groups of people huddled on couches or pressed together on the so called dance floor, and a few already-drunk guys yelling loudly in the kitchen.

This was supposed to be fun?

“Just stay for an hour,” they said. “If it’s really that bad, you can leave.”

Right. Except an hour felt like an eternity when you were trapped in a sensory nightmare. You took a deep breath, scanning the crowded room. There were people everywhere—laughing, dancing, chattering loudly in clumps—and the noise was a constant, overwhelming buzz in your ears.

This was definitely a mistake.

So, you did what you always did in these situations: you found a place to hide. After walking through the drunk college students, you eventually ended up on quiet nook near the back of the house. It was a small room, probably some sort of den or study. Blessedly, it was empty. With a sigh of relief, you settled into an oversized armchair, opened your book, and let the world outside your pages melt away.

Time slipped by as you read, the noise of the party changing into a distant hum. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even notice when someone stumbled into the room until a loud crash jolted you out of your fictional word. He nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself at the last second with a slurred, “Shit.”

You looked up to find a guy standing unsteadily in the doorway, blinking blearily at you. He was tall, with tousled hair and a loose, easy grin that spoke of far too many drinks. His eyes were a striking blue even in the low light, and it took you a second to place him.

Rafe Cameron.

Oh, God. You knew him—well, of him, at least. He was in your sociology class, always sitting a few rows behind you with his gaggle of equally charming friends. He’d never spoken to you before, though, and you’d never had a reason to pay him much attention.

Until now.

Then his face split into a lazy grin, and he swaggered—no, stumbled—into the room, somehow managing to make even that look effortless.

“Heyyy,” he drawled, leaning heavily against the arm of the chair across from you. “It’s… it’s you.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he slurred, squinting like he was trying to see you clearly. “T-The girl from my class. The quiet one.”

Your stomach did a weird flip, part confusion, part disbelief. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely, as if you’d just confirmed some great truth. “You’re the uh, the smart one. With the books.” He gestured vaguely at the one in your hands. “Always sittin’ up front, all… all cute n'shit.”

Your cheeks burned. Was he seriously calling you cute? No. He was drunk—really drunk. He probably didn’t even know what he was saying.

“Do you need help?” you asked cautiously. “You look—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off, straightening up as if to prove it, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he swayed on his feet. “Needed to get away from those idiots out there. Too many people.”

You almost laughed. Rafe Cameron, overwhelmed by people? The guy who was always surrounded by friends, girls practically draped over him like accessories? But he looked sincere—well, as sincere as a drunk person could look.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, gesturing to the empty chair. “You, um, might fall over if you don’t.”

“Pfft, I’m not gonna—” He paused mid-sentence, wobbling precariously. Then, as if he’d just made the smartest decision of his life, he plopped down in the chair, sprawling out like he owned the place.

“See? Told ya m'fine,” he said, flashing you a lopsided grin.

You couldn’t help but snort. “Right.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his gaze roaming over your face “What’re you doin’ here?” he asked abruptly.

You glanced at your book, then back at him. "Reading?”

“No, I mean… here,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely around the room. “At this shitty party.”

You shrugged, feeling awkward. “My friends dragged me. I didn’t really want to come.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and for a moment, he looked almost sober. “Yeah, same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, a flash of the cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen in class. “Yeah, well… they’re fucking assholes, but they’re my assholes, y'know?”

You didn’t, but you nodded anyway. “Sure.”

“So, what’s that book about?”

You hesitated. “Um… it’s a fantasy novel.”

“Fantasy, huh?” He tilted his head, eyeing the cover. “Like wizards and dragons n'shit?”

“Sort of,” you admitted. “It’s about a girl who finds out she has magic and goes on a quest to—”

“Save the world?” he finished with a mock-solemn expression.

“...Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Bet it is,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re really into that stuff, huh?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into something that almost looked like genuine interest. “You looked happy, talkin’ about it.”

Your heart did another weird little flip, and you frowned, pushing the feeling down. He was drunk. This didn’t mean anything. He probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.

But then, his eyes drifted shut, his head lolling back against the chair. Within seconds, he was snoring. You sat there, stunned.

What the hell had just happened?

Three days later, you were sitting in your usual spot in the lecture hall, flipping through your notes. Class was about to start, and the room was filling up with the usual pre-lecture chatter. You were just getting settled when someone slid into the seat beside you.

You glanced up, expecting one of your friends. But it wasn’t.

It was Rafe.

“Hey, friend,” he said casually, like you hadn’t left him passed out at a party a few nights ago.

You stared at him, completely disoriented. “Hi?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair like this was completely normal. “Didn’t think I’d forget about you, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I… yeah, actually.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, princess,” he murmured. “I remember everything.”

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug. “You, sitting there all cute with your book, talking about magic and shit. Thought I was too drunk to remember, huh?”

“I—” You stared at him, completely off balance. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be,” he said simply. “Got a problem with that?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “No?”

“Good.” He flashed you a grin, all cocky charm. “So, you gonna tell me more about that book, or what?”

You gaped at him. “You actually want to hear about it?”

“Why not?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “It made you smile.”

And for some reason, that simple statement knocked the breath out of you.

“Okay,” you said, still unsure if this was some kind of elaborate prank.

But Rafe just leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I’ll stick around.”

The next few classes were…weird, to say the least. Ever since Rafe decided you were his new "friend," he’d taken to sitting beside you every lecture, plopping down in the empty seat as if he’d been there all along. It was confusing. Most of the time, he’d breeze in at the last possible minute, sauntering up to your row without so much as a greeting and settling into the chair with that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

You were already seated, your notebook open and your pen poised to start taking notes when he dropped into the seat beside you with his usual nonchalance. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, casting you a sidelong look as if daring you to acknowledge him first.

“Hi,” you said quietly, eyes flicking back to the front of the room.

“Hey, princess,” he replied, voice low and teasing.

You kept your gaze firmly on your notebook. You’d quickly learned that the best way to deal with him was to pretend his presence didn’t affect you—no matter how much his proximity messed with you.

He’d spent the last three classes nudging your foot under the desk, passing snide comments under his breath, or leaning over just close enough to murmur sarcastic observations about whatever the professor was droning on about. And today was no different.

The lecture started, Professor Callahan launching into her usual detailed overview of sociological theory. You tried to focus, pen flying across your notebook as you jotted down her points.

“Is she always this boring?” he whispered, leaning in slightly so his arm brushed against yours.

You stiffened, eyes fixed on your notes. “If you listened, it wouldn’t be so boring.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna waste my time listening to her go on about… what is it today? Class structure?”

“Yes,” you hissed, refusing to look at him. “And if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what?” he challenged, his grin audible in his voice.

You snapped your mouth shut, trying to ignore the way his leg brushed against yours under the desk. He was doing it on purpose—nudging your knee every so often, shifting just a little closer until the faint scent of his cologne surrounded you. It was infuriating. And yet, when you glanced sideways at him, he was looking at you with that maddening, lazy grin that made your heart stutter.

“Just pay attention,” you mumbled, cheeks warm.

“Why would I do that when I have such a pretty view right here?”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. “What?”

But Rafe just smirked, his gaze drifting lazily up and down your face before flicking back to the front of the room as if he hadn’t just made your brain short-circuit. 

“Relax, princess. Just messin' with you.”

You swallowed, trying to refocus on the lecture. His attention was like a physical thing—intense and all-consuming. It made you uneasy. 

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you forced yourself to look at the professor, tuning out the heat of Rafe’s gaze. Professor Callahan was in the middle of explaining something about social hierarchies when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

You looked up, eyes widening in surprise as Professor Callahan fixed Rafe with a stern look. “I’m aware that I’m not as pretty as your classmate,” she said dryly, gesturing toward you, “but I would appreciate it if you could pay attention for at least ten minutes.”

A ripple of snickers spread through the room, and your cheeks flamed scarlet. Rafe, however, didn’t even blink, he was completely unruffled and offered the professor a lazy, arrogant smile. “Sorry, Professor. Just got a little distracted.”

Your stomach dropped. He was staring at you, unabashedly.

The professor raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Her tone was dry, unimpressed. “Would you mind keeping your distractions to yourself until after class?”

Another murmur of laughter swept through the room, and you shrank in your seat, mortified. His smirk widened, but he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course, ma’am,” he drawled. “No more distractions.”

Professor Callahan gave him a pointed look, then turned back to the board, resuming her lecture. You sat there, face burning, refusing to look anywhere near Rafe, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Guess I got you in trouble, huh?” he whispered, leaning closer.

You grit your teeth, still staring resolutely at the front of the room. “Stop talking.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice teasing. “You’re way more interesting than this shit.”

“Rafe, I swear—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” he said lightly, sitting back. But he didn’t take his eyes off you. You could feel him lingering, warm and intent, and you wanted to scream. How was he so calm? So unaffected, like getting called out by the professor was just a minor inconvenience?

You hated every second of it.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, finally daring to glance at him. “Will you just—”

“What?” He leaned in again, eyes bright with mischief. “You want me to go back to ignoring you?”

“Stop staring.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t promise that, princess.”

Your heart hammered, and you squeezed your pen so tightly it nearly snapped. “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged, his expression turning oddly serious. “I like sitting next to you.”

Rafe Cameron—the arrogant, cocky asshole you’d written off as nothing more than a nuisance—had just chosen to stay by your side.

As soon as class ended, you gathered your things in record time, heart still thumping wildly. The room buzzed with students shuffling out, but you kept your head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

Maybe if you were quick enough, you could escape before he decided to make good on his new, annoying habit of sticking to you like glue. But, of course, he was nothing if not persistent.

You’d barely slung your bag over your shoulder when he appeared at your side, his tall frame looming over you as he fell into step like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Heading to lunch?” he asked, all casual charm, as if he hadn’t just spent the entire class making you the center of unwanted attention.

“Yes?” You tried not to sound as thrown as you felt, but the way he looked at you—with that infuriatingly lazy grin—told you he could see right through you.

“Cool. I’m starving.” He said it like it was an invitation, like he was entitled to follow you, and before you could muster up a half-hearted protest, he was already steering you through the crowded hallway.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you demanded, glancing around in panic. People were staring, eyes widening as they took in the sight of Rafe Cameron, of all people, trailing after you. Whispers flitted through the air, curious and disbelieving, and you shrank under the scrutiny, feeling painfully exposed.

“Uh, going to lunch with you?” He made it sound so obvious, his voice lilting with amusement.

“I didn’t invite you!” You glanced at him, trying to tamp down the fluttery, nervous feeling his presence always seemed to stir up. “What if I’m eating with someone else?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll eat with them too.”

You gawked at him. “What?”

But Rafe just flashed you that cocky, confident grin. “Relax. It’s just lunch.”

Just lunch, he said, like this wasn’t completely absurd.

You narrowed your eyes, debating whether to make a break for it, but he was already steering you toward the main quad, his hand ghosting the small of your back in a way that made your skin tingle. 

Your heart hammered as the familiar outdoor seating area came into view. Your friends were already there, sitting at your usual table—a small group of two girls and a guy, all talking animatedly. You hadn’t even sat down yet, and they still managed to look up as one, their expressions morphing from curious to shocked when they caught sight of you—and Rafe—heading straight toward them.

“Uh, hey,” you greeted awkwardly as you approached. They just stared, mouths agape.

Emily was the first to recover. “What the—since when do you two know each other?” she asked, eyes darting between you and Rafe like she was seeing some kind of glitch in the matrix.

“Yeah, what’s going on here?” Max, the guy in your small circle, chimed in, his gaze flicking to Rafe warily. “Is this, like… a project thing?”

“No, it’s not—” you started, but Rafe cut you off with a breezy smile.

“Can’t believe y’all kept her to yourselves this whole time,” he drawled, pulling out the chair beside yours and plopping down like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Thought you’d have the decency to introduce me to the most interesting girl on campus.”

Your friends gaped, eyes wide with shock. You could practically see their brains short-circuiting. Meanwhile, you were fighting the urge to smack him upside the head.

“Please shut up,” you muttered under your breath, cheeks burning.

But he just smirked, his gaze sliding over your stunned friends with lazy amusement. “What?” he said innocently. “It’s true.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Emily demanded, still staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You—you and Rafe Cameron?”

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment. “There is no ‘me and Rafe Cameron.’ He just—he’s being annoying.”

“Annoying?” he repeated, feigning offense. “C’mon. I thought we were past that.”

“We are not past anything,” you snapped, shooting him a glare. But that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Okay, back up,” Max interjected, brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you guys even know each other?”

“Uh, sociology class?” you offered weakly, as if that explained anything. “He’s been sitting next to me.”

“Sitting next to you?” Emily repeated slowly, like she was trying to process a particularly difficult equation. “And now you’re… eating lunch together?”

“It’s not—” You looked helplessly at Rafe, who was watching the exchange with that insufferable smirk. “I didn’t ask him to.”

He looked completely unfazed by the mess he’d caused. “What can I say? I like the company.”

“Since when?” Emily shot back, clearly unconvinced.

Rafe shrugged, “Since she started talking to me.”

Your friends fell silent, eyes wide and suspicious as they turned to you, searching for answers. But you just sat there, feeling utterly, hopelessly lost. What were you supposed to say? That Rafe Cameron had decided, out of nowhere, to insert himself into your life? That he was following you to lunch like this was some sort of normal occurrence?

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s really not a big deal. He’s just—”

“Rafe Cameron is never ‘just’ anything,” Emily interrupted, folding her arms as she fixed Rafe with a suspicious look. “So what are you up to?"

“Nothing,” Rafe said easily, his smile all sharp edges. “Like I said, I’m just getting to know her.”

“Getting to know her,” Max echoed, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes never left yours, his eyes gleaming with something that made your pulse flutter. “What’s so weird about that?”

Your friends exchanged looks. You didn’t blame them. This was weird. More than weird. You’d never been the kind of girl to attract attention—especially not from someone like Rafe. Popular, arrogant, and completely out of your league in every possible way. And yet, here he was, acting like sitting with you at lunch was the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” He said suddenly, turning his attention back to the group, “Are you gonna sit here gaping all day, or are we gonna eat?”

Emily blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Uh, yeah, we’re… we’re eating.”

“Good.” Rafe turned to you, eyebrow raised. “You eating, princess?”

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re offering to get me lunch?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I am. Now, what do you want?”

“I—” You swallowed, glancing at your friends, who were watching the exchange like it was some sort of bizarre performance. “Um, a sandwich?”

“Got it.” Rafe pushed to his feet, his smile smug. “Be right back.”

And then, to your utter disbelief, he sauntered off toward the food line, leaving you and your friends staring after him.

“What,” Max said slowly, “the hell just happened?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I have no idea.”

The awkward lunch with Rafe didn’t end as badly as you expected.

Your friends had spent the entire time shooting you confused, bewildered looks, while he seemed to thrive under their scrutiny, lounging beside you like he belonged. He didn’t flirt—thank God—but he didn’t exactly tone down his usual cocky self either. By the end of it, he’d somehow managed to charm your friends just enough to leave them confused rather than outright hostile. Still, after that lunch, you’d expected him to lose interest, to move on to his usual crowd and forget all about his bizarre little experiment. But of course, he wasn’t known for playing by the rules.

You learned that the hard way two days later.

It was late afternoon, and you were holed up in the campus library, buried under a mountain of textbooks and notes for an upcoming exam. The library was your sanctuary—quiet, calm, and blissfully free of distractions. At least, until Rafe sauntered in. You didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in your notes. The library was busy, students murmuring as they worked, the rustle of pages and the faint clack of keyboards filling the air. You were hunched over a particularly dense passage in your sociology textbook when you felt it—

You stiffened, glancing up cautiously, and there he was.

He leaned against the bookshelf a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you with a lazy, assessing look. He didn’t move, just watched you, his lips quirking in that infuriating smirk when your eyes met.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, glancing around nervously. No one seemed to be paying attention, but you still felt like the entire room was suddenly staring.

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

“Since now,” he said easily, pushing off the bookshelf and strolling over to your table. He pulled out the chair across from you, dropping into it like he had every right to be there. “What? Can’t a guy broaden his horizons?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Not today, princess.” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he peered at your open book. “So, what’re we learning?”

“We are not learning anything,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I’m studying. You are… I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Keeping you company,” he said simply. “You looked lonely.”

Your mouth fell open. “Lonely?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face. “All holed up in here with your books. Thought I’d help.”

What was he even talking about? This was insane. He didn’t just hang out in the library, especially not to “keep someone company.” He was the kind of guy who spent his free time at parties, or on the field, or wherever people like him thrived. And yet, here he was, sitting across from you in the library like this was normal.

“Rafe,” you said slowly, “you don’t even know what I’m studying.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re trying to help,” you shot back, frustration seeping into your voice. “You’re—what are you even—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down. Just trying to see what’s got you all riled up.”

You bit back a groan, rubbing your temples. This was absurd. You didn’t need—didn’t want—his attention.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your textbook around so he could see the page. “I’m going over Durkheim’s theory of social integration.”

Rafe leaned in, squinting at the page. “Durkheim, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, a little impatiently. “He believed that society functions through a collective conscience—shared beliefs and values that bind people together.”

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

“It’s not boring,” you retorted before you could stop yourself. “It’s actually really interesting—he argued that a lack of social integration could lead to anomie, a state of normlessness that causes people to feel disconnected and isolated.”

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At least it felt that way to you.

“What?” you demanded, suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, a strange, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Just… you get really into this stuff, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s sociology. It’s important.”

“Yeah, but…” He shook his head, “It’s kinda cute.”

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting. “Cute?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a casual, easy confidence that made your heart flutter. “You get all intense when you talk about it. Like, you actually care.”

“I—I do care,” you stammered, “It’s my major.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I like that about you.”

What—what was that supposed to mean? Why was he looking at you like that, like he actually meant it?

Before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, a shadow fell over the table, and you glanced up to see another student standing there—a tall, lanky guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked vaguely familiar, probably from one of your classes.

“Uh, hey,” the guy said awkwardly, glancing between you and Rafe. “Are—are you using this seat?”

Rafe’s expression changed instantly, “Yeah,” he said flatly. “We are.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”

“You just can find another table,” Rafe cut in, “We’re a little busy here.”

You gaped at him, mortified. “Rafe, stop.”

But he didn’t even glance at you. He just kept staring down the poor guy, his posture tense and unyielding until, with a muttered apology, the student backed off, scurrying away like he’d just had a close encounter with a predator.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed as soon as the guy was out of earshot. “He just wanted to sit down!”

“Yeah, and we’re studying,” Rafe said dismissively. “No room for distractions.”

“We’re not studying anything!” you shot back, resisting the urge to smack him. “You’re just sitting here, being—being weird.”

“Not weird,” he corrected, leaning in again. “Protective.”

You froze, your mouth going dry. “Protective?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were dark, intense, locking onto yours. “Can’t have just anyone bothering you, can I?”

After the bizarre encounter in the library, you were convinced Rafe would drop this whole… whatever it was. Surely, following you to lunch and then “protecting” you in the library was enough.

So when you found yourself at another party two nights later—dragged along by Emily despite your vehement protests—you knew it was only a matter of time before he found you. Because somehow, no matter where you went, Rafe had made it his mission to seek you out.

“Come on, you need to have some fun,” Emily had insisted, half-pulling, half-dragging you through the front door of one of the fraternity houses on campus. The music was already blaring, the heavy bass vibrating through your body. People were packed in the main room, laughing, talking, drinking, the buzz of chatter filling the air.

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” you muttered, hugging your arms around yourself as you tried to avoid brushing against the partygoers. It wasn’t that you disliked parties, exactly—it was just that the noise, the sheer volume of people could get overwhelming quickly.

“Just stay for an hour,” Emily pleaded. “Please? I swear it’ll be more fun than you think. We can dance, have a few drinks—”

“I don’t dance,” you cut in flatly, giving her a pointed look.

“Okay, fine, I’ll dance, and you… can hang out and people-watch,” she amended, undeterred. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

You gave her a withering stare. “Yeah, because I’m such a social butterfly.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate, and began making your way through the press of bodies. After a few minutes you managed to find a relatively quiet corner in the back, near the stairs, and gratefully leaned against the wall. Maybe if you stayed out of sight long enough, Emily would give up on trying to get you to socialize and let you leave early. It was a long shot, but you could hope.

You hadn’t been there long when you felt it—the now-familiar prickling sensation of someone’s gaze lingering on you. Sure enough, when you glanced up, there he was.

Rafe, in all his infuriating glory, leaning against the wall a few feet away, his eyes locked on you with that lazy focus that made your heart stutter. He looked unfairly good, dressed in a dark button-up that clung to his frame in all the right ways, his hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool. And, as usual, he was watching you like you were the only person in the room.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your stomach twisting in irritation and something else. “Are you stalking me now?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Rafe’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Yes,” you said flatly. “It would be very bad.”

He chuckled, the sound low, sending an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Relax, princess. I just saw you standing here all alone and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now you can leave.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he straightened, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few long strides until he was standing directly in front of you, his presence overwhelming.

You tried to step back, but the wall blocked your escape.

“Actually, I was thinking we could, I don’t know, hang out for a bit?” he suggested, tilting his head as he regarded you with a faux-innocent smile.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Rafe blinked, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Why?”

“Yes,” you insisted, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Why do you keep… doing this? Showing up, sitting with me, following me to lunch, acting like—like we’re friends or something. What is your deal, Cameron?”

Slowly he reached up, bracing one hand on the wall beside your head, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“My deal,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, “is that I like you.”

No. No, no, no.

That couldn’t be right. People didn't just like you. They tolerated you, maybe, or found you useful sometimes, but they didn't like you. Not like that. Not in the way he was implying. You felt panic rising in your chest, like a wave that was too big to stop. You couldn’t stop it.

“You’re lying,” you said shakily, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re just—this is some kind of game, isn’t it? Some—some bet, or—”

Rafe’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. “It’s not a game,” he ground out, his eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching. No, this couldn’t be happening. This didn’t make sense.

“I don’t believe you,” you shook your head stubbornly.

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms defiantly. “You’re just… you. You can’t just decide you like me out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t decide,” he murmured, “It just happened.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“I—” You broke off, struggling to find words, but before you could answer, a loud voice interrupted.

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

You both jerked back, startled, and you glanced over to see one of Rafe’s friends—Topper, if you remembered correctly—stumbling over, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“What are you doing back here?” Topper slurred, his gaze sliding to you. He blinked, “Who’s this?”

Rafe stepped in front of you slightly, his posture tense and protective. “Doesn’t matter,” he said curtly, “Go find someone else to bother.”

Topper blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, man, chill. I was just—”

“Go,” Rafe repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Topper stared at him for a long moment, then slowly backed off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Rafe turned back to you, his eyes softening again.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, “Didn’t mean to—”

“Why did you do that?” you cut in, your heart still pounding.

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

“Get rid of him,” you said, shaking your head in confusion. “He was your friend. Why would you—”

Maybe you’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t actually mean any of what he said. He was probably just bored, looking for some amusement—another toy to play with for a little while.

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

You blinked, bewildered. “But he’s your friend.”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “So? Doesn’t mean I want him interrupting us.”

Us. Like there was an “us.” Like there could ever be an “us.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “But I don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours in a way that made it hard to breathe. “More than you think.”

You frowned. It was impossible to shake the nagging feeling that he was just… playing with you. That this was all some sick joke and at any moment, the punchline would hit, and you’d be the idiot.

“You’re just messing with me,” you muttered, taking a small step back to put some space between you. “You’re bored or something.”

“I’m not bored,” he said firmly, stepping forward to close the gap you’d just created. “I told you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. You’ve been following me around, showing up where I am, saying all these things like—like we’re something, but we’re not.”

Rafe stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about? You really think I’m just messing around?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted, throwing your hands up. “Yes, I do! Why else would you be doing this? You’re Rafe Cameron, for god’s sake. You don’t even like me. This is just some twisted game to you, isn’t it?”

You stared at him, trying to read his face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty, any sign that this was all an act. But all you saw was that same intensity, that same focus, like you were the only person who mattered.

Your chest tightened, panic grazing at you. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. People didn’t just… like you. They didn’t seek you out at parties or show up in libraries to talk about sociology. Guys like Rafe didn’t choose people like you. There had to be some ulterior motive.

“You show up out of nowhere, act like I’m some project, some… someone who needs your protection—why, Rafe? Because I don’t fit into your world? Because I’m some joke to you and your friends?”

“That’s not it,” He growled, his voice defensive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You haven’t been honest about anything. You haven’t given me a reason to believe any of this.”

“You think I’m lying? 

You moved your head again, harder this time. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re—you’re saying things that don’t make sense. I don’t understand.”

He took a slow, poising breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "What doesn't make sense to you?" 

"All of this," you replied, your voice quivering with frustration, "You, acting like you—like you actually care. Like you see me. People don’t just do that, not for someone like me. I don’t—" You cut yourself off, not sure how to finish the sentence, your thoughts spiraling.

It wasn’t just that you couldn’t believe him; it was that you didn’t know how to believe him. Your experiences had taught you to be wary, to always look for the catch, because there always was one.

Always.

Rafe's brows drawn together in something that almost looked like concern. "Someone like you?" he repeated, "What does that even mean?"

You swallowed, feeling your insecurities gripping down on your chest. "It means I’m not… like you. I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t get things right all the time. People don’t notice me, and when they do, it’s usually because I’ve done something wrong, or because they want something from me. That’s just how it is."

He shook his head slowly. "That’s not how I see you."

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something—anything—to dismiss what he was saying, to protect yourself from the disappointment that was sure to come. But Rafe didn’t give you the chance. 

"You think I’m messing with you because you’re not like everyone else? Is that it? You think I’m playing some kind of game because you don’t fit into some stupid idea of who’s supposed to matter?" 

You wanted to pull away, to recoil into the safety of your doubts, but something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you, made you stop.

"I’m not going to pretend like I know everything about you," Rafe continued, no less serious. "But I know enough to know that I’m not bored. I don’t care if you don’t fit in with my world, or whatever you think that means. I like that you’re passionate about the things you care about. I like that you don’t put up with anyone’s shit—not even mine." A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ve spent enough time around fake people to know the difference."

You weren’t used to this—this kind of sincerity. It felt too real. And part of you still wanted to push it away, to reject it before it had a chance to hurt you. But another part of you—a much smaller, quieter part—was whispering that maybe he meant it.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

For a long, breathless moment, the two of you just stood there, the noise of the party fading into the background. Your mind was still processing everything, but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you feel—just for a second—like maybe you could trust this.

You shook your head, "I’m not… I’m not good at this," you admitted, your voice uncertain. "At understanding what people mean, or knowing if they’re being serious or not. I don’t know how to read you."

Rafe’s eyes softened even more at your confession, and he took a deep breath, like he was trying to figure out how to make you believe him. "I get that," he said quietly. "And I’m not always great at this either. But I’m serious. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about this."

You wanted to believe him. More than anything, you wanted to believe him. But there was still that tiny voice of doubt in the back of your mind, reminding you of all the times you’d been wrong before, of all the times you’d trusted someone only to be let down.

You hesitated, your throat tight. "I don’t know if I can."

He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. Instead, he just nodded slowly.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to believe me right now. But I’ll be here when you’re ready."

And with that, he stepped back, giving you the space you so desperately needed. He didn’t try to force anything, didn’t press for more. Instead, he just gave you a small, almost hopeful smile and turned, disappearing back into the crowd.

And as you stood there, your heart still pummeling into your ribs, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong about him after all.

[6okuto]

AFTER BECOMING YOUR BOYFRIEND

gn!reader | bokuto, akaashi, atsumu, osamu, iwaizumi, matsukawa, kageyama, yamaguchi, sakusa

BOKUTO can't stop grinning and kissing you. his hands are stuck either cupping your face or holding your hips. he plants quick pecks to your lips and feels his heart rate pick up at your laugh. "i'm really your boyfriend," he repeats, convincing himself he isn't dreaming.

AKAASHI's entire body relaxes as he says "thank god." he leans forward to rest his head against your shoulder and huffs a laugh at himself. you bring your hand up to run your fingers through his hair. “did you think i’d say no?” “i was scared you would,��� he murmurs. “and i don’t think i could bring myself to try returning the gifts.”

ATSUMU excitedly changes your contact where he already put a heart next to your name to be your new title: "MY PARNTNR/BOYFIRND/GIRLFJEND" (awful spelling included and vital). he adds emojis like 😁🫂💯🔥 before taking a screenshot to send to his group chat. he won't talk about how he almost sent it to you and nearly had a heart attack.

OSAMU texts to ask “when did you know you liked me?” later that night. he bites his lip and his eyes shoot lasers into the dots that show you’re typing. an embarrassed smile appears on his face when you say “when u apologized over and over after almost hitting me with a ball the first time we met :) u were cute” because it really was a cringe-worthy introduction, but at least you both liked each other since the beginning.

IWAIZUMI can’t stop thinking of getting you a gift. thinking of giving you a gift every once in a while wasn’t unusual, but he tries really hard to get a hold of himself when he realizes he's scanning every store he walks past for something you might like. he fails, obviously, when you end up getting a gift every time you meet up for the next few weeks.

MATSUKAWA blurts out "seriously?" after you say yes. he tries to ignore how his face heats up when you tilt your head and laugh. you’re still laughing when he pulls you into him as if to hug you, only to start tickling you. he jokingly threatens, “don’t laugh at me, i’m your boyfriend,” when you yelp and hit his side.

KAGEYAMA can’t stop replaying the moment you guys officially start dating in his head, even and especially while practicing. he’s setting the ball when he thinks about how you smiled and suddenly forgets what he's doing. his face is red from being flustered and the volleyball smacking him on the forehead.

YAMAGUCHI, when he has the time, marks down the date in his calendar. butterflies flutter in his stomach as he types out "WE’RE DATING !!!!!! :)) " in the notes. it's been less than a day and he's already (over)thinking of what to do to celebrate the closest, reasonable anniversary, whenever that is. in a month, probably, he thinks.

SAKUSA’s glad he has a privacy screen protector because if anyone noticed how often he opened your chat to reread your texts he’d never live it down. there’s a small smile under his mask at your silly flirting memes, and just the thought of how your “take care of yourself!” messages are with him as your boyfriend in mind.

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @spooky1magazine1bread @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @tooruchiiscribs @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia

[nicxl333]

hello

Could you write about bllk boy accidentally hurting their s/o badly.

It's okay if you're too busy. No pressure

BABY YOU SOLD ME A DREAM

characters: isagi yoichi, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, barou shouei, itoshi rin

content: major angst, reader is female coded (wears a dress, heels and makeup), mentions of smut in barou’s part but nothing actually happens (lol), vulgar language

☆彡 ISAGI YOICHI

“you think you know better than me? do me a favour and go find someone else who has the time to put up with your bullshit. ‘cause it won’t be me.”

you lay in your cold, desolate bed for the umpteenth time this week alone, which, considering it was only wednesday showed just how often isagi trained past late hours. as much as you understood his passion to climb to the top, it was simply neglect at this point. to you and to himself. you woke up, he was gone. you went to sleep, he wasn’t beside you.

of course, things were never like this in the beginning. he used to be around, take you out, nurture you and show you devoted love for you each and every time.

until he wasn’t.

once his team reached the quarterfinals of the champions league a while back, he changed. 2 hour training sessions in the evening turned into 4, and the time he spent with you halved as a result. it made you feel lonely and simply put, abandoned.

your texts querying his location and when he was coming home lay unanswered and unopened, probably within the confinement of his phone which lay in his bag during training. so you went to bed alone like you always did, missing what your relationship used to be.

as you stared at the pristine, bare white ceiling you heard a key in the lock of the front door. a few moments passed and the door pushed open, pads of feet resounding in the apartment.

you decided to go meet him in the living room, wanting to know if he’s at least okay.

as you entered the room, you were met with his figure, donned in black sweatpants paired with a black compression shirt. his normal post-training gear. the same gear that never failed to make you melt each and every time. he glanced at you in your nightwear and weary expression, due to him returning back so late.

“hey ‘ichi, how was training?”

“alright.”

you immediately frowned. outside the pitch he was never so curt and void of language. especially with you.

you ventured closer towards him, trying to debunk his guarded persona.

“are you sure? did anything happen to you?” you stepped closer still, till you were right in front of him, immediately noticing his dark circles, even in the dim lighting of the living room from the hallway light. you attempted to give him a hug, shrinking back in disappointment once he shrugged you off.

“i said it was alright. i’m fine, just go back to bed, i’ll join in a bit.”

bullshit. you knew full and well he would just retire to the sofa, watching playbacks of his games to further evaluate his performance. even when he wasn’t working physically he would somehow manage to work himself further mentally.

“yoichi. what’s wrong baby?”

“y/n, i won’t repeat myself again. go to bed.”

you stood there in disbelief. as far as you were concerned, you hadn’t done anything wrong, so it’s quite unbelievable that he would take whatever happened today out on you.

“isagi,” you made sure to use his last name to make aware you weren’t fucking around. “come correct with me please. i haven’t done anything to you and i’m concerned for your well-being. you’ve been going to sleep late, training until ungodly hours. this isn’t good for you and i’m now on the receiving end of your misery, god knows why.”

the tone in the room shifted, isagi, now displaying a scowl across his features at your rebuttal. yes, he was well aware he was maltreating himself, but to have you acknowledge his moment of weakness gave him an displeasing itch of anger that no one could scratch, not even you.

before he could think, the next words that flew out of his mouth changed the status of your relationship, whether he meant to or not.

“you think you know better than me? do me a favour and go find someone else who has the time to put up with your bullshit. ‘cause it won’t be me.”

you instantaneously drew back, his words punching you in the gut and twisting your insides. your heart leapt and fell, never expecting those words, out of isagi’s mouth of all people.

it was deathly silent for a moment, both parties having a staring match. you fought back tears, trying so damn hard to not allow him to see how his words affected you. alas, your emotions got the best of you.

you lightly sniffled, before balling your hands into fists. “you know what yoichi? fuck you, i’m done.”

you turned on your heel and made a beeline towards your shared bedroom, grabbing your biggest duffel and shoving clothes into them, not minding what it was that you picked up. only once isagi was the only individual in the living room did he snap out of his state, realising the weight of his words. he listened to the loud shuffling, registering that he may have just fucked his relationship over for good.

he swiftly followed you, watching you in a frenzy, having just changed into an outfit suitable enough for outside. it was then that he grasped you were serious, and slipped into full panic mode.

“y/n! y/n please baby, i didn’t mean any of that! don’t leave me.” he reached for your arm, falling apart, the same way you did moments before, when you pulled away from his touch. you knew if you succumbed to his pleas you might— might just stay. but you couldn’t. his words resonated within you and made you accept that fact that you needed space at the most, before your relationship delved into something irreparable.

you stood, duffel bag slung on your shoulder, tears running down each cheek, until they conjoined at your chin.

“isagi, i can’t. not right now. not when emotions are running this high. i need space. we should probably talk when we’re both calmed down. i’ll be at meguru’s house so you don’t need to worry about where i am.”

he respected your wishes, he had no choice. if he wanted this relationship to survive he had to.

so he let you go.

☆彡 MIKAGE REO

“you’re very much subpar, do you think i need to keep you around? my name alone will help find me someone better than you.”

one thing about mikage reo that really ticked you off was his obsession over his best friend, nagi. simply put,

he was always there.

when you were chilling together, when you went out, even after date nights he would come to your shared condo, playing video games with your boyfriend until who knows what time in the morning. it always felt like you had to share and fight for reo’s attention, which was pretty much a losing battle considering reo gave nagi as much of his attention to nagi as he did.

you did your best to not voice your concerns to him, withholding your true feelings, that you did. but sometimes there’s just moments where you can’t help but snap.

and that moment came at your first year anniversary dinner with reo. hell, you should’ve called it your first year anniversary dinner with yourself, considering the fucker didn’t even show up.

you had dolled yourself up so nicely, a sexy silk black dress (purchased with your own money, you didn’t like to depend on reo too much) with matching heels. your makeup was done flawlessly and not a hair out of place.

you sat at an expensive table at an expensive restaurant, sipping over-expensive wine while you waited for him to show up. you hadn’t seen him since this morning, due to him training all day today, but you had planned this dinner with him together a month ago, reservations and all, with reminders here and there about the upcoming date.

you had waited for about an hour, taking into consideration that there could be traffic, although you hadn’t experienced any on the way here, thus giving him the benefit of the doubt.

however, when no signs showed of him arriving you turned to a waiter and excused yourself, paying the bill and walking out to collect your car from the valet.

once it was brought to you and you were seated, ready to drive off, the first thing you did was call reo via the bluetooth feature, beyond pissed off.

after a few rings he picked up, the sounds of video game gunfire audible in the background.

“y/n? what’s up? where are you?”

you scoffed incredulously, ignoring the city lights whizzing past you as you drove on the highway.

“what’s up? where am i? reo, do you know what day it is today?”

“no, why?”

you gripped the leather of your steering wheel, your frustration hitting a boiling point. “you cannot be serious. does our one year anniversary ring any bells, huh? the fact that i’ve reminded you, time and time again? you stood me up reo! what could you have possibly been doing that was more important than remembering a big milestone in our relationship?!”

he didn’t even have to answer for you, because the answer came in the form of a “reo, why did you stop? our team just lost.”

nagi seishiro.

if you weren’t angry before, you were absolutely livid now.

“reo, so you mean to tell me that spending time with your friend was more important than remembering your one year anniversary with your girlfriend? do i mean nothing to you?”

“y/n it’s not that deep, we can just reschedule for tomorrow or something.” you could hear his exasperation through the phone. the audacity of him, considering he was completely at fault here.

“not that deep? not that deep?! you let me sit there for over an hour in an upscale restaurant by myself and didn’t even think to worry about where i was! why is it not getting through to you that you missed our anniversary to play games? you see nagi everyday, whether it’s at training or at home. you mean to tell me that you couldn’t bear to not see him for one singular day out of the week?”

there were probably a ton of possibilities and explanations for why he said what he said next, but if you had to choose, it would probably be the fact that nagi could most likely hear the argument over the phone, which lead reo to attempt to regain control over the situation, by any means possible, to not appear weak.

“you’re very much subpar, do you think i need to keep you around? my name alone will help find me someone better than you.”

oh. you see how it is.

his words stunned you into silence, knocking the wind out of you. the only sounds that could be heard was the continuous tapping from reo’s controller and the low hum of your engine as you drove.

“look y/n i’m busy now, so we can talk later when you’re ho-”

you didn’t wanna hear what else he had to say, hanging up the call via the steering wheel and letting out a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

without fail you indicated to turn off the highway, making your way to the nearest hotel. nevermind the fact that you didn’t have any clothes, you simply couldn’t handle seeing reo after the way he just wounded you.

once at the hotel and settled in your room you lay swaddled in the crisp white blankets. without any external eyes being able to see your state you let all walls crumble, tears cascading down in waves as you let all the previous bottled emotions fly free.

unbeknownst to you, your phone lay on the side table, softly vibrating whilst the screen lit up to show a picture of you and reo at a theme park, a call coming though from him.

it lay unanswered.

☆彡 NAGI SEISHIRO

“being in a relationship is a hassle already, i shouldn’t have to deal with you bitching and whining on top of that.”

you awoke to the sounds of rapid gunfire emanating from the living room, sighing to yourself. once again, nagi was devoting himself to a night of endless gaming.

it was a never-ending cycle. when he wasn't gaming, he was training and vice versa. as much as you loved and embraced the fact that nagi was lazy, he could at least make some effort to give you attention every once in a while.

rubbing the sleep away from your eyes you trudged your way through the apartment wearily, before being met with his figure, hunched on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen in front of him.

"sei, when are you coming to bed? i miss you."

"in a bit y/n."

"sei baby you said that last night, and i came back to you passed out on the sofa. the bluelight isn't good for you, especially so late."

he barely was around as it is, but when he was, he either slept, or was parked on the sofa.

it made you feel unappreciated, and majorly unloved. he never made the effort to take you out, tell you that you ever looked pretty or even acknowledge you anymore. to you at this point he was practically a roommate with a shoddy title that really shouldn't apply to the both of you.

"y/n, just leave me alone for now. i'm too tired to get into it with you."

"so you're too tired to argue with me being concerned for your wellbeing, but not too tired to invest your time into games, which ultimately drains your thought processes more? really sei?"

he was still focusing on the tv instead of your words, which ticked you off. so, determined to get his full attention, for once, you walked towards the tv and stood directly in front of it, blocking his vision, arms crossed and frowning.

"what the hell y/n? you made me lose."

"seishiro, can you stop being an ass for just a second and focus on me and what i have to say?”

faced with no way out, he had to oblige, placing the controller down with a heavy sigh, letting you know he was agitated. you couldn’t give a flying fuck though. you’d had enough of being neglected by nagi, and weren’t going to let him off this time.

“you don’t spend time with me anymore. you never take me out, we don’t ever talk to each other anymore. is it so bad for me to want to spend time with my boyfriend? is a game really more important than me? or is being with me detrimental to you in some way?”

he rolled his eyes, sinking back into the soft material of the sofa, irises piercing into yours. you shrunk back at his change in demeanour.

“being in a relationship is a hassle already, i shouldn’t have to deal with you bitching and whining on top of that.”

huh?

“nagi, where is this coming from? what do you mean being in a relationship is a hassl- i’m a hassle?”

he shrugged while rising to his feet, placing a hand behind his head and massaging his neck.

“i said what i said didn’t i? look, i’m going to bed, happy now? i don’t wanna argue with you, you’re too loud when you’re angry.”

you stood in shock, registering his words fully before swallowing and deeply inhaling.

“forget it nagi, i’m leaving. lose my number.”

“leaving to go where?” he watched as you briskly walked to the bedroom, following you in as you changed, grabbing your phone and keys.

“that’s none of your concern anymore. i’m breaking up with you.”

he said nothing as you walked to the front door, leaving with a final slam.

he should’ve stopped you, he really should’ve, for he would come to realise soon enough that allowing you to go,

would be one of the worst decisions he ever made.

☆彡 BAROU SHOUEI

“oi, i didn’t get into a relationship with you just so you can make my life harder. fix up or leave.”

when you asked barou out, you knew damn well what you were signing up for. considering he was so headstrong, particularly when it came to football, there would be moments where he might be nonchalant or absent.

what you didn’t anticipate, would be just how bad he would get.

once his mind was focused on football, specifically climbing his way to the top, there were no distractions, especially from his girlfriend, who at times he deemed his biggest distraction.

you did try to help and aid him every way you could, cooking him meals to eat after late night practices, tending to his injuries he may obtain after over-intensive sessions, cleaning up the apartment flawlessly so he wouldn’t be tempted to do it himself. all you really wanted in return was love.

surely that wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

wrong.

even after 7 months of dating, public outings with attempts to hold his hand resulted in subtle swatting away, instead opting to walk side by side. laying in bed together? don’t expect any cuddles from him. quite laughable actually that you’d ever think he’d be willing to do that. don’t think movie nights will be any different either. you��d better be keeping your hands to yourself.

fucking was a rarity, only really when he was very much pent up with frustration from football, libido overflowing from lack of release. and even then, while you were able to cum, that’s pretty much all there was to it. no making love or anything like that. he wouldn’t display his emotions to you enough in the first place for that to ever happen.

when you asked barou out, you knew damn well what you were signing up for. but you didn’t know it would be this hard. you figured he would loosen up eventually, getting used to at least some form of affection towards you. a little peck on the lips, or a hug from behind every once in a while would be nice.

one day, you simply grew tired. you were sitting on the dining table with him, having just finished dinner. barou stood up, ready to leave the table to shower.

“shouei.”

he stopped in his tracks, pivoting on one heel to turn and face you. his face remained blank, save for his usual signature eyebrow, arched in waiting.

“hm?”

“i-” you suddenly grew self conscious, afraid to voice your concerns to him. if you wanted things to change however, this conversation had to happen sooner rather than later.

“can we do more stuff together?”

his face now contorted into utter confusion, genuinely puzzled by what you were trying to say.

“what do you mean? i do enough with you do i not?”

“no, not that that sho’, i mean more couples stuff. like…couldn’t you just be more affectionate? i just— i don’t know how you feel about me at certain points, you don’t tell me anything as it is.”

he looked at you, playing with your hands, trying to look anywhere but him, clearly uncomfortable about this conversation.

“cmon y/n, you know how it goes already, i’m not into shit like that. i may like you and all, but all that lovey-dovey stuff? that ain’t me. never has and never will be. surely you should understand how i feel about you? the fact that i’ve kept you around this long should say more than enough.”

damn. fucking cold. either way, you weren’t backing down. you stood there, holding a firm staring competition with him before opening your mouth to speak.

“shouei, it’s been 7 months and news flash! it doesn’t. when you do shit like this, it makes me feel fucking inadequate. like i’m not deserving of you. long story short, you make me feel like shit. i’m tired of it sho’.”

“y/n, regardless of how you feel, i told you how i feel, and that ain’t gonna change.”

you couldn’t accept what he was telling you, believing that what you were saying weren’t getting through to his thick skull. his stance was too relaxed for your liking, arms simply crossed over the other, looking slightly bored.

“you’re not getting it shouei!” you raised your voice slightly, not quite shouting, but about two thirds of the way there. “you’re not understan-”

“oi, i didn’t get into a relationship with you just so you can make my life harder. fix up or leave.”

you halted, making sure you heard him correctly. to hear that he basically wouldn’t fight for 7 months worth of memories and time with each other left you in denial that it would be so easy for him to let go.

“excuse me?”

“did i stutter? fix up, or leave. two choices, one answer. it’s up to you but whatever you pick is your business.”

he gave you an out, an out from what you were currently going through. and as much as you did love and care for barou, you’d be a fool not to take it. things would only get worse.

you chose the latter, opting to leave, considering how little value your relationship held to barou. weeks passed, and the items you once held in the apartment decreased, leaving a half completed house, just like your heart.

he continued as normal at first, trying to get used to the newfound ‘freedom’. but as days passed on, the emptiness of the household became more apparent. the meals you used to cook were no more, barou having to take on the tasks himself. his injuries were taken care of in a subpar manner. while he could do it adequately, they weren’t bandaged or plastered as well as you used to do it. yes he would clean, but having it done already when he came back from training and to his standard…made him start to realise just how much you really did for him.

and maybe— maybe you weren’t so bad to have around. you did give him a sense of comfort that he could not achieve on his own, filling him on things that happened during your day gave him a sense of normalcy which alternately gave him that balance from his meticulous life as a quickly rising footballer.

he missed you, he missed what you had,

it’s a pity he realised only when it was too late.

☆彡 ITOSHI RIN

“honestly i don’t understand why i got with you in the first place. you’re so lukewarm it hurts.”

you were both busy. you both knew and understood that. rin was constantly abroad on travels for football and you had your own stuff going on at work, often leaving the office late at night.

when your schedules would occasionally match up and you’d both be home, most of the time it would still be you alone. rin would go off on his own to his usual training ground and work himself to the bone. he wouldn’t even tell you he was leaving, disregarding your worries or concerns that may surface.

you jolted awake randomly, looking to your left to see disturbed duvet covers, but an empty side. yet again. next you turned to your phone, squinting at the light from the screen which temporarily blinded you.

2:34am

you could take a guess or two at where rin was. specifically because you knew he lost his last match abroad and was pissed off about it, meaning double the training he usually did. you threw on some clothes, splashed water on your face and grabbed your car keys to drive to the open football field.

the massive stadium style lights lit up the field, illuminating it in a cool white, as you pulled up next to rin’s car. even from the car park you could hear the discernible sounds of rin’s foot booting a ball repeatedly. once closer, you could see him in his normal training gear, sweating profusely, enough to fill a small bucket.

“rin!”

he stopped, just short of making the next ball his victim, making eye contact with you, not expecting to see you there of all places this late.

he waited until you had crossed the distance between you, and stood in front of him to speak.

“y/n, why are you out here this early? i thought you were sleeping.”

“rin, i should be asking you that. it’s too early to be this active my love. come home please, i’m worried for you.”

all was silent for a moment, the only audible sounds on the pitch being a crow cawing in the distance, and rin’s heavy breathing.

“…i’m fine. just go back home. it’s too early for you to be up.”

you stood, hand on hip, showing your determination to get him to give up, not taking no for an answer.

“rin, you need to sleep. you’re overworking yourself. what happens when you’re fatigued and you leave yourself open for mistakes to happen? it’ll be worse for you in the long run.”

“tch, i wouldn’t expect someone who does office work all day to know the inner workings of an athlete. you don’t understand y/n.”

you sighed exasperatingly at his attempts to disarm you. he could be so stubborn when it was really for his own good.

“rin, i don’t need to be an athlete to understand that this isn’t good for you. anyone with two working brain cells can understand that constant working out and lack of sleep isn’t healthy.”

he rolled his eyes and turned back to the football in front of him.

“fine. whether or not you leave isn’t my problem, but i’m not leaving. stay or go, the outcome is the same either way.”

he took position, aiming and shooting flawlessly at the top left corner of the goal, the ball spinning against the net before falling to the ground.

he grabbed another ball, ready to complete the same procedure before you interrupted him once more.

“rin, just please come home, you can come back tomorrow. just because you lost your match doesn’t mean you should overwork yourself like this.”

this time when he turned back towards you, the tone had shifted. his face immediately darkened, eyes thinning into dark slits, eyebrows forming a crease on his forehead. his teal eyes shot daggers into yours.

“listen. we may be together, but that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like you know what i’m going through. i’m going to be the best football player out there, and if i need to work double to make that happen, then so. be. it. i don’t need someone like you telling me about what i should or should not be doing.”

you stood in silence, effectively stunned and insulted simultaneously. you couldn’t say anything to counter yourself, rin’s harsh words opening up a side to him you’ve never seen before. that wasn’t the worst of it though.

“honestly i don’t understand why i got with you in the first place. you’re so lukewarm it hurts.”

your heart shattered, face hung in desolation and disheartenment.

after not hearing you argue back for a while he scoffed, walking to the side to collect his training bag. “whatever, i’m leaving now.”

he left you there, standing while the gears turned in your head to make some semblance of his words.

you didn’t even register you were crying until the cold nipped at your cheeks, decreasing the temperature of the liquid against your face. you pulled yourself together, just about enough to shakily make your way back to your car and press the ignition button.

you spent the whole car ride crying your eyes out, before wiping your eyes as you arrived back home. rin’s car was nowhere to be seen.

you walked up to the front door, slotting your key in and twisting your wrist to align with the lock.

pushing the door open, you stepped in to see the lights off and the aura dark.

“rin?”

silence.

“rin, are you there?”

nothing.

you sighed, tossing your keys on the table next to the door, making a beeline to your shared bedroom. it was empty, no signs of life present.

you stripped out of your outside clothes and slipped under the covers,

leaving you to cry yourself to sleep, wondering when it all went wrong.

baby you sold me a dream pt.2

[chronicowboy]

"I guess it's just me that makes you nervous then," Tommy teases, gentle as anything, and suddenly everything inside Buck just settles.

This is flirting. This is something he knows how to do, man or not. Because he likes Tommy. Thinks, terrifyingly, that he might like Tommy more than he's ever liked anyone he's dated before. Which is a lot, probably, to think on a first date. But Tommy's looking at him with an endless patience and warmth that Buck feels in every inch of him. It's easy not to worry then.

"I don't know if nervous is the right word," Buck murmurs, heat rising in his cheeks.

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy quirks a smile at him, whole face lighting up with it like he's seen the tension melt out of Buck all at once.

"Mm." Buck nods, takes a sip of beer without looking away from Tommy's deep eyes. "Flustered, maybe." He ducks his head when Tommy's grin only grows brighter. "Giddy." He tangles their feet together under the table, the rest of the room fading away. "A little like a schoolkid with their first crush."

"Well, that explains all the pigtail pulling," Tommy retorts, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. Buck lets himself look at the bulge of his biceps, big, bigger than Buck's even, mouth-watering apparently, lets himself appreciate them for a moment.

"You're not gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Oh, come on, Evan." Tommy snorts. "Think I get to lord that over you for a little while. If not for myself, then on Eddie's behalf at least."

"A little while, huh?" Buck redirects them, something seizing in his chest at the mention of Eddie's name. He falls back into a familiar move, looks up at Tommy from under his eyelashes and watches the man smile like he just can't help it. "You thinking of keeping me around then? Even with all the..." He waves his hand at himself, a gesture to the embarrassing ally word vomit that he'd dropped on him just moments ago.

"This is new to you." Tommy shrugs. "Wasn't expecting you to be a real Casanova first time around."

"Casanova," Buck repeats gleefully, beaming when Tommy rolls his eyes and blushes just ever so slightly.

"Anyway, as I was saying," he emphasises. "First date was never going to be smooth sailing. Only fair I get to take you out again. Practice makes perfect and all."

"Sounds pretty perfect," Buck says. And what he doesn't say is: I don't think this is practice, I think this is the real thing.

[thefearedashantis]

Use Your Words

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter isn’t listening

Warning: None

'Do you still love me?'

The question clangs painfully against the back of your clenched teeth when Peter mumbles ‘mhmm?’ for the fifth time throughout your story. The sudden urge to question his affections almost unbearable as you stand off to the side of his desk, still sweaty and in your outside shoes having been in a rush to tell him about your day. Heart leaping with joy over the compliment you’d received from a classmate in your poetry workshop.

“And then he bent me over and fucked me on the profs desk while everyone watched”

“Mhmm”

At least Ned and MJ were listening where they lounged about the room, albeit rosy in the cheeks. They encourage you to continue as if any of this could be remotely true.

“In fact, he asked me when we’d be able to make sweet love again.”

“Mhmm”

“Figured I could pencil a date in for next week seeing as I’ll probably be single by then”

“Yeah? That’s great junebug.”

Peter has not once lifted his gaze away from his laptop. The light of the screen reflecting off his glasses, casting a soft blue haze over his features.

Your two friends sensing the oncoming argument scuttle off silently to the kitchen with the excuse of wanting snacks.

“Petey?”

“Yes my love?”

“You know, if you want to break up all you have to do is say so.”

“Mhmm.”

You’re halfway to the door when his brows pinch inward. Shaking his head quickly, Peter struggles to rewind the conversation in between a slew of agonizingly complicated equations. His brain chugging along much slower than he’d like, than he's used to.

“Wait what?”

“I think I'll head home for the day, see you later," you mumble. You had some lectures to catch up with anyway.

He finally breaks away from the device, lowering the lid slightly “Wait bug what did you say?"

“Nothing.”

“No, you said something. Repeat it for me"

“I shouldn’t have to repeat it. You should have heard it the first time.” You spit over your shoulder, reaching for the doorknob.

Peters up, trailing behind you on long legs “Now hold on a minute, that's not fair.”

“And I wouldn’t be so bothered if this was a once in a while thing, but it's becoming an everytime thing! I come back after a good day or even a bad one, and I try telling you about it, and you sit there more focused on the performance of listening than actually listening." And what a performance it was. Leaning in, nodding with the occasional smile or eye contact or frown or gasp or laugh. All without actually having heard a word you said.

You listened to any and everything he had to share with enthusiasm and even questions to follow.

“That’s not true! I was listening.”

You cross your arms over your chest with a sceptical tic in your jaw “Ok, then what did my classmate say about my poetry?”

Peter stops in his tracks “um”

“quickly.”

“He said it was lovely?” You had used the word lovely in your story, but the questioning pitch of his voice has you fleeing all the same. He didn't know for sure if that was what you said.

Your fingers have just wrapped around the cool metal of the knob when all of a sudden your wrist is pinned to the door by a sticky white substance. A beat of silence resonates through the room before you're whirling on your boyfriend with twice as much annoyance as before.

“You did not just web me!” You yell

“Everything's happening too fast!” Peter wails, arm still extended from trapping you, pupils wide.

“Well allow me to excuse myself while the boy genius catches up,” you say, going for your keys. You'd use them to saw your way free, no matter how long it took. But as soon as you wiggle them free from your pocket, another web shoots out and sticks your free arm to the other side of the door. The keys clank uselessly to the ground. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop trying to leave!”

“If I don’t go now ill be late for my date with someone who actually cares about what I have to say!”

“I do care about what you have to say!" The wet rasp of his confession immediately extinguishs your anger. With a predatory focus, you hone in on the abrupt glossy sheen of his eyes, the rosy tint creeping up his neck. The way he starts to shift his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his plams against the abrasive material of his jeans. His lips tremble, pale with the force of his trying to keep them still. "I-" He chokes. Stops. Gaze snapping up to the ceiling before running to you. Working his jaw back and forth as if the words are fighting him, refusing to be spoken, "I've just been really fumbling with the whole juggling school and spidermanning lately.”

The sentence seems to zap what little energy he has. He stumbles in what you assume to be relief, to sit down on his bed. Removing his glasses, he tosses them without care, pressing his knuckles into his eyes and scrubbing at them cruely “…’m tired”

You watch in silence as Peter closes in on himself. He uses his hands to muffle his sniffles, but in doing so, allows a few salty drops to escape and slip along the slope of his nose. Falling from the tip, a row of tiny dark splots begins to form on his shirt. His tears only drip faster as the minutes tick by. His chest stuttering erratically with the task of inhaling and exhaling.

It makes you feel shitty but you don't try to comfort him.

You remain still and quiet as to not disturb the moment in fear that if Peter remembers you're there, he'll attempt to compose himself when all he really needs is to let it out.

When he's cried himself dry, you probe lightly “are you eyes hurting you again?”

He doesn't raise his head. You're faced with knots and tangles of brown “mhmm.”

“words please parker.”

“So much” he gasps, seemingly renewed with sorrow.

This is the boy, you realize, the one Aunt May has told you about amongst the shadows and hush of night. When you sleep over on weekends and wake up longing for a cold glass of water, slipping from bed a little while before dawn only to find her already up, never having actually gone to bed.

The boy who tries to shield his gentle soul behind humour and smarts. Who often takes on much more than he can handle to satisfy others, and is content to crush himself beneath the weight of responsibility if only to let one more person rest easy that day. The one who yearns to please above all else.

Peter often suffers from aches and pains, comes with the territory, but his facial discomfort has been a persistent problem of late. A deep soreness in his cheekbones, temples, behind his eyes, that no pain killer seemed to relieve.

“temple massage?”

“Please?”

With a final sniffle, Peters back on his feet. Swaying over, he makes quick work of freeing you. Pressing shy kisses of apology to your wrists.

No longer having it in you to be upset, you swat him back towards the bed, getting comfortable in your usual postions. Your back propped up on the pillows, Peter sprawled across your lap, face plastered against your tummy. His arms loop around your thighs, fingers playing with the stiching on your pants.

Retrieving the oil and comb from his sidetable, you set to work untangling his hair before you get to the real job of massaging his scalp and temples. A repetitive activity that allows you both time to think about what you've been truly wanting to say.

“You make me feel so invisible sometimes." You start. Peters' hair is soft despite being so uncared for. You comb back his bangs, cupping his face gently and shifting it to look up at you "like it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not. I know you're a busy person, and i accept and love that part of you. But all i ask is five minutes where we act like I'm not some annoyance.”

Insecurity was something you'd fought tooth and nail to rid yourself of over the course of your relationship. Not only a genius but a superhero , being interested in a mere arts major certainly took a toll on the psyche. Sometimes, you caught yourself slipping back into not so nice thoughts and behaviours.

A flash of hurt strikes across Peters face. When he speaks, warmth puffs under the hem of your shirt “I’m sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose. I love having you around and hearing about your day. It's the most relaxing part of my own."

“That’s why you need to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed so I can support you in the way you need. I never want you to feel like that.” Like there's nobody in his corner paying attention to his needs.

You accept the apology and continue with your work of destressing your boyfriend. His eyes fall shut after a time and you think he's fallen asleep, familiar with post cry exhaustion when,

“He said you write with patience, giving every word the chance to be what it wants to be” Peter whispers.

“Now, was that before or after he stuck his tongue down my throat?”

“Bug” he groans, springing up. He playfully shoves you back with an exaggerated scowl. You roll to your side, giggling at your own antics. Peter closes in. Slotting a thigh between your legs to lay his body against yours, smothering you with his elevated temperature.

“Trick question! It wasn’t his tongue he stuck down my throat.”

Another howl of disgust rips free from Peter “I hate you!”

“liar!”

Divider: @sister-lucifer

[imaginesheaven]

Medic!reader x TF 141 - friendship headcanons

Warnings: none really; mention of injuries

Captain Price requests especially you for the team since he got a glimpse at your file and got impressed instantly by your skills.

That’s is actually not really  surprising because you are quite the legend under the medics and soldiers. No one knows how you keep so many of your team members alive but you do with a quite high rate. This skill of yours turns you into the most wanted medic probably in the whole British Army.

The team isn’t quite sure how to deal with a medic in their lines. They never had one long enough to get used to them. So, at the beginning everything is a bit awkward for all of you.

Within the first mission you show them that you aren’t only a medic but also a fighter who will give everything to see another day. You even saved Soap’s ass in a quite sassy demeanor.

“Ha, Sarge. You owe me one.” – You wink at him grinning away while the men just share a quite confused but impressed glance.

With that you earned your spot at the Task Force 141 and the respect of their members for the rest of your life.

You love taking care of the boys, but you would never tell them directly. Your preferred love language for them is sassiness in every single situation you can think of.

“How is Soap?”, Price asks as you patch the soldier up, “He will survive … unfortunately. Which is quite the surprise with so much stupidity in him.” – “Hey! I can hear you, Doc.” – “Great, at least you are not deaf so I don’t have to repeat myself…”

Gaz and Ghost keep snickering in the back before you turn around and throw them death glares, “You two are not better than him.”

Captain Price loves that you have to deal with this shit too now in your own way.

Since you are patching them up quite frequently, they are treating you like the Holy Grail itself. You are probably the best protected member of the British Army the world has ever seen.

One of them is always by your side at the battlefield, “We got your back, Doc. Don’t worry~”

You are never worried about your own safety and health. These men would literally jump in front of a bullet for you to keep you alive.

“STOP PUTTING YOURSELF IN DANGER FOR ME! THIS IS EVEN MORE WORK FOR ME!”

Of course, you love them in a platonic way to pieces that they want to keep you safe no matter the cost.

Once on a mission you get knocked out by one of the rookies by accident, “We need a medic!” The poor boy had no idea what he gotten himself into. The team looks at you unconscious on the ground, “THAT IS OUR MEDIC! YOU BRAINLESS PIECE OF …”

Ghost and Price have to hold back Soap and Gaz before the punch the living hell out of the rookie. The poor boy is scarred and traumatized for his life.

Back on the home base they come to you with the tiniest injuries because you are their favorite medic ever.

“What is it, Gaz?” – “Got a paper cut. It hurts.” – “You got … a papercut. Do you want your band-aid with ponies or spider-man?” … “Ponies…”

You already have your first-aid kit ready when Gaz, Soap and sometimes Ghost do stupid shit together.

“Hey, Doc. What’cha doing?”, Price takes the seat next to you. Without a word you hold up the kit and point at the boys, “Working.” Not a second later you already hear the pained cries from one of them. “I have no idea how long you all could survive that long without me…”

Getting the call sign “Doc” from the team even if you had a different one before. Not very creative, but it is short and everyone got used to it way too fast. So, Doc it is.

They would never admit it out loud, but the thought men are scared to lose you as much as you are to lose one of them.

During another mission the enemy got you good with a bullet to your shoulder. There was no way you could take care of it yourself. Since the evac would be in the morning you had a whole night to bleed to death. There was no other way around to save your life.

You gave them a good description and a to-do list how they open the wound to get out the bullet and to patch up afterwards. The hard men watched you with pure fear in their eyes as you get everything ready for them to be the doctors this time.

“You can do this, boys”, you encourage them smiling, but all of you know exactly that your time is running out. They would lose you.

Ghost takes things into his own hands and will be the one getting the bullet out. The Captain stays by his side to assist as best as he could. Gaz and Soap are way too nervous to do anything except for holding onto each other.

“How about you two take care of the watch?”, Price gives them an order to get their nervous energy out of his reach. Of course, they would watch from afar instead of keeping their eyes on the windows.

The pain of opening the wound to get the bullet out of your shoulder gets the best of you. Nothing comes over your lips as you slump forward unconscious. Nothing has panicked these men ever before like your blacked out form not able to guide them through every little step.

At least you couldn’t hear the wave of curse words washing over you. Of course, they still manage to patch you up quite nicely and take care of you. You are wrapped up in jackets to make you comfortable as they watch you through the night.

“Shit, I have never done something scarier than this…”, Ghost couldn’t believe you are doing this so often never getting tired of it. You already earned all of their respect beforehand, but once again they are reminded how amazing you are.

“Doc didn’t even scream just passed out silently”, Gaz can’t imagine how painful that must have been. Secretly he wished to be tough like you one day.

“… Why are you all staring at me? You are so creepy”, it isn’t the best way to wake up with four men staring at you intensely like they did. Still you are very grateful that they saved your ass.  

Back home you pay for the first round of drinks since you are alive and get to see another day with your team.

[mabelstone]

Why would you be loved?

hozier x f!reader

part two of lullabies <3 | part one | masterlist

cw: teeeeeny bit of violence at very beginning ... also 18+ ok if u are unfamiliar with me... this is my thing. this character is FICTIONAL before u attack me for sexualising THE hozier

word count: 3.2k

*i've decided i'd like this to be a slow burn... but don't worry! i will add things to keep u interested (or attempt to)

The sticky slap of their skin echoed through the room, my heart thudding loud enough in my ears to deafen the noise.

I lurched forward, grabbing the leggy blonde from the bar by her hair, yanking her off of Joe and slamming her naked body into the wall. She gasped loudly, falling onto the ground where she watched on in horror. I grabbed the nearest object I could reach - his bedside lamp - smashing the ceramic over his head, screaming in his face about how he's fucked this up for good.

Except that's not what happened.

I opened the door to the same scenario, except I didn't lose my temper and tear the two of them to shreds. My heart still pounded harder than ever, but I simply backed out into the hall without a sound. My eyes must've been something of a Tim Burton character as I walked back outside, leaving the front door wide open. I didn't even grab anything as my handbag was still over my shoulder. I dug around for my phone, finding nothing but an old gum packet, some lipgloss, and some loose change.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, running my hands through my hair. I had my phone in the bar. Did I leave it in Andrew's car? Fuck, did I leave it at the bar? I began to panic, frantically walking down the street. As if I could walk all the way back! It was at least 15 kilometres from my place. I didn't care though, continuing to pace in the cold in clothing more suited to warmer weather. I kept replaying what I saw over and over in my head. I'd usually call my mum, but...

The way his hands were digging into her skin, the way she kept repeating how good he was making her feel. I felt sick to my stomach, and the alcohol wasn't helping. I'm not sure they even saw me, but once he finished (judging by the sounds he was making, wouldn't be too long) he'd see the doors open and connect the dots.

I turned my head as I heard someone whistle from across the street, inexplicably grateful to see Andy's car. "What're you doin'?"

"Do you have my phone?" My voice sounded foreign to me, robotic and desperate at the same time. I crossed the street, heading straight for the passenger side.

"Your lifeline is right here, hence why I am," he laughed, holding my phone out to me. I just stood at the door expressionless, and he probably thought my drinks had been spiked or I'd gone mad. "You... alright?"

"Joe is cheating on me," robotically sounding again. Though saying the words out loud made it suddenly real. Joe is cheating on me.

"What?" His eyebrows shot up, dipping his head to see my face better. "What? When?"

"Like, literally right now," I laughed. I began to laugh hysterically, having to rest my hands on the top of his car to steady myself. I laughed so hard, tears began to stream down my face and my stomach hurt.

The next thing I knew, that familiar warm hand was on my back, followed by a soft, "c'mere". I turned to face Andrew, immediately bursting into tears. Real tears this time. He pulled me in close to his chest, one arm easily wrapped around my shoulders, the other cradling the back of my head. I sobbed into his shirt, likely accidentally digging my nails into his back as I clung to him. If I did, he didn't comment on it. He held me tight, rubbing soft circles into my spine with his palm. I don't know how long we stood there for, but when I pulled away, his shirt was soaked and covered in mascara.

"I'm so sorry," I gave a half hearted laugh, gesturing to the stained cotton. "I will wash it for you, I'm good at getting stains out."

"Don't be ridiculous," he smiled that poor you smile he always did, but this time it felt like a comfort as he shook his head. "You can come back to mine and shower. Then we can figure this out."

"No, no, I don't want to put you out." I protested, wiping under my eyes, undoubtedly smudging the black into my hairline. I sniffled, wiping my snotty nose onto the sleeve of my cardigan. If Joe was right about Andy being infatuated with me, I definitely just destroyed that in one simple, snotty gesture.

"I insist," he smiled, leaning against the side of the car. I was exhausted, and a nice shower in a house that didn't reek of infidelity sounded too good to reject. I nodded and climbed into the passenger seat for the second time tonight, switching on my phone to see no new messages. Maybe he didn't see me after all.

I slipped into an oversized hoodie of Andrew’s after my shower, steam on the mirror and condensation on every surface from the amount of time I was in there. I felt guilty using his water, but time slipped away from me by the time I realised. He had real shampoo and conditioner, not that pathetic 3 in 1 bullshit Joe used. I stole a hair tie and hid my messy curls in a bun. I honestly looked like a mess, but it was definitely an improvement from before. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Most of the alcohol had fleeted my system, so now I was just exhausted and forced to bask in the reality of the situation.

I walked into his living room where he was sat, one arm slung over the back of the couch while the other flicked through Netflix. It was strange to see him in his space, so comfortable and… domestic. No, we’re not doing this. Yet.

I looked down and saw a black border collie mix strewn across his lap. “Oh my goodness!” I swooned as I headed straight for the dog. Andy mustn’t have heard me, jumping slightly and cursing under his breath. “How rude of me. Who’s this little angel?”

“The breaking of my heart,” he began, hand over his chest as he stared lovingly down at his dog. “Elwood.”

“Elwood? Really?” I quirked an eyebrow, looking up to Elwood’s owner.

“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful boy, I don’t understand the issue?”

I rolled my eyes, going back to snuggling the dog, kissing his face all over. “He is beautiful. Yes you are!” Elwood wagged his tail excitedly, slobbering happily all over my hands.

Andrew chuckled down at us, averting his eyes back to the TV, a soft smile lingering on his lips.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower, Andy,” I smiled, sitting beside him on the lounge, feeling like the human embodiment of the calm after a storm.

“Oh, that’s no problem at all," he grinned earnestly, playing the pilot of Breaking Bad softly in the background. He lulled his head to the side, eyes glistening in the soft golden lighting of the lamp in the corner of the room. "Want a tea?"

"Please," I nodded, Elwood now snuggled into my lap. The moment he left the room, I was left with the crushing reality of what'd just happened. The horrible sound that plagued my phonic memory, as if it were played through headphones at a deafening volume. I tried to focus on the TV, Breaking Bad had always been my favourite. It was no use, the gut wrenching ache within me only multiplied by the minute, tears welling in my eyes, daring to fall.

"I wasn't sure how you take it so I bought everything with me," he placed two tea cups onto his coffee table, along with a carton of milk and a canister of sugar.

"So adorable, you remind me of my gran," I teased, desperately trying to blink away any trace of sadness before he had a chance to see. I didn't need to burden him with any more tears.

"You know, I've been called far worse," he shrugged, taking his tea black, sitting beside me on the couch. "So I'll take it."

I hummed in response, mixing in my milk and sugar.

"So... maybe a redundant question, but, how're you feeling?"

"Well," I chuckled bitterly, sipping from my tea. "Probably feeling as you'd expect. Actually, that's a lie. I don't know how I feel honestly."

His eyes studied my features, and I deliberately avoided his gaze. His dog snored away in my lap, the TV just loud enough that any amount of silence couldn't be awkward.

"Has... anything like this happened to you?" I asked, despite the voice in my head telling me not to.

"Ehm, yeah. Not too long ago, actually," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his chocolate curls flicking up at the ends, framing his face beautifully in the light. "We were together for three years. She was sleeping around with a friend of mine. She broke it off with me when she decided she'd rather be with him."

"Her loss," I mirrored that same pitiful look he always gave me, the slight drop in his expression making me feel guilty for even asking. "You make a mean cup of tea."

"If only she could appreciate the art of English Breakfast," he sighed, a sad smile lingering on his lips despite the sarcasm in his tone.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Andy," I sighed, tempted to reach out for him but deciding against it in fear of breaching some unspoken boundary. "I'll get out of your hair soon."

"You can stay- only if you'd like," he offered awkwardly, eyes flickering to mine as he fiddled with the handle of his cup. "There's a spare bedroom."

"No, no. You've been so kind tonight, I don't want to push it," I shook my head, misjudging the height of the coffee table, my cup hitting it with a sharp clank. Elwood startled, throwing his head back to look at me. "Sorry, buddy."

"You're not pushing anything," he laughed, shaking his head now. "It's late. The decision's all yours. But I must say, that bed might be nicer than my own."

"Quite persuasive, aren't you?" I grinned, throwing my head back against the couch, weighing up my options. Well, I can't go home. "Okay. I'll stay... if you're sure that's okay?"

"Well, because you're twisting my arm..." He joked, that bright, happy smile making its glorious return. "I'll get you a spare toothbrush and a bottle of water. You've had a big night."

"Yeah," I breathed, rubbing at my burning, no doubt bloodshot, eyes. "I am exhausted."

"Come, I'll show you to your room," he got up from the couch, extending his hand to me. I took it in mine, warm and calloused; so large, his fingers reached my wrist as he helped me from the couch. I followed behind him, the soft padding of our feet up the stairs slowly becoming the only sound audible. Elwood trailing close behind, of course.

He showed me to the guest room, nothing special, but somehow a massive comfort. A navy blue, fluffy duvet with a bedside table, a simple lamp and a copy of Inferno by Dante Alighieri atop it.

"Oh, I'll grab that toothbrush," he waved his hand as if he were finally able to dismiss the thought. I chuckled at the way he hurried out of the room, the exhaustion rippling through my body as I sat on the edge of the bed. He was right. This might be the comfiest bed I've ever had the pleasure of sitting on. I zoned out, staring at the carpet as I finally sobered up. These past few weeks had been fucked, and I knew they'd only get worse. My phone started buzzing rapidly as Andy came back into the room, a bottle of water, a toothbrush still in the packaging, and a sheet of panadol in his hands. He silently placed them onto the bedside table, both of us just watching my phone ring. It was Joe.

Against my better judgement, I picked up on the last ring, raising the phone to my ear.

"Where are you?" His voice was hoarse, unsuspecting. Idiot.

"Doesn't matter," I sighed, nauseated at the sound of his voice.

"Well, it does. I've been worried sick about you, you're meant to be home now. How would I know you hadn't been kidnapped or gone home with some creep?"

"That is ironic," I laughed, though there was no humour in my tone.

"The fuck are you on about? Get home right now." He was getting angrier by the second. Andrew could hear every word, his brows knitted together in disgust as he listened on.

"I did come home. You were a bit busy," I swallowed harshly, my voice failing me, beginning to shake.

There was silence on his end for a good thirty seconds, all air in Andrew's small guest bedroom thinning at once. "...Babe. We will get through this."

"I don't think so."

"Don't say shit like that. I love you, Y/N. We'll get through this stronger than ever. Just come home, baby. I'll make it up to you," he was speaking fast, panicked almost.

"I need some space," I replied weakly, eyes filling with tears again.

"No. I love you. Come home. Please, babe, pl-"

I hung up on him before he got the chance to manipulate me straight back into his arms, Andy watching me with a frown. Suddenly, it was all too real, and I was breaking down in front of him for the second time tonight.

He didn't say anything. I felt the bed dip beside me, his warm arm wrapping around my shoulder, pulling me in close. We stayed like that for a while - my head leaned against his shoulder as I cried, his head atop mine - until I felt like there was no water left in my body. I heaved a massive sigh, sitting up straight again.

"Oh, Andy, I'm so s-"

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he hushed me, sincerity written all over his face, kind emerald eyes revealing that he wasn't doing anything for secondary gain; he was just a beautiful soul. "Get some rest."

"Okay," I agreed, pulling back the covers with his help. I wanted him to stay, I didn't want to be alone. I wished he could've just laid with me, no meaning attached, but just to have the warmth of another to occupy the cold, empty bed. Instead I thanked him again, pulling the covers up to my chin.

"You know where my room is. I'll be there if you need anything," he smiled earnestly, flicking off the light before walking out.

Goodnight, Andy, I almost said, but sleep washed over me quicker than I could form the words.

I woke early, bathed in velvety caramel coloured sunlight, slowly beginning to register where I was. I made my way down to corridor to Andy's room, his bedroom door barely ajar. I put my ear to the door, not wanting to wake him if he were still sleeping. I heard soft pants escaping his lips, letting my curiosity get the best of me.

I gently pushed the door open, revealing the glow of his milky skin in the same light. His beautiful halo of curls sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead, his face contorted in pleasure and concentration as he worked himself beneath the covers. I couldn't suppress the noise of surprise that escaped my lips as he whimpered my name.

"Fuck-" He gasped, pulling his hand from under the cover. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Keep going," I encouraged, slowly making my way to him. Confusion plastered all over his face, he obliged, slipping his hand back under the cover. I sat before him, our eyes locked on one another as he picked up the pace. "Gooood, that's it."

His brows furrowed as he continued to worked himself, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with each swallow. I slipped into bed beside him, my hand replacing his. His breathing pattern grew irregular, every vowel of my name dripping off his tongue, igniting a fire deep in my core. I began placing wet kisses along jawline, making my way down to his neck, then his chest, then-

And then I actually woke up, heart beating at a million miles an hour. What. The. Fuck. Shame immediately coursed through my veins, burying my face into my pillow as I replayed the dream over and over until it was committed to memory. Am I an awful person?

I could vaguely hear Andrew singing along to Let's Fall In Love by Ella Fitzgerald in the kitchen, cautiously making my way down the stairs. I was disgusted in myself for even thinking of him in that way, let alone loving every shame filled second of it.

"Mornin'," I made myself known, sliding onto one of the stools at his breakfast bar.

"Good morning," he chirped, sliding a cup of coffee toward me. He had his glasses on this morning, his hair pulled back into a bun. "How're you feelin'?"

"Good," I lied through my teeth, concealing it with an enthusiastic nod. "Better, yeah." I just gave you a handjob in my dream and now I want you to pin me to the couch and make love to me all day. Oh, and I'm supposed to be grieving a near 6 year relationship, but now I'm just really fucking confused. "How are you?"

"Hungry. And I hope you are too," he grinned, revealing a big stack of pancakes he'd just cooked for us, as well as a bowl of chopped strawberries.

"I am, that looks lovely," another lie. I had no appetite. But I also couldn't say no to a man so sickly sweet. He sat beside me, soft jazz serenading us from his record player.

"What've you got on today?" He queried, plopping a pancake onto each of our plates.

"Might visit my ma, update her on... everything, I guess. Then I've gotta get my car. Maybe some clothes. Fuck, I don't even know what to do," I laughed awkwardly, taking a sip of my coffee. "You performing tonight?"

"Hoping to," he nodded, taking a bite of a strawberry. "You know you're more than welcome to spend the night here again."

"I couldn't possibly burden you for another night," I deflected, mirroring his actions and popping a strawberry into my mouth.

"You actually don't have to fight me each time, you cay just say no," he chuckled, shaking his head at me.

"I love spending time with you," I confessed, resting my hand on his arm, then retracting it just as fast. "I just don't want you to think I'm using you."

"Nonsense," he waved me off, scoffing. "It's nice to have some company. Plus, Elwood has taken a strong liking to you."

"The feeling is mutual," I laughed, breaking off a piece of my pancake for the dog happily wagging his tail by my feet. "I'm sure you have lady friends come and visit."

"Only ones who ruin their tea with milk and barely touch their pancakes," he remarked with a wide grin. I felt my cheeks turn hot at his stupid comment, finally digging in to my breakfast.

Maybe things weren't going to be so bad after all.

i don't love this... but this desperately needed an update. feel free to send requests of some stuff you'd like in the next chapter xx

[llilyrose]

Doodle for @the-bitter-ocean's In Cycles and Cessation au!!!!! (Alt. Version and writing under the cut!!)

{You pat the spot next to you.}

{They take it, albeit a bit hesitantly.}

"Mira? What's, um... What's this about?"

{What's this about, indeed...}

>"You like the stars, don't you?"

{They hum, simply.}

"... Yeah."

>"Well,"

{In the past you've struggled with sharing your thoughts, and the processes that lead to them. There's just -- there's SO MUCH going on in there!}

{At least you're good at remembering lines.}

>"I've noticed that you like to skygaze. A lot. And, you know, there's nothing wrong with that! But."

>"But you're not cloudgazing. Isabeau told me you're looking at the stars - the twinkly things in the sky?"

{He nods. It's permission.}

>"He also told me that, er, that thing you say sometimes - it roughly translates to stars in Vaugardian."

{He nods again, though it's more reserved. It's still permission. You haven't messed up yet. You continue.}

>"So I thought!! Um!!! Maybe you would want to skygaze with me?"

{Their smile is fond.}

"Mira. You didn't have to go out of your way..."

{No! You do!!! You absolutely do, because you know this means a lot to them, you know they're yearning, you're achingly familiar with their anxieties --}

{Change!! He won't even let you help him if you don't get anything out of it yourself!}

{... It feels like cheating. A bit selfish, to impose your problems on him, in a moment that's meant to be his. So you'll just... repeat your lines. Repeat it, Mira.}

>"The stars. Are they important to you?"

{Silence drags on. You hear the rustling of fabric. You're not sure if he's rubbing his arms or shifting to get a better view of the sky.}

{The lack of response urges you to bring a nail to your teeth. You make the beginnings of the motion, but Siffrin interrupts you before you get the chance.}

"Kind of. I think? I'm not ... entirely sure."

{It's the same thing they've always said.}

{The lack of change hurts you. The lack of change is comforting.}

{You...}

>"It's okay."

{A breeze brushes past you. It drowns out the gentle sounds of their breath.}

>"This kind of thing is . . . complicated. For me, too, if you can believe it."

{Hook. You hear him turning his head towards you, curiously.}

>"The change belief is home, for me. Growing up in a House of Change, of course, probably influenced a lot of my thinking, but."

>"As important as change is, as close as this ever-shifting belief sits to my heart, I have a complicated relationship with it."

>"The housemaidens... each of them has Changed, at least once. We have festivals to embrace it! And I'm happy for them! I'm so, so happy for them."

>"But I'm disappointed. In myself, I think? Because... Because I haven't changed. Or, I have changed, but I've never Changed, capital-C."

{Line. You hear a disgruntled "hrmpf" from beside you. You keep going.}

>"And nobody is pressuring me. I don't have to. But, I feel like- in this belief, this belief that revolves entirely around changing myself, changing the core of my being, into something completely different, completely new-"

>"I like me as I am, Siffrin."

>"But sometimes it feels like I'm missing out on key experiences in my culture."

>"So... yeah. It's complicated. These things are complicated. It's okay to be complicated."

>"Is it-- are the stars something like that, to you?"

{Sinker. You look back, and Siffrin is staring at you, sadly. He notices you looking, though, and shifts his gaze back towards the sky. The stars. They're thinking.}

"... Yeah."

{They pause. You wait. You'll give them the time.}

{You have plenty of it! Hahahahaha!!!!!!!}

{No. Positive. It's okay.}

"It's complicated for me, too."

"You like to say I'm easygoing. I think it's just the way I was raised."

"To say I follow my belief is more literal than anything."

"The Universe leads. We follow."

>"The Universe?"

{Wait for your cue.}

"The Universe. It's... everything. It's everything at once, and also everything beyond?"

"It's... the stars, in the sky, I think. It's the waves crashing onto a beach, the whistle of wind in your ears."

"It's not like everything is predetermined. We just... if something goes wrong, or you think you see a sign, you can throw your arms up and say 'the Universe willed it.' And you wouldn't be wrong."

"I... don't really like that idea? That some higher force makes the decisions for me. That I can't shape who I am on my own."

"I don't like the idea that-..."

{They snap their mouth closed. You don't miss the way their voice cracked.}

{It hurts. It hurts you every time. Every time you help them it just resets. You're not sure how many more times you can do this.}

{It's like all your change never mattered in the first place...!}

>"You don't have to share, if you don't want to!!!"

{You won't complete his quest if you do this. You won't get his ability if you do this. You won't be family if you do this. But you can't anymore. You can't.}

{But.}

"... It's okay. I just..."

{There's no backdoor anymore.}

{Your gut clenches as they speak the words you've toiled over for loops, now.}

"I don't like the idea that forgetting everything about my culture was for some greater purpose. I don't want that. I don't want to forget who I was, I don't want to forget who I am, I don't want to forget you! Any of you!"

{His voice is wet. Something pangs in your chest.}

"If forgetting is all I can do, if forgetting like this is the path set out for me, then..."

"What kind of person can't remember their home? Their childhood? What is a person without their memories?"

"is this what the Universe wanted from me? Is this all I'm for?"

{You've heard it all before.}

{And yet. And yet.}

>"Don't talk about yourself like that!"

{He flinches. You yelled! Why did you yell???}

>"You don't...! You don't deserve to treat yourself like that!"

{You can't stop yourself. The thoughts you bite back flow out of you like a river.}

>"'What kind of person am I without my memories?' You're Siffrin, that's who! With or without your memories, we love you as you are, the person you are!"

{You pause. He's scared of you, isn't he? You're being loud. Too loud. You're derailing the conversation.}

{Change is good. Change should be good. But it feels like every time you try to change your situation, it bites you back and turns tail!}

{You messed it up, you messed it up, you--}

{You feel a tug on your heart.}

~~

"-is this all I'm for?"

{You smile, softly.}

>"Of course not, Siffrin."

{He tenses. You always notice it.}

>"You... don't have to deal with this alone. Why didn't you tell me? Or anyone?"

"It-"

{They pull their hat over their face.}

"It, um... didn't really matter."

{It still hurts you. That he didn't think he could tell you.}

>"We'll never forget you, Siffrin. And you'll never forget us, either. I'm sure of it."

>"Memories or not... you belong here. With us. We love you, you know that, right?"

{They shrink back, flustered. It hurts. You've seen it before. You've seen it.}

>"If you're so worried about your lack of memories, we'll just... make new ones!!! Together!!!"

>"You're not alone in this anymore. You're here, with us, and we have a future to look forward to, together."

{He's crying.}

{That look in their eyes. You know.}

{You know he knows he is loved.}

{You hate that you're getting tired of it.}

[quintessenceofdust88]

Nonna Rosa fixes it

[Now on AO3!] Okayyy, it's officially not the weekend anymore, but only for like five minutes, so technically I'm on time! This got totally away from me, and I had to actually force myself to end it where I did. Nonna Rosa took the narrative from my hands and said 'I'll take it from here', and good for her. Not to be dramatic but I love her. Anyway, if any Italian-speaking people read this: I AM SO SORRY. This is all Collins dictionary or Google Translate, I don't speak a word of Italian and I'll be very glad to correct any mistakes you might notice ♥ I hope you guys enjoy it! if you want to know more about Nonna Rosa, send me an ask, I have looots of headcanons for her (and Tommy's childhood). Here you go:

A week after breaking up with Evan, Tommy is still feeling like shit. He can barely sleep, anything he tries to eat tastes like sawdust, and he feels like he’s living on autopilot. He goes to work, he comes back home, he tries to eat, he tries to sleep, rinse and repeat. Nothing else matters, there’s nothing else he feels like doing. He doesn’t answer Howie’s texts asking how he’s doing (he answered the first one, telling Howie not to worry about him, but can’t do more than that); he completely ignores Eddie’s invitation for Muay Thai and basketball, and he comes up with an excuse as to why he can’t make karaoke bar that Thursday. And yet, there’s one thing he can’t put off, as much as he wishes to: talking to his Nonna. 

Tommy calls his grandmother at least once a week; she still lives in Indiana, in the same house he spent most of his childhood in, and he knows his uncle Bart visits often. But he likes to hear from her himself. Visiting her was a rare occasion, and the last time he was able to was about four months ago. The minute he had stepped in, Nonna had asked him if he was ‘innamorato’, because he was looking so much happier than usual.

And he knows she’ll perceive his sadness just as quick, if not quicker. The woman has always been able to read him like an open book. She’s probably the only person alive who can; he’s always made sure to keep his layers hidden from everyone else, even from… 

Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? 

Fact is, that if he misses his call with Nonna, it’ll be even worse. She’ll know something’s up, and he doesn’t put past her to fly across the country to check on him (he’s always been the favorite grandson and everyone knows it). So it’s best to get it over with. With a heavy sigh, he sits down on his couch (and tries not to think about how empty it feels when it’s just him in there) and rings her up, bracing himself.

“Pronto? Tommasino?” She answers the call, as always with the camera too close to her face, and that at least brings a smile to his face.

“Nonna, you need to stretch your arm a little. Remember, like Charlie showed you?” He asks with a chuckle; Charlie being his cousin’s daughter, Charlotte, who taught Nonna how to FaceTime so she could ‘see Tommasino’s pretty face more often’, in her own words. 

She stretches her arm and Tommy gets a good look at her. Nonna looks the same as always, sharp blue eyes in a soft face that’s wrinkled both from age and from a lifetime of smiles. Her hair is wrapped in hair rollers and tucked safely behind a red bandana. Tommy misses her fiercely, and wishes more than ever that he could get wrapped in one of her hugs. 

They always did wonders for him when he was a little boy who used to climb trees and get scrapes and bruises; when he was a scared eleven-year-old missing his mother (and as a grown-up he can appreciate Nonna was hurting at least as much as him, having lost her daughter, but still never let it show) and dealing with an angry abusive father; when he was a scared eighteen-year-old, before leaving the only home he’d ever known to join the Army. And when he was a scared 33-year-old man, coming out as gay to his 75 year-old-grandmother, afraid of being rejected by the one person alive who truly loved him, and Nonna had stood on her tiptoes, pulled him into one of those hugs, and told him all she ever wanted for Tommy was to see him happy, and that she would always love him. 

A hug from his grandmother had always made Tommy feel like the world was an easier place to be faced, and right now, that’s exactly what he needs. And his longing must show in his face, because she’s frowning at him, her eyes full of concern. 

“Oh, Tommasino” She says softly. “What’s wrong, bambino mio? You look so sad” She asks, and to Tommy’s horror, he finds his eyes filling up. Nonna has that way of bringing out every emotion he tries to repress.

“Everything’s wrong, Nonna, and it’s all my fault” He blurts out before he can stop himself, and the look on his grandmother’s face tells Tommy she’d be placing a sizable plate of cake and a cup of strong coffee in front of him if she could.

“You have a habit of saying things are your fault even when they aren't, so I'm afraid I'll need the entire story, my boy” She says gently, and Tommy watches as she sits down by her kitchen table (the same kitchen table where he did most of his school homework, the same kitchen table from where he always used to steal a biscotti while they were still warm), supporting her face in her hand and turning those sharp blue eyes at the phone screen. Tommy swears he can feel them pierce through his very soul. “What happened? Is it your Evanino?”

The question sends a knife right through Tommy's chest as he imagines what could have been. Gosh, Nonna would have loved Evan (who doesn't love Evan, you idiot?, he tells himself), and he knows deep in his heart Evan would have loved her as well. Every time Tommy would talk about her (which he did fairly often; he was a grandma's boy and had no shame about it), Evan would get a wistful expression on his face and tell Tommy that she sounded awesome.

He had been planning on taking Evan with him next time he managed to visit her, not wanting to introduce them through the phone. Now it's for the best he didn't; at least Nonna won't have to miss him like Tommy does.

“He… he's not mine anymore, Nonna,” He admits, his voice thick with emotion. “We broke up”

“What?! Ma comme?! You were so happy last time we talked!” She asked, and of course Tommy was happy; it was the day before their six month anniversary, and he had been so full of excitement. “Was he not happy? Is that why you're blaming yourself, Tomasino?”

A smile as bright as sunshine crosses Tommy's mind. A smile that only started to fade once Tommy told him he knew how it ended. A smile that had become his personal beacon of light in the past six months. A smile he misses like a lost limb.

“He… he was happy” He says, because that much he knows to be true; Evan was happy with him, Tommy made sure of that. His grandmother frowns at that, and Tommy doesn't blame her; the story seems convoluted, feels convoluted, even to himself, and he lived it.

“Thomas, you have to help your old grandmother, because I cannot understand what is the problem. If you were happy and he was happy, then why are you not together anymore?”

“Because he asked me to move in with him” Tommy says, and that doesn't seem to clear the situation for her. If anything, her frown deepens, and she reaches for a piece of bread, fiddling with it; Nonna could never keep her hands still, especially when she was nervous, and Tommy had inherited that from her. 

“Does that mean something different when it’s two men?” She asks, completely genuine, and that earns a surprised chuckle from Tommy. 

“No, Nonna” Tommy says, and all of a sudden the urge to laugh is gone again; it never lasts long, not after Evan. “It… It means the same”

“Very well, and you said no? That’s why he ended things?” She asks, and Tommy sighs brokenly, the memories of the night no less painful than when it happened.

“No. I… I broke up with him, Nonna. He asked me to move in with him, and I didn’t just say no. I… I broke up with him," Tommy admits with a heavy heart. 

“Tesoro, you do realize you are not making any sense? You and your boy were happy; he asked you to move in with him, and instead you broke up with him. Then you show up looking like your heart was broken and tell me it is your fault. What am I missing, bambino?”

“I have a house, Nonna!” He snaps, finally being able to voice the things that have been stewing in his heart and mind since that night. “I have a house, and he lives in a rented loft, and it makes no sense for me to move in with him!”

Nonna doesn’t answer right away. She chews thoughtfully on her bread, letting a small silence fall between the pair of them before she eventually sighs and answers him.

“Benne, you have a point, it wouldn’t make sense. But that isn’t the whole problem, is it, Tommasino?” Nonna adds shrewdly. “You could have talked it out, explained that to him. So what made you walk out of the best thing that happened to you in years?”

Tommy can always trust Nonna to lay things down exactly as they are, no matter how painful it sounds. She’s right, he did walk out of the best thing that happened to him in years, maybe ever, and it’s getting harder and harder to justify that decision to himself. 

“N-Nonna, I was… I was falling so in love with him” He tells her, and feels tears starting to prickle the corner of his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve known that since last time you were here” Nonna says impatiently. “That’s not a reason to leave, Thomas; that’s a reason to stay”

“Only if he loved me back” He says automatically, and Nonna crosses her arms, unimpressed. 

“And who says he doesn’t? Did you ask him?” She asks sharply, and Tommy sighs. This conversation is taking a completely different route than what he expected. 

“I didn’t have to, Nonna. I… I just know it, okay? I was his first relationship with a man. I cannot be the last, that’s not how it works. And I… I thought I was okay with it, that I could enjoy it while it lasted, but… But I didn’t expect to love him this much” He admits, as much to himself as to her. It’s all his fault, really, for falling so deeply, flying too close to the Sun. “I-it’s safer to break my own heart now than to let him do it when I’m way too deep to recover. N-not that I’m recovering all too well, but… could be worse” He finishes, already wiping the few tears that inconveniently decided to rush down his cheeks. 

If Tommy expects his grandmother to nod sympathetically at that and coo at him (he kinda does; she has a habit of doing that when he cries), he has another thing coming. Nonna scoffs loudly, hitting the table with her hand, strong from decades of kneading bread. The noise is enough to startle Tommy out of tears.

“Thomas Domenico Kinard, I didn’t know me and your dear Mamma, may God have her soul, had raised an estupido vigliacco!” She exclaims, her hand flailing loudly to emphasize her words. 

Tommy will be the first to admit his Italian is rusty, but he’s pretty sure she just called him a stupid coward. And. Ouch.

“Nonna!” He exclaims back, but she isn’t dissuaded. She tuts him with a sharp ‘Silenzio!’ and a raised finger, and Tommy shuts up right away. He knows that when Nonna starts, the best he can do is take the scolding, so he leans back on his couch, trying his best not to look like a chided boy who got caught stealing fruit from the neighbor’s orchard.

“You are my grandson, and I love you more than anything in this world. You are a good man with a wonderful heart, but you have one big problem, Tommaso. You always assume you know people’s feelings better than they do, and then you make your own decisions based on that without actually asking anyone. Remember when you decided I should move to California because you thought I was lonely here?” She asks, raising an eyebrow, and Tommy nods sheepishly. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“That if and when you wanted to move to California, you would let me know, but you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions” He mumbles back, the epic scolding from five years ago still fresh on his mind. 

“Esattamente. Now, I think your Evanino deserves the same courtesy. He is not a silly child, Thomas. If he wants you to be his last, if he loves you, who do you think you are to decide that he doesn’t?”

“But he never said he did,” Tommy replies stubbornly. “He… He never even told me he loved me, he just asked me to move in with him. It’s like… It’s like he wanted to prove a point, Nonna. That he could be… committed, or queer, or whatever, I don’t know. But he never said he loved me”

“Did you say it to him?” Nonna asks, and Tommy stares at her with his mouth agape. Damn this woman and her ability to ask the most uncomfortable questions. 

“N-no” He admits. “I… I was too afraid of him not saying it back”

“Hmmm” Nonna hums thoughtfully. “That’s your other problem, bambino mio. You think you don’t deserve to be loved. I blame that man for that” Nonna says with a scoff, and they both know exactly who she’s talking about; there’s no lost love between Rosa Lucciola and her ex-son-in-law, Brian Kinard, and the way he treated Tommy and his mother before she passed is the sole reason for it. 

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, Nonna” He says with a shrug, always uncomfortable when his father becomes even a small topic of conversation, but she tuts disapprovingly.

“Ah, isn’t it? Has it never occurred to you that maybe your Evanino could have the same problem? That he was as afraid as you to show his heart and have it broken?”

Tommy desperately wants to say that he thought about it, that it occurred to him; but it hasn’t. Evan is such a sunshine of a man, always so prone to smiles and loving gestures towards anyone he cares about, that Tommy never thought there could be insecurities there. Now it makes him feel selfish and stupid (or estupido as Nonna had so accurately called him). 

“Nonna…” Tommy says, his mind catching up to everything she said and a horrifying realization dawns on him. “What if he did love me back? Oh my God, did I fuck this up?!” He asks before he can stop himself. 

“Language! Do not take the Signore’s name and swear in the same sentence!” She chides him, and Tommy mutters ‘sorry’, but her look is impossibly fond. “But, well. Maybe you did; maybe you didn’t. Are you going to sit around and mope or try to find out?” Nonna challenges him. 

“W-what if he never loved me, Nonna? Or what if he did, but me walking out made him stop?” Tommy asks, not knowing which possibility scares him the most.

“What if he still does, Thomas?” Nonna counteracts. “What if he loves you and is too afraid to reach out because you already rejected him once, hm? Someone has to be brave, and he already was when he asked you to move in, bambino. Maybe it was a little impulsive, but his heart was in the right place; it was in your future together”

Tommy realizes Nonna is right. He can’t expect Evan to reach out (he realizes he was at some level, and he would have rushed to it; one call from Evan and Tommy would be right back to his life, ready to reheal his own heart when things inevitably went wrong, just for another glimpse of Evan Buckley’s personal sunshine); it’s his turn to fight for them. It’s his turn to be brave. 

“Ah, you finally realized it, hm?” Nonna says; something must be showing on his face, because there’s a satisfied smile on her face. “Fight for that boy, Thomas. Fight for your happiness, tesoro. Prove to your Nonna you are not estupido”

“Nonna, you are most definitely the best person on the planet, and I promise you didn’t raise a estupido. I’ll do right by Evan. By… By me. By both of us” Tommy promises to her, promises to himself. He blows a kiss to the screen of his cellphone, desperately wishing he could kiss her cheek in person. “Ti amo, Nonnina” (I love you, granny) 

“Ti amo, nipotini del mio cuore” (I love you, grandson of my heart) She tells him back, and a mischievous smirk appears on her face. “You better bring that boy here to try my rondelli before the year is over, you hear?”

“Dio, I hope so, Nonna” He tells her, and they say their goodbyes before hanging up. Tommy already misses her.

He holds his cellphone close to his heart, wondering if he should text Evan, but decides against it. This is too big for a text, too big for a call. He’ll go over in the morning, probably with a bouquet of flowers or whatever other extravagant gift he can come up with, ready to grovel and explain himself and beg for a second chance, even if it’s only to hear a ‘no’. Even if it’s only to let Evan yell at him and get the closure he deserves. Even if it’s only to get his already shattered heart broken into even more pieces. Tommy has to be brave.

After all, nonna and mamma didn’t raise a coward. 

(Evan doesn’t say no. And when Tommy explains, after several rounds of make-up sex, what made him change his mind, he promises to send Nonna a present. The present ends up being him and Tommy, because they go to Indiana for Christmas, and Evan falls in love with Nonna and her rondelli. Just like Tommy knew he would)

--

Tag list (let me know if I missed anyone! also if you want to be removed or only tagged in Little Blobs' Verse):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie

(Although here's a lil spoiler - Nonna Rosa will probably show up in Little Blobs' verse cause I'm not ready to let go of her and she'd whack me in the head with a spoon if I didn't let her meet her great-grandchildren)

[cherrychilli]

Slip of the Tongue

A mini series I 18+ I Enemies to lovers

Chapter one

Eddie Munson, AFAB reader, neighbor! reader.

Reader and Eddie are the same age - she's in College and he's repeating his senior year once again.

Chapter Summary: You discover that Eddie's been practicing a very interesting new trick on his guitar, one which he offers to use on you under the guise of giving you some much needed stress relief.

A/N: Listen, series scare the shit out of me but I'm trying to challenge myself with a tiny one. I kind of already feel like I'm biting off more than I can chew but I'm going to give it my best shot.

Inspired by those clips of Steve Vai and Jimi Hendrix. ifkyk.

Chapter warnings: Nothing explicit this chapter. Some suggestive stuff but the real smut begins next chapter, so if you want more you better let me know!

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He's doing it again. Of course he's doing it again.

You tilt your head forward, forehead dropping into your hands. Heatedly, you mutter your annoyance under your breath, thumbs rubbing at throbbing temples and eyes squeezing shut when the music picks up to an ear ringing volume.

Eddie Munson took sick pleasure in riling you up – you were certain of that given how he only ever seemed to plug in his guitar when it was time for you to study your coursework, wrecking your concentration and making your temper skyrocket with a kind of ease only he was capable of.

For years, you’d taken issue with the fact that your trailer neighbored his own, your bedroom becoming an echo chamber for every blaring chord progression and heavily distorted guitar riff that strummed out from Eddie's open window.

And as always, you felt the need to make your displeasure known.

Abandoning your textbooks, you hastily shove your shoes on to stomp over next door. You knew from painful experience that it was best to head behind the Munson’s trailer and approach Eddie’s bedroom window than to pound on the front door, the sound of his playing almost always too loud for him to notice your knocking.

Trampling over the patchy, dry lawn that lay between your homes, you made your way across, rounding the corner and striding up to the open window, fuming with thoughts of what you’d yell at him this time when you caught sight of the metalhead.

As expected, he's rocking out in the center of his unruly bedroom. No doubt having tuned the rest of the world out, channeling so much of his wild, boundless energy into his playing.

His mop of dark messy curls aren't tied back today, allowed to sway, tumble and whip around his face as he played to an audience of some devilish looking posters and a couple figurines that stood on his crowded desk, probably a part of that fantasy game he's always going on about.

He's dressed in grey sweats that hang low around his hips and a ratty old band tee that tended to ride up, you couldn't help but notice.

‘At least he’s got clothes on today’, you thought to yourself mirthlessly, only a touch thankful for the silver lining of not having to confront him while he's shirtless or in his boxers again. Not that he’d ever minded you seeing him like that before.

Your last encounter with Eddie was one you hoped to soon forget, cringing because he'd caught your gaze wandering when you came over to reprimand him for the noise again, becoming noticeably distracted by his bare chest and the tattoos adorning it.

You don't know how it happened, only that you fell into a sort of daze when your eyes slipped lower to follow the slope of his pale tummy, leading to the sparse trail of dark hair which thickened below his belly button and disappeared underneath the waistband of his boxers.

D'you want a picture or something, darling?, he'd quipped, growing even more pleased with himself when your face turned hot and the embarrassment of getting caught had you stuttering out the first thing you could manage.

"F-fuck off, Munson", you spit back and retreated awkwardly, the sound of his barking laughter as you did so ringing in your ears long after you made it back into your room and hid underneath your blankets for a good hour.

Yeah, that was hard to live down. As was trying to expunge the image of Eddie's unclothed torso from your mind.

Most times he could anticipate your arrival, like a lightning storm only he could forecast but this time he hasn’t seemed to noticed you yet, tongue pinched between his lips in concentration while his fingers travelled skillfully over the ebony fretboard of his guitar.

Watching him play like that sometimes made you think that if he hadn't plagued you for half your life with all of his antics, you might have admitted that he was good musician - that he had talent most people didn't care to acknowledge and maybe even go so far as to say that you found it impressive that he’d managed teach himself how to play in lieu of any lessons.

But you weren’t about to sing Eddie Munson's praises. Not when he was seconds away from making you pop a vein.

Taking a deep breath in, you prepared yourself to start the unpleasant cycle of bickering with your neighbor once again, hoping against hope that, at the very least, it'll be a short exchange this time.

“Ed-"

You meant to catch his attention with a single shout but the heated call flattens on your tongue in an instant, heart beat kicking up as you watch what he does next.

He lifts his treasured Warlock and you're half afraid for him when he casually flips the front of the instrument towards his face, its angular design and jagged edges enough to worry you even when he played on it the regular way.

But it's when his tongue stretches out, long and slick like a serpent, that things start to feel...hazy. Speechlessly, you stare as he slides it along one of the guitar's six strings, following the length of it from near the bottom of the fretboard while his left hand continued to flit over the strings by the neck, creating harmonics in a way you’d never thought was possible before.

Are my palms sweating?

The sound begins to shift again and your eyes bulge when he slides his tongue back down, flicking and picking the guitar strings by the tip of it with more speed and dexterity than you'd thought was possible, his fingers continuing to move seamlessly to hold down every note.

Eyes closed (and there was no chance of you letting that happen) there was no way you could've told the difference than if he’d been playing with his fingers all along, the sound just as sharp and crisp as as every time before.

It's filthy, bordering on vulgar the way he’s moving the silky pink muscle so expertly, so much so that it makes you feel like you're intruding, peeping in on something that only happened behind closed doors.

But that gnawing feeling isn't anywhere near enough to make you stop looking. Your gaze stays planted firmly on Eddie's mouth, the sight making your head crowd with static and your belly swirl with heat. Your thighs had been clamped together too, you realize, a sickening realization dawning over you when they rub together, registering the dampness pooling between them underneath your skirt.

Oh my god…am I w-?

And just as abruptly as the realization had sunk in, the song ends. Deafening silence returns to your shared corner of the trailer park when Eddie sets the guitar back down to hang by the strap fixed over his shoulder, eyes flicking to you as if he'd known all along that you'd been standing there, gawking at him.

"So, what do you think? pretty good, right? been working on it for weeks", he pants out, chest rising and falling softly with each labored breath.

Somehow, this feels so much worse than when he caught you staring the last time.

With luck, you're able to shake yourself out of your trance like state, round eyes narrowing in preparation to berate him as originally intended

"Fucking hell, Eddie would you keep it down? I'm trying to study!", you agonize, scrambling to find your fury again.

But your tone doesn’t seem to bother him, it rarely ever did. So he leans through the open window, elbows resting on the window pane, eyeing you up and down all amused.

"You look stressed", he observes, and it's the flippant way in which he does it that ticks you off, with the kind of lopsided smile you’d often described as annoying. For the most part because he’d almost always done something to that effect before flashing you one.

"I am", you confirm with an acidic glare, hoping he couldn't tell how frazzled his little performance had left you.

"And you're not helping so knock it off"

Turning on your heel, you're desperate to retreat back to your place for a reprieve, heart hammering inside your chest when he calls out to you again.

"I could help you relax, y'know"

The way he says it makes you pause, like he's about to let you in on a secret.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps. "I'm not buying weed from you Eddie", you answer back over your shoulder, trying to look unimpressed as you attempt to turn him down.

"I wouldn't charge", the boy winks at you without missing a beat, undeterred by your cold attitude and you hate that his persistence makes your face feel hot.

"But that's not what I was going to suggest"

"Oh?"

You turn around to face him again, intrigue building.

He takes a moment to scan you thoughtfully, brows furrowing, almost as if he's weighing the outcomes of what might happen if he were to continue.

"You liked what you saw, right?", his brown eyes flicked down to his guitar and back up to you in quick reference to what you were hoping to avoid.

The mention of what you'd witnessed him doing with his tongue brings that hot, sticky feeling sitting at the base of your stomach back in full force, alarm bells ringing in your head.

"What does that have to do with anything?", you ask cautiously, realizing a second too late that you’ve only confirmed his suspicion.

"Well..."

Eddie curls a finger up at you, rings glinting in the sunlight, beckoning you closer and for some reason you actually oblige, stepping up to his window until you’re only a foot apart from one another.

Low and throaty, he whispers to you. "I can do a lot more with my tongue than just shred on my guitar", flicking the muscle salaciously between his lips like a viper ready to strike.

It should revolt you, watching the crude gesture courtesy of the bane next door, the implication behind it enough to make your skin crawl.

So why doesn't it?

Why does it make you want to leap at him and close the distance between the two of you, hungry to feel his tongue against your own?

"You're disgusting", you tell him instead in an attempt to deflect, voice wavering through the lie.

But he's too astute to be fooled now. "And you like it", he counters easily.

"So are you going to cut the bullshit and climb in here or what?"

You stare at the hand he holds out to you and before you can think to just walk away, before you can pull yourself together and stifle the roaring fire inside lapping at your bones, your fingers have found their way to his.

[midsummer-semantics]

if the world was ending

Okay, I told myself I wasn't going to write anything for @steddieangstyaugust but apparently I lied (I'm sorry)

Here's for day 1: Second Chance

CW: Slight agoraphobia

[not posted to AO3 but you can find other things there.]

When the earthquake hits, he’d like to say he thinks about his parents first. That he wonders where they are and if they're safe or if they’d hear about it from wherever they are in the world. If they’d call to check on him, even though they never did before.

He'd like to say he thinks about Robin, who's two states away studying for a graduate degree in International relations and communication, and likely doesn't feel the ground moving beneath her feet like he does.

Hell, he'd like to say he thinks about the kids, but most of them are scattered themselves, starting college programs (Will, Mike, Dustin) or sports training camps (Lucas) or exploring the West Coast (Max and El).

No, Steve is alone in his big, empty house when it hits, and the only thing on his mind is that they were wrong. Indiana doesn't get earthquakes, so something else has to be afoot. Six years since they defeated Vecna, since everyone tried to move on with their lives while Steve stayed because that's what he does, he stays.

A touchstone Dustin had called him once. Something to do with foundation and a connecting center. Steve still thinks it might have just been him and the rest of the group trying to make him feel better about still being stuck in the same house, in the same town, doing nothing and going nowhere.

He's alone and he thinks 'This is it. What I've been waiting for.'

He has a 6-year-old emergency pack stored that should have more dust on it if it wasn't for the way he chronically checks it. His trusty bat and a duplicate he made just in case, plus the ax he used the last time, are all near enough to the door. He's not sure what the protocol is for earthquakes, having grown up in the Midwest, but he's pretty sure he's not supposed to be indoors, right?

It doesn't last very long, but it doesn't matter. A few seconds of the ground shaking and rolling beneath his feet are enough to jumpstart him into action.

He's gathering supplies, cursing himself for taking too long, when the phone in the kitchen rings.

He should ignore it, knows that whatever or whoever it is can wait until he's secured the area and alerted the cavalry that something is happening. It'll take days for people to get here and Steve thinks he might he able to hold off whatever's coming out of whatever rift has sprung up until then, but he doesn't have time to think about it too hard.

The phone rings off the hook as Steve takes too damn long to double-check that nothing is in the house before he even attempts to go outside, and Steve knows he can't just leave it. Not in case it's someone who's still in town who knows he's here: Mrs. Wheeler, Claudia, Jim or Joyce.

He nearly rips the cord out of the wall when he answers.

"Stevie?!" comes the frantic voice of the person he least expects to be on the other side.

"Eddie?"

"Steve, oh my god." He can hear Eddie panting. "Are you okay?"

It's the first time Steve's heard Eddie's voice in five years. Since Eddie made good on his promise to run like hell out of here, something he'd repeated to anyone who would listen until he finally did. Five years since Steve had realized he was halfway in love with him after saving the world and never got to say anything because he was a coward and Eddie was leaving anyway so what was the point?

He'd gotten one phone call when Eddie arrived in Denver and it's been radio silence since then. Truthfully, he couldn't blame the guy, but Steve had had... thoughts... feelings... probably brought on by end-of-the-world shit but nonetheless. And then Eddie just—

Vanished.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?" he asks.

"We're good," Eddie replies, and only then does he hear the rough grumble of Eddie's uncle in the background, asking why Eddie's on the phone at nearly 3 in the morning.

"Earthquake, old man," Eddie shouts, still too close to the receiver for Steve's already damaged hearing.

Oh.

So, Eddie's in town. Cool. Steve had no idea. Doesn't know when Eddie got in or if he ever intended to tell Steve he was here at all. That's fine.

"Sorry, Stevie. Woke Wayne up. Shit— did I wake you up too?"

Steve swallows harshly, shaking his head even though Eddie can't see it. "No, I was already awake."

"Me too," Eddie replies. "Jet lag. Just got in a few hours ago. What a welcome home, huh?"

"Sure," Steve says, wondering what the point of this call is. "Look, I'm glad to hear from you, but I really need to—"

"Wait!" Steve shuts his mouth, his teeth clacking harshly. "It's fine. Everything is fine."

"Dude, there was an earthquake just now—"

"And it wasn't You-Know-What related," Eddie states, a bit of his franticness back in his voice. "They're leveling part of the plant for safety issues. Wanted to do it at night so no one would freak out." Steve cringes. Hawkins wasn't exactly magnanimous about the rebuilding efforts last time, but he doesn't go to city council meetings to hear about what the efforts might have been since then. "That's part of why I'm home. Wayne's got an extended leave until they sort out what else to do."

Steve sighs, dropping the emergency pack on the floor and leaning the ax he'd managed to grab against the wall. "Oh. Great. Wish they'd have told everyone else just in case."

"I know, sweetheart. But everything is okay."

Sweetheart.

Steve's actual heart skips a beat hearing that again.

"I'll be back, sweetheart. I promise."

"So... you're here then? In Hawkins?"

There's a beat of silence, some shuffling on the other end. "Well, yeah. I told you I'd come back."

"For your uncle."

"He's part of it."

Steve hesitates, hating himself for even considering getting his hopes up.

"And the other part?"

"My guy is here."

When the earthquake hit, he’d like to say he thought about his parents first.

No, he'd thought it was the end of the world. And above that, all he could think about was Eddie.